[ladymacbethslover]

FIC REC LIST

Hi, this blog is so that I can reblog and organise all the amazing fics that I have read! ✨

(Minors please dni!)

🪷 A Knight of the 7 Kingdoms

🪷 Game of Thrones

🪷 House of the Dragon

🪷 Vikings

🪷 Bridgerton

🪷 DC

🪷 Marvel

🪷 Star Wars

🪷 Stranger Things

🪷 Criminal Minds

🪷 Harry Potter

🪷The Pitt

🪷Peaky Blinders

[13atoms]

Too Good to be True (Clark Kent x Reader x Lois Lane)

A demon got into my brain courtesy of an idea posted by @gottareadthosefics2, and five days later I emerged battered and bloody with this absolute beast.

Contents: established lois lane x reader relationship, smut, yearning, loverboy!clark, pathetic!clark, F!reader, reader wears a bra, alcohol, munch!clark, schemer!lois, lois and reader don't know about the superman thing yet, top!lois, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers. 15.9k words.

Crossposted to AO3

Lois Lane had wrapped you into her world effortlessly. Two years ago, she had swept you along in her hurricane lifestyle of intoxicating competence and stunning workaholism. She was cool and whip-sharp and absolutely gorgeous. Of course you’d said yes when she asked you to go to after work drinks with her, after two weeks of watching her run the Daily Planet from behind a senior editors’ desk. The rest was history.

Your relationship wasn’t secret. It never had to be. Lois was the backbone of the department, and you were in her orbit. Perry couldn’t afford to say a thing about professionalism or conflict of interest to his best journalist – and Lois had pulled you with her, into her protection. From that first day, you just wanted to be near her, to exchange knowing smiles across boardroom tables and lie hip-to-hip on stakeouts.

Even after months and months, that feeling hadn’t settled or gone away. It had become comfortable for you, though. To be completely intoxicated, and obsessed with her. It seemed obvious, after just six months, that the only possible option for you was to live your whole life around Lois. To know you’d factor her into every choice you ever made, and follow her wherever she went. Everything felt so easy, so obvious. She would cut through your problems and worries with a word, and set your mind at peace with a roll of her head against your shoulder when she got sleepy on long plane rides. After six months she’d put the keys to her apartment on your keychain, and nicked your spare set once for logistical reasons, never bothering to return them. After a year, of course, you hadn’t needed two sets of keys anymore.

Two years after those drinks, you felt settle. The Planet wasn’t new anymore. You were getting headlines, and spending every summer followed by interns, like little ducklings wandering around in your wake. You’d sometimes pretend to have meetings at lunchtime, to get away from them and laugh with Lois on the rooftop.

A relationship with Lois had been so effortless. So easy. You calmed her and she energised you.

“You’re too good to be true,” she murmur to you, sated and sweaty in bed, and you’d laugh.

“I always think that about you.”

Of course, it had been too good to be true. Because then there was Clark Kent. Bumbling into both of your lives. You had interviewed him for his job as a Daily Planet reporter, actually. Lois had been busy that day, and the whole panel had been charmed by his daft sincerity and his country boy wholesomeness – helped by a big fancy graduate degree. Three weeks later, he’d been assigned a desk and introduced at the team meeting.

You hadn’t realised the problem yet, of course. Stupid, in hindsight, but Clark had seemed harmless. He had just been new, and big, and bumbling. And in those rare moments he believed in himself and his abilities, distinctly brilliant.

Then you saw how Lois watched him. Clark and his wide set shoulders as he opened meeting room doors and pressed himself out of the way to let others go first. Clark and those big hands, which engulfed his whole keyboard, tendons flexing as he typed away furiously. When he needed help with formatting, Lois would take the mouse from his hand, her hair falling has a curtain between your watchful gaze and their faces, laughter echoing high and low throughout the bullpen.

You’d had some inkling that there was something you didn’t like about Clark, but you thought it would pass. There were plenty of colleagues you didn’t like. And Lois was so above him, above everyone. Even Clark knew – stammering out his apologies every time he interrupted her with a question, giving up his place at press junkets if she asked. It had all been safe, and you knew you’d spend the evening tangled up with her, even if new Marlon Brando took a sheepish shine to your girlfriend.

Then he started those damn Superman interviews, which made Perry run extra prints of the paper and emptied newsagents across Metropolis. The website needed a new server provider, something which could be more dynamic, for when Clark’s stories broke. He had teeth, too, you’d begrudgingly admit. Clark would follow leads for Lois on corruption, city politics, Lexcorp scandals – one morning, they’d stood shoulder to shoulder, explaining the cloud of evidence they were trying to cut a line through for a story, and your stomach had dropped as you realised what a perfect match they made.

There they were, beautiful and clever and electric as they clashed and sparked against each other in front of an entranced room. They matched, in dark features and perfectly-imperfect hair and the way their bodies could hardly contain their energy, bouncing on their toes and interrupting each other in a scramble of brilliance.

For the first time in your whole relationship, you wondered if Lois remembered you existed.

Never in your life before had there been so much to lose. Those sleepy mornings in bed, Lois waking you up with soft lips on the tender skin of your neck. Those afternoons she would insist you both ditch the office early and take her car, and drive and drive until you couldn’t see another person and start some mountain hike recklessly late. You needed her at those fancy parties, needed the draw of her across any ballroom, the promise in her smirk as she worked a lead she had sworn to leave alone.

You had just moved in with her. You were writing the best you ever had, with her hand in your creative process, swapping pages as you proofread for each other on the couch. You needed Lois, and watching her with Clark was the first time you had ever considered you might not have her.

There were new joiners to the Daily Planet all the time. Plenty had come after you. But she’d never followed any of them around the office with her eyes like she did with Clark. Never invited them to your shared apartment to work late when the janitors kicked them out. You’d thought you were the only one, the only person she’d risk her reputation at work for. Now, he was there, leaning down to read her screen more often than not.

They looked so damn good together. It was sickening. You could see it now. The matching rings he’d pick, Clark on your side of the bed, and marking Lois’ articles in the purple pen you’d left on the coffee table. He fit her perfectly, strong and imposing, where she was lithe and intimidating. You knew which piece didn’t fit.

You knew you’d been off with Lois when you took the subway home with her that evening, her little finger hooked around yours on the walk. You hadn’t spoken enough. You hadn’t followed her conversation, or laughed in the right places. It was childish, and you knew she’d loathe the idea you were too insecure or weak to just tell her you were upset. Lois wasn’t like that. She was strong. She was certain, and invincible.

“You’re quiet,” she told you, once the door of the apartment was bolted against the outside world, “what’s up?”

You sighed, and rolled the tension from your neck, eyes closed to prevent the inevitable for as long as it took for Lois to fasten her fingers around your face and press her nose to yours.

“You’re in a mood. And I have a hunch it’s with me.”

“Lois…”

She pulled away, and started to unpack her tote bag, laptop on the table.

“Tell me!” she called, and you crossed to stand behind the couch, playing with the seam of a cushion.

“It’s not your fault...” you told her.

“Try me anyway.”

You whined, and she walked to you again, gently encircling your wrists in her fingers and pulling your torso against hers.

“Clark.”

“What about Clark?”

“I just… when I see you together I feel like… like there’s something between you. And it’s like when I was new, and you’re doing the same thing.”

“The same thing?”

“Being nice to him. Working with him. I’m worried he’ll think you’re flirting with him.”

Lois had such an intense stare, when she was engaged in something, refusing to let you turn away from her, holding your wrists and giving you her full attention.

“Do you think I’m flirting with him?” She asked, head tilted, tone unaccusing.

“No! No. Are you?”

“He’s good looking, sure. But no, I’m not.”

She shrugged, and let go of your hands, swinging her arms at her side.

“You think he’s attractive?” you asked.

“In another life, I could see it.”

Why on earth were you surprised? Pragmatic, practical, painfully honest, Lois. There she was, all flat tone and shrugs.

“It doesn’t feel great in this life,” you managed to get out, and she frowned, lips pursed.

“There’s nothing there. He’s good looking, and nice, sure, but you’re my girlfriend. I know we’re not traditional, but this relationship is closed, and I love you.”

You thought for a while, looking away from Lois because her eyes would melt any anger left in your chest.

“But you think he’s attractive? In another life?”

“Sure. But not in this one.”

She said your name, softly, and you knew she wasn’t trying to make you feel bad – but you felt ridiculous. Petty. Like you were asking for something unrealistic. Of course, she was allowed to think an attractive man was attractive, but this was your colleague and he was so different and –

“If I wanted to be with Clark…” she trailed off, and looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You’d be with Clark,” you finished, and she sandwiched your face in her hands, so she could kiss you firmly.

There was so much more you wanted to say, but you had no idea what it was. Lois was like that. She flattened disasters into short conversations before they even happened.

“I’ll stop inviting him over. Sorry, I know I never properly asked you.”

“No,” you told her, “no. I’m being silly. Thank you for… for explaining. I knew you weren’t flirting, I just… I was worried he’d get the wrong idea.”

“I’ll stop inviting him over. I’ve been meaning to talk to Perry about keeping the office open later, anyway.”

There, you were back. Calm. Wondering what to have for dinner, and worrying that Lois worked too hard.

“What you need to talk to Perry about is coming home on time, you’re going to exhaust yourself!”

“I can go forever. You don’t want me having more energy,” she had you by the hand again, pulling you around, down onto the couch so she could trap you, phone in her other hand, “what a nightmare. I’d be bouncing off the walls.”

“Hm, disaster,” you conceded, smiling into her sleeve.

“You couldn’t handle me if I wasn’t shattered all the time.”

“So could.”

She laughed, arms wrapped around you, as you both watched her tap out an email to a source.

Later, in bed, she sighed and turned over to watch you through the darkness, hair falling over her pillow. You were both meant to be going to bed early, but you never managed it, talking late into the night.

“Are you still upset about earlier? About Clark?”

“No. No, sorry I brought it up. I appreciate you explaining.”

Lois settled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. There was a glow in the dark star there, one you’d found lying around the office after a party and brought home. Lois complained about it sometimes, but she’d always stopped you from taking it down.

“I think there are a lot of versions of ourselves we can be. Different loves, different lives. It’s what we choose that counts.”

You hummed an agreement, and tried to sleep.

“Love you,” she murmured, before curling into you, immediately falling asleep.

*

You never quite put away the idea there was something between Lois and Clark. She’d been respectful, and better at telling you where she was, but ultimately you reminded her you didn’t mind her relationship with Clark. A friendship, electric and brilliant thought it was. It was only to be expected, between two people like them. Highly emotionally intelligent, articulate, kind, of course they were fast friends.

In the quiet evenings you spent without Lois, while she worked herself to the bone and you tried to gain some work/life balance, you had come to accept the role Clark played in her life.

It didn’t mean you had to like him though. Weeks passed of their intense dynamic, of shared authorships and investigations so risky Lois tried not to tell you about them until afterwards. They were brilliant. Lois, though, was even moreso, checking in and being so conscious, you didn’t have the faintest suspicion of anything untoward.

In another life, they might have been something. In this life, you were happy for Lois’ new friendship, and the glint in her eye as you passed newsagents every morning and took photos of her name in print.

Annually, the Daily Planet hosted a dinner for sponsors. A huge amount of money was set aside for the event, and it was always in a museum or art gallery or other culturally important space to lend a bit of class to the whole occasion. Far from the broken office coffee machine, you’d dine on three courses of fine dining and sip at champagne. To everyone’s displeasure, all the journalists were given the morning off to scrub up, and wheeled out for entertainment.

The seats were assigned, and as you and Lois arrived you realised you’d been dispersed among the rich and powerful who sponsored and distributed the paper. Not a surprise, of course, but you’d recently had a couple of pleasant water cooler chats with Perry, and hoped he might have had mercy on you and let you sit with Lois.

It was fine, though. You were opposite some people from the printers, and sandwiched between the wife of a newagents chain and Superman’s best friend.

