these are my most recent reads as well as my favourites of all time -
Charles Leclerc and the Curious Case of Compulsory Heterosexuality by Lady_Something on ao3 -
best friends to lovers fic including internaslised homophobia, its really good trust me, its mostly hurt/comfort but in a really interesting way, one of my all time favs (completed) Words: 39,489
Emotional Fault Lines by pondfalls on ao3 -
this is my all time favourite fic, the love is so sweet and the writing is so engaging (completed) Words: 80,147
Best Kept Secret by goldsbitch on ao3 -
amnesia fic where max loses his memories in an accident and starts to regain his memory 10/10 ending had me smiling ear to ear, a lil angsty but definitely worth it. (completed) Words: 67,950
Love or Duty by maekook on ao3 -
max becomes charles's royal guard, he becomes very loyal, the world building is great - 100% worth a read (completed) Words: 79,495
To Begin Again (Formerly Sempre Amour) by littlenightsong on ao3 -
charles has a career ending injury and comes back to ferrari as a race engineer, he becomes maxs race engineer while dealing with an injury, so amazing, they love eachother so much and work together so well, feat protective max (completed) Words: 124,575
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 2: Work of Art
Red.
That was all he saw.
Red like truth. Red like inheritance. Red like bloodlines.
Now it wasn’t a metaphor. It was everywhere: splattered across the walls, dripping from the ceiling, soaking the floor beneath his boots. Thick. Pungent. Inescapable.
Control Freak’s head sat grotesquely inside the shattered TV screen, while his body—or what remained of it—lay maimed and broken in a sea of blood and gore, not far from the motif it seemed destined to become.
Raven shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s… awful.”
Damian didn’t respond.
Instead, his eyes traced a trail of crimson across the floor, arcs and smears forming a pattern only he could read. Others saw carnage; he saw sequence, logic, a story written in blood.
While the others recoiled, Damian crouched, analyzing every arc, every splash. The direction of the spatter told him the force of each strike. The pooling revealed where the victims had struggled, where they had been moved. He noted the angles of impact, the distance between splatters, even the rhythm in the pattern. There was no panic… just precision. This wasn’t a frenzied attack. It was choreography.
The thought came too easily.
Too clean.
He ignored the unease that followed it.
He stepped deeper into the scene, where yellow tape fluttered over scattered flesh. Gizmo’s dismembered body had been repurposed, reshaped into a macabre sculpture reminiscent of the opening Grind House sequence. Limbs propped against a cybernetic frame, as if the tech itself were wearing him like skin.
“This is a fucking mess,” Gar muttered, doing all he could not to lose his lunch in the middle of the crime scene—of which a rookie cop had already done.
Damian didn’t look away from the carnage. He stared into the red abyss a moment longer than necessary.
Something in the pattern clicked. Not emotional. Structural. Distinct, and undeniable.
“This is a masterpiece,” he heard himself say.
The admission unsettled him—less for what it meant, than for how quickly his mind had arrived there.
His teammates paused, peering back at him as if he’d just praised the carnage itself.
“I mean, this wasn’t done at random,” he clarified, trying to put what made sense to him into words. “Whoever did this… enjoyed it. Knew exactly what they were doing. Made art out of it.”
He crouched again, eyes scanning closer now. The blood arcs suggested movement between attacks, choreographed strikes. The way the bodies were positioned—it wasn’t just mutilation; it was a frame exposed beneath it all. Damian could almost read it like a canvas split wide for an audience of one.
This had a signature, consistent enough to mark a mind at work rather than a mind in frenzy.
It unnerved him, even as it drew him in. This was Death by design.
“Okay then, Dexter,” Jaime quipped sardonically. “What can you tell us based on the blood?”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
Wrong comparison.
Not because the fictional profiler was inaccurate—but being reduced to a television analogy felt… insulting.
“The blood,” he began, voice low and even, “is deliberate. See the direction of these splatters? The strikes weren’t random.”
He traced a smear leading from the floor to the shattered TV.
“Control Freak’s head—severed by blunt force, likely a dull cleaver or similar instrument. The angle here… and the pooling beneath it indicates he was still alive when it happened. The heart hadn’t stopped yet.”
He moved his gaze over the rest of the scene, noting Gizmo’s limbs and their arrangement. “The other injuries… all controlled. Staged. Each body, each strike, has a rhythm, a pattern.
“This isn’t rage,” Damian said.
A pause. His eyes didn’t move.
“It’s… structured.”
He almost hated the certainty of it. The clinical ease with which his mind accepted carnage as if it were afternoon reading.
The others exchanged uneasy glances. Damian’s words were clinical, almost appreciative, but there was an edge of alarm beneath them that even they could sense.
“What tipped you off?” Tara grimaced, not entirely convinced. “The writing on the wall?”
Damian rolled his eyes—leave it to Tara Markov to doubt his finely tuned instincts and jump straight to the superficial.
Still, his eyes scanned the wall. Messages scrawled in blood—and other fluids—ran wild, profanities and aimless words that likely meant nothing in particular. Yet one message stood out, loud, and unmistakable:
“Life Ends, Art Remains.”
Damian stepped back from the wall, letting the others absorb his observations. His gaze lingered on the arcs of blood across the floor—subtle traces others would have missed.
Raven shook her head, her dark hair falling into her face. “I can’t… I can’t even look at it.”
Gar muttered something about needing a shower and a strong drink, already moving toward the exit. Tara just scowled, brushing blood from her gloves.
Damian said nothing, cataloging the scene in his mind. Every mark, every placement, every gruesome detail. He would revisit this, replay it, dissect it. There was intelligence here—something dangerous.
He stared at the blood beneath his boots. Dull brown. Hours had passed since the suspect had been here.
As he looked down, a distant memory surfaced—a pit so deep he wished he could forget. The familiar rusty scent of blood in the air, a reminder of carnage and the unforgiving question of mortality.
With a soft exhale, he followed the others toward the yellow tape. Before leaving, he went over his findings with the lead detective. Already filing the report in his head.
As they left, Damian cast one last glance at the scene—Control Freak. Gizmo. The scrawled message on the wall. There was a rhythm here, a design waiting for someone perceptive enough to decipher it.
He would…
Eventually.
Exiting the condemned building, the night air bit at his skin, the city heavy with smoke and rain. Even in the darkness, the echo of the killer’s “Art” lingered in his mind.
“Well,” Gar exhaled, staring at the floor like it might move, “that was a real mood ruiner.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Jaime muttered.
Tara’s voice cut through sharper. “That was fucked.”
Raven didn’t correct her. “It was… cruel.”
“They must have really pissed someone off,” Tara added, flippant.
“They didn’t deserve to die like that,” Raven reasoned.
“Maybe not,” Tara shrugged, “but y’know, they weren’t innocent.”
“Innocent or not, that was still inhuman,” Jaime muttered from beneath the safety of his armor. The scarab at his back chirping in a foreign, mechanical rebuttal Jaime only rolled his eyes at.
Damian paused. Something about that word hit a chord. “It takes a certain kind of depravity to achieve something like that,” he said quietly, eyes lingering on the receding crime scene. “And the one who did it… understands it fully. Understands fear, control, and the limits of life in ways most never will.”
The group fell silent. Even Gar, usually quick with a quip, felt the weight of Damian’s words.
“How do you do that?” Gar finally asked, voice low.
“Do what?” Damian replied, his voice calm beneath the mask.
“See evil… and be totally unaffected by it?”
Damian didn’t flinch at the accusation, though it left him slightly stunned. The truth was, he had been deeply affected by the inhumanity he’d just witnessed. The difference was he’d been trained not to show it—not to let the world see he’d been moved. To see it for what it was, an evil that needed to be stopped. And he could only do that by understanding it.
“Sometimes the only way to stop a great evil is to rationalize it,” he said, though he knew it offered his teammates no comfort.
No one answered.
Damian wasn't sure if he'd been explaining evil… or himself.
Gar shook his head. “No, seriously. How do you—?”
Damian’s gaze returned to the darkened street, already cataloging the scene in his mind. “I observe. That’s it. It’s not a superpower.”
“Maybe not to you,” Jaime noted. He turned as Gar and Tara headed toward the tower, already eager to put the night behind them. Jaime followed a moment later, leaving Damian and Raven behind.
They started moving again, the space between them filled with uneasy silence.
Raven slowed her pace until she was walking beside Damian. Not quite looking at him, she murmured, “Ignore them.”
His gaze flicked toward her, sharp. “I wasn’t—”
“I know,” she said softly. “They don’t see what you see.” A beat. “That doesn’t make you wrong.”
Damian said nothing, but something in his posture eased—just slightly.
“They still see me as an al Ghul.”
“They know you’re more than that,” Raven said as she turned to follow the others. “You’re the one who hasn’t quite let that go.”
Damian lingered, the words settling heavier than he expected.
She wasn’t wrong. The name was carved into him as surely as bone and sinew—inheritance written in blood, sharpened by training and expectation. Al Ghul. Wayne. Legacy wasn’t something he could discard. It was the framework that held him together.
Even here, beneath the towering spires of Jump City, he stood in shadow—Wayne Tower crowning the skyline behind him, granite and glass bearing down like a silent reminder. There was no escaping it. Not really.
Then the air changed.
It was subtle. A pressure at the base of his skull. The instinctive prickle that had kept him alive since childhood.
Damian stilled.
Slowly, his masked gaze swept the street, the rooftops, the darkened windows. Nothing out of place. No movement. No sound.
Yet the feeling remained.
Not the presence of a watcher.
The certainty of one.
Somewhere beyond the reach of light, something observed him with patient interest. Waiting. Measuring.
Damian’s hand curled at his side.
Recognition.
He turned.
His reflection stared back at him in the dark sheen of a plate-glass window of an abandoned storefront.
And behind it—
something else.
A figure stood across the street. Black and white. Wrongly still. A grin stretched too wide across a pale face, dark eyes locked directly onto him.
The shape did not move like a person should. It simply was there.
The clown lifted a white-gloved hand. Red stained the palm. Slow and eerie.
It waved.
Not greeting. Not mockery.
An invitation.
Damian’s breath caught—a sense of inevitability he had yet to name creeping in.
His head snapped toward the street.
Empty.
Only a flickering streetlamp remained.
“Hey,” Raven called behind him. “Everything okay?”
Damian glanced once more at the glass.
Nothing.
Whatever it had been—if it had been anything at all—was gone.
For now.
Raven mulled all of this new information over for a long while, watching the landscape slowly change as they moved deeper and deeper into the woods. The world felt different, but familiar, and something was nagging at the back of her mind, trying to get her to pay attention. It wasn’t until the sun tilted to the west, and the trees started to turn into evergreens that she realized what she was missing.
“Oh my god.”
Damian looked up from the map in the book, lifting an eyebrow. “What?”
“You’re a duke of the north.” Raven, unable to control a giggle, slammed her hand over her mouth.
“A what?”
“A duke of the north.” Raven shook her head, still fighting off the giggles that threatened to escape. “It’s the most obvious trope - you even have the eyebrows.” She leaned forward and pointed to the duchy marked on the map. “You live in the northernmost part of the country or empire, you have a standoffish personality-”
Damian made an annoyed noise, which Raven chose not to respond to.
“-you’re stupid rich, and go against the grain of the established society, and you have the eyebrows,” she repeated as she rubbed her fingertip over the razor-sharp arch in his eyebrows, ignoring his sharp glare. “And the glower.”
“I don’t glower.” He picked her hand off his face, but didn’t release it.
“You wear your emotions on your sleeve, and the only emotion you possess is irritation.”
“Irritation is not an emotion.” He huffed, and his hand tightened around hers. “And I have other emotions. I just don’t parade them around like Garfield does.”
Raven opened her mouth to say something, but the wheel of the carriage hit a rock and sent her careening into his lap. Heat raced up her neck as she was suddenly reminded of what happened that morning, and her heart skipped beats. She should not be thinking of the way he looked this morning, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he-
Raven slammed the door on those thoughts. Nope.
Nopenopenopenopenope. NOPE.
Those were private thoughts for later. When she was alone.
The carriage bounced again before a horrendous crack reverberated through the silence, and the carriage titled to the side. Raven sighed and ran a hand down her face, sitting up. Of course they were going to have to stop for the night in the middle of the woods. She gave Damian a flat look, heaving a sigh that rattled her bones.
“Bet you the axel’s broken.”
As if on cue, Jon threw open the door and frowned at them. “The axel is broken.”
Raven offered a humorless smile. “And are we going to have to camp here tonight?”
Jon blinked, surprised. “Uh… yeah.”
She made a vague motion with her hands. “And there are only two tents?”
“Actually, there’s only one tent.” Jon frowned, obviously worried about disappointing his duke. “But you two can share it. I’m sending the footman on ahead to the next town to get the supplies to fix it, but they won’t be back until the morning.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Smallville, Smallville Season 11 (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Clark Kent/Lois Lane
Characters: Lois Lane, Clark Kent, Earth-2 Martha Kent (Smallville), Jonathan Kent, Chloe Sullivan, Oliver Queen, Lana Lang, Earth-2 Lex Luthor (Smallville), Original Clark Kent/Lois Lane Child(ren)
Additional Tags: also technically they’re mentioned in cannon but we don’t really see them or know their names so that counts as original somewhat right?, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Somewhat, you will understand once you read till the end :), Part of the #cloisvday26 challenge for Thursday’s prompts, first time doing it with Smallville instead of Superman (2025) though, cut me some slack I need to rewatch season 5, Lois Lane Played By Erica Durance, why ain’t that a tag? tf, Superman Played by Tom Welling
Series: Part 8 of Clois Vday 2026
Summary:
Teenagers have a short temper.
They also have really bad ideas.
Sometimes that includes times travelling to stop their mom from not allowing them to go on a field trip to another city.
Unfortunately, for the three sisters, the eldest is just that crazy.
And the younger two are just as crazy to go along with it…… oh dear, what a mess!
Pairing: Clark Kent/Lois Lane
Tags/Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Heartbreak, Sacrifice, Kryptonite Poisoning, (...) pretty much a punch to the gut, but then healing together and choosing each other and a happy ending ᥫ᭡
Other Characters: Mr. Terrific, Ma Kent, Pa Kent, cameo 'OC(s)'
Words: 6k/26.5k
Rating: T
Read on ao3.
