#suoerman

#ClarkKent #Superman #DailyPlanet #SupermanFanfiction #BlackReader #ReaderInsert #ClarkKentxReader #SupermanxReader #LoisLane #JimmyOlsen #PerryWhite #WorkplaceRomance #ForcedProximity #SecretIdentity #EnemiestoLovers #MutualPining #IdentityReveal #SmutWithPlot #BlackWomanWriter #SupermanMovie2025 #NSFW #FileRoomScene #SuspiciousReader #GothamToMetropolis

Clark Kent rushed through the revolving doors of the Daily Planet at 9:23 AM, his tie askew, and his hair slightly disheveled. There had been a fire in Hoboken, three people trapped on the fourth floor, and he'd barely had time to change back into his work clothes before speeding to the office.

"Kent!" Perry White's voice boomed across the bullpen before Clark could even reach his desk.

Clark winced. He looked up at Perry's office and saw his editor-in-chief standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking distinctly unimpressed.

"My office. Now."

Several reporters looked up from their desks, some smirking, others offering sympathetic grimaces. Clark was late often enough that this scene had become somewhat routine, though Perry's tone suggested this wasn't just about his tardiness.

Clark made his way through the maze of desks, offering a weak smile to Jimmy Olsen, who gave him a thumbs up of encouragement. He climbed the short flight of stairs to Perry's office, already forming his excuse. The subway had been delayed, there was an accident on his street, his alarm hadn't gone off.

He stepped through the doorway and froze.

There was someone sitting in one of the chairs across from Perry's desk. A woman. She had her legs crossed, one hand resting on her knee, the other holding a notebook. Her hair fell in long natural curls past her shoulders, and she wore a crisp white blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt that hit just above her knees. The top button of her blouse was undone, showing just the barest hint of her collarbone and the soft curve where her neck met her chest.

Clark's brain stuttered to a halt.

She was beautiful. Gorgeous in a way that was real and striking and made something in his chest tighten. Her skin was a rich, warm brown that seemed to glow in the morning light streaming through Perry's windows. Her lips were full, curved in a polite, professional smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, which were watching him with an alertness that made him think she didn't miss much.

He realized he was staring. Heat crept up his neck.

"Kent, glad you could join us." Perry's voice was dry, laced with sarcasm. "This is Y/N L/N. She's transferring from the Gotham Gazette and will be joining our team."

Y/N stood, extending her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Kent."

Her voice was smooth, professional, with just a hint of warmth that felt genuine. Clark shook her hand, trying not to think about how soft her skin was or how her grip was firm and confident.

"Clark," he said quickly. "Just Clark. It's, uh, it's nice to meet you too."

She released his hand and sat back down. Clark remained standing, unsure if he should sit or bolt for the door.

"Y/N here has an impressive resume," Perry continued, gesturing for Clark to sit in the chair next to her. Clark obeyed, perching on the edge of the seat. "Five years at the Gazette, covered some major stories. The Wayne Foundation corruption scandal, the Arkham breakout last year, the district attorney's office investigation."

Clark glanced at her. Those were serious stories, the kind that took guts and skill to break. She kept her expression neutral, but he caught the flicker of pride in her eyes.

"I'm assigning her to shadow you for the week," Perry said.

"What?" The word came out too fast, too sharp. Clark saw Y/N's expression shift slightly, a small tightening around her eyes.

Perry raised an eyebrow. "Problem, Kent?"

Clark's mind raced. He couldn't have someone shadowing him. Not when he had to disappear at a moment's notice. Not when Superman might be needed at any time. How was he supposed to explain why he kept running off? Why he always came back flushed and out of breath?

"I just… I work better alone," Clark said, trying to sound reasonable. "I mean, I'm not much of a teacher, and I'm sure someone like Lois would be better at showing her the ropes. She's been here longer, and she's won multiple awards—"

"Lois is busy covering a different storie until Thursday," Perry interrupted. "And you're a fine teacher. You helped Jimmy when he started."

"Jimmy was already trained, that's different—"

"Kent." Perry's tone left no room for argument. "Y/N is shadowing you. That's final. Show her around, introduce her to people, let her see how we do things here. Think you can manage that?"

Clark opened his mouth, then closed it. He couldn't say no. Not without a reason, and the only reason he had was one he couldn't share.

"Sure," he said finally, the word coming out defeated. "Yeah. Of course."

"Good." Perry turned to Y/N. "He's usually more enthusiastic than this. Don't let his attitude fool you. Kent's one of our best."

"I'm sure he is," Y/N said, and there was something in her tone that Clark couldn't quite read. She looked at him, and her polite smile had cooled considerably. "I'm looking forward to working with you, Mr. Kent."

It didn't sound like she was looking forward to it at all.

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They left Perry's office in awkward silence. Clark could feel her walking beside him, maintaining a careful distance. When they reached his desk, she stood back, hands clasped in front of her, watching him with an expression that was carefully blank.

"So," Clark said, setting his bag down. "You worked in Gotham."

"I did."

"That must have been… intense."

"It was."

The conversation died. Clark shifted his weight, shoving his hands in his pockets. This was going terribly. He could see the other reporters starting to notice them, curiosity plain on their faces.

"Look," he started, lowering his voice. "About what I said in there, I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," she cut him off, her tone crisp. "You don't want me here. Message received. Just point me to my desk, and I'll stay out of your way."

"That's not…" Clark trailed off, searching for words that wouldn't sound like excuses. "I just work in a specific way, and I wasn't prepared—"

"I said it's fine." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Where's my desk?"