You realised, then, that you’d never really spoken to Clark Kent. Not on purpose. You’d emailed him about things, and checked if he had information to help with leads, and proofed his articles when Lois asked you to or the scheduled demanded it. He was pleasant in passing, when you interacted because of Lois, but you’d never gone out of your way to speak to Clark.

The thought occurred to you as he sheepishly took his assigned seat, grimacing at you like he was apologising. Lois was far down the table, and she gave you a sarcastic little wave when you looked for her, already hemmed in on all sides by old men with article ideas they wanted to give her.

“Sorry, you’re stuck with me,” Clark caught your attention, worry carrying on the baritone of his voice.

He was squeezing himself into the seat, shoulders hunched to avoid touching you. Gazing up at the exposed beams crossing the art gallery ceiling, blatant appreciation on his face for something as simple as a company dinner.

“That’s okay. There’s a very long list of people here who I be far more upset to be sat with.”

He smiled, eyes now trained on the table. Guilt bit into you, its jaws locking around your flesh, and shaking. Lois was still watching, glancing sideways as she listened to the head of some tech company about his views on print media. On your left was a conversation about golf. On your right, a reporter you probably owed an apology.

“I really liked your article on the free school meals trial in Midvale,” you told him, finally setting aside your resentment. “I’ve always wanted to do something about framing welfare as investment rather than charity, but I never found the right story. It was a brilliant call for a paradigm shift, I hate the way the governor talks about that kind of stuff.”

You’d been so annoyed, when you’d read the article in bed one morning, waiting for Lois to finish in the bathroom. It had been brilliant.

“Thank you. It was nice to write something that isn’t Superman,” he admitted.

You rolled your eyes. You hadn’t exactly been quiet about Clark’s limited range, in private company.

“It really was very good. I was thinking about it for ages, poor Lois didn’t hear the end of it.”

“I appreciate it. Thank you.”

He thought for a moment, clumsily toying with the edge of his fabric napkin. He didn’t seem sure what to do with it, and his lips were pressed together in thought.

“How long have you two been together? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“A little over two years,” you tried to keep the pride off your tongue, but it was difficult.

There was a back off in your tone, and you hoped Clark hadn’t caught it.

“You’re very lucky. Both of you. She’s amazing – and she thinks the world of you. If you don’t mind me saying.”

You didn’t want to say thank you, or suggest any surprise. For Clark to see you and Lois as anything but one inseparable entity was inviting trouble.

“You were a great hire. We’re glad to have you.”

He smiled tightly, dimples popping in his cheeks. Those big fingers were fidgeting, running along the prongs of his silver fork.  

In another life, Lois had said. His glasses were slightly askew, and you found yourself longing to fix them, to soothe the red line forming where the arms didn’t fit quite right.  

“I must admit, I’m jealous. You both seem like such a great fit. Not many people ever meet their soulmates.”

You swallowed, and chanced a look at Lois, her hands flying in mid-conversation.

“I’m not sure I’m as much of a romantic as all that. But yeah, she’s great.”

“That’s a rare thing. People… I love people. But not all of them are like you two.”

The food was coming out. You distracted yourself by watching the waiters. There was something raw, sincere, in Clarks’ stare. You couldn’t stand it.

“Yeah I uh, don’t like many of them. Lois is something else.”

“I’m so grateful she helps me. I hope I don’t bug her too much.”

“You don’t – you’re pretty impressive yourself. It’s good for her to have someone to keep up with her.”

“That makes two of us,” he smiled sweetly, bumping your shoulder with his.

For a split second, you couldn’t help it. Smiling up at him, impossibly sweet and kind. You didn’t want to feel that awkward grin of his in your chest. Didn’t want to the warmth that spread over your cheeks.

Nonetheless, it was there, growing with each glass of prosecco, and each sweet anecdote Clark told you about home.

When the meal was done and the room was being cleared, you hadn’t spoken a word to Perry’s guests, and Lois joined you with a polite interruption – immediately falling into the retelling of some anecdote about your last adventure into the National Park just north of Metropolis.

Soon, it was later than you’d anticipated, and all of you were a little worse for wear – though Clark never seemed to become anything but flushed and giddy, while you and Lois stumbled over stairs and spilled drinks – and he offered to walk you both home.

Suddenly, clarity. Lois was teasing him for being an old gentleman before you’d even started to say decline, but the illusion was gone. And as much as you’d enjoyed his company, it was time to get Lois away from him.

The taxi was quiet, and you only spent ten minutes in the late evening traffic before being dropped off outside the apartment and filing upstairs after Lois.

She didn’t say much as she unlocked the door and both of you wandered into the bedroom, sleepy and sobering up. Lois was content, but your mind was racing.

“You guys got on, then? I was a bit worried.”

“Yeah, uh, fine. You know me. I’ll make the best of anything.”

She was starting to undress, sliding off her necklace and her blazer, combing out her hair and tying it back. You found the strap of your shoes, and almost fell trying to undo it.

“That’s not true. I didn’t see you talk to Aaron Jackson’s wife once. I forget her name.”

“I didn’t have much to say about golf.”

“What were you talking about with Clark?”

“Just… work stuff, mainly. He told me a bit about his childhood.”

“Oh?”

“It was really sweet, actually. You know he still says ma and pa? Definitely a mommy’s boy.”

She hummed, and wandered into the bathroom for eye makeup remover, calling back:

“He calls them almost every day. It’s sure something.”

“I think it’s cute. He seemed to worry about them. They’ve still got a farm, apparently.”

“He sure told you a lot. He’s been pretty cagey with details.”

You shrugged, sitting on the bed, paused while Lois moved back into the bedroom, packing away the mess you’d both made getting ready.

“I think he wanted me to like him. He was singing your praises.”

“He’s always asking about you, I think he was probably just excited you’d finally give him the time of day.”

You laughed, and Lois gave you an eye roll, unzipping her boots.

“If I had any sense, I’d be more worried about the way he looks at you. Like a little puppy you’ve locked outside.”

While you scoffed, started on undoing her top button, and you learnt back on the bed to watch her.

“I don’t get why he doesn’t get on the apps, he’s a good-looking guy,” she murmured.

The ceiling was still spinning, the smallest, tiniest, bit. You hadn’t noticed until you lay down.

“He’s gorgeous.”

She turned to you in surprise, mouth open, shirt halfway undone.

“Gorgeous?”

“You said it first!”

“I don’t think I’d have said that. He’s attractive, sure,” she paused, playing the way her open shirt sat across her bra, “Do I need to be worried?”

“Lois Lane, are you jealous?”

Lois surged forwards, all energy and sinew, the very picture of mock outrage as she clambered over you on all fours.

“Of course not. Never. You don’t even like hunks. Did you say the Hemsworths’ wives probably can’t even find them, because live in one of those halls of mirrors?”

“Hm. And Twitter didn’t like that very much.”

“You’ve done more insightful work. Stupid Perry.”

“I don’t think Clark’s like that. I’m not even sure he knows he’s a hunk.”

“The nerd cancels it out, I think,” Lois mused, wriggling around to get to the clasp of her bra, “Have you ever noticed the way he watches us?”

You froze.

“Like, in a pervy way?”

“No. That’s not Clark. Like, a longing. How I stared at you until I plucked up the courage to ask you for a drink,” she forced her hands into yours, and clasped your fingers together.

She used your conjoined hands to push you down into the mattress, and you collapsed with a grunt, Lois following.

“I’m not sure his ma ever even gave him the birds and the bees talk,” you teased, and Lois rolled her eyes.

“He had a girlfriend. Back in college, I think it was.”

Suddenly, everything was a bit serious. Lois’ tone. The intensity she was watching you with. The tightness in your stomach at the thought of Clark, fumbling around with his first girlfriend.

“Oh,” was all you could manage.

“Do you think he imagines us?” Lois’ voice had dropped, lips pressed to your jaw.

“He was asking me, earlier, about our relationship,” you murmured, and let your fingers find her scalp through silky black hair.

“Oh yeah?”

“Just normal stuff. But… he said he was jealous.”

“Of me?”

“Of both of us, I think. I’m not sure.”

“I’d be jealous of me,” she groaned, fingers finding the waistband of your underwear.

“As you should be.”

The conversation dissolved, into lazy, tipsy intimacy, but it ebbed and flowed through your mind for the rest of the night. And then the following day.

Gorgeous.

In the office the next morning, he had been gorgeous, curls and glasses all askew in the early morning sun. He’d given you a cheery greeting, and you smiled back tightly, resisting the urge to walk over to his desk.

Lois had been watching you all morning, too, eyes flitting to you and then to Clark whenever she moved to the printer, the meeting room. Of course, the day was busy. Perry had the same number of pages to fill as usual, and you’d all lost a day to schmooze with sponsors. You hardly noticed as the sun set and the office lights grew brighter and harsher, until sure enough, your looked up from your screen to see that only the three of you were left in the whole bullpen.

You caught Lois’ eye, as she stared blindly out the window, tapping her pen to her lips as she thought. She raised an eyebrow, but made no suggestion of stopping. You carried on, typing away at those sentences which wouldn’t come as readily the next morning, until your attention drifted to Clark, blazer thrown across the back of his chair. He was stumbling to his feet, and spared you a gentle smile as he wandered away from his desk, water bottle in hand.

You watched him leave, admiring the excellent tailoring of his shirt and trousers. Maybe custom? No where stocked clothes for men built like Clark. So intently, in fact, that by the time you blinked at the open doorway, Lois was leaning against your desk with mischief on her lips.

“Staring?” she whispered.

“Lois!” you gasped.

Before you could defend yourself, she was pushing you back into your office chair, the back sinking under her force, lips squashed to yours even as you tried to speak.

“You’re in a mood this evening.”

“Uh huh,” she laughed against your lips, and you gasped at the feeling of her hands all over you, one on your jaw, the other slipping between your jacket and shirt, her hair all over your face.

“Christ, Lo,” you gasped, realising too late that as you broke for air, she was undoing the clasp of your bra, “Lois!”

The release on your ribs was bliss, and exposing, the cups gaping away from your chest beneath your shirt. Lois  was rubbing at the indented skin on your back, as she often did, this time blinded by the full outfit you still wore.

“What the fuck,” you complained, “I’ve got to walk home.”

You were about to ask her why she was doing this, now, under the fluorescent lights of the office, but she was already forcing her tongue against your lips, making out with a desperation you’d never felt from her before. Lois was the wildest you’d ever seen her, and it was only when she finally leant back from you that you realised why.

Clark, bless him. Sweet, rural, lovely Clark. Stood in the doorway with water from the tap splashed on his shirt and trousers, frozen in shock at the scene in front of him.

“Oh!” you managed.

You were halfway through pushing Lois off you – she was reluctant to move – aware that you were a complete mess, when Clark bolted for the door. Blazer left behind, computer unlocked. Guilt stung in you, those wide, blue eyes imprinted on your memory.

“Clark!” You called, but he was long gone.

Lois was packing up her bag, slinging a tote over her shoulder and wiping at her lips.

“We should head out too, actually,” she told you, coming up behind you to snake her hands under your shirt and refasten your bra.

You batted her away, still breathless, the shock leaving your brain addled.

“Why did you do that? Oh my god, Lois!”

“My gorgeous girlfriend, working hard, and I can’t even kiss her?”

“No! To poor Clark! Yesterday, we were talking about how he said he feels lonely. Or jealous, or whatever!”

She shrugged, grabbing her coat and yours, and saving the document on your laptop before she closed it.

“Lois!”

“Sorry! Thought it might do him some good, to see you’re taken.”

“Do you know how bad I felt, about being jealous you were spending so much time with him? And now you’re doing this?”

This time, Lois succeeded in getting her hands under your shirt, deftly refastening your bra and smoothing it out.

“He probably liked it.”

You groaned, swatting at her as she handed you your things.

“I’ve never seen anyone move that fast, poor guy.”

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes, the spat forgotten by the time the subway doors closed.