Summary: "Kryptonite, poisonous and unforgiving, burns inside her. Not in her hands. Not in a lead-lined box. Behind her irises. Lodged like shrapnel beneath her gaze. She cannot open her eyes. Will not. Because they no longer see… they sear. And if she dares look at him, if she dares even catch a glimpse… she’ll be his undoing. Breaking him down, molecule by molecule, until there is nothing left but ash and the distant memory of hope and warmth."
CHAPTER ONE: ECHOES
The air is damp and stale, laced with a bite of rust and rot. Above, a flickering fluorescent bulb casts long shadows across the concrete floor. A disquiet silence hangs, broken only by the rhythmic clacking of keyboards and the faint, unsettling hum of machines ticking in the distance.
Clark’s eyes crack open, vision stuttering in and out of focus. His head throbs with a dull pain, blood dripping down the sides of his face, warm and wet. His ribs scream when he breathes.
He blinks, tries to sit up, and the world tilts violently sideways.
Where…
It’s all fragments. A memory, too hazy and far away. His apartment. Dim in the late night. Lois’s voice, intentional but not cruel. Frustrated. Just wanting to keep his feet on the ground.
And then a flash. Sudden. Brilliant. Tearing the moment apart at the seams.
As Clark struggles to hold himself upright, cracked walls and rusting support beams overhead, something flickers at the edge of his vision. A silhouette.
Soft. Small. Familiar to every fiber of his being.
His heart stutters.
She is standing just a few feet away with her back to him. Head lowered, hands over her face, elbows drawn in close as if she’s trying to disappear into herself.
“Lois?” His voice is hoarse, raw. Like it’s been torn from him.
No response. No movement. No reaction to his voice. Like he isn't even there.
He tries again. “Lois,” a beat louder this time, confusion rising.
She doesn’t answer.
The tension in the room spikes. Something is wrong. It’s not silence, it’s avoidance. Deliberate.
Her shoulders tremble, the smallest flinch. Clark hears the subtle stagger in her breathing.
Why won’t she answer?
Clark tries to rise, wincing as fire shoots up his spine. He presses one hand to the floor to steady himself.
And still, Lois doesn’t move. There is no anger in her body, no rage in her stillness. Just, containment. Like she’s holding something back.
His mind fumbles for an answer. Is she mad at him?
No. That’s not right. Whatever happened in his apartment wasn’t a fight. Not really. A disagreement, sure. It hadn’t ended in anger, only exhaustion. She’d tried to walk off like she always did when her heart got too full. But he'd convinced her against it, like he always did.
His pulse races, panic building. Not from the pain in his body, but from the distance in hers.
“Lois, please. Talk to me.”
She doesn’t turn around, doesn’t lift her head. Her arms tighten around her body.
“I know you can hear me.” His voice breaks.
Clark tries to move again, crawling now. But the moment he inches closer, she reacts. Almost slams herself into the corner trying to keep the distance between them. Like she wants to merge with the wall.
“Don’t,” she utters. Quiet. Flat. Barely audible. But it knocks the breath out of him.
He freezes in place. Her voice isn’t angry. It’s something worse.
Scared.
“What is going on?” His voice rises, thick with desperation. “What did I do? Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”
A sob breaks from her throat.
“Talk to me,” he pleads. “Just turn around. Please.”
“Just go,” she flinches like the words cost her.
Clark’s hands fall. He stops moving. Something shatters inside him.
Then, the faint sound of footsteps closes in on him. Soft but steady. But he doesn’t look back. Doesn’t care. His eyes are locked on her.
“Lois…” it escapes him like a prayer, but it’s meant for no one’s ears but his own. The sound clings to the hollow of his throat, soft and stilled, as if speaking her name might keep him from slipping under.
And just as he’s about to be dragged away, too defeated to even care what happens next… he’s already lost… the words echo between them. Barely a whisper, barely real.
Late … Too late … Kent.
Her voice trembles through the syllables, like they’re knives. Clark staggers back a step, his face crumpling.
The world drops out from under him.
Mere words, spoken in a murmur that barely disturbed the air. Simple. Meaningless to unknowing ears, yet unmistakable. Familiar. Theirs.
Clark doesn’t resist when they reach him. Not because he’s given up, but because he finally understands. Something is wrong. Very wrong. But not between them.
Late.
Too late.
…Kent.
**
The copier had jammed for the third time that morning, and Clark, ever the helpful new guy, ws wrist-deep in the machine’s inner workings, muttering apologies to the feed roller like it could hear him.
“C’mon, you were doing so well…” he coaxed under his breath, and when the tray finally slid back into place with a victorious little click, he smiled and said quietly, “Thank you.”
“Were you just talking to the copier?”
Clark startled. She’d appeared beside him like a trick of light, coffee cup in one hand, perfectly unimpressed.
He blinked. “Uh. Maybe.”
She raised an eyebrow, sipped her coffee. “…Did it answer you?”
He grinned, half-shrugging. “Not in so many words.”
She stared at him for a beat longer than strictly necessary, like she couldn’t quite decide if he was messing with her or if he was just like that.
Then she smirked and turned.
When he finally made his way to the break table, lured by the scent of warm sugar and fried dough, he stopped short.
“You’re too late, Kent,” came the voice again, this time with smug satisfaction.
He turned just as she breezed past, shoulder bumping his with easy familiarity, as if they’d done that dance a hundred times. Lois held the cronut in her hand, victorious and casual like a woman who always won.
“I already took the last one.” A wink. A smile. A slow bite.
He blinked, speechless.
And she was already walking away, hair swaying, back to her desk as if she hadn’t just set something in motion.
Clark stared at the table where the pastry box had been, the echo of her smile still burning somewhere beneath his ribs.
**
“You’re late, Kent,” Lois said without looking up, the tap of her pen hitting her notepad either irritation or a calculated assertion of control. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
Clark came to a sheepish halt by her desk, breathless, adjusting his glasses like the gesture might fix the rest of him. “Sorry,” he said, earnest as ever. “Train stalled.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied, finally glancing at him, eyes sharp, skeptical. “Next time, take the sky.”
He blinked. “The—what?”
“Never mind,” she muttered, standing and grabbing her bag. “Let’s go. We’re already behind.”
They walked side by side to the elevator, headed to a courthouse for a developing corruption case. She was brisk, typing on her phone as they moved, dictating notes into her voice recorder, calling a source with barely a glance his way. Clark mostly listened. He asked good questions when he did speak, soft-spoken and precise, and Lois had to admit, reluctantly, that his notes were excellent, almost eerily so. She tried not to be charmed by his old-fashioned style or the way he held doors like someone who still believed in courtesy as currency.
By the time they stepped back out into the sunlight, Lois was mid-thought, already composing the story in her head as she crossed the sidewalk toward the corner.
She kept talking as she moved, only to realize after a few steps that the sidewalk beside her was empty. She stopped.
“Kent,” she rolled her eyes, spinning around.
He was half a block behind, trotting toward her with an apologetic look on his face and a paper coffee cup in his hand.
“Figured you wouldn’t have time to grab one,” he said, holding it out to her.
She hesitated. Just for a second. Then took it.
“…Thanks,” she said, quieter than before. Less guarded.
There was something about him. Something off. Not in a dangerous way, but in the way he didn’t feel like other people. As though he was always holding his breath in a world that didn’t quite fit him.
They started walking again.
She didn’t look at him.
But she was suddenly aware of the space between them.
Something had shifted.
She didn’t know what.
But it was the first time she forgot to be annoyed.
**
The bullpen was quiet. The kind of quiet that only comes with 1:00 a.m. and too many coffee cups stacked around keyboards. Most of the lights were off, save for the island of brightness around Lois’s desk.
She sat hunched over her monitor, hair up in a messy twist, blazer long since abandoned on the back of her chair. She didn’t even look up when the paper cup appeared in her peripheral vision.
“I already have three,” she muttered.
“I know,” Clark said gently. “This one’s tea.”
That earned him a glance.
“You looked like you might start vibrating through the floor,” he added, setting the cup down carefully.
Lois stared at it. Then at him.
“It’s late, Kent,” she said after a pause. “You don’t have to stay.”
He gave a small shrug. “I want to be here.”
“You know,” she said, sitting back, rubbing her eyes, “most people would’ve gone home by now.”
“I’m not most people,” he replied, without even a trace of ego. Just… fact.
That made her laugh. A tired, genuine thing. “Yeah. I’m starting to get that.”
They sat in silence for a while. It didn’t press, didn’t rush. Just was.
Lois looked back at her screen, but her fingers didn’t move.
“The lead’s good,” Clark offered. “Sharp. You’ve got the numbers down cold. Just need that final confirmation.”
“Yeah.” She hesitated. “I thought it’d come through by now. I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the whole thing’s a dead end.”
“You’re not wrong.”
She looked at him, surprised by the certainty in his voice.
Clark just gave a soft half-smile. “You’re never wrong.”
That landed somewhere she didn’t expect. She blinked, fast, and looked away. Lois didn’t speak for a moment. Just looked at the screen. Then back at him.
Something about his demeanor loosened a thread in her chest.
“My mom used to say I had this… engine. That I didn’t know how to turn off. Even when I was a kid.” Her voice was low, a little rough around the edges. “She’d find me trying to fact-check my homework at 2:00 a.m. Used to say I was going to run myself into the ground chasing something that didn’t exist.”
Clark listened, silent. Present.
“I just… I don’t know how to stop. Not really.” Lois gave a small, crooked smile. “I miss her.”
She let out a slow breath, regret flickering sharp in her chest. Like he wanted to hear about her damage. “Sorry, that was a lot.”
Clark’s gaze was steady. “It wasn’t.”
“I just dumped that all on you.”
“No. You were honest,” he said, a smile tugging at his mouth. “…I’m glad you were.”
She looked at him, really looked. There was no pity in his face. No awe, either. Just… kindness. A quiet steadiness she hadn’t expected.
Lois blinked again and turned back to the screen, suddenly aware of the tea cooling beside her hand.
“Alright,” she said, voice a little gruffer. “Let’s land this thing.”
Clark could only smile.
**
“I can’t believe Perry wanted us to work together again.”
Clark turned his head toward her, lips tugging in that soft, wry smile. “Yeah, he must be punishing you.”
Lois gave a short, amused exhale as she adjusted the AC vent in the clunky, overworked sedan. Outside the windshield, the dark alley behind the 24-hour pharmacy buzzed under a single flickering light. Their stakeout had already stretched into its third hour, and Metropolis was quiet around them, hushed in that strange, charged way cities get just before dawn.
“I know,” she added lightly. “Stuck with you and your farm boy playlists.”
“I resent that,” Clark said, laughing. “The Crabjoys are timeless.”
“They’re terrible,” she laughed. “You’ve got layers, Kent.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Lois turned to look at him then, just a glance, her smirk half-hiding something gentler underneath.
He went quiet for a second, fingers flexing on the wheel. “Hey. I know you’ve been carrying a lot lately… the Metropolis Hospital piece, the follow-up on the mayor’s ethics leak, and—,” he hesitated, as if unsure whether to say the next part. “I just want to say… you’re doing good work, Lois. Really good. I hope someone’s told you that.”
Her breath caught for the briefest moment, soft and sudden. Then she scoffed lightly, trying to brush it off, but not quite brushing it away. “What, are you moonlighting as a motivational speaker now?”
He smiled, eyes on the empty alley. “No. I just mean it.”
She turned toward the window, heart thrumming a little harder than it should’ve been. “You always do that,” she said finally. “You always mean it. And you never try so hard that I have to wonder if it’s an act.”
He didn’t answer right away.
Something passed between them then, unspoken and electric. The air thickened. Clark reached down and cut the engine, the low hum fading into silence.
Then, very gently, he turned toward her, inching.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t sweeping. It was quiet and hesitant, as if asking permission before he’d even crossed the center console. Her eyes flicked to his. She didn’t stop him. She didn’t even flinch.
When their lips met, it was soft. Barely there at first.
Lois’s hand rose to his shirt, not pulling, just resting. Her thumb brushed against the fabric near his collarbone, the tiniest pressure, grounding herself. Clark’s fingers cupped her jaw as if he were holding something fragile.
They broke apart slowly, like neither of them quite knew how.
Lois blinked. Words caught on the tip of her tongue, then vanished.
Clark sat back slightly, a nervous laugh escaping before he could stop it. “Lois, I'm… we can… we can take that back,” he said quickly, voice cracking just enough to betray his panic. “I mean, if that made you uncomfortable, or if I misread—,”
“Clark.” Her voice was low, steady. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”
He gave her a quizzical look.
“I don’t think either of us imagined getting here. But we’re here.”
He froze. “Right,” he said. “Of course. I just… I don’t want to ruin whatever this is. Whatever we were. Before.”
She looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable in the dim light.
“We’re not pretending, are we?”
Clark’s mouth opened slightly, unsure of what to say… if he should say anything at all. But then her hand reached for his again, warm and certain, threading their fingers together. She leaned in, one breath, two, until they were close again.
And this time, she kissed him.
It was unhurried, more certain than the first, but still new, still testing the shape of things. Her lips moved with quiet confidence, not demanding, just… exploring. Learning.
Clark answered in kind. His hand slid to her waist, drawing her in until the console was no longer an obstacle, only a minor inconvenience.
Her fingers curled loosely behind his neck. He smelled like rain and something warm she couldn’t name. There wasn’t urgency. Just presence.
When they drew back, it was slow. Careful.
Their foreheads rested together for a breath. Maybe two.
Lois exhaled a soft laugh, not mocking, just faintly surprised. “Well,” she murmured. “That happened.”
Clark smiled, a little dazed. “Yeah.”
Neither of them moved to break the moment. Outside the windshield, the city glowed on in flickers of gold and neon. But here, inside the quiet hum of the parked car, time had tucked itself into something smaller.
She didn’t say what it meant. Neither did he.
But she didn’t let go of his hand.
And he didn’t ask her to.
**
Clark stumbled in through the restaurant door, half out of breath, hair tousled like he’d just raced a tornado, glasses slightly askew.
