ENEMIES

by pascaloverx

Summary:

You are an anti-heroine, forged by corporate experiments and gifted with extraordinary abilities. Living outside the law in Metropolis, you steal from the powerful to serve your own sense of justice. When your path collides with Superman, a complicated bond forms, built on tension, attraction and a secret pact that ties you to the man who should be your greatest enemy.

Notes:

Author's note: Yes, I just watched the new Superman movie. I don't know if this fanfic will continue, and I’m not sure if anyone will even like it. Reblog or like this fanfic if you want it to go on, and feel free to leave comments.

Chapter 1: PREVIEW

PREVIEW

It's not enough that damned hero came after you—he also managed to tear your suit. Your parents let a billion-dollar company experiment on you, turning you into a weapon. Super strength, agility beyond anyone else’s, a remarkable intellect that allows you to break into places with little effort, and most of your body is resistant to pain.

You can still get hurt, and you have to design your own gear, but you use the gifts you have in service of what you believe is right. And that means breaking into the homes and corporations of the ultra-wealthy and stealing from them—to share the wealth with yourself and those in need.

“Son of a bitch!” you shout as you try to recover from yet another clash with the so-called savior of the world—Superman. You had been breaking into the company of some millionaire, far from where Superman usually patrols, and the idiot came after you like a damn bloodhound.

“Is that the mouth you kiss your mother with?” You hear the voice of the man you see almost every day. When he’s not playing the hot nerd at the Daily Planet or pretending to be the nation’s caped savior, he’s out here disturbing your peace.

“Good to know you don’t know everything about me, since you’re suggesting I kiss a corpse,” you say as you finish climbing the stairs to your apartment. And there he is—Clark Kent, with his nerdy glasses and an awkward expression on his face.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Clark says softly, with a tone of regret that almost sounds sincere. Even behind the glasses, that sentimental look of his is impossible to miss.

“If you’re really that sorry, stop making me work at the Daily Planet and let me go back to being just the villain you pretend to defeat,” you murmur, stepping closer to him as you catch your breath and inhale the scent of his sweat. For some reason, his scent has become your weakness. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes, and it’s as if you can sense every place Clark has been, every feeling he’s ever had.

“You’re doing it again,” Clark whispers, standing still, allowing you to get far too close. You take a step back and nearly stumble on the stair, but Clark catches you by the waist in a flash.

“And you’re doing that thing again—trying to play the hero with me,” you say, steadying yourself, though you’re still far too close to him, his arms around you and your fingers resting against his chest.

“Someone’s coming our way,” Clark warns, but you’re too distracted by his lips for a moment—until your senses snap back. You quickly fake a kiss, brushing your lips near his and pushing him gently against your door.

Your neighbor comes down the stairs and lets out a disapproving grunt at what he assumes is just two adults getting handsy in the hallway.

“You didn’t really have to do that,” Clark murmurs, the two of you still tangled together. His warm breath brushes against your face as he stares at you, and his scent floods your senses, revealing more than he realizes. Just before your fight about an hour ago, he’d had pizza—probably not alone. Most likely with Miss Lane and that awkward Olsen kid.

“And let someone suspect that the polite reporter Clark Kent is standing outside the apartment of a co-worker who isn’t his girlfriend?” you reply, preparing to use your powers.

A harmless detail: you can phase through structures. You glance around to make sure no one’s watching, then grip Kent tightly—and phase the two of you straight through the door into your apartment.

“How did you…? Shit, you walk through walls and doors? Holy hell!” Clark exclaims, stepping back and running his hands over himself in disbelief.

“And Lois and I aren’t dating—at least, not anymore,” he finishes, and you can see how much that stings. You glance at him, and for a moment, he looks like a lost puppy left behind after the move.

“I can’t believe you’re swearing in front of me,” you say, feigning shock—though part of you is still reeling from the realization that Metropolis’s number one boy scout is single. Not that it’s your business, but still… interesting.

“I’m sorry about you and Lois. You two were such an obnoxiously perfect couple, it actually made me nauseous,” you add, placing your hand on his head and giving him a little pat like he’s some overgrown golden retriever.

“Thanks for the sympathy,” Clark replies, catching your hand. “But if you really feel that bad, stop committing crimes and become a full-time reporter. I promise I’ll try not to make you sick.” He notices the cut on your hand and gently pulls it closer to examine. But you pull back, hiding your hand behind your back.

“You know I can’t stop. Not while people like Lex Luthor walk free. Not while the one responsible for my parents’ death—and for what I’ve become—still hasn’t paid,” you say, taking a step back. Clark’s expression shifts. He looks genuinely concerned.

“You want to stop them by becoming just like them?” Clark asks, looking you in the eyes—not with anger, but with something between pity and quiet judgment. You smile bitterly. For a second, you actually thought Mr. Perfect might understand.

“If you really think I’m like them, don’t waste any more time and arrest me,” you snap, your patience wearing thin. There’s a sharp edge of hatred in your gaze, and Clark feels it.

“That’s not what I meant, Y/N,” he says softly, using every ounce of empathy that exists in that Kryptonian heart of his.

“Do us both a favor and get out, Kent,” you mutter, pointing toward the door. “And don’t worry. Our deal still stands. I’ll keep working at the Daily Planet, feeding intel on the bad guys I dig up, and you won’t throw me in a cell. And yes, your little secret’s safe with me.”