Clark sighed and gestured to the empty desk adjacent to his. "Right there. We're supposed to be desk partners for the week."

"Perfect." She walked over and set her bag down. Everything about her body language screamed professional distance.

Clark rubbed the back of his neck. This was his fault. He'd made her think he didn't want her here, which wasn't true at all. He just couldn't have her around when Superman was needed. But he couldn't explain that, which meant he was stuck looking like an ass.

"Let me show you around," he offered.

She pulled out a notebook and pen. "Lead the way."

He took her through the bullpen, pointing out the different departments. She followed a step behind, taking notes, asking brief, efficient questions. She was all business, polite but distant, and Clark hated it.

They stopped by the research department, where Clark introduced her to a few of the staff. She smiled at them, warm and genuine, asked about their work with real interest. The moment they moved on and it was just the two of them again, the warmth vanished.

"Copy room's down this hall," Clark said, leading her past a row of offices. "Coffee station's in the break room, but the coffee's terrible. There's a good café two blocks down if you want something drinkable."

"Noted."

They rounded a corner and nearly collided with Lois Lane, who was on her phone and not watching where she was going. She looked up, eyebrows rising.

"Clark. I thought you were coming in late today."

"I did come in late."

"It's barely past nine-thirty."

"Late for normal people," Clark amended. He gestured to Y/N. "This is Y/N L/N. She's transferring from Gotham, shadowing me this week. Y/N, this is Lois Lane."

Lois's expression shifted to interest. She tucked her phone away and extended her hand. "Lois. Welcome to the Planet. Gotham, huh? I've read some of your work. That piece on the Wayne Foundation was solid."

Y/N's professional mask cracked slightly, pleasure flickering across her face. "Thank you. That means a lot coming from you. Your coverage of the Senate hearings last month was excellent."

"Thanks. What made you leave Gotham?"

"Needed a change of scenery," Y/N said. "Gotham can be… a lot."

"Metropolis is a lot too, just in different ways." Lois glanced between them, and Clark saw the exact moment she picked up on the tension. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "So, shadowing Clark. That should be educational. He's got a knack for being in the right place at the right time."

"So I've heard," Y/N said.

"Well, if you need anything, or if Clark's being difficult, my desk is right over there." Lois pointed across the bullpen. "Don't hesitate."

"I appreciate that."

Lois nodded and continued down the hall, but not before shooting Clark a look that clearly said we'll talk about this later.

They continued the tour. Clark introduced her to Jimmy Olsen. Jimmy was immediately friendly, shaking her hand enthusiastically and offering to show her some of his recent work. Y/N smiled at him, actually smiled, and asked questions about his equipment. Jimmy lit up, going into detail, and Y/N listened like she was genuinely interested.

When they left, her expression closed off again.

"Jimmy's nice," she said.

"He is."

"How long has he worked here?"

"About two years."

"And you've known him the whole time?"

"Yeah. We started around the same time."

She made a note in her notebook. Clark tried to see what she was writing, but she angled it away.

They met Cat Grant near the elevators. Cat looked Y/N up and down with the assessing gaze of someone who noticed everything and judged most of it.

"New meat," Cat said by way of greeting.

"Y/N L/N," Y/N said, unfazed. "Transferring from Gotham."

"Gotham. Brave." Cat's smile was sharp. "Or crazy. Which is it?"

"Both, probably." Y/N's tone was dry, and Cat laughed.

"I like her already. Try not to corrupt her too much, Clark."

"I don't corrupt people," Clark protested.

"No, you just disappear on them at random intervals and show up looking like you ran a marathon." Cat's gaze flicked to Y/N. "Fair warning, he's flaky. Brilliant, but flaky."

Y/N's expression didn't change, but Clark saw her eyes sharpen with interest. "I'll keep that in mind."

Cat sauntered off, leaving them by the elevators. Y/N made another note.

"What are you writing?" Clark asked.

"Observations."

"About what?"

"The workplace dynamics. The people. You." She looked up at him, and her gaze was cool and assessing. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to be doing?"

"I guess."

"Then let me do my job, Mr. Kent."

She walked back toward their desks, and Clark followed, feeling like he'd been dismissed. When they got back, she sat down and opened her laptop, immediately absorbed in whatever she was working on.

Clark sat at his own desk and tried to focus on his article. The words on the screen blurred. He kept glancing at her, watching the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was concentrating, the way her fingers flew across the keyboard.

This was going to be a long week.

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:*¨

By Wednesday, Clark was certain Y/N thought he was either incredibly flaky or actively avoiding her.

She'd been professional all week, polite but distant. She observed everything, took notes, asked smart questions when they were around other people. But when it was just the two of them, she was quiet. Reserved. Like she was waiting for him to do something that would confirm her suspicions that he didn't want her there.

The problem was, Clark kept having to leave.

Monday afternoon, there had been a bridge collapse in Delaware. He'd excused himself to the bathroom and hadn't come back for forty minutes. When he returned, hair damp from the river water he'd had to shake out of it, she'd been at her desk. She'd looked at him, looked at his wet hair, and her expression had said everything. She thought he'd ditched her.

Tuesday morning, a hostage situation at a bank downtown. He'd claimed he needed to make a phone call and had disappeared for an hour. When he came back, suit rumpled and a bruise forming on his jaw that he couldn't explain away, she'd watched him sit down with an expression that was almost pitying. Like she thought he was in some kind of trouble he couldn't talk about.