It was their first official date in the traditional sense of the word. They’d shared lingering coffees, impromptu lunches, and even an accidental museum visit that turned into a hand-holding marathon through time periods and oil paintings. There’d been a rainy walk home that ended in a kiss under her apartment awning, and a heated moment in the Planet elevator that left Clark dazed when the doors slid open to a very crowded bullpen… Lois walking out without a glance back, cool and unbothered. As if she hadn’t just scrambled every coherent thought in his head. But this, this was formal. A proper, agreed-upon “Friday night, 8:00 p.m., your favorite steakhouse” kind of date.
It was a stupid technicality. She hated technicalities. But still, she’d spent an embarrassing amount of time picking a dress and taming her hair. She didn’t usually go for anything too showy, but tonight she was wearing a shade of red lipstick that could probably stop Clark’s heart mid-beat.
Lois was already seated, back straight, legs crossed, chin resting on her hand like it wasn’t even a big deal. She looked like summer and firelight and danger, all wrapped up in that one crooked smirk she gave him when he finally reached the table.
But her eyes flicked up as he approached. And he saw it there, a simmer of irritation she’d try to pass off as casual. Just enough heat to make him squirm.
“You’re late.”
He deserved it. And he had been late. Only five minutes, but late all the same. Because he couldn’t decide on a tie.
He’d stood in front of the mirror, sweating bullets, holding up one after the other. Blue? Too safe. Gray? Too funeral. He ended up settling on the maroon one Martha once told him he looked handsome in.
He had tugged it on, hands slightly shaking. Because somehow, even after all the time they’d been spending together… late-night phone calls, Sunday brunches, stakeouts turned into shared fries, quiet walks home, and the kind of conversation that stretched long past the midnight hours… she still made him nervous. She always did.
“I know,” he said, catching his breath, reaching into his coat pocket with sheepish fingers. “But in my defense… I was having a tie crisis. And then, I made an emergency stop.”
Lois raised an eyebrow. “An emergency?”
He pulled out a bouquet, half-tucked into his coat lining, slightly squished, but still beautiful. Wildflowers. Not the grocery store kind. The kind that looked like someone had picked them by hand in a field of sunlight.
“I remembered you liked these,” he said, awkwardly holding them out.
Lois blinked.
He could see the exact second her irritation melted into something warmer, something reluctant and terrifying and real.
She reached for the flowers slowly, like her hands might give something away she didn’t want to say yet.
“You’re impossible,” she murmured.
“I know,” he replied softly. “But I’m here.”
She didn’t say I forgive you. She didn’t say You’re off the hook. Instead, she gave him a look, a kind of startled surrender, like she just remembered she was supposed to be annoyed at him but couldn’t quite hold on to it.
Clark had no idea how someone could look like that and roll their eyes in the same second, but Lois Lane managed it.
“Sit down, Kent,” she said. “Before I start thinking you’re worth the trouble.”
Clark chuckled, tugging out his chair. “Noted. No more tie crises.”
Lois smirked. “Or at least text me next time you’re stuck in a mortal combat with your wardrobe.”
“I promise.”
They ordered wine. The steak was perfect. And somewhere between the first laugh and the second stolen glance, she reached across the table, curled her fingers into his, and didn’t let go.
**
The takeout containers sat on the kitchen counter half-eaten; a shared meal interrupted by conversation and soft laughter. The television was on but muted, casting soft blue flickers across the room. Lois padded back in from the kitchen, wearing mismatched socks and holding two glasses, one already half-full.
Clark was on the couch, unusually still, his hands resting against his knees. Not watching the TV, not doing anything really. Just... sitting.
Lois tilted her head slightly. “You okay?”
He blinked, glanced up at her with something too much like panic in his eyes, and then smiled too fast. “Yeah. Yeah. Just… thinking.”
She handed him his glass and dropped beside him, curling one leg under the other. “Dangerous,” she teased lightly, nudging his arm.
He gave a laugh, quiet and distracted.
Something was off.
She took a sip of wine, watching him from the corner of her eye as he fidgeted with the stem of his glass, rotating it, setting it down, picking it back up.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said finally, softly.
Lois turned to him fully. “Okay,” she said, voice just as quiet.
Clark cleared his throat. “I’ve wanted to say it for a while now. It’s just… you matter to me. And this, whatever this is between us, I don’t want it to be built on half-truths. I was waiting for the right time. Maybe I’ve waited too long…”
She leaned her elbow on the back of the couch, wine glass still in hand, and looked at him with something achingly fond.
“You did,” she said gently.
Clark blinked. “What?”
“You’re too late,” she gave a small shrug. “…Superman.”
He stared at her. Utterly frozen.
“You—,” he was floored.
“I’ve known,” she said, smile widening a little. “For a while now.”
“So you’ve just been letting me—?”
Lois softened. “I was waiting for you to tell me. I figured… you’d want to do it your way.”
“You—how did you—?”
She lifted her brows. “I'm a reporter, Clark. You disappear every time there’s a breaking news alert. You flinch at every police siren. You knew about the bridge collapse before it even hit the scanner…”
“But I—I wore glasses,” he said, dazed.
Lois laughed, setting her wine down so she could reach for his hand. “You changed your posture. Your voice. Your whole presence. It was actually really impressive. But still… it was always you.”
He was quiet, trying to piece this into something he could understand.
“You’re not mad?” he asked, quietly.
She shook her head. “I’m not mad.” She paused. “I was letting you find the right time. You were trying so hard to protect something that was never in danger.”
His fingers closed around hers. Gently, like he couldn’t believe she was still letting him hold her hand.
Lois looked down at their intertwined fingers, then back up. “Besides,” she said, “it’s not exactly news. Just… finally confirmed.”
And then she leaned forward, brushing her lips against his. Not rushed. Not a tease. Just a quiet kiss that said she was still here.
And he let himself melt into it, into her.
**
They had been texting earlier that afternoon, trading flirty lines over lunch breaks. Lois had sent a photo of the takeout she was eating at her desk, captioned “Not as good as the Thai place by your apartment. Fix this?” He had responded with “Dinner at 7. You bring the sarcasm, I’ll bring dessert.”
That had been the last she heard from him.
Seven turned to nine. Nine turned to eleven.
The first hour, she’d been mildly annoyed—he was late, big surprise. The second, she’d grown irritated, texting him again. By the third, her anger had begun to harden into something raw and brittle. She had called. She had tried the secure channel. Nothing. Radio silence. And sometime after midnight, when all she had left was silence and the echo of her own fury, her reflection out the window no longer looked like her own.
And now, as the clock blinked 12:53 a.m. in a mocking red hue, the front door finally opened. Quietly, carefully. The apartment was dark, save for the dim lamp over the sink she’d left on by instinct rather than intention. Clark stepped inside, locking the door behind him. He didn’t call out her name. He didn’t have to.
She was already there, standing in the middle of the living room with her arms folded tight across her chest like she’d been holding herself together for hours. Because she had.
He took one look at her and stopped cold.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” No inflection. No warmth. No affection. Just ice.
“I know,” he said, soft. “I’m late—,”
The words were meant to be gentle. Familiar. A callback to the teasing tone they’d shared earlier. But her face didn’t budge.
“Don’t be cute.” Her voice cut sharper than she meant. “Do not be cute with me right now.”
Clark’s smile faltered.
He took a careful step forward. “Lois, I—,”
“You didn’t text. You didn’t call. Not even—,” her voice rose with each word, anger crashing against the edge of panic. “Not even the emergency channel worked.”
“I had to ditch my phone,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “You were in danger. It wasn’t safe for me to call. They could’ve tracked—,”
“There’s always something,” she snapped, voice faltering. “There’s always some excuse, Clark.”
“It’s not an excuse—,”
“Isn’t it? Because you sure as hell didn’t think about what it would be like for me.” Her eyes were glassy now, hands shaking. “You couldn’t even get someone to pass on a message? Or do you just not care?”
He told himself she didn’t mean that. “I was trying to keep you safe. I had to lay low until—,”
“You were just gone. Vanished. For six hours. And no one knew where you were. Not Guy, not Michael. No one. Just silence. And now, what? A threat to me? Really?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what it was.”
“And that’s convenient, isn’t it?” Lois stared at him, her jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
He blinked. “You think I’m lying to you.”
Her shoulders tightened, a breath caught in her throat.
Clark laughed, but it wasn’t amused. It was hollow, frayed, like something inside him had just snapped. His shoulders trembled as he dragged both hands down his face, then dropped them uselessly to his sides.
“Really, Lois? That’s what you think?” He said, voice sharp with disbelief.
There was no composure left in him. No restraint. Only raw, unsheltered hurt. He stepped back like the air between them had scorched him, like he couldn’t bear to be near her while she looked at him like that.
“You think I just willingly ignored you? That I chose to leave you in the dark? That your voice didn’t reach me and tear through me when I couldn’t answer?”
His gaze lifted to meet hers, tired and ravaged. Like she was both the wound and the balm. The only one who could hurt him like this… and the only one who could ever truly make it right.
“After everything we’ve been through…” His voice cracked again, collapsing into something small and hoarse. “Everything we’ve fought for. Everything we’ve survived. The late nights we held onto each other like the world might end. The arguments that ended in stubborn apologies and bland takeout. The mornings you stole the covers and pretended not to. The times I couldn’t sleep, and you didn’t ask why… you just stayed. That time you almost ended things because you thought we were too… incompatible.”
Her breath hitched, barely, but he caught it.
“Yeah,” he said, quiet. “I know about that.” There was a dragged, aching pause. “Is this really what you make of what we built?’
That hurt.
“I—,” her hands trembled. “…There were no alerts. No news. No plane crashes, no alien invasion, no goddamn anything. You just… disappeared.”
His shoulders tensed, jaw tightening. “If they’d intercepted any signal—,”
“You always find a way to reach out. Always.”
He faltered. “I… I couldn’t.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Clark stared at her, stunned, like he’d just been hollowed out. “You… you still don’t believe me?”
“You’ve lied to me before.”
It left her lips before she could stop it, and the moment it did, Lois slapped a hand over her mouth like she could shove the words back inside. But it was too late. The silence that followed was raw and blistered.
Clark knew what she meant. Of course he did… The truth of who he was… what he was. But the omission had never been malice, never manipulation. It had been fear. Protection. Love. Misjudged maybe, but never hollow. And she had known that, too. She’d told him so herself.
He looked down, and something in him dimmed, quiet, resigned, like the last of the daylight slipping behind a cloud.
“…Maybe… maybe I should give you some space,” he stepped back, the words like glass in his throat.
“Wait,” she breathed out, bobbling.
Clark stopped mid-step, hands clenched at his side.
“Don’t—,” her voice cracked. “Don’t do that. Don’t walk away like that.”
Clark’s eyes flicked to hers, and they were already full of something too big to name. “You’re upset. And you have every right to be. I—,”
“…That doesn’t mean I want you gone.” It came out broken. All the fire went out of her as fast as it had flared. “Please,” she said, softer now. “Please don’t go,” her voice trembled, and so did she.
Clark was moving before the last words left her lips, crossing the room in three quiet, urgent steps. His hands lifted in instinctive offering, not even reaching for her, just waiting.
That was all it took.
She fell into him with a sound like a sob caught halfway to silence, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he came around her waist. They collided hard enough to stagger her back a step… and then another… until they tumbled together onto the couch behind her, tangled in each other.
His hold tightened, strong and certain, wrapping her in warmth. Her fingers slid into his hair, and he pulled her with a force that almost hurt. But she welcomed it. Needed it. It felt like crashing into a lifeline after hours of drowning. And Lois clung to him with everything she had left.
He rested his hand on the back of her head, voice barely a breath. “I’m sorry,” his lips brushed her forehead. “I tried, Lois, I swear… I tried reaching you. But—,”
“No, no…” she whispered, shaking her head, as if trying to physically undo the words she’d thrown at him. “I’m sorry, Clark… I didn’t mean it,” the words were jagged in her throat. “I do trust you,” she breathed. “With everything. You’re the only person in this world that I trust. Completely.”
“I know, I know,” he said, like it was the easiest truth in the world.
They stayed like that for a long time; entwined, breathing each other in, tears soaking silently into fabric. The world could have crumbled around them and neither would have noticed. Because finally, finally, they were here. Whole. And real.
“I thought…” she choked out. “…I thought you were dead.” Her eyes welled, the words trembling against his neck.
His forehead fell to hers like gravity had pulled him there. His breath trembled against her skin. Clark shook his head, raw and wrecked. “I’m here.” A kiss to her temple. “I’m right here.” Another to the corner of her eye, tasting the salt of her tears. His mouth found her cheek, her jaw, desperate and gentle, like he could stitch her back together one kiss at a time.
She touched his face then, reverent, disbelieving. Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, like she was trying to memorize him before he disappeared again.
Lois pulled him closer, impossibly closer, her mouth brushing his temple.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she choked out. “Don’t you ever—,” she pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face. His eyes were tinted red, wide and unguarded.
But Clark didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
Because how could he promise her something the world would never stop asking him to break?
And Lois knew that. She always had.
It was a plea that carried no expectations, just the desperate, hollow ache of knowing the price of loving him.
**
The memory fractures like glass underfoot. Clark blinks hard, the echo of her voice still slicing through his chest as the present slams back into focus.
Late.
Too late.
…Kent.
The footsteps echo behind him, closing in. Clark braces, instinct coiling in his chest.
But they walk past him.
His breath catches.
They’re not coming for him. They’re coming for her.
“No,” Clark stumbles, forcing himself up, legs trembling beneath him. “Lois—,” his voice breaks, raw and low.
He blinks through the haze, vision fractured, unreliable. The figures move around her. Shadowed, deliberate, indistinct.
He can’t see their faces, can’t tell how many there are. Just shapes shifting in the dark, like wolves circling their prey. There are no blows, no shoves, no violence. Just an eerie lingering.
Then, a hand reaches toward her.
“Don’t you touch her,” Clark lurches forward, growling, then falters.
Dizziness crashes over him without warning, like a wave of darkness surging up from somewhere deep inside, thick and sickening. His head turns heavy, too heavy, like the weight of it might snap his spine. Numbness blooms in his chest first, then spreads, slow and merciless, like poison threading through every vein.
The sudden, sharp flash of green light that follows barely registers in his peripheral vision… a color akin to perky summer leaves but not joyful, wrong. Menacing.