*

Lois had forgotten the whole incident by the next morning, at least you assumed  so, but the moment you saw Clark picking at a breakfast sandwich in the kitchenette, the shame came rushing back to you. You’d been thinking about this moment all night, but the speech you’d over rehearsed wouldn’t come.  

“Clark! Um, I just wanted to say… last night… Lois was – well… Sorry.”

It was so lame, you couldn’t even look him in the eyes, playing with one of the cheap satsumas Perry bought for the team.

“No, I’m sorry I interrupted. Please, don’t mention it.”

You couldn’t muster a smile, try as you might. Clark’s palm found your elbow, and the gesture startled you so much you looked up, and saw nothing but sincerity behind the reflections of his glasses.

“Pretend it didn’t happen.”

With that, he was miming zipping his lips shut, swiping his coffee from the machine, spinning on his heels to get back to his desk. Everything was absolutely terrible, of course. The shame, the workplace embarrassment, the slight morosity in Clark’s tight-lipped smile. But the worst part of all of it? How weirdly attractive Clark had looked while he forgave you.

*

There was more of it, of course. Of Lois intertwining your fingers in the lift so Clark could see. Pressing your legs together when the three of you shared a taxi. Flirting loudly at your desk. You should have been giddy, and delighted in how blatant she was being. A few months ago, devastated at their closeness, you would’ve given anything for the way Lois was rubbing your relationship in Clark’s face.

Now, though, it just made you upset. Such a kind, sweet, intelligent man – and he was hurting himself watching you and Lois, yearning for something he seemed not to have by blind luck. If he’d joined first, if he’d skipped his postgrad, you could’ve been sat on the opposite side of the booth every time the three of you ducked out for lunch.

Two weeks after Clark’s dorky forgiveness in the kitchenette, the three of you were last in the office, again. This time, because you had some fancy dinner organised with a wealthy source. You’d brought a dress in your tote back, and it was slightly wrinkled as you changed in the office bathroom.

You’d noticed Clark at your back as you did your makeup at your desk, sneaking glances in the mirror, keyboard framed by his pinkies as he touched the keys but didn’t type, waiting for inspiration to strike.

Lois, of course, held no punches when it came to flirting with you in front of Clark. She demanded a kiss before your lip gloss went on. She messed with your hair. And when you walked out of the office bathroom, fussing with your neckline, she groaned so obscenely you swore the temperature in the room increased from the heat of Clark’s blush.

“Are you sure we can’t just go out instead?” she whined, spinning you around with two hands on your torso.

“This is important, Lois! Shit, I need spare batteries for my tape recorder…”

“You need to cancel on this guy so I can take you out!”

Behind her Clark rummaged in his desk, and didn’t make a sound as he placed two packaged AAs gently by your bag.

“You’re the one who talked me into this bullshit. You’ll be glad I went when we’ve actually got a source for that stupid modern art money laundering piece.”

While she was distracted, you caught Clark’s eye, and mouthed a thanks. He gave a thumbs up, already swinging back in his desk chair, pretending to be engrossed in his blank work processor.

“Do I looked okay, do you think? I’ve got no idea where this place he’s invited me is. Their Instagram looked fancy though –”

“I’m not kidding, I think you should pull a sickie…”

Lois had finished fussing with your hair, and she was moving on to the bodice of the dress, straightening seams. Suddenly she plunged a hand into the neckline, and pulled your breasts up, settling them higher in the dress.  

“Doesn’t she look great, Clark?” she was saying, and poor Clark’s blush returned, eyes roving in panic.

When he didn’t reply, Lois turned to him, and pulled you in front of her with both hands on your shoulders.

“Clark?”

“Hm?”

“Doesn’t she look great for the interview?”

He looked mortified. You tried to mouth ‘sorry’, but you were sure he hadn’t seen.

“Yeah! Sorry. Great. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Lois gave an awkward little laugh, and finally let you leave, rushing through the evening commuters to get to the restaurant. The interview had gone well. Better than expected, actually, considering how much of your brain was twelve blocks away, trapped in an awkward newsroom bullpen.

When you left, giddy on the high of a good scoop and two glasses of wine, you text Lois that you were heading back. Beside her in your notifications, you saw an unusual name.

> Clark Kent (Work): Sorry for not answering earlier. You looked beautiful. Good luck with the interview!  

You tapped out a quick thanks, frowning at your phone all the while.  Your interviewee waved from his taxi window as he passed, and you smiled sincerely as you waved back. What a strange life. The evening was mild, and pretty, and you walked to try and stay in the fresh air a little longer. Clark didn’t leave your mind

And, it was funny, but after years living in Metropolis, the walk home was the first time you’d ever seen Superman patrolling the streets, swooping overhead in and out of the skyscrapers.

You’d shown Lois the texts of course, almost as soon as you got home. It was the right thing to do. And when she took your phone, she went completely still, holding the tiny glowing screen above her face in bed and then, while you held your breath, smirking.

“Told you,” was all she said, as she handed your phone back.

“It’s so awkward Lois!”

“I can’t believe you don’t see it!”

You sighed, and threw yourself onto the bed, over the covers in your clothes while she lay naked underneath.

“What do you get out of this?” you whined, “Lo, this is mean. Or, I don’t know, rude. Poor guy, if he does have a crush on one of us. Either way, this is so messed up.”

“What’s wrong with giving the guy a little something to look forward to in the office?”

You rolled over, fully aware you were squashing your girlfriend. Lois groaned. The pleasantness of the night, the Metropolis hazy evening, the Superman sighting, it was all fading away as Lois brought your mood crashing back to earth.

“Do you want him to find us attractive? What is this?” you asked,

“I think we should invite him out for drinks.”

Then, everything was quiet. You showered, wordlessly, and Lois was asleep by the time you crawled into bed. You watched her, the serenity of her bare face, and wondered what on earth she meant.

If she meant it.

If that was what you wanted.

*

It all remained the same, the cadence of your life. Despite the turmoil in your head, despite the tension in your relationship with Lois, despite the way Clark looked at you.

Subway, office, interview writeups and morning meetings, everything stayed the same.

Those tiny changes, however, were amplified. Those little things above the noise floor. Clark telling you he’d watered your desk plant. Clark proofing your articles when you sent them to the editor pool. Clark, getting up and going to the kitchenette when you did, and lurking by the counter while you filled your water bottle, bouncing on his feet.

Sometimes, Fridays were for work drinks. By the time a week had passed since your interview, and it was just the three of you in the office again, you’d made up your mind.

A final few deep breaths, to chase away the doubt, before you text Lois.

> We should invite him out for drinks.

And instantly, it was marked as Read at 5:45pm.

Movement, of course, began with Lois. Her coat over her arm, her laptop sliding into a tote bag and the thump of her shoes against the suspended office floor tiles.

“Fancy heading out?” she said to you, ignoring your frown.

“Sure.”

Clark’s head had popped up from hunch over his keyboard, but so far, he remained with his cheek resting on his hand, pretending not to be listening. Of course, the instant Lois turned her attention to him, he was staring up at her. Eyes wide, innocent, like a puppy.

“You guys heading out?” he asked, and for a moment you thought the timidity had left his voice, replaced by something full, All-American GI Joe. By the time he spoke again, the normal Clark was back, playing with the wire of his keyboard between his hands.

“Yeah, reckon we’ll get an early night, love?”

You shrugged, starting to pack you bag.

‘Up to you, Lo. I could go for a cocktail, if you fancy it?”

“Hm, I think I could tolerate that.”

She was playing. Showing off for Clark, again, slim fingers playing with the strap of her tote bag, flitting to shift your hair from your face..

“Maybe a beer.”

She let the words hang in the air, for far too long, and you could see Clark trying to decide whether he should pretend to be disinterested in the conversation, or politely pay attention.

“Want to come for a drink?” she asked him, finally.

Clark slipped, fingers fumbling against his keyboard, glasses falling askew on his face.

“Me?”

Lois laughed. You could feel the heat rising in your face – the second hand embarrassment was unbearable as Clark rushed to turn off his computer.

“Yes, you!” She was teasing, “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah! Yes, of course. Um, where are we going?”

Like you, he was following Lois’ lead, coat in hand. You trailed behind her to the elevator, and he trailed behind you. She was already  in the car, holding the doors, when Clark darted inside.

“I know a place,” was the only answer she gave, leading you both out into the mild evening air.

She hooked her little finger around yours, pulling you to her side as she walked, leaving Clark to negotiate the obstacles on the sidewalk to keep up with the conversation, both of you orbiting around her as she set the path and you dodge pedestrians and scaffolding.

“Do you guys do this often, then? Drinks after work?”

Lois hummed, giving your hand a double squeeze, which could have meant a million things – but in this moment evidently only meant one.

“It’s how we met, actually. I finally plucked up the courage to ask her out for a drink. Took me long enough.”

You laughed, and let Lois guide you inattentively over a crosswalk. She’d look out for you.

“Two weeks?”

“That’s not like me,” she quipped, “I knew in two hours. That I wanted to ask you out.”

You got the impression Clark was holding back an aw; the noise he made came out somewhere near it. It was a sweet story, especially from someone as tough and pragmatic as Lois. She had soft spots, but they were well guarded. You were the exception.

“We actually went to a place right by the office, Eclipse Room. We’ve been there for work dos, sometimes.”

“Fancy,” Clark commented.

He’d fallen behind, helping a lady with a pushchair up a curb with a cavernous storm drain beneath it. In a few long strides, he was back behind the pair of you. You kept looking back, trying to make sure he was included, as Lois dragged you onwards.

“Yeah. It was nice,” you admitted, “I couldn’t believe Lois just kept buying rounds. My cocktails were like, three time the price of her beers. But when I tried to order an IPA, she just came back with the Long Island I really wanted.”

“That’s so… kinda sweet, actually. Didn’t know you had it in ya, Lois.”

“Fuck off, Kent.”

Lois was laughing, bright and climbing up an arpeggio, as free as those sweaty moments in the afterglow, when you said something just to hear her giggle. For a moment, that panic returned, that Lois and Clark were close and in sync and you were completely ignorant to that current between them. But then the moment was over, and Lois was pulling you closer to her and squeezing your hand twice, and meeting your eyes with a question.

You nodded, bottom lip caught between your teeth, and she sent you the kind of wink she’d used liberally in those early days of your relationship – so smooth, so cheeky that it made your knees weak.

“Shit!” she exclaimed suddenly, letting your hand slip from hers and turning to Clark, the three of you forming a triangle of tote bags and totes and inky fingers on the sidewalk.

The bar was looking worse for wear – the 72 Speakeasy had lost half it’s lettering, the front windows smashed in, the distinct shape of an impact visible in the brickwork façade.

“What the hell. Closed due to damage from recent battle.”

There it was, a handwritten sign taped to the inside of the remaining glass panel – the other side of the door was covered in plywood, bent nails fastening it in place.

“God, that’s so sad!” you were saying, as Clark patrolled the front of the building, inspecting the damage.

“Shoot, I wish you’d said this is where we were going. Superman mentioned he’d accidentally gone into it yesterday, thrown around in a fight. He’s super sorry, though.”

You both looked at him for a moment, as Clark toyed with the nails protruding from the boarded up windows. They must have been cheap metal, he was slightly bending them in with his fingers, stopping them from snagging passersby.

“That’s the impression I got, anyway. I had no idea it was somewhere you guys liked.”

Lois sighed, and pulled you into a half-hug.

“Sorry, honey. I wouldn’t have dragged us all the way out here if I’d known.”

“That’s okay, I like the walk. Besides, there’s loads of other places. There’s Joe’s around the corner…”

“But they don’t do that nice rum cocktail you like,” she was quick to interrupt you, eyebrows reaching for her hairline.

“That’s okay…”

“What do you think, Clark?” she was asking, calling over your shoulder, “I was thinking we might just had back to ours. I’ll make you a drink there, hm sweetheart?”

When you spun Lois so that you could see Clark, the dejection on his face nearly broke your heart.