Tuesday afternoon, earthquake in California. He'd said he needed to grab lunch and had been gone for two hours. She hadn't even looked at him when he came back.

Wednesday afternoon, a half human half giant trying to eat people in the middle of Metropolis. He said he needed to call his mom and had been gone for an hour and a half. She ignored his apology when he returned.

And today, Thursday, he'd already left twice. Once for a fire in Queens, once for a plane that had lost an engine over the Atlantic.

Each time he came back flushed, out of breath, making excuses that sounded thinner and thinner. And each time, she'd looked at him with those sharp, intelligent eyes and said nothing.

But he could tell she was noticing. She noticed everything.

It was three in the afternoon when Clark decided he needed coffee. He was exhausted, running on maybe four hours of sleep, and his article on the new housing development in Southside was going nowhere.

He stood, stretched, and headed for the break room. The floor was mostly empty, people either out on assignment or in meetings. He pushed open the break room door and went straight for the coffee maker, not bothering to turn on the light. The afternoon sun coming through the windows was enough.

He was pouring his third cup of terrible office coffee when he heard the door click shut behind him.

Clark turned, expecting to see another reporter. Instead, he found Y/N leaning against the now-closed door, arms crossed, watching him with an expression that made his stomach drop.

"You didn't hear me following you," she said.

It wasn't a question. Clark's mind raced. She was right. He hadn't heard her footsteps, which shouldn't have been possible. He could hear heartbeats from three floors away, could track someone by the sound of their breathing. How had she gotten so close without him noticing?

"I was distracted," he said, forcing a smile. "Lost in thought."

"You're always distracted." She pushed off the door and walked toward him, her heels clicking on the floor. "You're always late. You're always disappearing. And when you come back, you look like you've been in a fight."

Clark set his coffee down, holding up his hands. "I can explain—"

"Please do."

She stopped a few feet away from him, head tilted, waiting. She'd left her suit jacket at her desk, and her blouse was the color of cream, the top two buttons undone. He could see the hollow of her throat, the delicate line of her collarbone. He forced himself to look at her face.

"I'm just… I'm dedicated," he said. "When something big happens, I try to get there first. To interview Superman, usually. After he saves people."

Her eyebrow arched. "You try to interview Superman."

"Yeah. It's kind of my thing. Exclusive interviews, that sort of thing."

"How do you always know when he's fighting something?"

The question was delivered casually, but Clark saw the trap in it immediately. He swallowed. "I, uh, I have a police scanner. On my phone. So I hear when there's trouble, and I just… I go."

"You hear about a bridge collapsing in Delaware, and you run off to interview Superman."

"Yes."

"Without telling anyone where you're going."

"I don't want someone else to beat me to it."

"And you get there in time to interview him before he leaves."

"He usually sticks around for a bit."

"And that's why you come back out of breath."

"I run. To get there faster."

Y/N studied him, her gaze moving over his face like she was cataloging every micro-expression. Clark fought the urge to squirm. He felt like a bug under a microscope.

"That's a lot of running," she said finally.

"I'm in good shape."

"Clearly." Her eyes dipped down, just for a second, taking in his chest and shoulders before returning to his face. Clark felt heat creep up his neck. "But here's what I don't understand."

She took a step closer. Clark's back hit the counter.

"If you're running all over the city to interview Superman, where are the interviews?"

Clark's brain stuttered. "What?"

"The interviews. You've left, by my count, seven times this week. If you were interviewing Superman each time, you'd have at least a few articles published. But you don't." She took another step. They were close now, close enough that he could smell her perfume, something subtle and warm. "So where are the interviews, Clark?"

"I don't always get them," he said weakly. "Sometimes he's too busy, or–"

"Or you're lying."

The word hung in the air between them. Clark opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

The break room door swung open. Lois walked in, stopped, and raised her eyebrows at the sight of them. Y/N was standing close enough to Clark that it probably looked intimate, and Clark knew his face was red.

"Am I interrupting something?" Lois asked, a smirk playing at her lips.

Y/N stepped back smoothly, her expression shifting to something polite and professional. "Not at all. Clark was just explaining his interview process."

"Uh-huh." Lois didn't look convinced. She walked to the coffee maker, eyeing them both. "You two looked pretty intense for a conversation about interviews."

"I'm just very passionate about journalism," Y/N said, her tone light. She glanced at Clark, and there was something in her eyes, a promise that this conversation wasn't over. "I'll let you finish your coffee, Clark. See you back at the desk."

She left, offering Lois a smile on the way out. The door swung shut behind her.

Lois immediately turned to Clark. "What the hell was that?"

"Nothing."

"That didn't look like nothing. That looked like she was about to either kiss you or interrogate you."

Clark grabbed his coffee and headed for the door. "Drop it, Lois."

"She knows something, doesn't she?" Lois called after him. "Clark, if she's figured something out–"

"She hasn't figured anything out," Clark said, more sharply than he intended. "There's nothing to figure out."

He left before Lois could respond, but he felt her eyes on his back the whole way to his desk.

Y/N was already there, typing away, her expression neutral. She didn't look at him when he sat down.

Clark tried to focus on his work, but his mind was racing. She was suspicious. More than suspicious. She was smart, perceptive, and she wasn't going to let this go.

He needed to be more careful. He needed to come up with better excuses. He needed…

He needed to figure out how she'd walked up behind him without him hearing her.

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.

The work day ended, and the bullpen slowly emptied out. Five o'clock came and went. Then six. By seven-thirty, most of the office was dark, just a few lights left on over occupied desks.