You hold his gaze. His impossibly blue eyes—if you stare long enough—start to look like something between the ocean and the sky on a quiet, cloudless day.

“Even so, you’re here. Letting me into your home. Not telling your bandit friends that you know exactly who Superman is. You even agreed to work in the same place as me and live this double life,” Clark says calmly, his tone full of quiet conviction. “From where I stand, it looks like you’re trying to convince yourself that there’s only darkness in you. But that’s not what I see.”

You try not to take his words seriously. He always sees the good in things, and that relentless optimism of his drives you mad.

“Might want to see an eye doctor and get those glasses adjusted. Don’t make me say it again. Leave.” You give him a final warning, your voice sharp.

At the same time, you finally feel one of your ribs beginning to mend. Your body takes its time healing, especially when the damage is from Clark. You still don’t understand why that is, but you hope to one day.

“I'm not your enemy,” Clark says as he steps even closer, his presence heavy and unshakable. You're pressed against the door now, the space between you growing dangerously small.

Your eyes trace the lines of his face, studying him like a map to someplace unfamiliar. The way he looks at you—it’s disarming. There’s something in his gaze that makes you feel seen, maybe even understood. But you remind yourself, he probably looks at every so-called villain that way. Always searching for redemption in places where it doesn’t belong.

“Then know this, Mr. Kent,” you whisper, your voice calm, deliberate. “I am your enemy.” The words hang in the air like a challenge. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, his hand lifts, almost as if he means to touch your face. Perhaps to soften the moment. Perhaps to stop you. But you move faster.

Gripping his shirt, you twist your body with precision and force, throwing him clean through the open window behind him. The wind rushes in, sharp and sudden, swallowing the sound of his body cutting through the air. You stay there, breathing hard, your heart steady despite the adrenaline. The curtains settle slowly behind you, swaying with the breeze. You don’t watch him fall. You don’t need to. Not only that, but you know he’ll catch himself. He always does.

 

Chapter 2: ONE

Summary:

You are an anti-heroine, forged by corporate experiments and gifted with extraordinary abilities. Living outside the law in Metropolis, you steal from the powerful to serve your own sense of justice. When your path collides with Superman, a complicated bond forms, built on tension, attraction and a secret pact that ties you to the man who should be your greatest enemy.

Notes:

Author's note: Yes, I just watched the new Superman movie. I don't know if this fanfic will continue, and I’m not sure if anyone will even like it. Reblog or like this fanfic if you want it to go on, and feel free to leave comments.

ONE

Another day begins the moment the first ray of sunlight touches your face. You shower to the background noise of the police channel you hacked some time ago and get ready to play the part of a reporter. The drive to the Daily Planet is quick—you take your car. On the way, you notice a man drop his briefcase on the sidewalk.

“Mr. Kent, so early in the morning and already losing your balance?” you say as you slowly drive past the street where Clark is crouched down, gathering the papers that spilled from his briefcase. He gives an awkward smile as he finishes picking everything up and glances in your direction.

“Accidents always seem to happen when I miss my morning coffee, apparently,” Clark says, standing upright and adjusting his briefcase. He looks at you like he’s genuinely glad to see you.

You watch him, silently wondering what it must be like to spend part of the day as a clumsy reporter and the other as a near-invincible superhero.

“I have an extra coffee in the car, if you're interested,” you murmur, unsure of how you want to come across—honestly, you're not even sure yourself.

“Is that your way of offering me a ride?” Clark asks as he makes his way toward your car, weaving through the morning crowd filling the street, each person heading somewhere with purpose. He adjusts his glasses, and you stop the car, unlocking the passenger door for him.

“Yes. Would you prefer a formal invitation to accompany me to our shared workplace, or is this satisfactory?” you ask as he slips into the seat and fastens his seatbelt.

Before turning your attention back to the road, you reach for the extra cup of coffee you had resting securely in the holder between the seats and place it in his hands.

“You really shouldn't accept a drink so easily from someone you don’t trust,” you say as you steer the car back onto the road, continuing the drive to the Daily Planet.

“That’s great advice. Do you usually give it to people you claim not to care whether they live or die?” Clark asks, taking a sip of the coffee you handed him. He seems a little too pleased with himself.

“I’m just being practical. If you go around playing the naive one with every villain you meet, you’re going to end up dead. And if you die, who’s going to clear my competition off the streets?” you say calmly, then glance over and smile at him. Clark doesn’t seem entirely convinced.

"I need a favor, since you're being so generous this fine morning," Clark says between sips of coffee.

"Finally going to ask for help with your wardrobe? Because I'm fully available," you reply with a touch of sarcasm as you pull into the Daily Planet's parking lot.

"I need you to interview Superman," he says casually, as if it were just a formality, something trivial.

"Absolutely not. First of all, the right person for that would be Lois. And second, we both know there can’t be any connection between me and Superman. Ever," you respond, your voice rising more than you intended.

The truth is, any connection between you and a superhero could never be safe—neither as a villain nor as a reporter.

"I need someone with personal reasons to question my methods," Clark whispers while the two of you are still inside your car.

