Dalliance
(n.) a casual, yet playful conversation that may lead to romance
Pairing: David! Clark Kent x fem! reader
Sum: The new journalist from Central City is a ray of sunshine whose smile can make even Lex Luthor spill his deepest secrets, and Clark Kent finds himself intrigued. How does she do it?
No, seriously, how does she do it?
or in which
You find yourself in a pickle after you ask Lex Luthor a question during an interview regarding his latest spat with Superman.
Word count: 4446 (give or take lmao)
Warnings: Fluff, banter, mild violence, Luthor being his own self (he deserves his own warning tag), Lois, Jimmy, and Cat bet on you and Clark, so ig gambling? (Is it gambling? idk) Secret Identity reveal (you are a smart cookie), mild violence, Luthor threatens SOME GUY with a gun?, IDK I'm terrible at tagging, Clark is whipped
a/n: I, like you all, have not stopped thinking about the movie since I watched it and just had to add my own bit to the sudden uptick in Clark fics (which, by the way, is NOT slowing down, guys; please calm down; I can't read all ur fics that fast, but also, keep 'em coming).
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☆ Clark Kent finds himself gravitating towards you.
He couldn’t help himself. He tried. God, he really tried.
You arrived from Central City after Perry singled out one of your columns in the Central City Citizen on the reach and power Luthor held within the government.
Clark had read the article after Perry raved on about it, of course. He saw how you singled out Luthor and his known associates, and uncovered his hidden ones as well.
Ever since you arrived from Central City, Clark—both as a citizen of Metropolis and its protector, Superman—has seen a subtle increase in the security of major businesses that had known shady dealings, and a decrease in interviews and tours by said companies, LexCorp being just one of many.
So he found himself drawn to you. Call it a journalist's instinct or a superhero's one, but Clark really couldn’t help but think that you were hiding something.
He wanted to get close to you, but every time he found himself in your presence, he got loose-lipped, unable to lie or even give you a half-truth. He would answer each of your questions with unwavering truth.
Maybe that was why he tried and failed to keep his distance. He couldn’t control what he was saying around you. He knew you had powers; no, he didn't; he just couldn't prove it.
But seriously, how else would you be able to do what you do?
To get that type of information, you had to have something working on your side, and Clark was determined to figure out what it was. Despite his ongoing dilemma about you and your powers (you totally had them), he found himself genuinely admiring both you and your work.
Clark wasn't blind; heck, he didn't even need to wear glasses, and he wasn't ignorant. You were beautiful. From your smile to the way you carried yourself, you not only drew attention, you commanded it.
Maybe that's why he was staring at you again, as you sat working at your desk, which was conveniently placed directly in his line of sight from his desk.
"Hey man," Jimmy said, breaking him out of his thoughts. "You look like you are about to shoot lasers out of your eyes. I think she's going to notice you staring right at her."
"I'm not staring at her," Clark huffs, forcing himself to look away from you. "I was staring at the... sunset."
"The sunset?" Jimmy repeats as he looks in the same direction as Clark. "You mean the same sunset that building is blocking? You sure you weren't staring at the desk directly in our line of sight?"
"Yep. Sunsets look so pretty this time of day."
"Okayyy," Jimmy said, squinting at him. "I'm gonna go enjoy the sunset on my drive home. Where I can actually see the sunset and not a building and not be a creep and stare at my crush."
"I'm not a creep," Clark defends himself. "And I wasn't staring. And she's not my crush!"
"Uh-huh, whatever you say. Watch out, Loverboy, here she comes."
"What?"
“Hi, Clark! Hey Jimmy!”
Clark blinks, tearing his eyes away from Jimmy to find you standing in front of him.
"Hi," Jimmy greets. "Bye."
"Going home already?" You question. "You had the biggest stack of work on your desk this morning."
"What can I say? I'm as fast as the Flash."
You laugh, and the air around you seems to shift, and an aura of gold shines around you, but Clark knew it was just the last rays of the setting sun streaming through the windows.
You and Clark wave goodbye as Jimmy leaves.
"So," you said. "Whatcha 'doing, Clark?"
“Thinking about you,” Clark answers before he can stop himself. Gosh darn it. He had to get a filter for his darn mouth.
"Really?" you smile. “What about me?”
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“How does everyone you ask tell you exactly what you want to know? How do you find your sources? How do you know what you know?”
"It's my superpower," you answer, eyes glinting mischievously. "I'm kidding. I smile, ask nicely, and say please. Sometimes I add a cherry on top, you know, for extra pzazz."