Clark had an article due tomorrow that he'd been putting off all week. Between Superman emergencies and trying to avoid Y/N's questions, he hadn't had time to finish it. Now he was stuck here, typing away, willing the words to come faster.

Y/N was still at her desk too. She'd been given a few small assignments by Perry, profiles and local interest pieces, and she'd approached each one with the same meticulous care she applied to everything else. Even now, well past when she should have gone home, she was working, occasionally making notes on a pad of paper beside her laptop.

Clark tried not to watch her, but it was difficult. She'd pulled her hair back into a ponytail at some point, and he could see the line of her neck, the soft curve of her jaw. She had a habit of biting her lower lip when she was thinking, and it was distracting in a way that made him feel like a teenager with a crush.

At eight-fifteen, he stood, gathering the last of his research notes. He needed to return some files to the records room before building security came through and locked it for the night.

"I'll be right back," he said.

Y/N looked up, nodded, and returned to her work.

The records room was at the end of a long hallway on the other side of the floor. Clark let himself in with his key card and flicked on the lights. The room was lined with filing cabinets and boxes of old articles, organized by date and subject. It smelled like paper and dust.

He found the right cabinet and slid his files back into place, making sure everything was labeled correctly. He was just closing the drawer when he heard the door open behind him.

He turned. Y/N stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorframe, watching him.

"You still haven't answered my question," she said.

Clark's heart rate kicked up. They were alone. Completely alone. Everyone else had gone home, and the records room was tucked away in a corner of the building where no one came after hours.

"I thought we dropped that," he said, trying for casual and missing by a mile.

"I dropped it in front of Lois." She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. "But we're not in front of Lois now."

Clark edged toward the door. "I really should get back to my desk—"

She moved faster than he expected, cutting off his path to the door. He stopped, suddenly very aware of how small the records room was and how close she was standing.

"What are you hiding, Clark?"

Her voice was soft, but there was steel underneath it. She looked up at him, and her eyes were sharp and searching.

"I'm not hiding anything," he said, but even he could hear how unconvincing it sounded.

"You disappear constantly. You come back looking like you've been in a fight. You're never where you say you're going to be." She took a step closer. "And you lie about it. Badly."

"I'm not—"

"Stop." She held up a hand. "Don't insult my intelligence. I know you're lying. What I don't know is why."

Clark's mind raced through excuses, explanations, anything that might satisfy her. But he was tired. Tired of lying, tired of coming up with reasons, tired of seeing that look in her eyes like she thought he was in trouble or hiding something shameful.

"I can't tell you," he said finally.

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

She studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Fine. Keep your secrets, Clark."

She turned to leave. Clark felt something twist in his chest. He didn't want her to leave. Didn't want her to keep thinking the worst of him. Didn't want to keep this distance between them.

He reached out without thinking, catching her wrist. "Wait."

She stopped, looked down at his hand on her wrist, and then back up at him. Something flickered in her expression.

Before he could say anything else, she moved. Her free hand came up to his chest, and she pushed. Not hard, but firm enough that he stumbled back a step. His back hit the filing cabinet behind him with a metallic thud.

Clark froze. No one had ever been able to push him. Not since his powers had fully developed. He was immovable, an anchor, solid as the earth. But she'd just pushed him like he was any other man.

He stared at her, shock written across his face. She stepped into his space, one hand still on his chest, pinning him against the cabinet.

"What are you hiding?" she asked again, her voice low.

Clark's mouth went dry. She was so close. Close enough that he could count her eyelashes, could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. Her hand on his chest was warm, and he could feel his heart hammering against his ribs.

"I told you," he managed. "I can't say."

"That's not good enough."

"It has to be."

Clark's brain short-circuited. This had never happened to him. No one had ever overpowered him, pinned him, made him feel small. It should have been alarming. It should have made him push back, break free.

Instead, he felt his face flush, felt heat pool low in his stomach. His breath came shorter.

She noticed. Of course she noticed. Her eyes tracked over his face, cataloging his reaction, and something in her expression shifted. Her gaze dropped, just for a second, to his mouth, then lower.

Clark realized, with dawning horror, that his body was betraying him. He was responding to this, to her closeness and her dominance and the way she was looking at him. His slacks were getting tight, uncomfortably so, and there was no way she wouldn't notice.

"Clark," she said, and there was something almost amused in her tone.

"Don't," he said quickly. "Please don't look—"

She looked. Her eyes dipped down, and Clark watched her see exactly what he'd been hoping she wouldn't. Her eyebrows rose. Then, to his complete mortification, she smiled. Not a polite smile or a professional smile. A knowing, almost predatory smile that made his knees weak.

"Well," she said, her voice dropping to something that was almost a purr. "That's interesting."

Clark's face was on fire. He tried to think of something to say, some way to salvage this situation, but his brain had apparently decided to shut down entirely.

She shifted closer, and now they were nearly pressed together. Her hand on his chest moved lower, dragging down over his stomach, and Clark's breath hitched. She stopped just above his belt, her fingers resting on his abdomen, and looked up at him.

"Tell me what you're hiding," she said. "And I'll give you a prize."

The word prize was loaded with implication. Clark's mind filled in exactly what kind of prize she was offering, and he nearly groaned.

"I can't," he said, and his voice came out strangled.

Her hand moved lower, brushing over the bulge in his slacks. Clark jerked, his hips twitching forward involuntarily. She pressed her palm against him, rubbing slowly, and his eyes nearly rolled back.