"What do you mean by questioning your methods?" you ask as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face him. He unbuckles his as well, mirroring your movement.

"I mean you don’t see me as the guy who saves everyone. Because deep down, you believe I can’t save you. That’s why you’ve been doing a pretty good job avenging yourself—going after those who wronged you," Clark says, his gaze locked with yours.

It almost feels like a contest, to see who blinks first. And truth be told, he isn’t entirely wrong.

"Feeling guilty about something, aren’t you?" you ask as you glance at him, noticing his tie is completely crooked.

While he’s still trying to figure out how you knew, you reach out and fix it, redoing the knot. He doesn’t resist—just lets you.

"Our conversation last night, about me comparing you to the people who made you who you are... This morning I found out one of the men I helped put away was killed in prison. The theory is he was some kind of test subject and the whole thing was a cover-up," Clark explains, and you can almost see the weight of guilt pressing down on his broad shoulders.

When you finish tying his tie properly, you catch him looking slightly embarrassed. Your theory? Either the closeness between you or the fact that he knows he crossed a line comparing you to other villains is making the man known for being stronger than steel blush while holding your gaze.

"Nice way to warn me about a potential death sentence, by the way," you say, realizing that if some powerful corporation is eliminating its test subjects, you could easily be next.

"I wouldn’t say it so calmly if I didn’t know you’d know how to handle yourself if they ever came after you. And I—" You cover Clark’s mouth before he can finish.

"I dare you to finish that sentence, knowing that if you say you're going to protect me, I’ll shove my hand through your chest and rip your heart out," you threaten, and he laughs—as if he’s actually enjoying this.

"Your eyes light up when you threaten to kill me, you know that?" Clark says, as if trying to make you lower your guard.

You smack his arm and then look ahead, lost in thought about his proposal. It might be something you’ll regret.

"Do you say that to every villain you're trying to convince to do something?" you ask in a playful tone, meeting his gaze—almost like a flirt.

"Only the ones who deserve it," Clark replies with an easy smile, and despite his golden retriever charm, there's a glint in his eye that suggests he’s not entirely immune to the tension between you. He’s enjoying this—more than he probably should.

"You’re going to owe me for this," you murmur, stepping a little closer and grabbing his tie with a firm hand. "And you can be certain I’ll collect." Your fingers tighten the knot at his throat just enough to make a point, your eyes locking with his in a silent challenge.

Before he can say anything in return—something clever or infuriating, most likely—a sharp knock interrupts the moment. You both turn to see Jimmy Olsen peering through the window of your car, looking far too amused.

"Are you two together?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

"No!" you and Clark respond in unison, too quickly, too forcefully and far too rehearsed not to sound suspicious.

"I meant arriving at work together," Jimmy added with a grin. "Because if this is some kind of carpool, I want in."

You and Clark exchanged a subtle look of relief before you smiled. "Of course, Olsen. The three of us can totally start commuting together," you said kindly as you adjusted your bag and stepped out of the car.

"I'm just surprised you're here," Jimmy remarked, nodding toward Clark as both of you exited.

"Why's that?" you asked before Clark could respond. They both turned to you, and you gave a slight shrug. "I'm a reporter. Naturally, I'm curious."

Jimmy chuckled. "Apparently there’s an old factory that was filled with secret prisoners. Some rogue scientist was using them for experiments. Sounds like the kind of mess Superman would show up for. And since Clark here always seems to know everything about Superman…”

Your gaze shifted to Clark, fully aware of the excuse he’d have to come up with to slip away. You smirked. “It’s almost like they’ve got some kind of secret affair.”

Jimmy let out a laugh as the three of you walked toward the building’s elevator.

"Even though I’ve never met Superman in person, I don't think Clark’s really his type," Jimmy joked, nudging him lightly.

"People can surprise you, Olsen," you replied with a knowing smirk, stealing a sideways glance at Clark. "Besides, who’s to say Superman doesn’t have a thing for awkward charm and outdated ties?"

"I don’t think it’s fair to talk about Clark like that," Jimmy said with a chuckle. But as he turned to add something in Clark’s direction, he paused, confused. "Wait—where’d he go?"

You glanced around with an innocent shrug. "Probably ran off after his little boyfriend," you said teasingly, then smoothly shifted the subject. "By the way, congrats on that article about LuthorCorp’s shady investments."

Jimmy beamed at the praise. This was usually the part where you managed to act like everything was completely normal.

"Your piece puts mine to shame," he replied as the elevator doors opened on your floor. "That exposé on the secret nighttime activity down at the docks? Pure gold."

You both stepped out into the familiar hum of the bullpen, the sound of ringing phones and fast-typing reporters filling the air once again.

“Does anyone know where Mr. Kent wandered off to?” Perry White asks in his usual authoritative tone, pacing back and forth across the newsroom with visible frustration.

“He went after Superman,” you reply as you and Jimmy make your way to your desks.

“I hope he gets us a real scoop. Apparently, some people are trapped underground, surrounded by a rare type of stone or something,” Lois says, eyes fixed on the news playing across the television screen.

If it’s what you're thinking, Superman won’t be able to save the day.

“I heard there’s some kind of stone—an element—that cancels out Superman’s powers,” Jimmy adds casually, as if he were just making small talk.