Clark feels the corner of his lip quirk up. "Pzazz?"
"Pzazz," you nod seriously. “Anyways, I saw your article about Superman.”
“You like it?”
You tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “I suppose it met my standards. Although I might be biased since I'm a fan of our resident Kryptonian.”
Clark blushes, the tips of his ears going red. “Well, that’s a relief. That you liked my article and Superman.”
“How could I not like the guy?” you said. "Anyways, you have been sitting at your desk since before lunch. Want to grab a bite?”
“Food? With you? Like now?”
“No, on August 29th,” you deadpan. “Yes, Clark. Food with me, now. I swear we go through different variations of this conversation every time I ask you.”
Clark pushes his glasses up his face. "Do we? Sure, we can go eat."
"Yes, and you don't sound sure," you frown. "You don't have to say yes just because I asked. If you're busy, then—"
"No! I mean, yes, I'm busy, but it's nothing I can't do at home. I would love to grab a bite with you now."
You grin, aura sparking gold again.
"Yay! Let's go, slowpoke. I found this place not too far from here. The food is so good, it should be a crime."
"You have yet to give a bad recommendation," Clark grins, offering you his elbow. "So I place my faith in you once again, master."
"I shall ensure your faith is not misplaced, young padawan."
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Jimmy, Lois, and Cat stare at the duo across the office.
"They had a date last night," Lois comments.
"It was a date?" Jimmy asks. "Clark said she wanted to grab something to eat together like they always do."
"Two people eating together at a restaurant and arguing over who gets to pay the bill is a date, Jimmy."
"Oh," Jimmy winces. "Remind me to make a call later."
Lois rolls her eyes, already used to his antics. "Ten bucks says they start going out by the end of the year."
"Twenty says by the end of the month," Jimmy bets.
Cat raises her brow. "Amateurs."
"Oh, and what does the fabulous Ms. Grant think?" Lois questions.
"Fifty," Cat smirks. "That they get together by the end of the week. He's going to be the one to ask her out."
"No way," Jimmy scoffs. "She will make the first move, guaranteed."
"I'm with Jimmy," Lois agrees. "I don't think Clark has it in him, especially by the end of the week."
The trio stare as Clark trips over thin air and drops some files to help you fix the printer.
"Actually," Lois hums in thought. "Cat might be right."
"Of course I am," Cat said smugly. "Like I said, amateurs."
"Nah, I still think the end of the week is too soon," Jimmy argues.
Lois nods.
"You two better get your wallets ready," Cat smirks as she walks away. "I'm never wrong about things like this!"
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You usually don't end up in situations like this.
You were careful, borderline paranoid, about your safety. Always making sure to ask your questions, but not too many of them.
But alas, here you are, in a room, tied to a chair, hands tied to the back, ropes digging into your wrist after you asked the one question Luthor supposedly drew the line at.
Ask him about his company? Go ahead.
Ask about his shady business ventures? Tricky territory, but you always navigate it with finesse.
Ask about his latest spat with Superman? Nope, get knocked out by security. Although, in all fairness, you knew Superman was a touchy subject for the billionaire.
You grumbled under your breath, "Stupid males and their stupid pride."
You turn your head, watching him as the door closes behind him with a soft click.
"Your questions," Luthor continues. "Are always oddly specific. Always direct, with little wiggle room."
You smile. "I do my research before my interview, Mr. Luthor. It's my job."
"I admit some of them... I don't wish to answer, at least not truthfully, and yet, yet, I always answer them with nothing but the truth. I can't even get by with a half-lie. You want to know what I think?"
"I'm always thankful, and I do love hearing you talk, Mr. Luthor."
"There is more to you than what meets the eye. Bring him in."
You flinch as the door bangs open and a guard hauls someone into the room, dropping him at your feet. Even through his busted lip and swollen eye, through all the bruises marring his skin, you recognise him. You know him and you know him well.
In front of you was your source inside Lexcorp.
You must do a good job at hiding all signs of dread, worry, guilt and recognition from your face because Luthor doesn't comment.
"This is David," Luthor introduces. "I want you to ask him a couple of questions for me."
"Me?" you said. "I've never met this man before in my life, Mr. Luthor. So, with all due respect, I think you should be the one asking the questions."
Luthor glares, eyes locked on yours. "Ask him his name."
"I already know his name. David."
"Ask him for his full name."
"His full name," Luthor grits out.
"What's your full name?" you ask again, correcting yourself.
The man at your feet glares at Luthor and stays silent. Luthor's glare turns lethal.
"Why isn't he answering?"