“Oh, okay. Yeah. That’s sensible. Are you guys gonna be okay getting back?”

“You’re going?” you asked him, aware how much less sure your voice sounded than Lois’.

“Oh… Oh! I assumed…”

“You’re very welcome,” you were saying, “if you want to come, that is. You don’t have to. But if you’re still up for a drink…”

There he was, back. Smiling, daft Clark Kent, dimples deepening with his smile and ready to lead the way to your apartment.

“If you’re sure that’s okay!”

“Of course it is!” you said, just as Lois nodded.

“Then let’s rock and roll!” he beamed, “I’m parched.”

*

72 Speakeasy was, of course, the closest bar to your apartment. It was barely a two minute walk before you were unlocking the front door, quickly tidying up while Lois sauntered to the kitchen and began dishing out drinks.

She never made you that nice cocktail, but a glass of cold rosé was pressed into your hand, the bottle set on the living room table, sweating and ready to be split three ways.

Lois settled you onto a couch, and Clark into the matching armchair at the foot of it. She fussed for a moment, setting up nibbles in a very un-Lois-like manner, before clambering onto the couch beside you. You were so close, you were practically tangled with her – and it didn’t escape your notice that Clark was watching intently as she negotiated your arms around her to take a sip of her wine.

“At least this is quieter,” you said, to no one in particular.

One wall of the apartment was stacked floor to ceiling with books, mementoes of stories. Opposite, windows which offered a panoramic view of the city. In the middle of the room, however, there was only the three of you, warm bodies on you and Lois’ fancy new sofas, around the dark wood coffee table which you both swore you’d stop leaving clutter on.

You and Lois ate there, often, sat on the floor with the couch at your backs. Clark, too, had used the table before, for those late night writing sessions which had first tinged your world Kryptonite green.

You’d bruised your shin on it, countless times. Including when you’d first broken in this sofa. You’d insisted Lois find a blanket to put under your naked bodies, and she’d whined that you were ruining the mood, before acquiescing.

As your mind wandered, you found yourself glad Clark was sat on the armchair. Not just sitting, fully occupying, long thighs extending beyond the chair and his feet haphazard where they fell on the floor, like he was too big for your furniture. The stem of his wine glass was woven through his fingers, and when he touched it to his lips, you couldn’t help reflecting on the fact you’d shared that wine glass too. And Lois. It had been through the dishwasher, of course. The thought was purely sentimental. And yet, something caught in your chest as he hummed in thought, the pout of his bottom lip pressed against the glass.

He was talking to Lois, voices low, and you found yourself excused from conversation for a moment. Instead, you let your mind wander. To the fact he’d shucked his jacket at some point in the chaos of the three of you spilling into the apartment. You noticed that Lois was pulled her foot onto the sofa, so it was pressed to your thigh. That Clark was taking breaks from his conversation to train his eyes on you, and you smiled back as you caught him.

On an empty stomach, the first glass of wine burned, and you thought if you stood up you’d probably already feel the slight headrush that rosé always brings. You could feel it warming your face, making Lois’ body hotter against yours.

“You still with us, honey?”

Lois only caught your attention as she stroked your hair from your forehead, and shifted on the sofa to refill your wine glasses. The last of the bottle went to Clark, and she extended fully to fill his glass, laughing at the balancing act of it, even as you caught the quick glance he took down her shirt.

He had pink cheeks. It could’ve been the wine, but Clark had never struck you as a lightweight.

“Sorry,” you murmured finally, and both Clark and Lois turned towards you to pay close attention, “I was miles away. What were we talking about?”

Clark laughed, not unkindly, a quiet chuckle deep in his chest. Lois cooed, and rubbed at the back of your neck.

“That’s okay. It’s been a long day, you must be exhausted.”

“Long week,” Clark agreed, “I keep thinking, sooner or later, we’re due for a relaxing time.”

“You signed that away with your last promotion, I think Clark. Welcome to senior – you’ll never have a moment’s peace again.”

That caught your attention.

“You got promoted.”

He brought one finger to his lips, making a clumsy shh sound, more playful than you’d never seen him before.

“I’m not really telling people. I don’t mind you knowing, though. I guess Perry will announce it eventually.”

“Clark! That’s amazing! Congratulations.”

Already, he was waving you away, modest to a fault. You could see the pride in him though, burning so vivid and hot that it was almost bursting out of his tight smile.

“Eeh, it’s the Superman stuff. Nepotism, basically.”

“I don’t think our readers mind that, it’s the writing that’s brilliant,” you told him kindly, raising your glass, “we should be toasting. Congratulations, Clark Kent, senior reporter!”

“And new owner of the metahumans desk,” Lois added, resting her head against yours.

Clark raised his glass, matching you, but there was a weariness to it. He didn’t seem as happy as you’d imagined serious, career-driven Clark Kent would be at such a big milestone.

“I know you’ve been there longer…” he was saying, but you waved him away.

“Oh, I don’t care. You deserve it. The last thing I want is more responsibility. Besides, the money doesn’t seem worth it. I hardly pay for anything anyway,” you grinned and Lois, and she rolled her eyes in return, nothing but fondness in her expression.

“She’s demanding,” she shrugged, sharing a joke with Clark which he didn’t want to be part of, “absolute nightmare. You’d hardly know it, she seems so sweet at work.”

He looked at you, eyes flitting, and softening at your shrug. There was that expression again. Somewhere between longing and gentle acceptance. You hated it.

“Demanding? I can’t believe that,” he said softly, and you smiled softly.

“She’s a liar. I’m an angel. Besides, this apartment would be a bombsite without me.”

“This is a sugarmommy situation, I see how it is,” Lois was teasing, “older woman, bigger salary…”

“You hardly make more than me. I actually think you’re underpaid. If I was after the cash, I’d make you move to the Gazette–”

Abruptly, you felt you were seeing yourself from the outside. From Clark’s perspective, on his lonely, undersized armchair. It was cruel. And as much as Lois denied it, if just the smallest things were different, it would be you on the outside, watching them cuddle up together. The thought made you feel nauseous, if you let yourself focus on it.

“Mind if I use your restroom?” Clark asked abruptly, hauling himself from the chair and putting his empty wine glass on the table.

“Of course,” Lois answered.

He knew where it was, of course, after those evenings spent here with Lois. You wondered if they’d shared a sofa, or if he’d been designated that armchair, and you were the last to know it was his.

He was difficult to be angry at, though. Clark took the time to get a coaster out and put it under his glass before he vanished down the corridor towards the bathroom. Sweet boy.

Both of you were silent for a while, sipping at your wine until you were sure Clark was out of earshot. Then Lois brought her lips to yours, and kissed you solidly, straightforwardly, lips parted and with the seriousness that she was sealing some deal you were unaware you’d made.

You started to push away from her, create a little bit of space, but Lois wouldn’t allow it. She took your arms and removed them from the cavity between you, letting her press her body to yours.

“You’re both so sweet. Cheers-ing his promotion like that. It’s obvious he’s not happy, though. Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do, sat there watching him. It’s obvious, how much you laugh at his jokes. Smile at him.”

“Lo, I cant tell if you’re upset, or seriously suggesting – ”

She was being too loud. He’d be able to hear. He was coming back any minute, and the sounds Lois was drawing from you were obscene, and –

“Tell me you want to fuck him.”

“Lois!”

“Yes or no.”

“God! Um, yeah. Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Definitely yes, but –”

Then Clark was back, making himself heard, thumping his socked feet against the hardwood floor. Your breath caught in your throat. He’d heard some of that. Probably most of it, you presumed. He definitely heard when Lois took one last kiss from you, groaning against your open mouth, the heat in your face was becoming unbearable.

“Big, isn’t he?” she whispered, as Clark moved back to his seat, her lips tight to your ear and her face hidden in a curtain of hair.

“So sweet, too. He’d look after you.”

Clark was watching curiously, excluded from the conversation. You shivered, suddenly very aware of how warm you felt. How wet. That rush of blood downwards, making your clit ache. Was Lois really serious? Was she fine with this?

You watched Clark Kent, reporter and country bumpkin, and wondered how on earth he’d found himself in Lois’ dragnet.

Then again, you’d wondered the same about yourself, once upon a time.

“Are you doing anything to celebrate your promotion?” Lois asked, so loudly it made you jump, accustomed to her low whispers against the shell of your ear.

“I, um, haven’t really told anyone yet. Lois, uh, only knows because she was a reference for me. It was really nice, actually. What you wrote.”

“All true,” she shrugged, “every word of it.”

You hummed approvingly. And felt yourself clenching around nothing. Clark’s jaw ticked, and you wondered how good he was at eating out. He seemed like the type: giving. Generous. Unselfish. Eyes so wide and sincere, they were made for looking up from between your thighs.

Even more than before he was sprawled out in his armchair, elbows hanging off the side, knees wide and feet crossed at the ankles beneath him. His head was hanging to the side a little, flustered under Lois’ dismissive praise, eyes flitting between you and your girlfriend.

“I really think you should do something special. God knows, promotions don’t happen often around the Planet. Not if Perry can help it.”

A chuckle, a blush. The press of his cheek against the meat of his palm. Clark was so predictable, it made your chest clench.

“Does anyone want more wine?”

Three empty glasses and an empty bottle were littered across hands and the table. You moved to stand, but Lois hooked you, a leg around your thighs and an arm around your waist.

“You’ve had enough, I think.”

“We can’t invite Clark here for a drink then open one bottle,” you teased.

When you glanced up at him, Clark was smiling into this hand, eyes fixed on the pair of you.

“Clark?”

“I can grab it, if you’re trapped?”

You beamed at him, and he rose effortlessly to his feet, padding into your kitchen and opening the fridge like he lived here.

“Same again?” he called to you.

“Please.”

“I’m being plotted against, in my own home,” Lois grumbled to herself, and Clark came back, eyes sparkling behind his glasses as he poured you a new glass, leaning over you so that he could fill Lois’ empty glass, and taking it from her hand to give to you.

“Lo?” you murmured, and she shook her head.

“I’m fine.”

It was a crying shame, you thought, that the armchair was so damn far away.

“See, Lo. If you really loved me, you’d get me wine.”

“Har, har.”

You were adrift, in a funny gap in conversation. Lois had wanted this, right? You and Clark? This strange electricity between you? His fingers had brushed yours when he handed you the wine glass, and you couldn’t stop rubbing your fingers against the spot where he’d touched your skin.

Even if all three of you wanted this, you had no idea how to get there. Lois was being frustratingly quiet.

Interviews were in her blood. In yours. In Clark’s. Getting what you wanted with wit and careful planning. So why couldn’t you do it?

The silence was getting too long. You and Clark were sipping your wine, small, frequent drinks because you weren’t sure what else to do. The city outside was dark shapes and bright lights, manipulated by the storm which had started outside, flickering in the rain and shifting in the wind. The windows were too thick to hear the wind, the rain, the thunder, but you could tell it was there. It was in the beads of rain on the windows, in the tense, humid air of the apartment. When you looked away from the window, you caught Clark’s eye, and he smiled shyly, ducking his head at being noticed.

“Tell me about Superman.”

“Lois,” you groaned, “that must be all her ever hears!”

You were laughing, trying to diffuse the tension, as Clark shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Lois, though, ignored you – piercing stare on Clark, all the way over in his armchair. There was something there, in the way his posture changed. His wine disregarded, miles away in one long arm, the other rubbing at his bottom lip, shoulders squared to the cushion.

“What do you want to know?”

It was there again, that flicker of a deeper voice, a more confident man beneath Clark’s self-effacing. Gone again, of course, as Clark smiled tightly, and tilted his head in a stretch.

“Hm,” Lois was playing again, pretending this conversation was impromptu, when you all knew she did nothing casually.

She adjusted you, gradually so your wine wouldn’t spill, until she was sat fully on the couch and you were halfway between her lap and the cushions.

“Powers, then. We know he can fly. Eye lasers. Super strength. Super speed.”