“In that case, maybe he should call for backup from that justice group... or is it the Justice Club?” you muse, settling into your chair and watching the live footage near the incident area.

“They seem to be dealing with something out of town,” Jimmy replies, eyes still glued to the TV.

“By the way, congratulations to both of you on your articles,” Lois finally tears her gaze from the screen to look at you and Jimmy.

“A compliment from Lois Lane is more valuable than any award,” you say with a half-smile, rising to get coffee from the machine.

“It’s hard to tell if you’re being serious or sarcastic, but seriously—great articl… wait, what is he doing?” Lois begins to reply but cuts herself off, her attention snapping back to the screen.

It must be difficult for her, watching her ex risking his life in a cape.

Suddenly, your phone buzzes with a new message that makes your breath hitch.

“I need you.” It’s signed with an S. You know exactly who it is.

You reply quickly, “I’m not getting involved.” After all, you’re not a hero, and you have no intention of saving the day.

But the message that comes next makes your hand tighten around the phone.

“They’re going through what your family went through.”

Superman’s words strike a nerve. You pause. Maybe this is your chance to find the ones responsible for the experiment done to you. Maybe you can make sure there won’t be others like you—orphans with powers capable of wiping out small civilizations.

You take a breath, glance around, and murmur, “I’ll be right back. Bathroom." Everyone is too distracted to notice.

“Almost looks like he went to call in reinforcements,” Jimmy comments, still watching the screen beside Lois.

“Don’t you think, Y/N?” he asks, but when he and Lois turn to look for you—

You’re already gone.

“What did I tell you?” Perry White says, appearing behind them with a fresh coffee in hand. “The best reporters don’t ask for permission. They just go.”

Chapter 3: Two

Summary:

You are an anti-heroine, forged by corporate experiments and gifted with extraordinary abilities. Living outside the law in Metropolis, you steal from the powerful to serve your own sense of justice. When your path collides with Superman, a complicated bond forms, built on tension, attraction and a secret pact that ties you to the man who should be your greatest enemy.

Notes:

Author's note: Yes, I just watched the new Superman movie. I don't know if this fanfic will continue, and I’m not sure if anyone will even like it. Give kudos for this fanfic if you want it to go on, and feel free to leave comments.

TWO

You’re already in your villain attire by the time you arrive at the factory, a dark presence settling over you the closer you get. Even from a distance, you can tell something is wrong. The place is surrounded by curious onlookers, whispering in hushed, urgent tones that Superman has been trapped inside for far too long. They say the factory is in the process of self-destructing. Sirens wail in chaotic harmony while police and firefighters scramble to help, their shouts blending with the roar of machinery and the hum of imminent disaster. The whole scene is a tangle of flashing lights, smoke, and noise.

With focused effort, you push past the distractions and force yourself to teleport inside. The jump is rough—teleportation has never been a power you can use without cost. It takes precision, energy, and the will to land exactly where you intend. And right now, every ounce of that will is aimed at getting to him.

“What the hell happened to you?” you ask as soon as you find Clark holding up the factory’s structure, struggling to keep it from collapsing, his body visibly weakened, his face marked with scratches and burns. He almost seems physically aged, the lines around his eyes sharper, his usual vitality dimmed. It’s unsettling to see him like this, so fragile.

“Kryptonite. Looks like there are kryptonite particles in the bombs that are tearing apart the factory. Someone wanted me out of here… wanted me gone,” Clark says, his voice strained, each word carrying the weight of exhaustion. He sways slightly, and you instinctively reach out, steadying him with a hand on his chest.

You study his face, stepping closer, your thumb brushing lightly across a fresh cut on his cheek. “This is killing you, you idiot,” you scold him, giving his arm a sharp smack, though your fingers linger for a moment, betraying your concern.

“Careful… almost sounds like you’re worried about me,” he says, a sly smile playing on his lips despite the weariness in his eyes. He lets his hand brush briefly against yours, a small, intimate gesture that makes your chest tighten.

“I’m actually proud you made it here, even if I have no idea how you managed to get in wearing your anti-heroine outfit,” Clark adds, using his super-speed to lift the other structures around you.

Before you can answer, a chunk of concrete from the structure almost falls on your head. Mr. Smallville catches you by the waist, holding the piece of concrete before it can hit you.

“I hardly think it was necessary to grab me by the waist, let alone show off your powers,” you say, annoyed, pushing him away.

“Some people would just be thankful,” Clark replies, his eyes lingering on you as you bite back a smile.

“I need you to remember who you’re talking to, Superman,” you say, looking at him with reproach as the scent of other people below reaches you. The smell of despair is so overwhelming that it’s almost as if you can see the people trapped down there, crying and trembling.

“Alright, let’s cut the small talk and get to the point. Where are the connections between the poor souls down there and what they did to me and my family?” you demand, stepping closer and rising onto your toes to face him. There’s something he isn’t telling you—you can feel it—but you refuse to jump to conclusions.

“The evidence of the experiments conducted here is down there with them. I can’t go in because it’s filled with kryptonite, that’s why…” Clark explains, his jaw tight, and at this moment, you understand your role in this whole scheme.

“You’re lying and using me,” you say, surprised, almost laughing at your own foolishness. What’s more astonishing is that he actually thought he could deceive you.