"Tell me," she murmured.

"I…" Clark's thoughts scattered. Her hand was warm through the fabric of his slacks, her touch firm, and deliberate. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the sound that wanted to escape his throat. "I can't. Please."

She kept rubbing, slow and torturous, watching his face. "You can. You just have to say it."

Clark shook his head, even as his hips rocked into her touch. This was wrong. He couldn't tell her. He couldn't compromise his identity. He couldn't—

She stopped.

The sudden absence of her touch made him gasp. He looked down at her, desperate and pleading, and she smiled at him.

"No?" she asked. "That's your final answer?"

"I…" He swallowed hard. "I really can't. I'm sorry."

She stepped back, and Clark felt the loss of her warmth like a physical ache. She smoothed down her skirt, adjusted her blouse, and suddenly she was all business again. Like she hadn't just had him pinned against a filing cabinet, panting and hard.

"Okay," she said simply. "See you tomorrow, Clark."

She turned and walked toward the door. Clark's body screamed at him to stop her, to call her back, to tell her anything she wanted to know if it meant she'd touch him again.

"Wait," he blurted out.

She paused, her hand on the doorknob, and looked back at him.

Clark struggled with himself. Every instinct told him to protect his secret, to keep her at arm's length, to maintain the boundaries that kept people safe. But looking at her now, seeing the intelligence in her eyes and the challenge in her expression, he knew she wouldn't stop. She'd keep digging, keep questioning, keep pushing until she figured it out on her own.

And if she figured it out on her own, there was no guarantee she'd keep it to herself.

But if he told her…

"I'm Superman," he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

She didn't react. Didn't gasp, didn't look shocked, didn't even blink. She just watched him, and slowly, that knowing smile spread across her face again.

"I know," she said.

Clark stared at her. "You… know?"

"I've known since Tuesday."

"Tuesday," he repeated faintly. "You've known since Tuesday, and you didn't say anything?"

"I wanted to see if you'd tell me." She walked back toward him. "I'm glad you did."

Clark's brain was still trying to catch up. She'd known. She'd figured it out in two days, and she'd been testing him. Seeing if he'd trust her.

"How did you figure it out?" he asked.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are." She stopped in front of him, close again, and looked up at him through her lashes. "The disappearances, the bruises, the way you always know when something's happening. The fact that Superman showed up in Metropolis right around the same time you got hired at the Planet. It wasn't that hard to piece together, Clark."

"Now, about that prize."

Heat flooded through him. "Here? Now?"

"It's nine PM on a Friday. Everyone's gone home." She reached up and started working on the buttons of his shirt. "And I locked the door."

"You…" Clark's thoughts scattered as her fingers brushed against his chest. "When did you–"

"When I walked in. I'm thorough, Clark."

She finished with his buttons and pushed his shirt open, her hands sliding over his chest. Clark shuddered, his hands coming up to grip her waist.

She started to sink to her knees, but Clark's hands on her shoulders stopped her.

"Wait. No. Not… not like that."

She raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"I want…" He swallowed hard, and he'd never wanted anything more in his entire life. "Can I… Please let me…"

His hands gripped softly onto her waist, his thumbs brushing against her ribs through the thin fabric of her blouse.

Understanding dawned in her eyes. "You want to…?"

"Yes. Please. I've been thinking about it since you…" He seemed to run out of words, just looking at her with desperate hope. "I just really want to."

Her lips curved. "That desperate, huh?"

"You have no idea."

She seemed to consider for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

Clark didn't need to be told twice. He lifted her up, placing her down on the only table in the room. He sank to his knees in front of her, his hands sliding from her waist to her hips. He looked up at her, asking permission one more time, and she nodded.

He reached for the zipper on the side of her skirt, pulling it down slowly. The skirt loosened, and he eased it off over her hips, letting it pool at her feet. She kicked it off, and Clark's mouth went dry.

She was wearing black underwear, simple and practical but somehow impossibly sexy on her. He could see the soft plane of her stomach where her blouse had come untucked.

His hands shook as he reached for the waistband of her underwear, lif5ing her hips once again. He pulled them off, leaving her in just her blouse and heels.

Clark looked up at her one more time, seeking permission, and she smiled down at him.

"Go ahead."

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, soft and reverent. She sighed, one hand coming down to rest in his hair. He kissed higher, trailing his lips along her skin, taking his time.

When he finally reached the apex of her thighs, he paused. Then he leaned in and tasted her.

The sound she made went straight to his groin. Her hand tightened in his hair, and her hips shifted forward. Clark groaned against her, his hands gripping her thighs to steady himself.

He'd thought about this. More than he should have. Late at night when he couldn't sleep, his mind would wander to her. The way she looked when she was concentrating on her work. The curve of her neck. The sound of her laugh when she was talking to Jimmy or Lois. And this. This.

She tasted incredible. He lost himself in it, in the feel of her under his tongue, the sounds she made above him. He experimented, paying attention to what made her gasp, what made her grip his hair tighter. When he found a rhythm that made her moan, he stuck with it, relentless.

"Clark," she breathed, and his name on her lips in that tone made him work harder.

Her thighs started to tremble. Her breathing came faster, shorter. Clark felt her getting close, and he doubled his efforts, desperate to make her fall apart.

When she came, she said his name again, louder this time. Her hand in his hair held him in place, her hips rocking against his mouth. Clark worked her through it, gentle now, until she was shaking and pushing at his head weakly.