A scream shreds from his throat before he can stop it. Everything inside him convulses. Muscles spasm, blood screams, veins burn like fire. His knees slam into the floor with a blow.
And still, through the fog and distress… he finds his voice, fractured and strained. “Lois… I’m still here.”
And then, suddenly… it stops.
His vision steadies just enough to see her.
Lois.
She’s in the corner, curled in on herself. Her back still turned. Her hands still over her ears. Her shoulders quake. The soft, broken whimpers spilling from her lips tear him apart.
She’s in pain.
“Lois…” His voice is soft now, almost gentle. “Lois, I’m not going anywhere.”
Hands haul him off the floor. He doesn’t resist. Doesn’t look at them. Not even as his heels drag limply over the ground. Not even as his wrists are wrenched tighter, skin biting against metal.
“Don't be scared, Lois,” he whispers. “I’m not letting you go. I promise.”
His eyes never leave her.
Lois doesn’t move. Not at first.
The silence devours everything.
Then she breaks.
Her knees give. Her back curls in on itself like she’s trying to fold away from the world. Her hands stay over her ears as if they could shield her from the sound of his scream, the echo of it lingering in the room like smoke.
A soft, wounded sob escapes her throat. Another. Another. But they’re soundless, strangled. Like grief that forgot how to breathe.
She had stood there. She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t spoken. Not when he called her name, not when he reached for her, not when his voice cracked like it did when he was scared.
She’d just ignored him. Let him believe she’d wanted him gone.
But the truth, the cursed and bitter truth she carries still, is much crueler.
Kryptonite, poisonous and unforgiving, burns inside her. Not in her hands. Not in a lead-lined box. Behind her irises. Lodged like shrapnel beneath her gaze.
She cannot open her eyes. Will not. Because they no longer see… they sear.
And if she dares look at him, if she dares even catch a glimpse… she’ll be his undoing. Breaking him down, molecule by molecule, until there is nothing left but ash and the distant memory of hope and warmth.
Pairing: Clark Kent/Lois Lane
Tags/Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Multiverses, Emotional Hurt & Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Red Kryptonite, Green Kryptonite, (...) basically Sam Lane and Lex Luthor being unapologetic villains in their quest to hurt Superman and bringing an alternate version of Lois into 'our' reality. Pain first, but then an abundance of love and healing ᥫ᭡
Other Characters: Sam Lane, Lex Luthor, Alt!Lois, Mr. Terrific, Ma Kent, Pa Kent, Justice Gang, Gary (Superman Robot #4)
Words: 10k/21.3k
Rating: M (mild violence, light description of injuries)
Note: I borrowed the DCU multiverse canon from Peacemaker (2022), but you don’t have to have watched the show to understand the story ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
Read on ao3.
Summary: When news of the Quantum Unfolding Chamber becomes public, Sam Lane sees the perfect opportunity to drive a wedge between his daughter and the alien she loves. With the help of Lex Luthor, he devises a plan to isolate Clark, turn the people he loves against him, and push him past his breaking point. What follows leaves Clark questioning his worth, his place, and everything he's ever meant to the world, and her.
CHAPTER ONE: FRACTURE
Lex Luthor marches down the narrow passage, his sluggish footsteps bouncing off Belle Reve’s concrete walls.
A guard escorts him through a security checkpoint, past the reinforced glass, and into a claustrophobic interview room. The heavy doors lock behind him with a metallic buzz.
Sitting at the far end of the room is a man with immaculate posture. The rows of colorful ribbons, sharp insignia, and glinting stars adorn his pristine uniform.
Lex sinks onto the chair opposite him with a scornful chuckle. “General Lane,” he pauses for effect. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Luthor,” his tone is detached, eyes perusing him with something akin to amusement. “You let a little dog do that to you?”
“Little?” Lex retorts. “Have you seen the thing? I’d love to see how you’d fare against that ‘little’ dog.”
Sam lets his taunting grin grow wider.
“I don’t suppose you came all the way here to mock me, General.” Lex’s grip tightens around his crutch, his knuckles turning white.
“Of course not,” he turns serious in an instant. “I am here because I need your help.”
“My help?”
“We have a common enemy,” Sam deadpans, shifting his expression back into something mirthless.
“Do we, now?”
“This… alien,” he continues, not wasting time. “My daughter is becoming too close with him. I’ve tried putting a stop to it. I’ve tried everything I can think of to come between them… to make her see the light,” he sighs. “Nothing has worked.”
Lex raises an eyebrow, a derisive grin on his face. “Your daughter?”
“Lois Lane. Reporter for the Daily Planet.”
“I know who your daughter is, General,” his eyes turn somber. “She’s the reason why I’m here.”
A crackling silence falls between them.
“So… you’re not a fan.”
Lex studies him for a beat. “Exactly what is it that you came here for? A man as important as yourself doesn’t travel thousands of miles to discuss their family issues.”
“Like I said. Common enemy,” the General exhales slowly.
“So you want me to…” Lex pauses, measuring his words. “…Help you help your daughter?”
“Right.” A wicked smile spreads across his face. “I need to… nudge her in the right direction. Make her see him for the menace that he really is.” Sam holds a stoic stance. “…I need her to suffer.”
“That’s cruel even for you, General.”
“She’s stubborn,” he folds his arms across his chest. “If she needs to learn her lesson the hard way, then so be it. I am only looking out for her.”
“Clearly.”
“I don’t want him near her. I don’t want him putting his filthy hands on her. This ‘superhero’, this abomination… he can’t be trusted and I won’t have him disrupting the unity of my family.”
“Funny because that is exactly what I have always tried warning you imbeciles about. And where did it get me?” Lex gestures toward his bright orange jumpsuit.
“Maybe we can come to an agreement.”
That does it. Finally, the General earns his full attention. Lex sits back, relaxing onto his chair. “I’m listening.”
Sam leans in closer, shoulders tight, gaze steadfast and ruthless.
“What do you know about this Quantum Unfolding Chamber?” He pauses, lowering his voice. “…And red kryptonite?”
**
“Have a good weekend, Nino,” Clark calls behind him as he steps out the revolving doors of the Daily Planet. Chatter fills the streets of Metropolis with that signature excited buzz of people coming together to enjoy their Friday night.
Despite the draining week, and day, his stress readily dissipates into the crisp air at the thought of the evening they have planned. And her.
Clark beams, twisting his wrist to check the time. It’s still early enough. He can easily detour into his favorite flower shop in the corner, with time to spare.
The bell above the door chimes gently as he steps into the store. The sweet, organic smells inside are a welcome contrast to the bullpen.
“Great choice,” the teen behind the counter utters excitedly as she rings him up. “Any special occasion?”
“Oh, that’s Clark, honey,” the florist emerges from the back, introducing him to his daughter. “He’s a regular. This is just a regular Friday for him.”
The girl smiles, handing Clark the exuberant flower arrangement. “Your girlfriend is really lucky,” her cheeks tingle. “…Or boyfriend.”
Clark chuckles, nodding in appreciation. Pleasantries are exchanged between the trio before he exits the shop, thinking how he is the one who’s lucky.
He keeps the flowers carefully tucked against the crook of his elbow as he walks, mindful of every leaf and petal.
The moment he makes it home, the glasses are off, clattering against the surface of the console table. He drops the messenger bag onto the floor, slowly making his way toward the kitchen, where he spots her standing by the stove.
Her silky locks bounce as she turns to look at him, a hint of annoyance on her face.
“You’re late.”
The faint tick of the kitchen clock draws his gaze. The pointers read a perfect 6:45 p.m. As he suspects.
“It’s 15 minutes to the hour,” Clark’s not defensive or looking to win an argument. He just states it as the practical fact that it is.
“Right,” she keeps her eyes fixed on him, trying to ignore the dazzling bouquet he’s holding. “You’re 45 minutes late.”
“But,” Clark shakes his head, searching his brain. “We said we were meeting at seven tonight.”
“We said six.”
“Was someone too immersed in work again to even listen to what I was saying?”
“I was listening to you, Clark. We said six.”
“Baby, we said seven. My shift ended at six tonight. There’s no way I would’ve made it in time if I had said six.” He traipses over to her with a smile so disarming it infuriates her.
Each remembers their earlier conversation vividly. Lois recalls agreeing on six o’clock. Clark, on seven. Yet, both also recognize the sincerity in the other. They’re not making excuses… each truly believes they have the right time.
“I only stopped for these,” Clark continues, offering her the bouquet. His free hand reaches out to brush the line of her jaw. “Aren’t you going to take them?”
The cellophane paper crinkles against her fingers as she brings the flowers to her nose, peony and lavender invading her senses.
“They’re beautiful,” she returns his smile. His stupid smile. “Thank you.”
The closer he gets to her, the more he feels it. A lascivious need for her unlike anything he’s ever known. He always wants her, can’t get enough of her. But tonight, it feels different. Almost supernatural.
The push is so strong he even forgets to ask her if she’s coming down with something—her voice doesn’t sound quite the same. Something about its cadence feels strange, unlike herself. He can’t exactly pinpoint what.
Lois sets the bouquet to the side and welcomes Clark’s arms around her with a contented sigh.
“These need water,” she laughs, shivering at the teasing brush of his lips on her neck.
“In a minute,” he lifts her up by the waist with a grin, grasping her legs to wrap them around him as her rear hits the counter.
A chuckle escapes her, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. With fumbling hands, she traces the length of his chest, fingers coming to cover his bare hand when she abruptly opens her eyes, head snapping back with a jerk.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, brows furrowing.
“Clark,” her eyes settle on his left hand, “…where is your ring?”
“My what?”
She sighs, exasperated. “Clark, if this is your idea of a joke…”
“I don’t—,”
His gaze focuses on what looks like a ruby sparkling on the outside of her ring finger. Next to it, rests a shiny white gold band.
The red reflects deeply in his irises. Whatever confusion briefly strikes him is just as quickly replaced with something else. Suddenly, his mind is a jumble. Suddenly, the urge to have her is greater than he can resist.
Lois is useless to protest, her own mind going blank at the press of his lips to hers. Curling her fingers behind his neck, she returns the kiss without restraint.
Clark pulls her shirt over her shoulders and tosses it onto the floor, lips coming to meet hers again. With a shared smile, Clark watches her hands move south to unbuckle his belt, his gaze falling on the House of El crest in rich red and yellow colors etched on her hip.
This time, his head lurches back, eyes wide. “Lois?” He gasps. “You got a tattoo?”
“Clark, what’s gotten into you?” She’s met with a blank expression that annoys her more than she cares to admit. “Just drop it, okay? It’s not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny, Lois. I—,” he looks genuine in his puzzlement.
Lois huffs. “I’ve had this for months. Don’t tell me you don’t remember?”
Still, nothing.
“I got it for our anniversary? Came home and surprised you with it? You were so excited you finally agreed to…” she pauses, winking at him with a coy smile, “…give it a go. You know, out there.”
His crave for her isn’t gone, much less with the way she’s recounting this tale, but he resists the urge to gravitate toward her. It physically hurts him, like having the air knocked off his lungs.
“…It was windy,” she continues. “Your cape kept slapping you in the butt,” Lois chuckles, eyes glinting. “You were blushing all the way through it. Much like you are right now.”
“I…” Clark shakes his head, searching the depths of his mind for such lovely a memory, wishing he’d been part of it, but he doesn’t find it.
They are so wrapped up in the moment, and each other, they don’t even notice the approaching footsteps. All they hear is a faint rumble bouncing off the walls as it slowly edges closer to them.
“Hey, sorry I’m late. I ended up falling asleep at my place. Turns out I was super tired. I tried your phone, but didn’t get any answer. Something really weird happened…”
Clark’s chest tightens, head snapping in the direction of the kitchen entryway. The voice carries that familiar rasp that sends shivers down his spine when whispered in his ear.
“…I would’ve come sooner, but I wanted to make a quick stop to bring you your favorite…” Lois walks into Clark’s kitchen to find him leaning against the counter. But he’s not alone. Wrapping her legs around his waist, is another woman.
She stops dead on her tracks.
Their eyes meet and immediately the fog in his brain is gone, as if a spell has just been lifted. But the hurt he sees in her is harrowing.
Clark takes a step back, stumbling over the crumpled blouse at his feet. The woman sitting in front of him releases her limbs from around him, a stunned look on her face.
Making matters worse, where one confusion ends, another begins. He glances between the two women and sees the same person. Lois.
But the Lois who’s just walked into the room doesn’t see herself. She sees someone else. A beautiful blonde with perfectly straight hair, a flawlessly small nose, pointed chin, and some other characteristics she doesn’t care to pay attention to.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she drops the plastic bag onto the floor, takeout containers spilling all over, and rushes out.
It’s unlike her to react so viscerally, to let her emotions get the best of her. But something about the look on Clark’s face holding that stranger, the look she believed was reserved for her and only her… it stirs something within, breaking her.
“Lois! Wait!” He makes a start to go after her, but abruptly stops, interrupted by the Lois that stays behind in the kitchen.
“Clark?” She climbs down from the counter, as dumbfounded as the rest of them. She’s just seen her doppelgänger walk in on her and Clark, after all.
“I…” he picks her shirt up from the floor, handing it to her. “Sorry, do you mind waiting here for a little bit?”
“I don’t understand…”
“Just wait here, okay? Please.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, disappearing in a flash after Lois, his Lois.
She’s long gone by the time he reaches the cold Metropolis streets, his heart heavy. His superpowers are all but useless. He can’t find her, can’t hear her. All his phone calls and texts go unanswered.
Clark has no idea where she is, where she’s gone. He tries her apartment, but she isn’t there. Calls everyone he can think of, but no one’s heard from her. With a dejected sigh, he leaves a note on her coffee table, begging her to call him back.
When he returns to his apartment, the other Lois is sitting on the couch in his living room, arms wrapped around her waist.
He locks the door, eyes small and downcast.
“Clark,” she rises, not looking so chirpy herself, “…what is going on?”
“I… you saw that, right?”
“Yeah, that was… me.”
“I don’t understand. Did she not see that it was you? That it was her?” Clark ponders, trying to make sense of everything.
If Lois, the Lois he so desperately loves, had in fact seen a carbon copy of herself… why did she run away like that?