“You don’t trust me?” Clark asks, keeping that perfect gentleman posture, as if he could never lie to anyone. That’s his problem—he acts like you matter to him while still lying.

“No. As your enemy, I will never trust you,” you reply. Then you vanish from his sight, teleporting down to the floor below, where a family is trapped. They look like lab rats, mere test subjects.

“Superman?” a little girl, no more than six, whispers at the sight of your shadow.

“I’m offended you mistook me for that pathetic fool, but I’ll let it slide,” you reply, beginning to search for proof that these people were used as test subjects to turn ordinary humans into powerful beings like yourself.

“Ma’am, please help us,” an older man says, looking dehydrated and malnourished. “My wife hasn’t eaten in days,” he adds weakly, touching what seems to be a super-strong glass enclosure surrounding them.

“Before I do anything, tell me what they were doing to you here. Using you as test subjects for experiments?” you ask, your voice firm, yet your eyes scanning every corner of the room for evidence.

“They made us work day and night, without rest, searching for this stone that weakens Superman,” the man says, crying, chained next to his unconscious wife.

As you suspected, Clark Kent lied to you. And he used you. Your instincts were right, and it infuriates you.

“So no one actually experimented on you?” you ask, beginning to wonder if coming to the factory was even the right choice. What did you expect, after all? That Superman would suddenly stop deceiving you just because being here challenges your status as a villain? That if this family were seen being rescued by the villain known as Night Fury, people would think you had softened?

“No, ma’am,” the girl answers, her small hands pressing against the glass. You glance around. Saving them would destroy your reputation—and everything you are. Not saving them would mean endless nagging from the big guy upstairs. Damn it.

You take a moment to think, but the sound of footsteps draws nearer. “Stay quiet, and maybe I’ll get you out of here without any losses,” you murmur before phasing through the wall into the corridor outside their prison. The place is lined with that cursed stone.

Then, a group of guards appears, blocking the corridor. Perfect—on top of saving the family, now you’ll have to deal with these thugs.

“Boys, what brings you here?” you ask sarcastically, already preparing for the fight. At least this might be fun. You retrieve your favorite daggers from a hidden detail in your outfit and ready yourself.

“You shouldn’t meddle where you’re not wanted, Night Fury,” one of them says as they rush toward you.

You hurl your daggers at the heads of two of them, killing them instantly. With your hands free, you exchange blows with the others, your superhuman strength tipping the fight in your favor. You duck low and deliver a brutal kick to one’s groin, knocking him out cold. Another lands a punch across your face, but you seize his arm and snap it without hesitation.

Within moments, they’re all on the ground. What remains is the rush of victory and a split lip, stinging and bleeding.

You stride back into the room where the family is held. “We don’t have much time, so do exactly as I say,” you warn, just as the sound of an explosion echoes from the upper floor of the factory. The place is going to blow, and Superman won’t be able to save the day.

With a surge of power, you phase into each of the cages, breaking through the containment to free them one by one.

Using your super strength, you shatter the chains that kept them bound inside those glass cages. You manage to get them out, but you still need to get them out of the factory.

“Thank you, miss,” the frail woman murmurs, clinging to her husband and children.

“Don’t thank me. If it were up to me, this would’ve never happened in the first place. If you want to thank someone, try contacting Superman. I hear he loves having his ego stroked,” you say curtly, lying to them because you know Superman is anything but arrogant. Still, your anger lingers.

The little girl slips free from her mother’s embrace and runs to you, wrapping her tiny arms around your legs—the only part of you she can reach. “Thank you anyway,” she whispers.

“She’s right. Miss Night Fury is saving us,” the older man says from where he had been trapped.

“I hope you understand that if you spread this around, I’ll personally kill every one of you, including the little one,” you state coldly. They look terrified; everyone except the youngest, who smiles faintly.

“Now enough talking. Hold on to each other, I’m getting you out of here,” you add. Once they’re all close together, you push your powers beyond their usual limits, teleporting the family away.

But forcing yourself to that extent makes you miscalculate your destination. You appear directly in front of the cameras surrounding the site. Everyone watching is stunned, trying to comprehend how a villain ended up saving the day. You release the family, leaving them there, and vanish back into the factory, straight to where Superman is.

“You lied to me!” you shout, fury driving you as you launch into a physical attack. You kick him hard, forcing him to drop the beam he was holding. The factory now looks seconds away from collapsing, and even weakened, he’s still trying to keep it standing.

“I can explain…” he says, getting to his feet, almost staggering. He’s so weak it’s almost pitiful.

“I don’t want explanations. In fact, I don’t even want to hear your voice.” You swing a punch toward his face, but he catches your hand midair, stopping you.

“You can’t see it now, but I just showed you what you’re capable of if you’d let go of this path of vengeance and focus on what you’re truly good at,” he says, placing his hands on either side of your face and pulling you closer. You’re livid—how dare he think he knows you better than you know yourself?

“You’re right. I’ll focus on what I’m really good at,” you murmur near his ear, your eyes locked on his with burning anger. Then you draw one of your daggers, its blade coated with kryptonite particles from the floor below, and drive it into Superman.