He pulled back reluctantly, looking up at her. Her chest was heaving, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted. She looked wrecked, and Clark felt a surge of pride that he'd done that to her.

But he wasn't done. He leaned back in, pressing his mouth to her again, and she gasped.

"Clark, wait—"

He didn't wait. He wanted more. Wanted to hear her make those sounds again, wanted to feel her come apart on his tongue.

She was sensitive now, oversensitive, and every touch made her jerk. But Clark didn't stop, didn't let up. He used his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes, and her whimpers turned to something desperate.

"Clark, too much," she gasped, but her hand in his hair wasn't pushing him away.

He groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her. Her thighs clamped around his head, and he had to grip them harder to keep her steady. She was shaking now, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.

When she came the second time, it was with a broken cry that echoed in the small room. Her knees buckled, and Clark had to wrap his hand around her thighs to keep himself upright.

It tasted so good, almost addicting. Suddenly he knew why people got addicted to drugs so quickly. One taste and suddenly you can't remember how you lived without it.

He pulled back finally, leaning his head against her thigh, breathing hard, and looked up at her. She was trembling, her hand still fisted in his hair, her eyes glazed.

"Jesus," she breathed.

Clark started to lean back in, wanting more, but she whined and pulled his head away. He made a sound of protest, actually whined himself, and tried to go back.

"Clark, no," she said, her voice shaky. "You can't. I can't take any more right now."

He looked up at her with pleading eyes, and she laughed breathlessly.

"You're ridiculous," she said.

"Just one more—"

"If you keep doing that, you won't get to fuck me."

Clark froze. His brain processed her words, and suddenly he was on his feet, his hands on her waist. "I… you mean…"

"Yes, Clark." She was smiling now, amused by his eagerness. "I mean that."

He kissed her then, couldn't help himself. His lips crashed against hers, and she made a soft sound of surprise before kissing him back. Her hands came up to frame his face, and she kissed him slowly, thoroughly, like she had all the time in the world.

When they broke apart, Clark was breathing hard. His slacks were painfully tight, and he could feel how much he wanted this, wanted her.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against her skin, pressing kisses to her jaw, her neck. "I've been trying not to stare at you for a week."

"You failed. I caught you multiple times."

"I know. Couldn't help it." He kissed lower, between her breasts, over the soft skin revealed by her open blouse. "You're incredible. Smart and gorgeous and you don't take anyone's shit and you're so—"

"Clark."

He looked up at her.

"Less talking."

He nodded, then reached for the remaining buttons on her blouse. She helped him, shrugging it off and letting it fall behind her. Her bra was simple, black like her underwear had been, and Clark thought he'd never seen anything more perfect.

He reached behind her and unclasped it, letting it fall away. For a moment, he just looked at her, drinking in the sight. Then his hands were on her, cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. She gasped, arching into his touch.

Clark kissed her again, his hands roamed over her body, learning every curve, every place that made her gasp or sigh. She was doing the same to him, her fingers tracing the muscles of his chest and shoulders, nails dragging lightly over his skin.

She reached for his belt, and Clark's breath caught. She worked it open efficiently, then moved to the button and zipper of his slacks. When she pushed them down along with his boxers, Clark groaned in relief.

She wrapped her hand around him, and he nearly came right then. He grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

"Can't," he said, his voice strained. "If you do that, this will be over way too fast."

She smiled, slow and wicked. "That desperate?"

"You have no idea."

She released him, then scooted back on the desk, spreading her legs in invitation. Clark's brain shut down entirely. He moved between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips, positioning himself.

He paused, looking at her. "Are you sure?"

"Clark, if you don't fuck me right now—"

He pushed into her, and the rest of her sentence dissolved into a moan. Clark groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder. She felt incredible, tight and warm around him. He had to hold still for a moment, breathing hard, trying to remember how to think.

"Okay?" he managed.

"Move," she said, her voice breathless. "Please move."

He did. Started slow, gentle, careful. His hands stroked up and down her sides, trying to make this good for her, trying to be controlled.

But it was hard. She felt too good, and he wanted her too much. Every time he thrust into her, she made a sound that drove him crazy. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he had to bite his lip to keep from losing it.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against her neck. "So perfect. I've been thinking about this, about you, all week."

"Clark," she breathed, and he loved the way his name sounded in her voice.

He kissed her shoulder, her collarbone, the soft skin behind her ear. His hands were gentle on her body, reverent, like she was something precious.

But she clearly wanted more. Her nails dug into his back, and she rocked her hips up to meet his thrusts harder than he was giving.

"Clark," she said. "Stop holding back."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

"I'm strong," he said, his voice strained. "Really strong. I have to be careful."

She was quiet for a moment, her hands still on his back. Then she spoke, her voice soft.

"I'm different too."

Clark stopped moving entirely. He pulled back enough to look at her face. "What?"

"Powers. Regeneration, Enhanced senses, durability. Not as much as yours, probably, but enough that you didn't have to be quite so careful." She tilted her head to look up at him. "Thought you should know."

Clark stared at her, his mind reeling. "This whole time?"

"Yeah."

"And you didn't tell me because…"

"You didn't tell me you were Superman."

That was fair. Clark laughed, a breathless, slightly hysterical sound. "What else haven't you told me?"

"That's a conversation for later." She rolled her hips, and Clark groaned. "Right now, I need you to stop treating me like I'm going to break."

"You're sure?"

"Clark, I'm a meta-human who used to cover crime in Gotham. I've been thrown through walls. I can handle you."