“Surviving being thrown around like a ragdoll,” you added, because you felt like a ragdoll yourself in that moment.

Clark waited a moment too long before he spoke.

“He’s very careful about what he shares with the public,” he said, wine glass swirling around at his side.

“He never seems very careful what he shares with you,” Lois pointed out.

“Because he trusts me.”

“Right,” Lois’ fingers were at your right trapezoid, hidden from Clark, massaging out the stress, “powers, then?”

You remained perfectly still in her lap, enjoying the sensation, but knowing how close the relief was to pain. Lois was careful, but she was also on the hunt, chasing Clark down with a precision equal parts scary and breathtaking.

“You’ve got most of them. Cold breath, too. Like he did on that creature, last week. X-Ray vision. We see him do that, when he’s evaluating a scene.”

“Just vision?”

Lois’ fingers went still, and you rolled your head into her hand a little. Clark was completely distracted by the motion, following it as closely as you were. Her hand slipped down, outside your arm, inside your elbow, sliding across your waist to sit low on your stomach. You couldn’t keep your eyes open. Couldn’t blink. It had been so long, since that whisper in your ear. Since your first saw Clark sitting on your furniture, drinking from your glasses, all muscle and longing, wide eyes.

“Just vision, Clark?”

Lois’ fingers were pressing in, just a little, to the soft of your stomach, her pinkie dipping below the line of your hipbones. She was so close. When you looked up at Clark, eyelids drooped, his mouth was slightly open, eyes fixed on the place where Lois’ fingers dug into your shirt.

“Um. Uh, I think so.”

“Hearing, surely. I’ve heard he hears danger, across the city.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess so.”

You had no idea what any of this had to do with anything. Shielded by the fold of your thigh, Lois’ fingers were working below your shirt. Not where you wanted them, though. You felt your face heating up as Clark watched. She settled for passing over the skin of your torso, a lump moving beneath your shirt as she let her fingernails graze you. He was staring intently, although your thigh blocked the movement, you supposed it was obvious Lois was doing something.

“I bet he heard me earlier. What I said to you, huh, honey?”

“What?”

“When Clark was in the bathroom. I asked you a question. Do you remember what I asked?”

“Oh! Uh,” instinctually, you clamped your free hand down on Lois’, stopping her movements as you desperately searched her face.

She was frustratingly cool, on the outside. Giving away nothing.

“I don’t remember,” she looked up, and Clark blinked back.

That defensiveness had melted away, and he was slumped again, his whole nervous system focused on watching the pair of you on the couch.

“Clark, did you hear? What I asked her?”

He swallowed, and looked away, out at the skyline.

“I’ll take that as a yes. What did I ask her?”

You couldn’t see Lois, but you could tell she was smiling, wide, sharklike. She’d won her hunt. Clark wasn’t answering, and in the haziness of your own mind, you were still putting together the silent conversation they were having.

The hand on your ribs tightened under your palm. Lois leant down, her eyes focused on Clark as she whispered in your ear.

“He’s Superman.”

“What?”

You’d turned, open mouthed, to stare at her. Clark had gone beet red, spluttering and failing to find a single word.

“It’s obvious,” she was ploughing on, teasing him, craving the writhe in those taught muscle as he squirmed, “the disappearing. The physique, his concentration. Clark always hears things he shouldn’t. And his Superman interviews… even Cronkite couldn’t have gotten such perfect packages from those.”

“You didn’t tell me?”

Her fingers found your collar, slipping under to rub at your collarbone, humming sympathy.

“I wanted to see if you’d work it out on your own. I thought you were pretty close,” there was a glint of mischief in her eyes, that echo of a mentor relationship which made your stomach clench, and you groaned as you surged forwards to kiss the smirk off her lips.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Clark. He was an absolute state, a whine caught in his throat and red printed prettily across his cheeks, an arm lying not-so-casually over his crotch.

“Okay over there, Superman?” Lois called.

“Are you actually Superman?”

From your place in Lois’ lap you turned to him, wrecked and hazy from the wine and the conversation and Lois. He took a deep, shuddering breath as he tried to meet your eye.

“Yeah,” Clark exhaled, and you could hardly process it.

He pulled his glasses from his face, and set them carefully on the coffee table, moving oddly cautiously for the man of steel.

There he was. Otherworldly, and handsome, and Clark’s eyes were even more desperate without the glass hiding them from you. He was waiting for something. Some reaction. Approval, disgust, surprise.

Lois rubbed at the skin over your ribs, encouraging you.

“Christ, you could’ve mentioned how attractive he was in your articles,” you complained, and Lois rubbed both hands up your torso as he laughed.

“Never one to blow his own trumpet, our Clark,” she teased, voice low and fond.

It was too much to bear.

“You must be able to hear it too, then. How desperate she is. That heartrate.”

Clark said nothing. He was still cautious, as he watched Lois pull your torso flush to her, and arm over your hipbones like a seatbelt.

“Can your hear it?” she asked, sending your pulse rushing as she fidgeted beneath you, pulling your torsos closer together with one hand over your chest. “Sorry, Clark. She’s… can’t leave my girl hanging.”

“By all means,” he ground out, voice gravel, and you couldn’t bear it.

Lois’ was talking past you to Clark, her hands hovering above the band of your trousers, over the fabric of your bra. When you forced your eyes open, you could see Clark was fully hard, slacks stretched painfully across his lap.

“She was so jealous, when I spoke about you,” she was palming at the bottom of your breast, through your bra, but it wasn’t enough, “when we were writing together. She said some really nasty things, actually.”

Mortification was rushing through you, hot in your veins and in the clench of your pelvic floor and the rise and fall of your chest. You couldn’t look at Clark. Fully clothed, you felt completely exposed between them, those two powerhouses. When you dared to glance at Clark’s face, you saw brazen, bare interest, the way he was leaning forwards on one elbow, observing like he was about to write an article.

“Lo…” you whined.

“Shhh, sweetheart. I’m talking to Clark. She came home all jealous, talking about how good looking we were together. Isn’t that funny?”

You were clenching on nothing, hand clasped over Lois to try and move that incessant palming of your breast, trying to force her towards somewhere more useful.

“Clark?”

“You’re beautiful,” he managed, “both of you.”

“Isn’t it funny, though? All upset, because of it. When I’m completely obsessed with her?”

Somewhere, below the heat and the blind lust, Lois’ words were soothing. Clark was, of course, the outsider. The intruder, the guest.

“God, stop…” she was playfighting you, resisting your hands, as you tried to do anything for some relief.

“Clark, can you help me?”

“Hm?”

He hadn’t moved, but he was ready to. Every muscle tense, coiled, about to spring forwards.

“She’s moving, even though I know what she needs. Can you get that wine glass off her? Hold her down.”

Beside you in a second, Clark was unclenching your fingers from your glass, or maybe it was Superman, saying, “here, sweetheart,” as he shifted everything to the far side of the coffee table, eyes never leaving your trapped body.

“I know you need it, baby,” Lois cooed, “Clark said he wanted to help you.”

Mouth open, Clark struggled to defend himself, and your head spun. What had she said to him?

“C’mon. I’ll hold her here, stop her from fidgeting,” she was talking past you again, as Clark rounded the couch to stand at the end of it, staring down at the pair of you, “you can do the hard work.”

You weren’t fighting, you were stupefied, when Lois hooked your ankle to shove one of your feet off the couch, pulling the other leg in parallel with her own, up against the back of the sofa. You were open to him, beneath your clothes, and the shift of angle made you desperate with need. In pulses, your clit was overriding the rest of your nervous system with reminders of how desperate you were. Had been. Wetness and heat which had been unsatiated for so long it was aching.

“I didn’t fuck her this morning,” Lois was telling Clark, “or last night. I wanted her to be so desperate, completely ready.”

Clark’s hand found your ankle, pulling it closer to him to take the strain out of your hip, and effortlessly pulled your lower body downwards so you were only half on Lois, the other half completely on the sofa.

“I’ve always wanted to see you fucked by someone with a cock. You know that?”

“Hm?”

“Clark’s huge. Look at him. Clark…”

She grabbed his hand, placed it against yours, so you could see how enormous he was. He was so warm, preternaturally so, skin rougher than Lois’, thick fingers eclipsing yours.

“God, imagine those fingers…”

Again, Lois’ hand, pulling Clark’s hand from yours and startling both of you, until Clark’s skin was reunited with yours. This time the soft skin of your lower tummy, Lois’ deft fingers pulling your clothes out of the way until his wrist was nestled on your pubic mound, fingers spreading and reaching, up, up, impossibly far.

“Look,” Lois whispered for both of you, “look at that. How big he is, honey.”

You were looking. It was all you could do. Clark, too, looking at the image of his own neatly manicured nails over your plush skin, fingers stretching most of the way up to your ribs. It wasn’t lost on you, what Clark was doing, when he pulled his palm back towards himself, over your misplaced trouser waistband, until he was lining up his knuckles with where your entrance would be.

“Do you want that, honey? You don’t have to. It’s only an idea,” Lois murmured, and you saw Clark’s brow furrow, “maybe it’s a bad idea. I know you’re delicate – ”

“No! I do. Clark, I…”

You didn’t know how to ask for it. Lois would have made you, wrung those mortifying words from your lips, but Clark just smiled gently.

“Can we get some of these clothes out the way?”

“Please,” you breathed.

Lois was there, pressed to your back, and Clark quickly undressed you. Lois’ arms were wrapped around you, but she didn’t comment, undoing your shirt but leaving your bra in place, and Clark effortlessly removed everything on your lower half. Unable to bear it, you pressed your head against Lois’ torso, twisting sideways to hide in her arm, but she gently coaxed you back out.

“Isn’t Clark nice, helping you out like this, honey? When

“Can I touch you?”

“Please,” you breathed.

You were so wet, liquid, that the first gentle stroke of Clark’s fingertip between your lips was hardly there. Then another, exploring, his breath accompanying the slithering of his fingertips across your pussy, defenceless and forced open by the sprawl of your legs across the couch.

“Pretty,” he murmured, face to close to you, each breath was torture.

He experimented for a second, playing, until finally he glanced up at you, and slid a finger upwards to the hood of your clit. That first touch was ecstasy, the tip of his thick middle finger finding its place on your clit and circling for a few seconds, your whole body reduced to the near-frictionless roll of his rough fingertip against the most sensitive part of you.

Then, he was gone, and you didn’t have the vocabulary to beg him to continue. Lois did, though. Her arm snaked around you, fingers finding their way between your legs, and you opened your heavy eyelids to see Clark’s face nearby, watching breathlessly.

“God,” she exhaled, finger dipping into your entrance, “you’re soaked, baby. I’m sorry, we made you wait so long. You must have really been suffering.”

You hummed, more overcome with frustration than anything else. Lois brought her fingers to your clit, letting them slip either side of it a few times, before stilling.

“Know what you’re doing, Kent?”

To your absolute elation, Clark rolled his eyes. Lois’ trite fine, was muffled as she brought her fingers to her mouth.

There was no doubt in your mind that Clark Kent knew exactly what he was doing. With the briefest rub of introduction to your pussy lips, Clark Kent had his index finger inside you, hunting for an angle and pattern until he was devastating you with every movement. Then, a second finger, slowing his pattern for just a few seconds to let you stretch around him until he brought you back to making desperate gasps against Lois.

Lois was getting impatient on your behalf, slipping her hand back to your clit, but she only made a few of those familiar quick, tight circles before Clark was shoving her away, back hunched over you as his tongue found its mark.

“That’s a much better idea,” she murmured.

Hands were everywhere. Big fingers inside you, now resting, filling you as Clark’s tongue worked. Lois’ fingers on your breasts, pinching at your nipples, coaxing them to a swollen-red stiffness and aching enough to keep Clark’s attentions from becoming too much. Lois’ mouth was on your neck, as she watched Clark’s curls brush against your stomach. Clark’s mouth – fuck – Clark’s mouth was suctioned to your clit, the rough texture of his tongue fighting the soothing pressure of his lips, bathing your most sensitive spot in spit and affection.