“I bet you weren’t expecting that,” you say, pushing the dagger in even deeper, watching the mighty hero—once the symbol of invincibility—look utterly defenseless as he clings to you, fighting the inevitable.

“You’re wrong. I always expect the best from you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. His grip loosens, his knees buckle, and then his body goes limp, collapsing into your arms.

For a brief, unsettling moment, you simply stand there, holding him, feeling the weight of the man the world calls indestructible. Then the reality of what you’ve done settles in, heavy and unshakable. The truth is, you’re almost as pathetic as he is. You hurt him badly just to prove a point, and now the guilt is clawing its way through you. You summon your powers again, forcing yourself to teleport straight into Clark Kent’s home.

“My God, what happened?” Lois gasps the instant she sees you with Superman’s limp body.

You let him slide from your arms to the floor and yank the dagger free from his side. “He needs care,” you say, your voice dropping into a deeper, rougher tone.

“He was wrong about you,” Lois replies quietly, already kneeling beside Clark to check if he’s still breathing, her hands trembling as they hover over him.

“He believed in your potential. In what you could do for the world and this is how you repay him? By nearly killing him?” Lois rises, leaving Clark on the floor, and steps toward you.

“He fooled himself, Miss Lane. But if you’d be so kind, remind him not to trust me,” you reply, meeting her gaze. Even behind your mask, you can feel her staring hard enough that it’s as if she’s on the verge of recognizing you.

And then you call on your power one last time, vanishing from Clark’s home and reappearing in your own. A searing pain blooms deep inside you, as if something is burning through your very core. Your knees buckle, and before you can steady yourself, you cough violently, dark blood splattering across the floor of your living room. The edges of your vision blur. The world tilts. And within seconds, the darkness swallows you whole as you collapse into unconsciousness.

 

A week has passed. You’ve shut yourself off from the world, driven by fear and uncertainty. News of your so-called heroic act has spread everywhere. The world no longer sees you as the untouchable villain with limitless power but as Superman’s secret weapon, the one he used to save a helpless family.

Your mistakes are costing you more than you can afford. With everyone convinced you’re a hero, your access to the underworld, where chaos thrives, is cut off until further notice. Even your job at the Daily Planet is hanging by a thread; without leads on any new criminal or major villain, you have nothing to offer.

Perry White made you write about your own downfall as a villain. After that, you quit before Clark could recover, because you’ve been avoiding him.

"Going somewhere?" That familiar voice cuts through the air just as you stand by the open window. He’s in full hero attire, hair perfectly slicked back, his expression set in stone. You study him for what feels like an eternity before shutting the window in his face.

Arms crossed, you let out a slow sigh, silently hoping he’ll take the hint and vanish. Instead, he slides the window open from the outside and steps in with maddening calm.

"I’m not in the mood to talk." You turn sharply, like a predator locking onto its prey. His eyes track your every move, studying you as if calculating the safest way to close the distance.

"I’m sorry for what I put you through, Y/N." His voice is steady as he starts walking toward you, gaze never wavering.

Your palm presses against his chest, halting him mid-step. "If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have done it. You used me like some puppet, and now the whole world thinks I’m your lackey." Your voice spikes with anger. You don’t even notice when you shove him. But he doesn’t budge. He stands there, unmovable, like even his body is trying to say he’s not going anywhere.

“I put my principles ahead of yours,” he admits, his hands brushing softly against your face. “I used you because I wanted to prove you weren’t as evil as you thought you were. But I never stopped to think about what you wanted.” His touch drifts from your cheek to your waist, pulling you even closer.

“I don’t trust a single word that comes out of your mouth, Clark,” you murmur, your breathing heavy as his scent fills not just the air between you, but something deeper—your very core. For reasons you can’t explain, that scent makes you want to devour him.

“Then don’t trust me. I can live with that,” Clark says, wrapping his arms tightly around you, molding his body to yours.

“I hate you, Superman. Can you live with that too?” You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes locking onto his like a challenge.

He holds you tighter, as if refusing to let go would keep you tethered to him. “I could live with your hatred… if it meant I could still have you, Night Fury.”

Something inside you snaps, and you crash your lips against his in a fierce, unrestrained kiss. He lifts you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, the kiss never breaking. His tongue claims your mouth like he’s memorizing every taste, every movement.

Your hands trail up the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair before giving a slow, deliberate pull—earning a quiet, shuddered breath from him. The tension between you crackles like lightning, dangerous and intoxicating, and for once you don’t care which one of you gets burned first.

Chapter 4: Three

Summary:

You are an anti-heroine, forged by corporate experiments and gifted with extraordinary abilities. Living outside the law in Metropolis, you steal from the powerful to serve your own sense of justice. When your path collides with Superman, a complicated bond forms, built on tension, attraction and a secret pact that ties you to the man who should be your greatest enemy.

Notes:

Author's note: Yes, I just watched the new Superman movie. I don't know if this fanfic will continue, and I’m not sure if anyone will even like it. Reblog or like this fanfic if you want it to go on, and feel free to leave comments. This chapter will include a brief intimate scene, so if you are underage, do not read. We will also see the entrance of Batman, aka Bruce Wayne (portrayed by Robert Pattinson). And remember, if you want the fanfic to continue, please comment and give it a like/kudos.