Something in Clark's chest loosened. He'd always had to be so careful, so controlled. The idea that he didn't have to be, that he could let go without hurting her…

He kissed her hard, his hands tightening on her hips. When he pulled back, his eyes had darkened.

"Tell me if it's too much," he said.

"It won't be."

He thrust into her harder this time, and she cried out, her back arching. Clark did it again, setting a faster rhythm, letting himself stop holding back. The desk shook beneath them, papers sliding to the floor.

Clark buried his face in her neck, his breath coming in harsh gasps. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place as he moved. He wasn't being gentle anymore, wasn't being careful, and she was meeting him thrust for thrust, her nails raking down his back.

"Yes," she gasped. "Like that. Don't stop."

Clark couldn't have stopped if he wanted to. He was lost in her, in the feel of her around him, the sounds she was making, the way her body moved with his. One of his hands slid between them, finding where they were joined, and he pressed his thumb against her in tight circles.

She came with his name on her lips, her whole body tensing and shaking. The feeling of her tightening around him pushed Clark over the edge. He thrust into her one more time and fell apart, groaning against her shoulder.

For a long moment, they just stayed like that, clinging to each other, breathing hard. Clark's legs felt like jelly. His mind was blissfully blank.

Finally, he pulled back enough to look at her. Her hair had come loose from its ponytail, curls falling around her face. Her lips were swollen from kissing, her eyes soft and satisfied.

"Hi," he said stupidly.

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Hi."

He kissed her softly, taking his time. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers.

"So," he said. "Meta-human, huh?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

"Eventually. I was waiting to see if you'd tell me you were Superman first."

"Fair." He paused. "How did you get your powers?"

"Lab accident when I was twenty-two. I was covering a story about illegal chemical dumping. There was an explosion." She traced patterns on his shoulder with her finger. "Woke up three days later with enhanced abilities."

"That must have been scary."

"Terrifying. But useful, especially in Gotham."

Clark pulled out of her carefully and helped her sit up. They were both disheveled, clothes scattered around the records room. He found her underwear and handed them to her, then located his boxers.

As they dressed, Clark couldn't stop looking at her. She'd known his secret. She had powers too. She was smart and beautiful and she'd just rocked his entire world on a desk in the records room.

"We should probably get out of here," she said, buttoning her blouse. "Before security does their rounds."

"Yeah." Clark tucked in his shirt, trying to make himself look presentable. "Do you need a ride home?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you offering to fly me?"

"If you want."

She smiled. "I'd like that."

They left the records room, making sure the hallway was clear. The office was dark and empty, everyone long gone. Clark grabbed his bag from his desk, and they headed for the elevators.

Outside, the night air was cool. Clark looked around to make sure no one was watching, then scooped her up in his arms. She made a surprised sound, her arms wrapping around his neck.

"Hold on," he said.

Then he took off.

Flying with her was different than flying alone. She wasn't scared, didn't scream or clutch at him in terror. She just held on and looked around, her eyes wide with wonder.

"This is amazing," she said over the rush of wind.

Clark smiled and held her closer. He flew them across the city, following her directions to her apartment building. When they landed on her fire escape, he set her down gently.

She unlocked her window and climbed inside, and Clark followed. Her apartment was small but cozy, decorated in warm colors. Books lined the shelves, and there was a desk in the corner covered in notebooks and papers.

"Do you want to come in?" she asked. "Or do you need to go save someone?"

Clark listened, using his enhanced hearing to scan the city. No sirens, no screams, no immediate emergencies.

"I can stay for a bit," he said.

She smiled and pulled him further into her apartment. They ended up on her couch, her curled against his side, talking. She told him about Gotham, about the stories she'd covered, about why she'd wanted to leave. He told her about Smallville, about growing up different, about what it was like being Superman.

It was easy. Easier than talking to anyone had ever been. She understood in a way most people couldn't, because she knew what it was like to hide, to be different.

They fell asleep on her couch sometime around three in the morning, tangled together. Clark woke a few hours later to his super-hearing picking up a police scanner reporting a building fire. He extracted himself carefully from her arms and left through the window, leaving a note on her coffee table that he'd be back.

He did come back. After the fire was handled and the people were safe, he flew back to her apartment and climbed through her window. She was awake, making coffee in her kitchen, and she smiled when she saw him.

"Busy morning?" she asked.

"Building fire. Everyone's fine."

"Good." She poured him a cup of coffee. "Are you hungry? I was going to make breakfast."

They spent Saturday together. And Sunday. Clark had to leave a few times for Superman emergencies, but she understood. More than understood. She kissed him goodbye each time and was waiting with food when he got back.

They talked about everything. Her powers. His planet. The ethics of journalism. Their favorite books. She was easy to talk to, easy to be around, and Clark found himself enjoying her in a way that was both exciting and terrifying.

By Sunday night, he didn't want to leave. But he had to go home, had to get some sleep before work Monday morning. He kissed her goodbye at her door, long and slow.

"See you tomorrow," she said.

"See you tomorrow."

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:*¨

Clark walked into the Daily Planet at 8:47 AM Monday morning, which was actually early for him. He felt lighter than he had in weeks. His secret was out, at least to more than one person, and instead of it being a disaster, it was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time.

He found her already at her desk with a cup of coffee and an amused expression.

"Morning," he said, and his voice definitely didn't crack.

"Morning, Clark." There was something in her tone, something warm and knowing, that made him flush.

"Did you…" He glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "Did you get home okay?"