"He doesn't seem to want to tell me," you shrug. "Shame."
"I'm in no mood for games." Luthor grips your hair, yanking your head back. "Question him properly!"
"I asked him exactly how you instructed." You wince as his grip tightens in your hair. "He doesn't want to tell me."
"No!" Luthor yells. "I know you can make him tell you!"
"I can't make anyone do anything!" you shout.
"You have magic," Luthor hissed in your ear, "or you're an alien. That is a fact. You can ask someone a question, any question, and they will answer it with nothing but the truth."
"Then why didn't he answer?" you argue. "Why didn't our friend David answer me?"
Luthor lets go of your hair, shoving your head away, and pulls out a gun. Your breath quickens. Shit.
"What are you doing?"
"Make him answer your question," Luthor said, aiming the gun at David's head. "Or I kill him."
"What?"
"Ask him the question again."
"You are going to kill him over a name? Are you insane?"
"Ask him."
Shit, shit, shit.
You feel the now familiar sensation work its way through you. You feel sparks ignite at your fingertips, see colours swirl around David and Luthor's heads, and the world slows down a fraction of a second.
You weren't going to be the reason David dies today. He has a family, three kids, two boys and a baby girl. You aren't going to be the reason they grow up without their father.
You lick your lips and open your mouth. "What is your—"
You don't get to finish your question.
One second, you are about to give yourself away, and the next, the wall behind Luthor explodes. You duck your head, close your eyes, and turn yourself away from the explosion as much as you physically can.
You look up as the dust begins to settle, only to be met with red and blue.
You haven't been living in Metropolis long, but you knew your way around heroes. Central City had The Flash, and Metropolis had him.
Superman.
You don't know what happened to Luthor, only that there was no longer a gun aimed at David's head. Superman walks around your chair and undoes the rope tying you to the chair.
You fall to your knees beside David.
"Oh my god," you said. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
"Don't start," David groans. "I knew what I was getting into. And hey, I'm not dead, you aren't dead. It all worked out in the end."
"I wasn't going to let him shoot you," you mutter.
"I know," David smiles at you before grimacing. "Ow, smiling hurts."
"I would assume so, your lip is busted."
"That would explain it."
You move to help him stand, but are stopped when a gentle hand settles on your shoulder.
"It's alright," Superman assures you. "I've got him. I'll be right back."
Before you can get out a word, Superman hoists David up and flies out of the room. You look around the room and see Luthor and his guard slumped against a wall.
You walk over to the door and stick your head out, checking the hallways.
A small grin works its way onto your face.
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Clark returns to the room he had left you in, only to find you missing.
His eyebrows furrow as he concentrates on you, more specifically, your heartbeat. No, he hasn't memorised it. He definitely has.
You are still in the building; in fact, you're not very far away at all. He walks to the end of the hallway and stares as you scroll through the computer in Lex Luthor's office while muttering to yourself.
He sighs. He really should have known you wouldn't stay put.
"You are aware that what you are doing is illegal, ma'am?" he questioned.
Your hands pause, and you look over the screen to see him standing there.
"Mr Luthor gave me permission," you said, giving him one of your false smiles. "It came with the interview."
He raised his brow. "Are you sure?"
"Quite," you answer. Clark keeps staring until you start pouting. "Fine. I'll stop. I can't help it, journalist's curiosity."
"I understand." He walks forward and holds out his hand. “Shall we leave?”
“Are you offering to walk me home?”
“Yes,” Superman said, words flowing out of his mouth before he could stop them.
Your lips quirk up. “Thanks, but I think I’m going to call my friend, Clark. Wait, you know Clark, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Superman nods. “He’s my go-to interview guy. Well, I should go. Since you are calling him. Bye.”
He doesn’t stay a moment longer, flying away. You blink at his abrupt exit, then shrug. Men.
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You stand in front of LexCorp, waiting for Clark to show up.
You had called him the moment you were out of the building, and he had said he would be there in about five minutes.
Clark, true to his word, appears exactly five minutes after you call him. You stop him before he spots you, although it was hard not to find him since he towered over almost everyone. You smile, waving at him.
"Hey," Clark greets, offering you his elbow. "You okay? I heard about what happened. Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine." You loop your arms together. "Nothing to worry about."
Clark frowns, spotting the bruises on your wrists.
"Clark," you said. "Really, I'm fine, I promise. Although..."
"What? You are hurt, aren't you? I knew it."
You roll your eyes. "I was going to say I am hungry, Clark."
"Oh," Clark places his free hand over his heart and sighs in relief. "You scared me. What you wanna eat?"