THREE 

You cannot recall the precise moment when a searing kiss turned into him carrying you to the bedroom; all you know is that one instant you were clinging to him as he moved through your apartment, and the next he was gently pressing your back against the mattress.

His fingers traced a dangerous path over your body, gliding across your clothes. One hand gripped your waist, pulling you closer as if you already belonged to him, while the other slid down to your thigh, guiding your leg upward and parting your legs so he could fit between them. His lips still consumed you in a prolonged, fervent kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as though savoring the sweetness of a rare dessert.

“Do you think we’re moving too fast?” he murmured against your lips, breaking the kiss only to quickly claim your mouth once more.

“I honestly can’t think about that right now,” you whispered, your hands tightening around his neck as you clung to Clark. The kiss deepened, his hands reaching the buttons of your jeans. A ragged sigh escaped him as he tried to savor the moment.

“I don’t want you to regret this,” he murmured, while you were far too preoccupied with burying your face in his neck, nipping and kissing along his skin, to dwell on what it might mean to give yourself to Clark.

You let your hands roam over Clark’s body, still clad in the Superman suit, before turning your focus back to his lips, teasing them with a playful bite meant to provoke him. Your fingers tighten on his firm backside, drawing a low groan from his throat that vibrates against your mouth.

“Clark, I know it’s in your nature to worry about everything,” you murmur, your voice laced with a soft insistence, “but let it all happen naturally.”

This time, you kiss him not with fiery urgency but with deliberate slowness, savoring every second, as though intent on memorizing the taste of him. He shifts closer, pressing his body more firmly against yours, his weight and warmth enveloping you completely. You can feel his cock getting harder even over the clothes that you both are wearing. Your pussy starts to get wet when he continues to press his body on top of yours, and this is making you insane for him. You let yourself let out a soft moan as you feel him pulling your legs more wrapped in his body.

However, just as you pull him by the hair, pressing him even closer to you, your phone begins to ring.

“You’re not going to force me to answer that call,” you murmur, noticing how Clark’s focus falters as the phone rings a second time.

He looks at you while you are still tangled together. “I would never force you into anything,” he says in that proper, composed tone of his, “but it could be something important. I would hate to be the reason something goes wrong for you.” His words carry that infuriating sense of righteousness, as though he knows exactly how to nudge you into doing the right thing.

“Your parents must be so proud of the son they raised,” you mutter, frustration lacing your voice. “A man who would rather lose the chance to fuck than pass up the opportunity to manipulate the person he’s with into answering a call that could very well be a mistake.”

With that, you push Clark gently to the side, slipping out from under him to pick up the phone.

You finally answer the phone and immediately hear someone crying in the background. “Y/N, I need you to listen to me,” Jimmy murmurs softly, as if trying not to be overheard.

“Lois and I came to check a lead on an embezzlement scheme at LuthorCorp, and the place we’re in is being robbed,” he explains, struggling to mask his nerves, though you can easily tell he is frightened.

“Where are you?” you ask, turning to glance at Clark, who is watching you intently.

“At the restaurant near the Daily Planet,” he replies just as a strong gust of wind brushes against your skin. Clark is already gone, without even waiting for you to finish the call.

“Jimmy, stay hidden and do whatever Lois tells you. She’s one of the best under pressure,” you say firmly, knowing full well that Lois Lane always has a plan and her mind is sharper than most. “I’ll alert the authorities,” you add quickly, though your ears remain focused on the call, catching Lois’s voice as she tries to negotiate with the criminals. As you well know, she is unmatched in such situations.

Jimmy’s trembling voice breaks through, “I think one of them noticed… No!” His words are abruptly cut off, replaced by a harsh, gravelly voice.

“If you call the police, everyone dies. And if Superman or any other hero shows up, I’ll blow this restaurant sky-high,” the man growls before the line goes dead.

You decide there’s no time to waste. Clark’s stubbornness could only make this worse if he rushes in blindly. Teleporting to a hidden spot near the Daily Planet, you don your suit in the shadows. Within moments, you spot Superman. He is already revealing himself to the criminals, exactly as you feared.

Suppressing your frustration, you dial the police, feigning the voice of a concerned civilian reporting colleagues in danger. While Clark is predictably trying to negotiate with the gunmen, you set your focus elsewhere. Using your supernatural senses, you track the sharp chemical tang in the air, locating one explosive after another, each heartbeat reminding you that a single mistake could doom everyone inside.

As a true villain, you possess just enough knowledge to disarm the explosives, your hands steady despite the chaos unraveling above. The air in the lower floor feels suffocating, every tick of the timer digging deeper into your nerves. The devices are lodged into the structure beneath the restaurant, hidden in the dim parking level, threatening to bring the entire building down.

The final wire snaps free under your grip, and silence replaces the deadly countdown. You waste no time, racing up the stairs back into the heart of the restaurant. Two henchmen stand in your way, their surprise quickly shifting to violence.

One raises his gun, firing recklessly—yet you move before the bullet can meet its mark. With sharp precision, you twist his wrist, strip the weapon from him, and smash your forehead against his skull. He crumples instantly.

The second lunges with a knife, rage in his eyes. The blade slashes close, grazing air, but you seize his arm, spin, and wrench him into a lock. His struggles falter as you slam him against the wall, leaving him immobilized and gasping for breath.