"Yeah, I got home fine." She took a sip of her coffee, eyes dancing with mischief. "Slept great, actually."

His face went red. "That's… good. I'm glad."

"You're blushing."

"I'm not—" He absolutely was. "It's just warm in here."

"It's sixty-eight degrees, Clark."

"I run hot."

"I'm aware." The smirk on her face was going to be the death of him. "Very aware."

He sat down at his desk before his legs gave out, trying desperately to look like a normal person doing normal work and not someone who'd spent most of Sunday night replaying Friday night (and Saturday morning, afternoon, and night) in his head.

She swiveled her chair to face him, coffee cradled in her hands, looking completely relaxed. "So I was thinking we could work on that piece about the new community center in Southside."

"Yeah. That sounds…" He was staring at her mouth. Stop staring at her mouth. "That sounds good."

"You okay? You seem distracted."

"I'm fine. Just… thinking."

"About?"

About how you'd look in my bed. About the sounds you made. About whether anyone would notice if I kissed you right now.

"Work," he said weakly. "Just work stuff."

She hummed, clearly not buying it, but mercifully let it drop.

They worked in comfortable silence for a while, the easy rhythm they'd developed over the weekend carrying over into the office. Clark found himself smiling for no reason, catching her eye across their desks and feeling warmth spread through his chest.

Around ten-thirty, Jimmy walked by their desks and stopped, doing a double-take.

"Whoa," he said. "What's going on with you two?"

Clark looked up. "What do you mean?"

"You're…" Jimmy gestured between them. "I don't know, different. You're both smiling. And last week you could barely look at each other without it being awkward."

"We're just working," Y/N said casually, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Uh-huh." Jimmy didn't look convinced. He leaned against Clark's desk. "Clark, you're like, actually happy. And you—" He pointed at Y/N. "You're being nice to him. Last week you looked at him like you wanted to drop a filing cabinet on his head."

"That's a very specific image," she said.

"I pay attention." Jimmy crossed his arms. "So what changed?"

Clark's face heated. He opened his mouth but no words came out. His brain was completely unhelpful, supplying only images from Friday night that were absolutely not appropriate for the workplace.

"We're friends now," Y/N said smoothly, setting down her coffee. "We just needed to get to know each other better."

"Friends," Jimmy repeated, looking skeptical.

"Yes. Friends." She smiled at him, all innocence. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"I guess not." Jimmy still looked suspicious, but he shrugged. "Well, it's good. The tension was getting uncomfortable. Lois kept making comments."

"Speaking of Lois," Lois's voice cut in. She appeared beside Jimmy, eyebrows raised. "What's this about you two being friends now?"

Clark wanted to sink through the floor. Lois had a nose for secrets, and she was looking at them with the same expression she got when she was onto a story.

"Just what I said," Y/N replied, completely unruffled. "Clark and I got off on the wrong foot last week. We talked, cleared the air, and now we're friends."

"Talked." Lois's eyes narrowed. "When did you talk?"

"Friday evening," Y/N said. "We were both working late."

"How late?"

"Does it matter?" Y/N's tone was pleasant, but there was a hint of steel underneath.

Lois studied them both for a long moment. Clark tried to look normal and knew he was failing miserably. His face was red, his collar suddenly felt too tight, and he couldn't seem to make eye contact with anyone.

Finally, Lois smiled. "Good. I'm glad you two worked things out. It was getting painful to watch."

She walked away, but not before shooting Clark a look that clearly said I'm onto you.

Jimmy lingered for another moment. "Seriously though, what happened? Clark, you look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," Clark managed. "Just… caffeinated."

"You haven't touched your coffee."

"Internal caffeine."

"That's not a thing."

"It is for me."

Jimmy gave him a weird look but eventually wandered back to his own desk. When he was gone, Clark let out a breath and looked at Y/N.

She was grinning at him, clearly amused by his discomfort.

"You're enjoying this," he accused quietly.

"Immensely." She leaned closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "You're a terrible liar, by the way. Your face gives everything away."

"I know," he muttered.

"It's cute."

His face got impossibly redder. She laughed softly and turned back to her computer, leaving Clark to try to remember how to breathe normally.

He caught Lois watching them from across the bullpen, her expression thoughtful. She'd figured something out. Maybe not everything, but enough.

Clark tried to focus on his work, but it was difficult when all he could think about was the woman sitting next to him.

He glanced at her, found her already looking at him, and smiled.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics), Batman: Wayne Family Adventures (Webcomic) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent/Damian Wayne Characters: Batfamily Members (DCU), Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Damian Wayne, Jonathan Kent, Jonathan Samuel Kent, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake (DCU), Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Crack, Humor, Fluff and Crack, Romantic Comedy, Batfamily Shenanigans (DCU), Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Idiots in Love, Love confessions via felony, Courtship Gone Wrong, Competitive Flirting, bat-signal misuse, (but make it romantic), Gotham was not ready, Dick Grayson Ships It, Alfred Pennyworth Deserves a Raise, Jason Todd provides commentary, Tim drake finds blackmail, Fictober 2025 Summary:

clark gifts Bruce an entire tree. Bruce counterattacks with a rooftop dinner; violin included. Jon notes and decides to ”out-romance” them both and Damian might never emotionally recover.

The Batfamily is there for the drama.

Chaos and felonies ensue.

Can’t rely on Martian Manhunter every time, right?

the Marvel treatment being basically writing a man and then giving the role to a woman. it's not subversive. it's not a strong female character. it's a rather sexist way of writing women, actually. bc it erases feminity.