"I don't know," you frown. "But I've got a craving for something homemade."
"You could come over to my place," he suggests. "I could cook something. I live close by."
"You would cook for me?" you ask, eyes sparking. "Do you season your food?"
"Don't be silly. Of course I season my food!"
Arms looped, Clark guides you on your way to his apartment, listening as you talk about the dishes your father taught you to make, and how he drilled the names of hundreds of seasonings into your head by the time you graduated high school.
Every time you laugh, Clark spots the familiar golden glow around you. The two of you stop in front of his apartment, and you laugh at one of his comments, and the aura around you burned so brightly it made him pause. You come to a stop beside him as you begin to rant about a new bakery you want to visit with him soon.
"You're glowing," Clark mutters.
"Hm?" You blink up at him, not having heard what he said. "What did you say?"
Clark shakes his head, moving you, so he opens the door for you. "Nothing, what were you saying about the new bakery? It's this elevator."
You backtrack to the elevator you walked past.
"Oh, they have these superhero-themed doughnuts we need to try," you said as you entered the elevator that Clark held open for you. "Personally, the Batman one looks like everything I have ever wanted in a doughnut. I bet you would like the Superman one."
"Uh, huh," Clark said, pressing his floor number. "And why is that?"
"The blue icing reminds me of your eyes," you said offhandedly as the two of you walked out of the elevator, and you waited for Clark to open the door. "You live on the top floors?"
"Yeah, and my eyes remind you of doughnuts?"
"Mhm, the Superman one."
Clark chuckles, unlocking the door. "Should I be flattered?"
"Of course, you should! It's a great honour being compared to a doughnut."
"I'll take it," Clark grins. "Make yourself at home. I'll cook something quick. How do you feel about pasta?"
"I could have it every day for a month-no, a year, and still I wouldn’t be sick of it,” you answer. “Can I sit on the counter?"
“I didn’t realise you were such a big pasta fan,” Clark said. “I did say make yourself at home.”
You jump up onto his counter and swing your legs, watching him weave through his kitchen, “It’s my favourite thing ever. I love it more than life.”
Clark laughs, and you both fall into a calm silence.
“Hey?” Clark said. “What were you doing at Lexcorp anyway?”
“An interview,” you sigh. “Although it seemed I was the interviewee, not the interviewer.”
Clark frowns. “What did he want?”
“He wanted me to ask David some questions,” you shrug. “I said no, he got iffy, Superman saved us, I snooped, I left, and now here we are.”
“David?”
“Luthor introduced us; he seemed like a poor guy.”
“You don’t know him then?”
You look at Clark and raise your eyebrow. “An answer for an answer.”
Clark weighs his options. “Okay. Did you know him?”
“He’s my source,” you answer. “Why do you wear glasses? You don’t need them.
“It helps the strain after staring at a screen all day. What did you find out when you snooped?”
“Nothing I didn’t already know,” you pout. “I was interrupted. Who taught you to cook?”
“My Ma. Why did Luthor want you to ask the questions?”
“Because I have powers,” you answer like it's nothing. “When were you-”
“I knew it!” Clark said, whirling around, holding his wooden spoon in the air. You blink as a dollop of the pasta sauce lands on your cheek. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
You lift a finger, cleaning your cheek and bringing it to your mouth to taste. Your eyebrows raise in surprise.
“This is really good!”
“Thanks,” Clark said, grabbing a tissue and handing it to you so you could clean your cheek properly. “Wait, you just told me you have powers. Why tell- ”
“Let me stop you there,” you cut him off. “It’s my turn for an answer.”
Clark opens then closes his mouth and nods.
“So,” you muse. “When were you going to tell me you were Superman?”
Clark chokes on air. “What?”
“You are Superman,” you said. “An alien. And I’m a meta. Go figure.”
“You- how? Why? When did you- What is going on?” Clark stumbles over his words, mind working overtime, trying to figure out what was happening.
You watch as he mutters to himself, trying to make sense of your sudden drop in information.
“Clark?”
He lets out a distracted hum.
“You better not burn that pasta sauce. I will riot.”
You grin as Clark whirls back around to the bubbling pot of sauce, turns off the fire and sets it aside.
“How do you like it?” Clark asks. “The pasta sauce. Mixed or on top?”
“You can mix it up,” you said, jumping off the counter. “Where are your plates?”
“I’ll do it. Go sit at the table.”
“But-”
“Go.”
“I was going to say I wanted to sit on the couch.”
“Oh, we can sit there if you like.”
“I’ll get the plates-”
“Go.”