Once more, his eyes are drawn to the ring on her finger, irises turning a deep shade of red. Only this time, Lois is on his mind, repelling the impulses that threaten to break him. The crimson rock shines brighter when his gaze befalls it.
Abruptly, Clark straightens up, a flash of realization striking his face.
“Lois, what is that?”
“That… is my ring, Clark,” she can’t hide the frustration she feels. That is until she takes a closer look at her left hand, only to realize something is different, foreign.
“Actually… maybe it isn’t,” her eyes grow wider. “Clark, is this…?” She gasps, her open palm coming to cover her mouth.
Red kryptonite.
He disappears behind his bedroom door, returning an instant later with a small, ashen box. “Here. It’s lead-lined.”
Lois understands immediately, setting the ring inside to block its effect.
“Clark…”
“I know,” he nods. “Come with me.”
**
“Hey, Clark,” Mr. Terrific turns around in his chair to greet him. He pauses then, looking past Clark’s shoulder with curious brows. “Everything all right? Who’s this?”
“It’s me, Michael,” she huffs, irritation creeping in. “Lois?”
“You’re not Lois,” he scoffs.
They exchange a look. The drive over had given them plenty of time to swap stories and catch up… theorize. To try and make sense of it all. Not that it had helped. If anything, it had only made things more confusing.
“That’s what we thought. And exactly why we need your help.”
Michael frowns. “What the hell is going on?”
“Where do we even begin?”
“You won’t believe this.”
Their voices overlap as the story spills out. It’s fragmented and muddled. Despite their best effort, the three interrupt each other with questions and sighs of disbelief.
About half an hour later, Michael just sits there, staring at them, mouth slightly agape. Floored.
There’d been some buzz about a so-called ‘Quantum Unfolding Chamber’ on the streets, an interdimensional portal of sorts. A doorway into alternative universes. Experiencing it firsthand is something else entirely, however.
“Where is Lois now?” Michael turns to Clark. “The, uh,” he clears his throat. “…the other Lois,” he stops himself from saying ‘the real Lois’ just in time.
Clark shrugs, chest tightening. “I haven’t been able to reach her yet.”
“What we don’t understand,” the present Lois interrupts, trying to take his mind off the pain. “…Is why Clark is seeing, well… me. But you aren’t, and she didn’t.”
“We’ll find out,” Mr. Terrific assures them. “Will you let me run some tests?”
“Of course.”
Michael peers at her, doing a quick scan, brows drawing closer together. “Do you wear contacts, by any chance?”
“No,” she replies.
“Well, you’re wearing them now.” He shines one of his specialty lights at her eyes, a quizzical look on his face. “What the—,”
“What?”
“These lenses…” he examines her, retrieving a small case. “I need to take a closer look at them. Do you mind?”
She shakes her head. Unsurprisingly, the change is immediate the moment she returns from taking them off. When Michael looks at her again, he sees her as Clark does, as her true self. 5’3”, glossy black hair, piercing blue eyes. He sees her as Lois.
What in the world…
His breath catches. “I’ll figure it out, I just need some time to sit with it.”
After about an hour, many phone calls, the continuous clacking of keyboards, and his incessant pacing, Mr. Terrific’s eyes glint with insight.
“They’re from Earth,” he finally says. “This Earth. Same tech as your hypo-glasses, Clark. They never changed her, they just change perception. Only, they only affect humans.”
He takes a deep breath before carrying on with his explanation.
“That is why you actually saw her, Clark. The lenses never changed the way she looked in your brain. They don’t affect your DNA. Now, that is not the same case for me…”
Clark’s heart sinks. “So when she came in… Lois saw me with someone else for all intents and purposes?”
“Afraid so.”
“So she thinks I—,” he swallows the lump in his throat.
How could she think that?
The conversation drowns out to background noise, Clark taking out his phone to check for messages. Nothing. His throat tightens at her contact image. His favorite photo of them. Lois, wearing that shade of purple that brings her eyes to life, dark locks cascading down her shoulders. His lips on that spot of her neck he knows tickles her, causing her to squint with a smile as big as the sky.
“Clark?”
“What?” He snaps out of his reverie.
“Are you seeing this?”
The screens buzz with news reports from around the globe. It’s like déjà vu. On every channel, citizens of Metropolis, of the whole United States, of the entire world, turning their backs on Superman. Appalled at the unseemly images of him with multiple different women. His harem. He can’t be trusted. Lex Luthor had been right all along. He is a menace.
“That—,” his stomach turns. “That’s not me,” there’s a tinge of torture in his voice.
“We know that, Clark.”
“People aren’t going to fall for this again, are they?”
“I don’t know, man. They might.”
Clark’s only thought is Lois. There is no way she’ll believe that. No way.
“This has got to be Luthor,” Mr. Terrific interjects.
“How? He’s locked up.”
“With all the shit that’s been going on, you never know,” Michael shrugs. “I gotta give it to him, it’s quite brilliant.”
“You sound like you’re admiring him.”
“I’m just saying… the ‘hypno-lenses’, and now this?”
“Do you think he knows, then? About my hypno-glasses? Do you think he knows who I am?”
“Unlikely,” Michael shakes his head. “My best guess is it’s just an unfortunate coincidence.”
Clark sighs heavily, turning to the alternate Lois. “Do you remember anything? Anything at all? Like how you came to be here?”
“I’m sorry, no.” She feels terrible, searches her brain far and wide, but comes up blank. The only thing she remembers is lying on their bed to rest her eyes a bit before getting ready for their dinner date… at six. Now she’s unsure whether the odd buzzing sound had been just the humidifier or something more sinister.
Clark feels as though there’s no ground left to stand on.
“Hey,” her hand comes to rest on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Go find her.”
“Yeah, we’ve got things covered here.” Michael reassures.
“Are you sure?”
He nods. “Go, man.”
He turns toward her, a sharp pain in his chest. He cares for her, she is still Lois, after all. Albeit a version from another universe. The fear lives in her eyes, too.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah.”
Her smile looks so much like hers.
“Good luck,” he tells her.
“You, too. I hope I, she,” she chuckles. “I hope you find her. If she’s anything like me, and it seems that’s just a fact, everything will sort itself out. She knows you.”
The words echo in the hollow of his chest as he steps out into the bleak, dark night.
**
Lois reaches the cold Metropolis streets with a heavy heart, but glad to have lost Clark. Deciding not to go to her apartment, Clark has the keys, she wanders around the city in an attempt to clear her head.
Her phone buzzes incessantly inside her pocket. She doesn’t even bother to check. Knows exactly who’s on the other end.
She passes the display windows of many stores as the hours stretch, all of which remind her of him somehow. Themed T-shirts, action figures, caped costumes for little kids. It’s like it’s mocking her.
After a few quiet minutes, which tricks her into believing Clark has finally given up, her phone rings again.
With a groan, she reaches for her pocket. “Clark, I’m not going to answer…” her finger hovers over the ‘decline’ button, freezing midway. To her surprise, Clark’s name doesn’t illuminate the screen. Her father’s does.
“General,” she answers, cold.
“I came by your place. You weren’t there.”
“Well, you’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.”
“Still abrasive, I see.”
“What do you want?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Nothing that can be discussed over the phone.”
Taking Lois’s silence as a hint, Sam carries on. “I’m sending you a location, meet me there.”
“Why?”
“For once in your life, stop questioning everything and just do it.”
Lois hangs up, exhaling deeply. The last thing she needs right now is a quarrel with her father. So she taps the GPS notification, looking puzzled at what comes up.
She knows the moment she arrives she should have trusted her instincts. The place is some 20 miles outside the city. A remote, warehouse-looking facility, surrounded by nothing but desolate silence.
Sam is the first one she sees upon entering.
“Are you going to tell me what I’m here for?” Lois doesn’t even bother greeting him.
“You’re here because we want to help you.” Lex emerges from the shadows.
“What is he doing here?”
“He’s with me,” Sam retorts.
“Isn’t he supposed to be in Belle Reve?”
“Thanks to you.”
“Thanks to your actions.”
“Well, I don’t really see it that way.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
“Your face looks a little swollen there, Miss Lane. You haven’t been crying have you?” Lex’s tone is mockingly sympathetic.
Her resolve wavers. “What do you want?”
“I trust that you haven’t seen the news tonight?”
Her hesitation brings a devious smile to his face. With the push of a button, the walls around them come to life, videos from the earlier news reports reflecting in her eyes.
“And those are just the ones PG enough for broadcast television. There are children out there, after all.” Lex sneers.
Lois’s breath stutters, her pulse thrumming in her neck.
“Such a brilliant reporter. So blind to what is right in front of her.”
Lois remains silent, her expression unreadable.
“Oh, I know, Miss Lane,” Lex continues. “It must sting. You did it all for him, took me down because of him. Risked your own life to rescue him from that pocket universe, and this is how he repays you? I feel for you. I really do.”
“Men, right?” Sam pitches in. “They’re all the same. Human or not.”
“Anything else?” Lois finally speaks.
“You need more?”
“I appreciate your public service, but I’m afraid I have to go,” she makes it to the exit, jaw tight, shoulders heavy.
Lex and Sam exchange uneasy looks, the latter catching up to her outside before she makes it into the car.
“Lois,” he calls.
“What?”
“You may not want to see it, but I just want what’s best for you.”
“Right, you’ve always looked out for me.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Lois,” he inches closer. “Look, I know this isn’t what you wanted, but you can’t ignore what is right in front of you.”
“What are you doing with the likes of Lex Luthor?”
Sam pauses. “He… has resources.”
“Resources for what?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Yeah, what’s best for me,” she scoffs.
“You may think you know this ‘man’, but you don’t,” he blurts out, more urgent now. “He can’t be trusted. The mask has fallen. His ‘I just want to help people’ facade has dropped. You saw it on the footage.”
But Lois knows better than to believe Lex Luthor, or her father for that matter. He never liked Clark, always made it a point to criticize Superman and highlight his flaws in front of her.
“I gotta go,” she opens the car door.
Sam intercepts it with a foot, blocking it from moving any further.
“He’s not like the rest of us. Do you even know anything about your compatibility? You want to be some sort of guinea pig? We know nothing of him, of his species,” he doesn’t even try to hide the contempt in his voice. “What if in a few years we find out he releases some sort of radiation or something? You’ll be severely ill, or dead. He’s unpredictable.”
Lois listens quietly, not giving an inch.
“My daughter. The pragmatic woman who questions everything. Except this. Aren’t you scared? Of getting involved with an alien we know nothing about? Are we supposed to just trust this ‘paragon of virtue’ persona? We’re just supposed to take his word for it? You’re not that gullible, Lois.”
Nothing.
“Maybe there are things even he doesn’t know about,” he continues. “Wasn’t he sent here as a baby? He claims to not have known about the second half of his parents’ footage. Maybe there are other things he’s unaware of.”
Still, Lois remains silent.
“And what about these rocks from his planet? Kryptonite? It started off as one. How many different kinds are there now? Four or five? That we know of. What if there are more? Who knows what sort of effects newfound ones could have?” He pauses, vision turning dark. “If he turns on you, you don’t stand a chance.”
Her indifference infuriates him, setting off his temper.
“Alright, fine. Maybe you don’t care what happens to you, but you care about him. I’ll never understand why, but I know that you do,” Sam’s tone turns sharp. “He’s the last of his kind, is he not? You know what comes with that. He’s meant to build something that lasts… meant to leave a legacy behind. And you? That’s not your priority. You tie him to a future where all of that goes out the window,” he pauses, eyes narrowing. “You want to be the reason an entire species goes extinct?”
The pressure builds behind her eyes like a dam ready to burst, each word feeling like a punch. Each word cutting deeper than she expects.
Sam withdraws his foot from the sill plate, allowing her to get into the car. He hides his triumphant smile, knowing he’s finally struck her where it hurts. Knowing that beneath the brave face she’s holding, her resolve is shattered… crumbling right before his eyes.
“You’re an intelligent woman,” he adds, cold. “I know you’ll do the right thing.”
Lois starts the ignition, driving away without a word, eyes straight ahead at the gravel road. After putting some distance between herself and the warehouse, breath heavy and faulty, she sees the notification. A voicemail from Clark. With shaky hands, she lifts the phone to her ear to listen to it.
Hey… Where are you? I’ve been looking all over for you. I’ve been to your place several times now, but you weren’t there. I just need to know that you’re okay. Okay? Please. Just let me talk to you. Let me see you. If anything, just send me something, anything to let me know that you’re okay. Okay? Please. I lo— … Just… please.
Her fingers twitch against the wheel, gripping it tighter. The sound of his voice breaking the deafening silence feels like cover against a swelling storm.
She doesn’t know it, but Clark’s heart nearly stops when his phone lights up with her name at the opposite end.
I can meet you at your place in an hour.
Lois replays his message over and over, just to hear his voice, to feel the gentle warmth it brings to her chest. Around the time she makes it back to the city limits, the playback is interrupted by her ringtone. She glances at the caller ID, furrowing her brows at the name flashing on the screen.
“Michael?”
“Oh, thank God. I’m so glad I caught you,” he lets out a relieved breath. “I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.”
**
A shudder runs through her veins whilst standing at his front door, fingers perched tautly over the doorbell. The hinges creak open the minute she rings the bell, a surge of electricity coursing through their shared glance.
Clark’s impulse is to pull her into his arms, hold her against his chest, breathe in the scent of her hair. He needs it. Has wanted nothing but since leaving work earlier. But he thinks better of it.
“Hey,” he murmurs. It’s quiet and vulnerable.
“Hey.”
He steps to the side to let her in, heart beating out of his chest. Lois walks unhurriedly, halting her steps once she reaches the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment.
“Thank you for coming,” he slowly turns toward her, feeling like he’s about to be sick.
He sees it all over her face. In the way her lids seem darker. The way her waterproof eyeliner smudges faintly at the corners of her eyes. The way her nostrils appear slightly irritated. His shoulders sink.
“Lois…” his voice barely carries. “There’s… there’s some really weird stuff going on.” It feels as though the room is closing in on him. “If you saw what was on the news earlier today… that person you saw me with…”
“I know,” a flicker of affection softens her features.
He searches her eyes for something he’s unsure of. “You know?”