Don’t stop, you wanted to say, don’t change a thing.

Words died in your mouth, desperate and unspoken. It was all much, the desperate lathe of his tongue, Lois’ murmured encouragement, the sheer strength of those two fingers gently pumping inside you – you didn’t realise you were cumming until your breath stopped, and your muscles clenched without your consent.

Clark didn’t stop. He alternated between pressure and kitten licks until you laughed, desperately shoving him away, and he remained in place, on his knees at the end of the couch, damp fingers hovering above the fabric.

“Good girl,” Lois was murmuring, hands stroking your skin under your open shirt.

You could hardly hear her, blood pounding in your ears. Your eyes were focused on Clark, on the way he was stretching out his fingers, watching the slight gape of your pussy, glistening between your legs.

He raised his fingers to his mouth, suddenly uncertain.

“Can I..?”

Breathless, you nodded, and watched as he sucked and licked his fingers clean with such fervour it made you clench in remembrance.

“It’s not fair,” Lois whispered in your ear, “that he doesn’t even need to breathe.”

God bless Lois Lane. You laughed, and so did Clark, and suddenly he was clambering up your body and fitting his wide hips between yours, kissing you with the taste of you on his lips.

“Is that okay? The kissing?” he asked, and you realised he wasn’t asking you.

You looked between them – up, since Lois had you slouched against her – and blurted the words out as soon as the realisation hit you.

“Did you… did you plan this?”

“No! No, um… well….” Clark spoke first, and you could see the laughter at the corners of Lois’ lips, “she asked me…”

“I asked him if he’d want to fuck you. His reaction was very much the same as yours.”

“You knew?” you frowned at him.

He’d seemed so unsure, earlier.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know this would happen. Or now. I just… you’re so pretty.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Imagine… imagine meeting these two amazing women… and thinking you’ve got… something. Chemistry, maybe. And realising they’re already in this amazing relationship with each other. I’m so happy for you, I just… want that.”

Lois was watching him, predator and prey, but Clark’s gaze was fixed on you. Her lips brushed your ear.

“I thought maybe Lois was teasing me,” he finally admitted.

You felt any hostility melt away, reaching for his hand, and watching as he fought back the wide grin which desperately wanted to make an appearance.

“Do you think we could work something out?” Lois whispered, “Only, I said he could fuck you.”

You were bare, pulsing, nerves aching for the warmth of Clark’s tongue against you again. You missed him already. Clark’s hand found yours, and you closed your fingers around his palm, interleaved like you did with Lois. His fingers were wet, from where he’d licked them clean.

“You’re Superman.”

His eyes were shining with something, staring down at you with giddiness and desperation and such humanity, the Superman thing wasn’t sending you into a tailspin panic.

“It’s a nightmare for journalistic integrity,” he told you gently.

You choked out a laugh like it was a sob, and he beamed, bright and brilliant.

“God. What the fuck,” you laughed.

“Superman,” Lois was addressing him in her reporter voice, elocution perfect for the imaginary tape recorder, “any sign you’ll be called away this evening?”

“Well, Miss Lane,” he began.

Christ, he was Superman, you could feel the heat returning, surging through you, as his eyes bored into Lois’ and that voice, silken and from another era, boomed into the room.

“It’s all clear out in Metropolis this evening. I believe I’ve got far more important things to tend to right here.”

Lois, of course, had been able to read you since the day you met.

“I never knew you found Superman attractive,” she teased.

You were squirming, your body tortured by so long spent soaking and tense and untouched.

“I… bit of a goody two shoes for me,” you managed, barely able to string a sentence together.

Clark’s intense stare turned slowly to you, dishevelled and braced by the two most powerful people you’d ever met.

“I’ll pass the message on. Though I’m not sure it’s true. I’m sure you could drive him to do absolutely anything.”

“You’ve been so patient, Clark,” Lois interrupted, “c’mon, tell me what you want.”

He couldn’t say anything, mouth opening then closing again, as he looked between you and Lois, her head above yours as she held you in her arms.

“Please?”

“Should we go to the bedroom?” you suggested.

You were feeling quiet, but you didn’t like seeing Clark looking lost. There was still some wetness around his lips, and you could see him pulling his bottom lip into his mouth, trying to lick it clean.

“Good idea,” Lois shifted beneath you, then chuckled, “you going to move, or…?”

“I want to,” you rolled your head, I just…”

You hadn’t finished speaking before the warmth of Lois was lost to you, and replaced by two strong hands around your back and thighs, and the high, clear tune of Lois’ laugh as you were whisked into the air with a shriek.

When the shock had worn off, Lois scurrying behind you, you pulled your face from Clark’s chest.

“This isn’t very sexy,” you told him.

“I wouldn’t disagree more.”

He set you down gently on top of the sheets you and Lois had left crumpled that morning, and immediately felt her sink onto the mattress beside you, Clark on the other side.

“Shall we ditch the clothes, Superman?”

It was hilariously fast, how quickly Clark shucked his work clothes, standing in his boxers as Lois huffed, unbuttoning her shirt, sparing a second to unclasp your bra before her own.

The bedside light was on, and everything was softer than in the lounge. More intimate, as you finally saw the sheer size of Clark, his biceps as big as your head, and the huge band of smooth muscle across his stomach. You were used to Lois, of course, equally gorgeous, and it was strange to have to split your attention between the two of them.

“I think you’ll have to ditch those too, Superman,” Lois teased, and even in the low light you could see the slight tense of his upper body.

You rose to your knees to peel down the waistband of Clark’s boxers, sparing him the pressure of your palm over the fabric, hoping to ease his brief uncertainty.

“Okay?” you asked.

“More than okay.”

Once you’d eased the waistband down his thighs, Clark made quick work of kicking off his underwear, standing on his knees beside you on the mattress. Big had been an understatement, and you could see just how desperate he was in the redness of his erection. It almost looked painful, as you glanced your hand once, twice along his length.

Lois had a hand on his shoulder, pulling him to lie down. You could see the slight seriousness in her one, a sudden switch, as she was upright on her knees and glaring down at Clark, gaze flitting over his bare skin.

“Just… let her get on top first. Be gentle, okay?”

“Of course,” he was so sincere, eyes wide as he stared up at her, you could’ve cried.

Instead you accepted Lois’ hand, using her to balance as you straddled Clark’s thighs, and worked your way up his body. As soon as you were close enough, his hands found your hips, thumbs rushing over your hipbones like a worry stone.

You leant down to press a kiss to his jawbone.

“It’s so funny seeing you without your glasses,” you told him, sparing a glance to Lois as she ran her free hand over your back.

“Miss them?” he teased.

For a man so desperately hard, so close to the edge, he was still taking the time to let you tease him, lazy smile on his lips. Just enjoying the moment.

“No. I just… I keep forgetting you’re Clark.”

“I don’t look that different,” his confidence faltered, his hands stilled on your hips, and you frowned down at him.

“No, it’s not that. You just… you’re more confident, I think. You even sound different. I like hearing you confident. Pretty boy.”

He rolled his hips under you, so strong you bucked, and it made you laugh.

“Easy, tiger.”

Lois’ hand squeezed yours, and you could see her starting to grow frustrated, her hand had left your back and disappeared to knead at the flesh of her own breast. You reached for Clark’s hand, too, holding his thick fingers in one and Lois’ in the other.

“Let her get on top, Clark,” she instructed,  “just at first.”

When you turned to watch her, she kissed you firmly on the lips, leaving her hand framing your ear.

“Just so you can go at your own pace, to start. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Clark was a little left out, lying on his back, and you could tell from the uncertain way he looked between you.

“I knew you were a big guy, Clark, but this is ridiculous,” Lois teased, trailing quick fingers across the v of muscle between his groin and the muscle of his thigh.

Clark shuddered, and you soothed him with a gentle rub of your thumb across his abs.

“Sure?” you asked him, running your thumb across his knuckles in your hand.

“Never been more sure of anything, sweetheart.”

You thought maybe he tried to wink back at you, but his head thumped back against the bedsheets so quickly that it was hard to tell. There was some fumbling, releasing of hands, but when you sank down onto Clark, you were so soaked that there was no opportunity for friction – only the slight burn of your muscles stretching, giving way, for you to seat him deep inside you.

“Fuck,” you breathed, clenching involuntarily.

You waited for your body to relax, before you even dared to lean forwards and move your hips, playing with the last inch of his wide cock inside you.

He was so big, you were to overstimulated, that you didn’t last long. You could tell Clark was getting frustrated, made of energy and muscle, while you tempered your pace on top of him. He was so big, your thighs forced so wide around him, that it was difficult to get any kind of easy rhythm.

When you glanced down at him, squeezing his fingers and involuntarily clenching around his shaft, his eyes were squeezed closed in desperation.

“Clark,” you gasped, “want to take over?”

You didn’t think it was intentional, how he thrust up into you, relief overtaking his control. His eyes flew open as you gasped, and tried to pull one of the hands you were holding down to your clit.

“I’m gonna flip us over, okay sweetheart?”

You nodded furiously, ready to keep him seated inside you as he moved, when suddenly you stopped him.

“Wait!”

Clark froze under you with a groan, and you kept rolling your hips, just enough to keep yourself sane as your called for Lois, twisting your upper body to kiss her, sweaty and desperate. Distantly, Clark’s whine reached your ears.

“Feel good, honey?” Lois asked.

Her fingers were desperately rubbing herself, and you reached down to play in the wetness which had formed between her thighs, smearing across her clit and making her laugh desperately up at you, desperately trying to ride Clark.

“I’m no good at being on top,” you admitted.

She giggled, and let go of you, and suddenly you were being turned, and then on your back, blood rushing to your head and Clark was holding his bodyweight off you on the two huge biceps which now framed your head.

“Vibrator’s in the drawer,” you managed, and Clark glanced down at you in confusion as Lois gasped, and rushed to the bedside table.

“Good idea,” she managed, groaning as the whisper-quiet buzz of the toy started.

Lois had reclined into the pillows beside your head, and you could hardly follow Clark’s eyeline to watch her, too busy trying to get used to the steady, deep thrust of his hips against yours. He was the deepest you could remember anyone ever being, bigger than any toy you’d used with Lois, and occasionally he’d readjust to fix the pinch of his head pounding into the sensitive ring of your cervix.

He was superhuman. Stamina itself, and yet even Clark didn’t remember to slip his fingers between your bodies and work your clit until you did, feeling the thud of his mons pubis against your fingers as you strummed at your clit. Then –

“Oh my god, Lois.”

Distracted, of course, Lois’ eyes were glazed over, mouth open. Nonetheless, you dragged her free hand over to your stomach.

“Feel that.”

“Holy shit.”

You could feel him, bulging against your stomach, and when Lois pressed down to feel the movement better, your vision turned to darkness for a split second.

“Can I please…” Clark was begging, groans over your head, hips beginning to snap more aggressively into the plushness of your cunt as he grew more desperate.

“Hm?”

Your fingers were back to sliding over your clit, Lois’ hand putting pressure over your womb. You knew it was making Clark desperately close, you could feel the tensing of his stomach against the back of your hand.

“Do I have to pull out?”

“No!” you gapsed. “No, please don’t – ”

“Are you close?” he was begging, and you groaned, “say you’re close, please, I can’t…”

“C’mon, Clark. Cum,” you were goading, fingers so slippery you were struggling to find friction against your clit.

Time blurred, and the whole world was reduced to the contractions of muscles, sinew, pleasure, the way Clark groaned and pleaded in your ear until he finally came inside you, for so long you thought he might never stop. Lois’ hand found its way between you, vibrator wet with her arousal, and as Clark’s rhythm faltered and his knees trapped your legs open, you felt the touch of silicone against your exposed, swollen clit.

When you returned to the room, to the bedside light and the world beyond the skin touching yours, Clark was still inside you, and your whole body felt raw and sweaty, your fingers numb and pruned. Lois was stroking your hair, and Clark… you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him so still. He was sated, heavy on top of you, a lazy smile on his face as his half-closed eyes met yours.