“Fine.” You pout, but make your way over to the couch and sit down.
“So, Superman,” You look him up and down. "I heard you have a place in Antarctica. Is that true?"
“The fortress? Yeah. How do your powers work?”
“I ask a question and get an answer. More specific questions mean fewer chances of half-truths. I can turn it off and on. You have a dog?”
“Krypto,” Clark answers. “Technically, my cousin’s dog. So not every question you ask is powered?”
“Yep. You have a cousin?”
Clark nods. “Kara.”
“Oh, I love that name,” you said. “You know, I had a dog named Kara.”
Clark places a plate of pasta in front of you. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, she's dead now, but like I thought, it was funny.”
“You thought your dog dying was funny?” Clark said, confused.
“No! I meant you have a cousin named Kara who has a dog, and I had a dog named Kara…” you trail off, wincing. “You know, now that I'm saying this out loud, it doesn’t sound that funny.”
Clark chuckles. “It’s one of those only funny inside your head things. How did you- You seem to be enjoying the food.”
Your cheek is puffed from the amount of pasta, and you quickly chew and swallow. “I love pasta.”
“If I doubted you before, I don’t now.”
The two of you finish eating in silence, Clark looking up from his food occasionally to see you wiggling your shoulders every time you take a bite. His mind flashes back to the first time the two of you had gone out for lunch and how you told him that you tend to do a little shimmy every time you enjoy eating your food. It had been one of the habits your mother tried and failed to stop, but your father loved.
“So,” you said, as you both finished eating. “When are you planning on asking me out?”
Clark splutters. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Saying stuff like that out of the blue. Give a guy some warning.”
“Okay,” you nod. “This is your warning. When are you going to ask me out?”
Clark gives you a look.
“What? I gave you a warning! Answer the question, Superman. When are you going to ask me out?”
“How did you get your powers?
“It’s a recessive gene passed through my father’s line. My grandma had it, it skipped my dad and his siblings, and I got it. It tends to skip a few generations, so grandma found it weird that I got it. My mum doesn't know about it. The powers.”
“How?” Clark questions. “Wouldn’t she realise?”
You shrug. “My mum’s a boy mum. She always preferred my brother to me. She never paid attention, so my grandma and dad never told her.”
“Why-”
You reach and put your hand over his mouth. “Nuh-uh. The deal was an answer for an answer. I’ve given you two answers; you owe me two.”
Clark sighs, moving your hand from his mouth but keeping it in his.
“I was going to ask you out…eventually.”
“And when exactly would eventually be?”
“When I worked up some courage to ask.”
“You needed to work up courage?”
Clark nods, gaze holding yours. “When it comes to you, yes.”
You feel your face flush as you tease him. “You like me that much?”
“I like you as much as you like pasta.”
“Impossible,” you snort. “Pasta is the epitome of all things, and if I could, I would have married it.”
Clark laughs at that. “Well, then almost as much. Although I think you bruised my ego a little by choosing pasta over me.”
“Men are temporary, pasta is forever.”
“Can I quote that?”
“Stop it.” You slap his arm as you laugh.
“My newest article,” Clark grins as you continue to hit his arm. “Superman: Rejected for Pasta.”
Between all the teasing and laughter, Clark had refused to let go of your hand, and the two of you hands drifted together, thighs touching, face a breath away from each other.
As your laughter dies down, you realise just how close you are to him, and your breath hitches as you look at him.
“How much do you want to kiss me right now?” you ask.
“More than life,” Clark whispers. His eyes flicker above your head, and his lip quirks up.
“What are you looking at?”
“You,” Clark answers, hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb ghosting over your lower lip before he leans in.
The moment his lips touch yours, your heart skips a couple of beats, explosions erupt, and your eyes flutter close, hand coming up to fist his shirt. The kiss was soft, warm, and gentle in a way you had never experienced. He kissed you like you were a dream, and he didn’t believe this was happening.
Your nose bumps his when you tilt your head to go deeper, but Clark pulls back. Foreheads touching, you open your eyes, taking him in. His eyes have darkened, pupils over taking the blue in his eyes like storm clouds.
He leans in to kiss you again, and again, and again. Short and sweet in a way that makes you smile against his lips before finally, he kisses you like a drowning man needs air. You don’t know how much time passes, you two wrapped up in each other, the world fading into the background, but when you finally break apart and you know it’s over. You know you are never going to be able to live without this-without him- ever again.
“You know,” you said, attempting to catch your breath. “This means you are stuck with me now. Maybe forever.”
Clark smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“Forever sounds nice.”
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