“I tend not to believe slanderous sensationalism.”
“But then…” Clark ponders, awestruck. “But… but you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset,” she shakes her head.
“I ran after you. Tried everything I could think of to reach you,” he counters. Not because he wishes to be combative, but because he’s intent on clearing the air between them. “You wouldn’t return my calls.”
“But I did, didn’t I?”
His frown relaxes. “Yeah, and I’m so glad you did. But it took you hours. And I… I was worried.”
A tinge of guilt covers her face. “I was shocked. And I needed some time to process, and to think.”
Clark’s stomach drops, the mere mention of ‘think’ shattering something in him.
“Think about what?”
Lois averts her eyes, not knowing where to start.
Clark fights for every breath, mind unraveling further before she has the chance to answer.
“Look, I know, it all seems absurd. It is absurd,” he starts, unable to take the silence. “But none of it changes the fact that I betrayed your trust, I know…”
“No, Clark,” her tone is tender and caring. “You didn’t. I want you to know that I don’t think that. Not even a little. You hear me?”
“I can’t imagine what it must have felt like for you. To see me…”
“It wasn’t your fault. You thought it was me. It was me. From another world, but still me…”
“I should have known. I did know. Something felt different. And still, I…”
“That was the red kryptonite, Clark.”
“I’m sorry.” It comes out so broken it barely reaches her ears.
“Clark…” her lips quiver.
He knows that tone all too well. The words come out of her mouth with the utmost sincerity. She doesn’t blame him. She forgives him. But it doesn’t feel like a victory. It doesn’t feel like they’re putting the previous events behind them.
“Those videos…” Clark continues, because it’s the only thing he can think to do. “They’re not true. Not one of them.”
“Of course not. I know that. They had Lex Luthor written all over them. And I wouldn’t have believed them regardless.”
“I don’t have a harem, Lois. I don’t want a harem. You know that.”
“I know. But…”
“But what?” The hurt on his face is palpable.
Lois bites her lip. “As bad as the footage of your biological parents was, maybe they were right,” she pauses for a beat, heart stuttering. “Not the part about lording over Earth, but, …maybe your people deserve a chance to live on.”
Every muscle in his body stiffens. “You… you can’t possibly believe that.”
“Clark, listen…” she takes a hesitant step toward him.
“No,” he rebuffs. “This was your father, wasn’t it?”
She draws a shaky breath. “What happened to Krypton was a tragedy, but you made it out alive. Maybe you were meant to survive so your legacy could live on. To prevent your people from dying out.”
“I don’t believe you,” his voice breaks. “This isn’t you. They switched you again.”
“No, Clark. It is me.” The sting in her eyes threatens to spill.
“I… I don’t care about any legacy, Lois. I care about you and us.”
“That’s what I’m saying though, Clark. Maybe you should. Maybe you should care.”
“Why are you doing this?” A strangled sob escapes him.
It takes everything in her to maintain her resolve. “Clark, do you know how long it would take to rebuild if it’s up to just the two of us?” She doesn’t really expect him to answer. “Eons, probably.”
“So it takes eons, then.”
She approaches him carefully, taking his hand in hers. The touch of her skin feels intoxicating.
“It’s not fair for us to make that decision.”
“Is it fair that I was sent here as an infant because my planet was under attack and now it falls on me to rebuild?”
His eyes carry such sorrow, her brave face starts to crumble.
“I can’t be the reason your people cease to exist, Clark. I can’t live with that burden.”
“I never asked you to. I would never ask that of you,” his voice grows thick with desperation. “We have always said we’d discuss having children when the time was right. If we do, it’ll be because we want to. And because we love each other. Because we do. Don’t we?”
An unsettling silence hangs.
“Don’t we, Lois?”
Her touch is feathery against his flushed cheeks, fingers tracing his features as if she’s trying to memorize them.
“What are you doing?” He doesn’t need an answer. Not really. He knows. He can see it in her face.
He pulls her to him, finally allowing himself what he’d been craving all day. His arms envelop her, back slightly arched to reach around her chest. Lois welcomes it, just as desperate for his embrace.
“A—Answer me, Lois.”
She doesn’t. Not verbally, but her grip around him tightens. Because of course she loves him, but admitting that now would only make things unbearable.
His voice rises to the surface, soft, wrecked. “Don’t let him get between us, Lois. I just want us to be together. All I want is to be with you,” his breath is hot against her ear. “…I love you.”
She exhales, open-mouthed and shaky.
“I know you do,” her fingertips sink into his hair, cheek pressed against his. “But love alone isn’t always enough. We’re just not right for each other. We’re not compatible.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“You’re extraordinary, Clark. You’re meant for greatness. I don’t want to tie you to a life where you have to renounce the things you deserve. You already sacrifice so much because of me.”
“That’s not true,” his body shudders against hers.
For an instant, the silence that follows is kind. For a fleeting, illusory moment, it feels as though they can hit reverse and start anew. But then she shifts in his arms.
“Lois, please,” he holds onto her like she’s his lifeline, fists tugging at her hair. “Please don’t do this.”
It’s not easy for her either. Every part of her wants to cling to him, to choose the warmth of his arms over the cold settling in her veins. She wants to stay. To kiss him. To let the evening unfold the way it was supposed to.
But his words cling to her in a way she can’t shake off. ‘You want to be the reason an entire species goes extinct?’
“Clark, I have to go.”
His first instinct is to pull her closer, hold her tighter. Latch onto her like a permanent magnet and never let go.
“No.”
Her head sags slightly against his chest, fingers clutching at the back of his shirt despite herself.
“Clark, if you love me, let me go.”
“But…”
“…Please.” She feels the wicked stab of broken glass against her throat.
With incredible effort, he unwraps his arms from around her. But not before pulling her closer one last time. Not before feeling the thrum of her heart against his. Clark turns his face to the side, unable to look at her. He anchors himself to the nearby window frame, certain he won’t be able to stand otherwise.
Lois staggers on her way to the front door, vision tunneling. The tears pour down her face, cruel as a flood, her mind, body, and soul shattering into pieces.
**
“Any status updates?”
Mr. Terrific squints at the computer screen, swiveling on his chair to see Lois approaching, her bloodshot eyes and puffy face not going unnoticed.
“Hey,” he says gently. “You okay?”
Lois nods, but she doesn’t make eye contact.
Michael doesn’t press, doesn’t ask unwanted questions. He just catches her up on the latest the best way he can.
“Luthor is getting better. I haven’t been able to find a way to prove that these are doctored. Yet.”
He rolls his chair to the opposite side, clacking away at the keyboard of a second computer.
“But I am getting closer to finding our guest a way out of here.”
“Where is she?”
“Right here.”
Lois turns toward the source of what she now recognizes as her own voice. Only, this time she doesn’t see the blonde woman from before. She sees herself.
The pair exchanges quiet, astonished glances.
“This is so trippy,” they say in unison, extending a hand toward one another, but keeping a safe distance.
“Do you think the world will implode if we come too close?”
“That’s pure fiction,” Michael slides over to where the interdimensional portal is located, closely examining data readouts. “But you’re right, it is trippy.”
They realize he is out for the count, laser-focused on analyzing the many doorway options in front of him.
“Hey,” the incongruous Lois breaks the silence that arises. “I’m sorry… about all of this.”
“‘Sorry’? None of this is your fault. You’re just as much a victim as the rest of us.”
“I know, but still…” she twists the gold band on her finger, now absent the engagement ring. Her engagement ring. Probably taken when swapped with the red kryptonite one. Probably lost forever.
Lois watches the movement with a twinge in her stomach.
“How long have you guys been married?”
“A year and four months.”
Lois smiles in awe. “Were you scared?”
“Of which part? Being asked? Saying yes? Marriage itself?”
They laugh together, both understanding exactly what the other means.
“…I thought I was going to be,” she finally answers. “But when it happened, it all just… clicked. You know? Everything is just so easy with him.”
Lois pauses for a beat, a spark of recognition crossing her features. She does know. Her chest tightens, lungs feeling devoid of air.
“What’s it like?”
“Wonderful.” The other Lois beams, but the sorrow in her counterpart’s face is obvious, so she grows serious. “Look, it’s probably none of my business but… I hope you guys can work through whatever this is.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well,” she chuckles softly, tilting her head in her direction. “Your face doesn’t exactly say ‘I’m walking on sunshine, woooah, and don’t I feel good.’”
“I see being tone-deaf carries across dimensions.”
“Hey! I resent that.”
The heaviness wanes for a bit, replaced with a brief moment of levity that is rudely interrupted by the news blasting on the background. It’s the same nonsense as always. Lois rolls her eyes in frustration, but feels a tightness in her chest for Clark. Knows how deeply the popular opinion affects him.
Last time the news outlets had reported on Superman’s ‘Mission to Destroy Us’, some had turned against him, some had graced him with the benefit of the doubt. Now, people seem more upset. Vile even. They say terrible things about him. Wish him harm. Wish him gone.
She takes out her phone, starts tapping a message to check on him, but cowers away mid-sentence. She doesn’t know Clark is watching intently on the receiving end, how his heart lifts when the typing bubble emerges on the screen, or how low it sinks when it disappears.
“It never changes, does it?” The other Lois huffs, all too familiar with people’s antics.
“Is it also like this where you’re from?”
“Yep.”
“…Is our dad also…”
“An asshole?”
“…in your world?”
“Yeah.” She exhales, eyes traveling from the broadcast to her doppelgänger, who’s intently staring at her phone screen, looking a little petrified. “You know, for what it’s worth… when he came home earlier, he was really excited to see you. Brought a lovely flower arrangement,” she grins. “If you like peonies and lavender. My Clark does it better.”
Lois chuckles, the load on her shoulders subsiding for a moment. “Is that so?”
But there is no malice in the statement, just light teasing.
“I found it!” Michael’s voice comes from the distance, drawing their attention to him.
“Already?”
“I am goddamn Mr. Terrific,” he singsongs with a victorious smile.
He punches the last few commands into the mainframe when a doorway materializes with a crackle.
Voilà.
“Holy shit,” the alternate Lois wobbles toward the portal, recognizing the cozy, familiar place she calls home. Clark’s apartment, which is now their apartment. She turns around to face the other two, an appreciative smile on her face.
“Well, I guess this is it,” her lips quiver. “Thank you so much for your help.”
“Anytime.”
“…And Lois,” her tone is low but firm. “Don’t listen to anyone other than yourself. Follow your heart, not those fears and doubts that I know wind their unwelcome little fingers every now and then.”
With hesitant steps, Lois follows her double toward the door. It feels weird, the scene before her. Seeing her mirror image like that, saying goodbye like that. It’s almost as if she’s losing a piece of herself.
The other Lois waves one last time, spinning around to cross the threshold. It disappears before their eyes with an electric buzz as soon as she goes through it. Lois can’t explain why it brings tears to her eyes.
“Do you think she’s going to be okay?” She asks.
“I am positive. I’ve been looking at these signals for a while.” Michael silences, looking at her. “Are you going to be okay?”
But then, before she can even think of answering, a high-pitched beeping sound blasts through their ears, making her and Mr. Terrific flinch. He turns to pinpoint its origin, eyes widening at the chaos of blips and blinks on the screen.
She watches the portal dissolve behind her, nerves finally settling at the homey smell of their living room. Her eyes fall to the picture frame on the side table, and it immediately warms her heart. Their wedding photo. Clark’s attention turned to her, nose pressed to that spot on her neck that tickles. Her eyes are peeking at the camera, hands dangling around his neck holding the bouquet of cerulean blue hydrangeas.
Then, she is startled by a loud gasp.
“LOIS?”
His strong arms come around her, enveloping her with such desperate need she melts right into him.
“Where have you been?” His breath is erratic, his hands shaky around her shoulders.
Lois pulls back to look at him, the sight of his wedding band in its rightful place sending a sense of calm and relief through her body.
“Hi,” she traces his face with her fingertips to make sure this is not just a dream.
“H—Hi,” his register dips, warm and unsteady. “Where were you, Lois? I’ve been trying to reach you all day… everyone has. Your phone was out of area. You weren’t at the Planet. Weren’t at the farm. You… you scared the shit out of me.”
“Easy there, Mister ‘language’!” she chuckles, a teary, unsteady thing.
“The situation calls for it,” he folds himself into her frame again. “I thought… I thought you left me.”
“What?” She pulls back again, just enough for their eyes to meet. “Oh, Clark, no. Never. That is never going to happen.”
“But you left this on your nightstand.”
Tears catch in her eyes at the sight of the ring. Her engagement ring.
“I thought I lost this.”
“What do you mean?” Confusion covers his face.
Lois swallows, holding out her hand. “Do the honors?”
Clark slides the ring back into her finger with ragged breaths, gaze never leaving hers.
“I’m here,” she kisses him. “I promise I’m here. And I’m never leaving again,” she whispers against his lips.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His hands roam her body, looking for any signs of injury.
She shakes her head. “I’m not hurt, not physically. But my soul aches a little.”
“Lois, don’t take this the wrong way but… you’re not making any sense. What’s going on, baby?”
Her face darkens, the day’s fantastical events on replay in her mind.
“You better sit down for this one.”
**
“What have we here?” Lex’s voice echoes through the dimly lit bunker as the heavy metal doors shut with a bang. “This is supposed to be a private party.”
All they see at first is Lex and General Lane sitting behind a network of computers, blue light bouncing off the concrete walls.
“Where is Superman?” Mr. Terrific doesn’t waste time.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We know he’s here,” Lois’s voice echoes through the dark.
“I told you… it’s impossible to extract nanobot GPS trackers,” Lex clicks his tongue at the General, ignoring the other two.
“But it was fun to watch him bleed.”
Lois’s vision obscures, panic spreading through her body like a slow and cruel venom. Even if he was dead, those trackers would still be there. Terrific’s words the first time he explained the trackers to her twist in her head, clear as day.
“Where is he?” Her voice comes out cracked.
“You disappoint me,” Sam eyes her with disdain.
“Superman,” Mr. Terrific calls out, scanning the room with his T-spheres.
“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” Lex rises, beckoning his men closer with an index finger. “I should have known that out of all the ‘clown gang’ members to show up, it would be you.” His voice falls to an icy register. “Restrain them.”