“Feel good?” he asked you, and you couldn’t help laughing.

“Thanks for doing the hard work.”

“I know it’s a lot. That was… amazing. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” you smiled fondly. There was a stray curl on his forehead which refused to move from his face, no matter how many times you tried to return it to its compatriots.

“Feeling good?” he repeated, and you nodded.

“Amazing, Exhausted, but good.”

He smiled so sweetly, it made your heart ache, and your pussy clench weakly around him. He did it again, just to try out the feeling, and groaned.

“Shall we clean you up?” he asked, long arm reaching blindly off the bed to find his discarded undershirt.

When he pulled out, gently cleaning you up as his semen leaked from you, you could hardly believe he’d been inside you. Even soft, he was a monster.

“I don’t know if it’s ever felt that good,” he murmured, and you couldn’t help agreeing.

Blindly, as Clark gently cleaned you –  leaving you with far more dignity than should be possible – you reached for Lois.

“Thank you,” you murmured, pulling her down for a kiss as you flopped in the centre of the bed, “for scheming. You’re an evil genius.”

She only laughed, and let you lick at her wet fingers.

“Did you finish?” you murmured, and she smiled, reaching for the vibrator which had been tossed aside as you became so sensitive the vibrations grew to torture.

“That thing is great.”

Lazily, she let you explore her familiar skin, and slip between her legs to hook two fingers inside her. When you pumped them, curled against the texture of her g-spot, she curled forwards with a groan.

“Are you sure you finished?” you asked her, and Lois rolled her eyes.

“I think the moment’s passed,” she told you, with a quick kiss, and you let your fingers slip out of her.

Clark. Where was Clark? Watching. Folding the towel carefully, so the mess was on the inside. Placing it aside, watching the bounce of Lois’ breasts as she curled down to kiss your head, sweaty but – you suspected – not fully satisfied. Despite the slowness of your limbs, the exhaustion you felt, you reached a hand out for Clark, and he let himself be pulled forwards, over your body and into the fray.

“Could you eat Lois out?” you murmured, fingers running across his abs, “Please? I want her to feel like this.”

You knew she’d never ask. Too good, too giving. And you were selfish enough to want to see Clark do it.

“Of course, I’d love to,” he murmured, “you gonna stay there?”

You nodded. Right there. Supine on your back beside them, overworked flesh exposed to the cool aircon, feeling Clark’s cum deep inside you.

“Superman,” she greeted him, as he crawled across the bed to her.

“Miss Lane.”

With quick manhandling, she was slumped back against the pillows, hips a few inches off the bed with Clark’s easy strength. You made yourself useful, an arm thrown around Lois, lips lazily marking up the tender skin of her breasts.

“Gonna show me that super-stamina, big guy?” she teased, “I know of a forum who would be very interested in hearing about this.”

She was clearly still elated with herself for figuring out the Superman stuff. Proving her own brilliance was foreplay enough for Lois – not that she’d had any shortage of that.

When Clark groaned at her teasing, loud and dramatic, he made sure to do it as he ran two strong thumbs along the sensitive outside of Lois’ vulva, delighting in how she jumped.

“So,” he put on a voice somewhere between Superman and a doctor, and you coudlnt stand it, “I’ve heard from a concerned citizen that you’re in need of some assistance.”

You smiled languidly from the other side of the bed, exhausted and so covered in arousal and cum. You’d given up on saving the sheets. You didn’t even bother to move your own limbs when they got in Clark’s way, he did it for you.

“My girlfriend, I believe.”

“Oh, what a kind young woman she must be.”

Clark was speaking with his mouth full, and you knew how it felt, that blissful frustration of his mouth moving from where it was suctioned onto skin. Lois kicked at his back impatiently.

“Respectfully, ma’am, I’m going to need you to hold still. it’s not everyday you find yourself with a superhero at your service.”

Lois could be tricky, a control freak, and you weren’t prepared for how she melted under Clark. They were still arguing, of course, that was some part of this, but she yielded completely, hand in Clark’s hair and one leg hooked into the corded muscles of his back.

She gasped as he slid a long finger into her, swearing under her breath. You moved to massage her calf, knowing she was prone to giving herself cramp.

“C’mon, gorgeous,” Clark murmured under his breath, “you must be desperate. All that time, watching us. Me and your girlfriend. Tricking us both into this.”

At Clark’s gentle suggestion – a tap to your foot – you shifted up alongside Lois, cradling her head, kissing along her neck and collarbones, leaving her mouth free to gasp and swear. You played with her nipples, and poured every ounce of thankfulness you could manage into using your mouth for form red marks against her fair skin.

You’d never seen her so flushed as when Clark made her cum on his tongue, and refused to unlatch until she screamed.

*

Clark had declined your offer to help when you realised he’d gotten hard a second time, instead getting himself off with your hands against his chest, your tongue in his mouth and Lois lay exhausted between you.

Sated and sleepy, Lois had insisted you could all shower in the morning, and the sheets could wait. Clark sternly sent you to the bathroom to pee, backed up by Lois, but shortly after the three of you were collapsed together again. You’d learned you had a real love for Clark’s stomach, feeling the muscles tense and spasm under your fingers as you rest your head on his ribs, and danced your fingers across his skin.

“It could be every day,” Lois murmured when he’d finished, using the corner of the sheet to clean himself up.

You broke your stare from him, still fascinated that he’d ever fit inside you, that those powerful muscles had hammered into you. Lois looked sheepish. You weren’t used to it, from her.

“That there’s a superhot here. In our bed. If… if you wanted, I mean,” it wasn’t like Lois to be unsure, and you frowned at her. “You said it’s not everyday… you get a superhero.”

Clark looked to you for your reaction, and you ran your hand from his thigh to his stomach, ghosting his soft cock, but still making him jolt.

“I… um,” he began, but Lois had already turned off the bedside lamp.

Clark’s hand reached out in the dark, and settled over your heart, resting his wrist in the valley between yoru breasts.

“Let’s talk in the morning,” you suggested.

You could hardly keep your eyes open. In the morning would come the aches, and the partially clothed conversations in your kitchen, and that inevitable whispered conversation with Lois where you asked each other the grown up questions. For tonight, though, you could sleep, each of you touching both of the others, and barely covered by the sheets.

“You’re both too good to be true,” Clark admitted the dark room.

It made Lois laugh, not unkindly, but with a writhe of her body which came from overtiredness. Clark felt the brief, teasing contact of a lock of her hair brushing against his face.

“I’m serious.”

“Go to sleep, Superman,” she murmured.

[ladymacbethslover]

This...is...amazing!!!!

[rocknrollpanda]

Pride & Prejudice fic recs Part 3

Miss de Bourgh in Bath by SwordSwallower17 words: 120204

After Mr. Darcy takes the thoroughly unsuitable Miss Bennet to be his wife, a most seriously displeased Lady Catherine and her daughter repair to Bath in search of new prospects. What adventures await Anne in the exciting spa city?

Personal addition: I absolutely love it, might be one of my favorite in the whole fandom. All of the OCs are amazing. And it has two sequels:

The Miss Bennets Set Forth and The Last Miss Bennet

Kitty Comes Into Her Own by Nadia81 words: 91422

Kitty and Lydia have a falling out a few months before the events of P&P. Catherine Bennet thus decides to become her own person. What will this change for her and the rest of the family?

Personal addition: The OMCs of Lord Stafford is delightful, the whole family is delightful. And likewise Lord Haddington is a very pleasant surprise.

A Bit of Advice by DJ Clawson words: 50621

Three days before his wedding, Bingley goes to the only man who can give him the advice he needs: the unfortunate Mr. Darcy.

Snowbound with Darcy by Caitlin Marie Carrington words: 39013

What’s worse than being trapped, alone, in the middle of a blizzard? Being trapped with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy!

Keep reading

[fishieguyy]

it would be a hundred times easier if we were young again

[ladymacbethslover]

I love this sooooo much!

[hardestofhe4rts]

so believe, believe in me #franchaela

[ladymacbethslover]

This is so beautiful!!!!!

[kublakola]

I literally can't believe we're getting a multi-season slow burn bickering-to-friends-to-lovers lesbian love story set in the 1800s with two of the most beautiful women I have ever seen before involved. We're not supposed to get this... like this is against the rules of TV or something idk it feels fucking surreal

[kublakola]

we might be getting this in 2027..... good lord.......... I'm getting dizzy just thinking about it

[ladymacbethslover]

I fear the person that I will become when season 5 comes out

[illcarxd]

People complaining about Franchaela because it's "historically innacurate" are so funny. Like, the fact that queer people have existed all throughout history aside, you guys do realize what show you're watching, right? 😭

[the-darklings]

♱ 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕.

pairing: baelor "breakspear" targaryen x f!stark!reader

and so the story goes: a dragon falls in love with a wolf, ice invites fire.

content warnings/contains: stark!reader (no physical description other than the fact you're barthogan stark's daughter); set pre-akotsk so no show spoilers, but post first blackfyre rebellion; strangers to lovers; implied age gap; protective!smitten!baelor; angst/fluff; mutual pining; falling in love; sexual tension; court drama.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ pinterest board | inspo tag & asks | ao3 |

⊹ ࣪ ˖ word count: 50k┊next update: 01.03.26┊rated: t.

⤷ CHAPTER INDEX:

⊹ ࣪ ˖ one.┊two.┊three.┊four.┊five.┊six.┊

⤷ BONUS CONTENT:

DRABBLES/BLURBS/ONE-SHOTS:

(*) indicates smut

jealousy. ⊹ baelor/lady stark ft. lyonel

first meeting. ⊹ baelor/lady stark (baelor's pov)

a cooling hand. ⊹ baelor/lady stark

"you choose them. you always do." ⊹ aerion/lady stark

protection. ⊹ baelor/lady stark/maekar

just friends. ⊹ lyonel/lady stark

blackwind. ⊹ baelor/lady stark ft. blackwind

family. ⊹ baelor/lady stark ft. maekarlings + papa maekar

the bronze fury. ⊹ baelor/lady stark ft. verminthor (dragons survived the dance!au)

a hug. ⊹ baelor/lady stark

in another life. ⊹ lyonel/lady stark/baelor

always for you. ⊹ aerion/lady stark

currently accepting headcanon/drabble requests and discussions for this series, feel free to send something in!

P.S. I do not do tag lists, if you want to keep up with this fic, please bookmark this post or follow me directly, thank you.

[ladymacbethslover]

Obsessed with this

[di-nana-saur]

I won't let you die - series masterlist

⋆𝜗ৎ they call us dreamers, but we're the ones who don't sleep 𝜗ৎ⋆

── .࣪ ִֶָ☾. synopsis : In the shadow of the Iron Throne, a forbidden love ignites between duty-bound heir Baelor Targaryen and his Targaryen cousin, betrothed against her will to the volatile and possessive Aerion Brightflame. What begins as stolen glances and restrained longing amid courtly facades spirals into desperate secret meetings, jealous fury, and a race against an impending wedding that threatens to consume them all. Sacrifices are made, visions of death haunt the present, and every touch risks kinslaying—or worse. Love in the Red Keep is never gentle, but theirs burns sweetest in its sin.

Starring...࣪ ִֶָ☾.