“What do you want here?” you demand, tightening your grip on the man’s throat as he struggles desperately to break free. You press harder until he finally gasps out, “We want the rich guy,” which instantly sharpens your focus. So this is a kidnapping mission. Without hesitation, you knock him out and let his body collapse onto the floor.

You realize you’ll have to intervene. That’s when you hear one of the men taking Lois Lane hostage. Clark will never be at his sharpest if her life is in danger, and you know it.

“I heard there was a little party going on here, so I decided to invite myself,” you announce, stepping into view for both the criminals and Clark.

The situation is worse than you imagined. Lois isn’t just being held at gunpoint—explosives are strapped to her body. To make matters even more dire, you recognize a shard of kryptonite embedded within the bomb vest clinging to her chest.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Superman says almost in unison with the criminals. Quite the welcome, though you know you are the only one capable of containing this chaos.

“Come to help your boyfriend?” sneers the one holding Lois.

“In truth, I came to ruin your little plan—and, while at it, to prove there is no relation between me and Superman,” you reply, scanning the room, searching for the wealthy man they are after.

It doesn’t take long before the scent reaches you, a scent you have not felt in years. Bruce Wayne.

“Mr. Wayne, I believe you ought to come with me,” you declare, already knowing how to bend this situation to your will.

“He’s not going anywhere with you, Superman’s mutt,” another criminal snarls. You stride toward him without hesitation. He fires, but the bullet does not so much as graze you. In the next breath, the gun is torn from his hand, and his neck snaps beneath your strength.

“Before you even think of doing something foolish, know that I intend to throw Miss Lane from this height and press the detonator. And we both know that the big guy over there will not be able to catch his little girlfriend,” declares the ringleader, now left with only one henchman after three have already been taken down.

You let out a sharp laugh as you stride toward Bruce Wayne, who seems oddly captivated by the spectacle. “Your superhero is not very useful, is he?” Bruce murmurs quietly the moment you seize him, tearing him away from the last trembling henchman who releases him at once.

“He does the best he can,” you reply under your breath, pressing a dagger hidden within your attire against Bruce Wayne’s neck. “So I shall be brief. Release Miss Lane, and I will not kill the exceedingly wealthy man you came here to kidnap.” Your voice is edged with defiance as you slice his skin just enough to draw blood.

“And what makes you think we want him?” the bandit asks smugly.

“If you want me to spell it out,” you counter, “you left one of your men guarding him, yet you never used him as leverage. That tells me you need him alive. At the very least, you’re after some kind of ransom. And you are using Lois Lane as bait because she has been linked romantically to Superman. Which means your plan is to throw her into the void no matter what, expecting Superman to rush to her rescue while you make your escape with Bruce Wayne.” You delivered your explanation coolly, as if laying out a strategy you already knew too well.

“You think you know it all, don’t you?” the thug sneers, trying to belittle you, while you study him, barely hiding the hint of disdain in your gaze.

“Not everything, but I do know you lost focus long enough for that idiot over there to land a solid hit,” you reply. Superman’s fist connects with the man’s face, knocking him out almost immediately. He goes down hard, and Superman snatches the device that would trigger the bomb. Relief hangs briefly in the air.

But before anyone can breathe, you teleport behind Lois, shoving her through the open restaurant window. Superman reacts instantly, diving after her. From your vantage point, you see Lois’s surprise as he catches her midair and then she kisses him, leaving everyone stunned, including yourself.

You whip around, eyes scanning the terrified patrons still frozen in the restaurant. “Get out!” you roar, and they scramble toward the exit, panic written on their faces. You know Superman will return soon, and you have no intention of being there when he does.

“Did you really have to hurt me?” Bruce asks, approaching with that usual calm, mysterious confidence. His voice is low and husky, eyes locked on you as if trying to read your next move.

“I could have killed you too, but Gotham wouldn’t survive losing its sanest mind and its most beloved hero,” you murmur, already moving. Your gaze lands on the cowardly thug trying to flee with the remaining hostages. Swiftly, you grab a frying pan from the restaurant kitchen and smash it across his head, sending him sprawling to the floor.

“And I should have detained you when you were in Gotham,” Bruce says, his voice calm but edged with a razor-sharp warning. There’s that same intensity in his gaze, the weight of a man who trusts no one and measures every move. “You act with power, but recklessly… and people get hurt.”

You meet his stare, feeling the pressure of his words like a physical weight. “And yet here you are, standing and talking instead of trying,” you reply, your voice low, deliberate, a dangerous edge cutting through. The room feels smaller, the tension thick between you, as if one wrong move could ignite an explosion far beyond the remaining hostages.

“But we both know that while you’re in Metropolis, you don’t have all that power. You’ll just have to live with your regrets about me,” you murmur, voice low and teasing. Years ago, you met in Gotham, and both of you are painfully aware of each other’s secret identities.

“One day, you’ll return to Gotham, and I’ll handle you myself,” he says, stepping closer, the edge in his voice sharp but measured—something you know he rarely acts on.

“Careful, Mr. Wayne. Keep talking like that, and you’ll only make me even more eager for our next encounter,” you reply, a sly smile curving your lips, deliberately teasing him. Before he can respond, you vanish, teleporting back to your home.