Two bulky men pin Lois’s arms behind her back. Another two immobilize Mr. Terrific.
“Don’t get any ideas.” At Lex’s ominous warning, the men holding Lois adjust their jackets a fraction, just enough for Mr. Terrific to see the guns holstered underneath.
“Your own daughter?” He turns to the General, sickened. “Despicable.”
Lois doesn’t care. Doesn’t expect any different from the man biology tells her to call ‘father’. All she cares about is Clark.
“Where is he? What did you bring him here for?”
“My dear,” Lex is scornfully dramatic. “I assure you, Superman is here of his own accord.”
“SUPERMAN,” Michael tries again, but it’s to no avail.
“Don’t worry, we saved the best for last.”
She’s not exactly sure why, but her mouth goes dry, her heart seizes, her stomach turns at the way Lex delivers the line.
Then, a stir upfront gets their attention. Something murmurs in the dark, a mechanical whir shakes the ground, reverberating beneath their feet. Suddenly, a surge of light illuminates the obscured corners of the room.
It takes a minute for their eyes to adjust, but the shapeless outline straight ahead comes into focus, the sickly green glow reflecting off its jagged edges. Kryptonite. The crystal stands nearly seven feet tall, broad and noxious. A fractured spire of radioactive death.
Lois searches Mr. Terrific’s eyes for something, anything. But she can’t find the answers that are otherwise invariably there. She only sees the same anguish mirrored in his own gaze.
In the haste of panic, she doesn’t notice him until the green light casts his shadow across the cracked walls.
Clark.
The crystal towers over his form, almost a foot taller than him and as wide as the span of his shoulders.
Lois tries to free herself, strains against the unforgiving grasp around her wrists, but the hold they have on her is too strong. She doesn’t even move an inch.
And Clark… he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even make a sound. He just stands there, close to the bringer of his own undoing. Too close. Lois knows the toll the green poison takes on him all too well. Her throat closes, a suffocating weight wringing its way into her chest. NO.
“What is this?” Mr. Terrific stutters.
“This… is the final reckoning,” Lex retorts triumphantly. “The moment we have all been waiting for,” he pauses, a vicious grin on his face. “Because finally, our ‘friend’ here understands…”
Lois and Michael share an alarmed glance.
“…we don’t want the likes of him around.”
Lois turns to Clark, tuning everything else out, his form the only thing in focus. “Hey.” Though it comes out as nothing but a frayed whisper, she’s certain he can hear her.
But Clark doesn’t react. He just stands there, head bowed down, motionless. As if he’s not really there, as if his body is nothing but a shell, empty and unfeeling.
“That’s right,” Lex continues. “People finally see this freak for what he truly is. And they don’t like what they see.”
“Don’t listen to him.”
He chuckles. “Oh, it’s not me, Miss Lane. It’s the whole world. Haven’t you seen the news?” His demeanor lights up with a smile so vicious even Mr. Terrific winces. “I gotta tell you… seeing the tears on his face watching the playback… it almost made me feel sorry for him.”
“Crying like a little bitch,” Sam cackles.
Lex nods, his smirk growing wider. “Who am I kidding? It was thrilling to see. People really don’t like him. Matter of fact, they hate him.”
Clark takes a step forward, inching closer to the crystal. It’s just a fraction, but she sees it.
“What are you doing? STOP!”
Lois desperately pushes herself forward, trying to reach him. But it is no use. Lex’s men are triple her size. Their hefty hands come around her shoulders now, fingers digging into her tensed muscles.
“Michael?” She pants, lightheaded from hyperventilating. It breaks him that he is powerless to help.
Clark takes another step forward.
Lex and Sam watch with glee.
“STOP IT!”
“Don’t waste your breath, Miss Lane. The alien has finally come to terms with the truth. He’s unwelcome here. He doesn’t belong.”
“Don’t listen to him,” her voice cracks.
Lex scoffs. “Do everyone a favor, alien,” he makes a point of emphasizing the last word. “Do humanity a favor. You can end this the easy way.”
Clark takes another step toward the crystal, head sagging.
“STOP. PLEASE.”
It takes everything she has to keep his name from falling off her lips. Saying it might steady him, comfort him. But she swallows it down… the chance of exposing his identity a risk she’s not willing to take.
“Please. Don’t. Move away.” She lowers her voice, hoping something quieter might breach his resolve.
But it doesn’t. Though her vision is distorted, she can see it clearly. How he inches closer, step after calculated step. He straightens himself, one arm lifting, hand shooting out to reach for it, slow but intentional. Lois stands there, watching… the silence eating at her, the tears slipping soundlessly down her cheeks. And then the unbelievable happens. With a final, decided step, Clark moves forward, wrapping his arms around the radiant crystal.
The pain is unbearable. It burns… sears… sizzles. It threads through every bone in his body, every muscle, every nerve. Yet, he doesn’t recoil, doesn’t scream, doesn’t fight. He just latches onto it with grim acceptance.
“NO. STOP.”
Her frantic protests are met with a punch to the jaw, but Lois doesn’t care, not even when Mr. Terrific curses at the coward who delivers the blow. All she can focus on is the scene before her. She can’t see the kryptonite’s effect on Clark, but she can hear how it hisses against his body.
“STOP IT. STOP IT.” It comes with more urgency now.
Still, Clark doesn’t budge. Lois feels the ground crumble beneath her feet.
“PLEASE.”
With every tick of the clock, it gets worse. The hissing gives way to a crackling noise. Even from across the room, she sees it. Green-tinged smoke starts swirling into the air from where the rock’s frayed edges contact his skin.
Lois’s eyes fix on Clark, her mind taken over by one single thought: his pain. And not only the evident physical pain caused by the kryptonite, but the emotional pain. The one driving him to willingly stand in the face of his worst enemy and not only not fight back, but embrace it… embrace his own doom. The tears pool in her eyes without mercy.
She breaks.
“STOP… STOP… PLEASE…”
Clark continues to clutch the kryptonite, not giving an inch.
And she breaks.
“LET GO OF THAT THING.”
His body jerks violently, but Clark remains resolute, arms encircling the crystal with even greater force. The most she gets from him is a stifled grunt.
And she breaks even further.
“…YOU’RE GOING TO KILL YOURSELF.”
Her head sags, breath stolen from her lungs. The steadfast grip around her is the only thing that keeps her from hitting the ground.
“Stop, stop, please,” her voice no longer comes out loud and fierce, it can’t. It hides, tucked somewhere between her lungs and throat, shallow and frail.
She has nothing left in her. No fight, no prayer, no bargain. The only thing that remains is one simple, evident truth.
“…I love you.”
At those words, a tear slips down his cheek.
It’s barely a whisper, her energy completely depleted, throat ablaze and raw, heart numb and hollow.
But Clark hears it.
I love you. I love you. I love you. It reaches his ears, over and over again.
Despite his best efforts, Clark’s will begins to falter. His grip weakens, kryptonite poison pulsing through his veins, merciless, deadly. Every muscle in his body spasms, every blood vessel burns, his head pounds with a shrill so brutal he tastes bile on his throat. Finally, he reaches his breaking point, body crashing to the ground with a heavy thump.
“…Clark.” The wretched gasp rips out of her before she can stop it.
The flicker of hope that comes next barely registers at first, eclipsed by Lex and Sam’s triumphant laughs. Her eyes are too focused on his immobile frame for anything else to matter. But it catches on her blurred peripheral vision regardless… a brilliant, warm green light. Nothing like the menacing hues of the kryptonite.
It all happens in a flash. The heavy metal doors burst inward, launching General Lane onto the ground headfirst. A foreign object follows the blast, knocking Lex off his feet. Lois feels the iron grip around her wrist and shoulders loosen, her knees slamming onto the concrete floor with a loud crack. When she turns, Lex and his four henchmen are entrapped in a green cage-like force field.
“Did anybody order a Green Lantern?” Guy Gardner prances in, hand folded into a fist to display his radiant ring. Metamorpho walks alongside him, watching the hammer that struck Lex mold back into his wrist.
“Son of a gun,” Mr. Terrific gives them an appreciative nod, immediately raising a shield around the kryptonite monolith looming over Clark’s fallen form. The same kind he’d used to protect Lois at Fort Kramer.
Lois, on the other hand, rushes ahead with faltering legs. She stumbles to the floor halfway through due to sheer exhaustion, crawling the rest of the way.
When she reaches him, Clark is facing the ground, his breathing so shallow she can barely see the rise and fall of his chest. She reaches for his shoulder with trembling hands, turning him around carefully, like she’s handling a dwindling flame in a storm.
What she sees crushes her right at the spot. It’s not just the familiar dark green winding up his veins, not just the clamminess of his skin, not just the strained, rutted muscles. His torso is burned down, his garments becoming one with his flesh, blood seeping through.
God. Oh God.
Lois draws him to her, angling her body so that she doesn’t come in direct contact with his wounds, but cradling his face gently in her hands.
“Hey, hey,” she whispers softly against his ear, her quivering lips pressing wet kisses to his lobe.
Clark’s eyes flutter open, his strength fully lost to him. He feels her soft hands gently tilt his head up to her face, her striking, luminous, beautiful face. Though he tries, he is physically unable to reciprocate the smile she braves through tears for him. But his heart? His heart beams at her.
“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.”
He shifts weakly against her, tears gathering in his own eyes. But then darkness takes over, his head feels heavy, and Clark drifts into unconsciousness in the safety of her arms.
“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.”
She doesn’t look away from him. Not until Sam rises from where he’d landed earlier following the blast, casting an eerie shadow behind them as he inches closer.
“You stay away from him.” Her body instinctively comes between them, shielding Clark as best she can despite being a foot smaller than him.
“I didn’t want it to come to this, but you leave me no choice,” his voice is hoarse and uneven, almost monstrous.
But General Lane hits the ground before he can make it any further, shackles coming between his wrists and ankles. “Stand down!”
The Justice Gang members rush in their direction, freezing in place at the sight. At first, there’s an ominous silence in the room. It stretches so long that she starts to hear ringing in her ears. Then, it’s a turmoil of crumbling voices all at once.
“Jesus.”
“Big Blue?”
“Oh, my God,” Mr. Terrific kneels before them, a gasp in his throat. “Lois, this… this is bad.”
“I know, I know,” a wounded cry escapes her.
“I’m afraid I am no match for something this serious.”
“I know a place,” she chokes out. “Can you drive, please?”
“Go,” Rex and Guy say in unison. “We’ll take care of… things back here.”
“Help me get him up?”
Lois doesn’t even bother taking a seat in the T-craft. She just sits toward the rear, nestling Clark into the space between her propped knees, his back against her torso.
“It’s okay, it’s all going to be okay,” she rocks his body, a hand in his forehead, lips pressed to his temple. “We’ll be there soon. Just hang in there. Okay, baby? Please, just hold on for me a little while longer.”
For a moment, it almost feels peaceful. For a moment, she just keeps him anchored to her, a cheek lightly pressed to his hair. But that quickly changes when his hand starts feeling stone-cold against hers, fingers trembling faintly before going slack, sweat clinging mercilessly to his forehead.
“Michael, please, can we go any faster?” Her nostrils drip onto her lips, voice shattering like glass.
He nods, determined. “Hold on tight.”
The T-craft rattles under the push of acceleration, and then soars into the night at full speed.
Pairing: Clark Kent/Lois Lane
Tags/Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Heartbreak, Sacrifice, Kryptonite Poisoning, (...) pretty much a punch to the gut, but then healing together and choosing each other and a happy ending ᥫ᭡
Other Characters: Mr. Terrific, Ma Kent, Pa Kent, cameo 'OC(s)'
Words: 6k/26.5k
Rating: T
Read on ao3.
Summary: "Kryptonite, poisonous and unforgiving, burns inside her. Not in her hands. Not in a lead-lined box. Behind her irises. Lodged like shrapnel beneath her gaze.She cannot open her eyes. Will not. Because they no longer see… they sear.And if she dares look at him, if she dares even catch a glimpse… she’ll be his undoing. Breaking him down, molecule by molecule, until there is nothing left but ash and the distant memory of hope and warmth."
CHAPTER ONE: ECHOES
The air is damp and stale, laced with a bite of rust and rot. Above, a flickering fluorescent bulb casts long shadows across the concrete floor. A disquiet silence hangs, broken only by the rhythmic clacking of keyboards and the faint, unsettling hum of machines ticking in the distance.
Clark’s eyes crack open, vision stuttering in and out of focus. His head throbs with a dull pain, blood dripping down the sides of his face, warm and wet. His ribs scream when he breathes.
He blinks, tries to sit up, and the world tilts violently sideways.
Where…
It’s all fragments. A memory, too hazy and far away. His apartment. Dim in the late night. Lois’s voice, intentional but not cruel. Frustrated. Just wanting to keep his feet on the ground.
And then a flash. Sudden. Brilliant. Tearing the moment apart at the seams.
As Clark struggles to hold himself upright, cracked walls and rusting support beams overhead, something flickers at the edge of his vision. A silhouette.
Soft. Small. Familiar to every fiber of his being.
His heart stutters.
She is standing just a few feet away with her back to him. Head lowered, hands over her face, elbows drawn in close as if she’s trying to disappear into herself.
“Lois?” His voice is hoarse, raw. Like it’s been torn from him.
No response. No movement. No reaction to his voice. Like he isn't even there.
He tries again. “Lois,” a beat louder this time, confusion rising.
She doesn’t answer.
The tension in the room spikes. Something is wrong. It’s not silence, it’s avoidance. Deliberate.
Her shoulders tremble, the smallest flinch. Clark hears the subtle stagger in her breathing.
Why won’t she answer?
Clark tries to rise, wincing as fire shoots up his spine. He presses one hand to the floor to steady himself.
And still, Lois doesn’t move. There is no anger in her body, no rage in her stillness. Just, containment. Like she’s holding something back.
His mind fumbles for an answer. Is she mad at him?
No. That’s not right. Whatever happened in his apartment wasn’t a fight. Not really. A disagreement, sure. It hadn’t ended in anger, only exhaustion. She’d tried to walk off like she always did when her heart got too full. But he'd convinced her against it, like he always did.
His pulse races, panic building. Not from the pain in his body, but from the distance in hers.
“Lois, please. Talk to me.”