.ᐟ Baelor Targaryen (Breakspear) ── .࣪ ִֶָ☾. Crown Prince and heir to the Iron Throne. Dutiful, honorable, skilled warrior. Storm-gray eyes that hide a storm of restrained passion. Protective to the point of self-destruction. Haunted by foreseen tragedy. Would burn the realm to keep her safe. 'I cannot lose you to him.' + more to come.ᢉ𐭩

.ᐟ Reader ── .࣪ ִֶָ☾. Targaryen princess of violet eyes and silver hair. Caught in a betrothal to Aerion. Intelligent, composed under pressure, master of subtle defiance. Carries the weight of prophetic visions. Endures Aerion's possession to protect the man she truly loves. 'I traded everything to keep that vision from coming true.' + more to come.ᢉ𐭩

.ᐟ Aerion Targaryen ── .࣪ ִֶָ☾. Second son of Maekar. Cruel, arrogant, wildfire in human form. Possessive betrothed. Violet eyes full of hunger and amusement. Delights in provocation and claiming what isn't freely given. + more to come.ᢉ𐭩

PAIRINGS: Baelor Targaryen x reader (romantic, main), Aerion Targaryen x reader (forced betrothal, antagonistic/possessive), Maekar Targaryen & Baelor (familial tension)

CHARACTERS: Maekar Targaryen, Aerion Targaryen, Baelor Targaryen, various court figures (Gold Cloaks, septons, smallfolk), heart tree/old gods (symbolic) + more to come.

TROPES: (this will contain potential spoilers!!) .࣪ ִֶָ☾. forbidden love, cousin incest (Targaryen typical), secret relationship, betrothal angst, jealousy & possessive behavior, stolen moments/kisses, protective/jealous lover, emotional hurt/comfort, near-breakdown & suicidal ideation adjacent, sacrificial love, court intrigue, prophecy/visions of death, godswood prayers, ruby ring as symbol of possession/ownership, slow burn tension, pining & restraint + more to come.ᢉ𐭩

⭑pt.1ᐟ out

⭑pt.2ᐟ out

⭑pt.3ᐟ out

⭑pt.4ᐟ out

⭑pt.5ᐟ out

⭑pt.6ᐟ out

⭑pt.7ᐟ (coming soon)

series taglist . ִֶָ☾. : tell me if you want to be tagged :) credit to @vhagars-dementia and thank to them for letting me take their concept <3

[ladymacbethslover]

This is too good!!!!!!!!

[erwinsvow]

hopelessly devoted to you — b.t.

summary: baelor wakes up, and yet, somehow, your heart breaks even more.

pairing: baelor targaryen x wife reader

word count: 2k

based off of this!

from the moment the sun rose to when it fell, every moment for an entire fortnight, you had not left your husband’s side.

the maesters, called high and far from the citadel to see if they could be of any use in helping save the life of the prince, watched as you refused to be parted. 

baelor looked as though he was only asleep. his eyes were shut peacefully, his chest rising with even breaths, his skin as warm as you remembered. but somehow, despite all that the maesters did, he would not open his eyes.

you recall, maybe in the two or three days after baelor had been brought back from ashford, that your maids had pleaded with you to leave his side, to seek respite. to eat something more than scraps, to sleep in your chambers instead of the chair you had set near his bedside. 

they had since stopped asking. 

you stepped away only to soak in the tub, asking for the hottest water that they could manage, sitting alone until it turned tepid and until your tears had run out. then you’d dressed and gone back to your husband’s side.

you think it was valarr, the elder of your husband’s sons from his first marriage, that tried to convince you that this is not what his father would have wanted. you’d only looked at him sadly—he was closer to you in age and you had always gotten along well with him, but even he could not hide the fear and sadness behind his mismatched eyes. 

he was frightened, and usually, he sought out his father when he felt that way. 

and yet here he was, trying to offer you comfort where there was none to be found. baelor’s qualities shone in him brightly. 

valarr had already suffered the death of one parent, and now, on the precipice of losing another, he still tried to convince you to eat and sleep.

but there was nothing that could convince you. kiera, valarr’s wife, had tempted you with the offer to go pray in the sept with her.

that too felt sweet, as fleeting as it was. kiera was not westerosi, she did not know the gods you had grown up with, but she still offered.

you had caught a glimpse of the two hugging and crying outside of baelor’s chambers when you were headed back in a clean gown with washed hair. the very sight of their tears made you start crying again, even more so when you sat down beside him and wished that there was something you could do to wake him up. 

baelor always said he loved the smell of your hair. you thought something magical might happen, something out of a song or an old story you would one day tell your children. that he might wake up and say those sweet words that always make you flush, make you feel special and loved and have since the day you met him. 

but stories are for children, and the knife cuts even deeper when you realize any child you could have had would not know baelor. not ever get to see him, to rest in his arms, to be comforted by him.

and you—how could you ever try to marry again? how could you ever replace him? his gentle smile, his sweet laugh, the way his eyes shone when he saw you as though it was the first time all over again. 

you had been but a frightened girl when the match was made. you had expected little, not allowing yourself to believe tales of his chivalry and kindness, trying to save yourself from being disappointed.

he had surpassed even your wildest expectations. perhaps that is why this hurts even more—since the day in the sept when he had replaced your family’s cloak with the red and black one of his house, you can’t recall a moment in which you had felt fear.

you think it is because baelor is a balm to the wounds of the world. 

you had never felt uneasiness throughout your marriage until he told you he would be participating in the trial of seven, that he would be fighting for ser duncan.

and you had never known true fear, horrid and dark and burning through you, until you saw maekar’s mace hit him, and you saw him collapse in front of all those at ashford meadow.

even now, nothing in the past days has compared to that feeling. it washes through you time and time again. when you fall asleep with your head near baelor’s hand, it comes back to haunt you in your dreams. 

you awake, each time, hoping it was just a nightmare. that you’re in bed, warm beside your husband, that he’ll whisper in your ear to go back to sleep, that it was just a bad dream. 

instead you awake to maesters. they fuss over your husband and beg you to get sleep and rest in your chambers, and you don’t have any energy left, though you wish you did. you’d shout at all of them—beg and scream at them to do something, to do anything, to fix your husband’s wounds and make him return back to you as he’d always promised. you’d yell that you don’t have your own chambers because you and baelor shared them, that you don’t know what it is to sleep without your husband.

instead you stay quiet, shaking your head politely when they ask if you need anything further. you hold baelor’s hand and pray to the mother to watch over your husband. 

-

you’re walking back to the chambers, donning a fresh gown and with a new history book to begin reading aloud to baelor, when you see him outside the door.

you’re not cruel, but you can’t help but think that it is the worst when maekar comes to visit. his grief is all stored behind his violet eyes. though you know it was an accident, that he would never harm his brother on purpose, you still wish that perhaps, he would leave you alone with baelor.

you’re not cruel, you never have been. but you can’t comfort maekar when he is the reason your husband is on the verge of death, on the verge of leaving you forever. when you look at maekar all you can see is the life you should have had with baelor, dark haired, kind daughters and stoic sons and years of joy that have been so quickly taken from you.

you do not wish to speak to anyone else today. perhaps if you say it kindly, he will listen, and you prepare yourself as you approach. but as he hears your footsteps, he turns quickly, his expression unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

“come quickly,” maekar says, and the tone of his voice makes your heart beat faster. “baelor is awake.”

you drop your book in the hallway. you rush inside as quickly as your feet will take you, the maids moving quickly in the opposite direction, likely to go find valarr and matarys. the noise that leaves you is entirely unladylike, a desperate, pleading sob mixed with a shout, as you forgo your seat and sit directly on the edge of the bed. 

your hands find his, vision blurred with hot tears that rush down your face. you blink, watching as your husband’s eyes find yours, and you smile, for what may be the first time since he closed his eyes two weeks ago.

“husband?” you say quietly. he looks at you but he doesn’t reply for some time, like he’s still piecing together his thoughts.

you feel relief course through your veins. it’s a feeling like nothing else you’ve ever felt before, a special type of joy. the fear of spending your life alone, widowed so young and without the love you had only just began to know fading with each passing moment.

you hold his hand tighter, looking back at maekar with a smile, knowing how he must be feeling right now. the guilt had been swallowing him whole, and it had been affecting you too, in different ways, wondering what you could have done to make him listen to you that day. if only you’d been more convincing, or perhaps, told him about the babe growing in your stomach…

that might have made him stay safely by your side rather than leaving to uphold honor and duty.

such a man was your husband, that he—

you feel baelor’s fingers slip away from your grip. you turn back quickly, worried that something’s happened, that he’ll have fallen asleep again, that you’re still in this waking nightmare, just when you thought it was almost over. 

“baelor?” you whisper, eyes brimming with fresh, hot tears. 

“i…” he trails off, voice hoarse, sounding especially unlike himself. “i don’t-”

you reach over for a goblet of water, as maekar comes to his brother’s side and helps him sit up. the maesters continue their fussing as you give him the cup, and he takes a small sip.

he looks towards maekar, smiling at his brother, even in this state, and you can only imagine how that must feel for the two of them. you feel relieved for your brother-by-law too, that he does not have to live with the guilt and pain hanging over him for the rest of his days.

your husband was awake, and—

when he looks over at you, his smile fades a little. 

“i… i cannot recall what happened-” he starts, his attention mostly on maekar. “brother, i-”

“that’s alright,” you interrupt, taking your seat by his side. you bring your hand to his arm, but before you can, he moves it away. “you’ve been through a great ordeal. we are just so happy you are awake.” 

you try to set aside the stinging feeling in your chest. baelor has never avoided your touch like this, even in front of his family. perhaps it’s because the maesters, you think, trying to soothe yourself. 

you have to soothe yourself. there’s no one else besides baelor who can help you with that task, and even now—

“and my sons? where are they?” baelor asks, and maekar glances towards you. he seems to know what is coming before you do. you answer him quickly, smiling again, ignoring the tears as they fall down your face. 

“the maids have gone to find them, and kiera, too. they should be here any moment,” you say, wiping your eyes with your hands. you blink at him, and then at maekar, and then—

“kiera?” he questions. you look between him and maekar in confusion. “i am sorry, my lady, forgive me. may i have a moment alone with my brother?”

time feels almost frozen. you stare at baelor, your mind spinning. the room feels entirely too hot. the ties of your gown seem almost suffocating. 

i’m not a lady, you think sadly, i’m a princess now. i have been a princess since the day in the sept when you made me your wife. 

more tears come, and you wipe them away, trying to fight the battle inside your head. it’s all a mistake, you think, all a misunderstanding—

maekar says your name and you’re snapped out of your thoughts.

“perhaps we should give him a moment,” maekar says, and as he looks at you, you can almost read the thoughts inside his head. 

how sorry he is. how guilty he feels that he almost killed his brother. the relief that baelor’s alive, the pain of understanding what his actions have caused.

“he’s only just awoken,” you plead, your words coming out in between sobs. “he just needs time, i beg, please-”

your vision is blurry once again, and you wonder how there can still be tears inside of you. 

you could fill a well with them, you think, choking back a cry. that is what baelor would always say, because you cried too much and too often and over the smallest things, even when they were shed of happiness.

and he always said he hated seeing you cry.

“do not cry, my lady,” baelor says, and his words only make you feel worse—still trying to be kind and polite, even in his state. “if you could give us only a moment. perhaps you could find me my wife, jena?” 

you feel your heart shatter into a million, tiny pieces.

[ladymacbethslover]

This is soooo amazing!!! And so angsty, I’m literally sobbing!!!

[prideprejudce]

"are you team green or team black on house of the drago-" i'm on the girls team. all the women on the show deserve to be picked up and transported to a place far far away from the pathetic little men on this show. all of the girls are valid and right. i will defend all of them to the death

[ladymacbethslover]

This!

[sondu]

I got back into audiobooks

[ladymacbethslover]

This is so cute!!!

[coldprism]

Pointing sharp blades at each other is like foreplay to them

[ladymacbethslover]

This is so good!!!

[s-u-w-i]

Few more Jane Eyre characters, these huge skirts are real fun to draw 🌻

[ladymacbethslover]

If there’s one thing I love it’s Jane Eyre!!!

These drawings are so beautiful!!!

[muirin007]

Fixed it. ;)

[ladymacbethslover]

Yes!!! Everything about this!! I am obsessed!!

[divorcedwife]

He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. So don't talk of our separation again: it is impracticable.

[ladymacbethslover]

This is amazing!!! (And book accurate!!)

[acousticmalta]

🌙☀️

[ladymacbethslover]

This is so cute, I love it!!!