She doesn’t turn around, doesn’t lift her head. Her arms tighten around her body.
“I know you can hear me.” His voice breaks.
Clark tries to move again, crawling now. But the moment he inches closer, she reacts. Almost slams herself into the corner trying to keep the distance between them. Like she wants to merge with the wall.
“Don’t,” she utters. Quiet. Flat. Barely audible. But it knocks the breath out of him.
He freezes in place. Her voice isn’t angry. It’s something worse.
Scared.
“What is going on?” His voice rises, thick with desperation. “What did I do? Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”
A sob breaks from her throat.
“Talk to me,” he pleads. “Just turn around. Please.”
“Just go,” she flinches like the words cost her.
Clark’s hands fall. He stops moving. Something shatters inside him.
Then, the faint sound of footsteps closes in on him. Soft but steady. But he doesn’t look back. Doesn’t care. His eyes are locked on her.
“Lois…” it escapes him like a prayer, but it’s meant for no one’s ears but his own. The sound clings to the hollow of his throat, soft and stilled, as if speaking her name might keep him from slipping under.
And just as he’s about to be dragged away, too defeated to even care what happens next… he’s already lost… the words echo between them. Barely a whisper, barely real.
Late … Too late … Kent.
Her voice trembles through the syllables, like they’re knives. Clark staggers back a step, his face crumpling.
The world drops out from under him.
Mere words, spoken in a murmur that barely disturbed the air. Simple. Meaningless to unknowing ears, yet unmistakable. Familiar. Theirs.
Clark doesn’t resist when they reach him. Not because he’s given up, but because he finally understands. Something is wrong. Very wrong. But not between them.
Late.
Too late.
…Kent.
**
The copier had jammed for the third time that morning, and Clark, ever the helpful new guy, ws wrist-deep in the machine’s inner workings, muttering apologies to the feed roller like it could hear him.
“C’mon, you were doing so well…” he coaxed under his breath, and when the tray finally slid back into place with a victorious little click, he smiled and said quietly, “Thank you.”
“Were you just talking to the copier?”
Clark startled. She’d appeared beside him like a trick of light, coffee cup in one hand, perfectly unimpressed.
He blinked. “Uh. Maybe.”
She raised an eyebrow, sipped her coffee. “…Did it answer you?”
He grinned, half-shrugging. “Not in so many words.”
She stared at him for a beat longer than strictly necessary, like she couldn’t quite decide if he was messing with her or if he was just like that.
Then she smirked and turned.
When he finally made his way to the break table, lured by the scent of warm sugar and fried dough, he stopped short.
“You’re too late, Kent,” came the voice again, this time with smug satisfaction.
He turned just as she breezed past, shoulder bumping his with easy familiarity, as if they’d done that dance a hundred times. Lois held the cronut in her hand, victorious and casual like a woman who always won.
“I already took the last one.” A wink. A smile. A slow bite.
He blinked, speechless.
And she was already walking away, hair swaying, back to her desk as if she hadn’t just set something in motion.
Clark stared at the table where the pastry box had been, the echo of her smile still burning somewhere beneath his ribs.
**
“You’re late, Kent,” Lois said without looking up, the tap of her pen hitting her notepad either irritation or a calculated assertion of control. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
Clark came to a sheepish halt by her desk, breathless, adjusting his glasses like the gesture might fix the rest of him. “Sorry,” he said, earnest as ever. “Train stalled.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied, finally glancing at him, eyes sharp, skeptical. “Next time, take the sky.”
He blinked. “The—what?”
“Never mind,” she muttered, standing and grabbing her bag. “Let’s go. We’re already behind.”
They walked side by side to the elevator, headed to a courthouse for a developing corruption case. She was brisk, typing on her phone as they moved, dictating notes into her voice recorder, calling a source with barely a glance his way. Clark mostly listened. He asked good questions when he did speak, soft-spoken and precise, and Lois had to admit, reluctantly, that his notes were excellent, almost eerily so. She tried not to be charmed by his old-fashioned style or the way he held doors like someone who still believed in courtesy as currency.
By the time they stepped back out into the sunlight, Lois was mid-thought, already composing the story in her head as she crossed the sidewalk toward the corner.
She kept talking as she moved, only to realize after a few steps that the sidewalk beside her was empty. She stopped.
“Kent,” she rolled her eyes, spinning around.
He was half a block behind, trotting toward her with an apologetic look on his face and a paper coffee cup in his hand.
“Figured you wouldn’t have time to grab one,” he said, holding it out to her.
She hesitated. Just for a second. Then took it.
“…Thanks,” she said, quieter than before. Less guarded.
There was something about him. Something off. Not in a dangerous way, but in the way he didn’t feel like other people. As though he was always holding his breath in a world that didn’t quite fit him.
They started walking again.
She didn’t look at him.
But she was suddenly aware of the space between them.
Something had shifted.
She didn’t know what.
But it was the first time she forgot to be annoyed.
**
The bullpen was quiet. The kind of quiet that only comes with 1:00 a.m. and too many coffee cups stacked around keyboards. Most of the lights were off, save for the island of brightness around Lois’s desk.
She sat hunched over her monitor, hair up in a messy twist, blazer long since abandoned on the back of her chair. She didn’t even look up when the paper cup appeared in her peripheral vision.
“I already have three,” she muttered.
“I know,” Clark said gently. “This one’s tea.”
That earned him a glance.
“You looked like you might start vibrating through the floor,” he added, setting the cup down carefully.
Lois stared at it. Then at him.
“It’s late, Kent,” she said after a pause. “You don’t have to stay.”
He gave a small shrug. “I want to be here.”
“You know,” she said, sitting back, rubbing her eyes, “most people would’ve gone home by now.”
“I’m not most people,” he replied, without even a trace of ego. Just… fact.
That made her laugh. A tired, genuine thing. “Yeah. I’m starting to get that.”
They sat in silence for a while. It didn’t press, didn’t rush. Just was.
Lois looked back at her screen, but her fingers didn’t move.
“The lead’s good,” Clark offered. “Sharp. You’ve got the numbers down cold. Just need that final confirmation.”
“Yeah.” She hesitated. “I thought it’d come through by now. I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the whole thing’s a dead end.”
“You’re not wrong.”
She looked at him, surprised by the certainty in his voice.
Clark just gave a soft half-smile. “You’re never wrong.”
That landed somewhere she didn’t expect. She blinked, fast, and looked away. Lois didn’t speak for a moment. Just looked at the screen. Then back at him.
Something about his demeanor loosened a thread in her chest.
“My mom used to say I had this… engine. That I didn’t know how to turn off. Even when I was a kid.” Her voice was low, a little rough around the edges. “She’d find me trying to fact-check my homework at 2:00 a.m. Used to say I was going to run myself into the ground chasing something that didn’t exist.”
Clark listened, silent. Present.
“I just… I don’t know how to stop. Not really.” Lois gave a small, crooked smile. “I miss her.”
She let out a slow breath, regret flickering sharp in her chest. Like he wanted to hear about her damage. “Sorry, that was a lot.”
Clark’s gaze was steady. “It wasn’t.”
“I just dumped that all on you.”
“No. You were honest,” he said, a smile tugging at his mouth. “…I’m glad you were.”
She looked at him, really looked. There was no pity in his face. No awe, either. Just… kindness. A quiet steadiness she hadn’t expected.
Lois blinked again and turned back to the screen, suddenly aware of the tea cooling beside her hand.
“Alright,” she said, voice a little gruffer. “Let’s land this thing.”
Clark could only smile.
**
“I can’t believe Perry wanted us to work together again.”
Clark turned his head toward her, lips tugging in that soft, wry smile. “Yeah, he must be punishing you.”
Lois gave a short, amused exhale as she adjusted the AC vent in the clunky, overworked sedan. Outside the windshield, the dark alley behind the 24-hour pharmacy buzzed under a single flickering light. Their stakeout had already stretched into its third hour, and Metropolis was quiet around them, hushed in that strange, charged way cities get just before dawn.
“I know,” she added lightly. “Stuck with you and your farm boy playlists.”
“I resent that,” Clark said, laughing. “The Crabjoys are timeless.”
“They’re terrible,” she laughed. “You’ve got layers, Kent.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Lois turned to look at him then, just a glance, her smirk half-hiding something gentler underneath.
He went quiet for a second, fingers flexing on the wheel. “Hey. I know you’ve been carrying a lot lately… the Metropolis Hospital piece, the follow-up on the mayor’s ethics leak, and—,” he hesitated, as if unsure whether to say the next part. “I just want to say… you’re doing good work, Lois. Really good. I hope someone’s told you that.”
Her breath caught for the briefest moment, soft and sudden. Then she scoffed lightly, trying to brush it off, but not quite brushing it away. “What, are you moonlighting as a motivational speaker now?”
He smiled, eyes on the empty alley. “No. I just mean it.”
She turned toward the window, heart thrumming a little harder than it should’ve been. “You always do that,” she said finally. “You always mean it. And you never try so hard that I have to wonder if it’s an act.”
He didn’t answer right away.
Something passed between them then, unspoken and electric. The air thickened. Clark reached down and cut the engine, the low hum fading into silence.
Then, very gently, he turned toward her, inching.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t sweeping. It was quiet and hesitant, as if asking permission before he’d even crossed the center console. Her eyes flicked to his. She didn’t stop him. She didn’t even flinch.
When their lips met, it was soft. Barely there at first.
Lois’s hand rose to his shirt, not pulling, just resting. Her thumb brushed against the fabric near his collarbone, the tiniest pressure, grounding herself. Clark’s fingers cupped her jaw as if he were holding something fragile.
They broke apart slowly, like neither of them quite knew how.
Lois blinked. Words caught on the tip of her tongue, then vanished.
Clark sat back slightly, a nervous laugh escaping before he could stop it. “Lois, I'm… we can… we can take that back,” he said quickly, voice cracking just enough to betray his panic. “I mean, if that made you uncomfortable, or if I misread—,”
“Clark.” Her voice was low, steady. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”
He gave her a quizzical look.
“I don’t think either of us imagined getting here. But we’re here.”
He froze. “Right,” he said. “Of course. I just… I don’t want to ruin whatever this is. Whatever we were. Before.”
She looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable in the dim light.
“We’re not pretending, are we?”
Clark’s mouth opened slightly, unsure of what to say… if he should say anything at all. But then her hand reached for his again, warm and certain, threading their fingers together. She leaned in, one breath, two, until they were close again.
And this time, she kissed him.
It was unhurried, more certain than the first, but still new, still testing the shape of things. Her lips moved with quiet confidence, not demanding, just… exploring. Learning.
Clark answered in kind. His hand slid to her waist, drawing her in until the console was no longer an obstacle, only a minor inconvenience.
Her fingers curled loosely behind his neck. He smelled like rain and something warm she couldn’t name. There wasn’t urgency. Just presence.
When they drew back, it was slow. Careful.
Their foreheads rested together for a breath. Maybe two.
Lois exhaled a soft laugh, not mocking, just faintly surprised. “Well,” she murmured. “That happened.”
Clark smiled, a little dazed. “Yeah.”
Neither of them moved to break the moment. Outside the windshield, the city glowed on in flickers of gold and neon. But here, inside the quiet hum of the parked car, time had tucked itself into something smaller.
She didn’t say what it meant. Neither did he.
But she didn’t let go of his hand.
And he didn’t ask her to.
**
Clark stumbled in through the restaurant door, half out of breath, hair tousled like he’d just raced a tornado, glasses slightly askew.
It was their first official date in the traditional sense of the word. They’d shared lingering coffees, impromptu lunches, and even an accidental museum visit that turned into a hand-holding marathon through time periods and oil paintings. There’d been a rainy walk home that ended in a kiss under her apartment awning, and a heated moment in the Planet elevator that left Clark dazed when the doors slid open to a very crowded bullpen… Lois walking out without a glance back, cool and unbothered. As if she hadn’t just scrambled every coherent thought in his head. But this, this was formal. A proper, agreed-upon “Friday night, 8:00 p.m., your favorite steakhouse” kind of date.
It was a stupid technicality. She hated technicalities. But still, she’d spent an embarrassing amount of time picking a dress and taming her hair. She didn’t usually go for anything too showy, but tonight she was wearing a shade of red lipstick that could probably stop Clark’s heart mid-beat.
Lois was already seated, back straight, legs crossed, chin resting on her hand like it wasn’t even a big deal. She looked like summer and firelight and danger, all wrapped up in that one crooked smirk she gave him when he finally reached the table.
But her eyes flicked up as he approached. And he saw it there, a simmer of irritation she’d try to pass off as casual. Just enough heat to make him squirm.
“You’re late.”
He deserved it. And he had been late. Only five minutes, but late all the same. Because he couldn’t decide on a tie.
He’d stood in front of the mirror, sweating bullets, holding up one after the other. Blue? Too safe. Gray? Too funeral. He ended up settling on the maroon one Martha once told him he looked handsome in.
He had tugged it on, hands slightly shaking. Because somehow, even after all the time they’d been spending together… late-night phone calls, Sunday brunches, stakeouts turned into shared fries, quiet walks home, and the kind of conversation that stretched long past the midnight hours… she still made him nervous. She always did.
“I know,” he said, catching his breath, reaching into his coat pocket with sheepish fingers. “But in my defense… I was having a tie crisis. And then, I made an emergency stop.”
Lois raised an eyebrow. “An emergency?”
He pulled out a bouquet, half-tucked into his coat lining, slightly squished, but still beautiful. Wildflowers. Not the grocery store kind. The kind that looked like someone had picked them by hand in a field of sunlight.
“I remembered you liked these,” he said, awkwardly holding them out.
Lois blinked.
He could see the exact second her irritation melted into something warmer, something reluctant and terrifying and real.
She reached for the flowers slowly, like her hands might give something away she didn’t want to say yet.
“You’re impossible,” she murmured.
“I know,” he replied softly. “But I’m here.”
She didn’t say I forgive you. She didn’t say You’re off the hook. Instead, she gave him a look, a kind of startled surrender, like she just remembered she was supposed to be annoyed at him but couldn’t quite hold on to it.
Clark had no idea how someone could look like that and roll their eyes in the same second, but Lois Lane managed it.
“Sit down, Kent,” she said. “Before I start thinking you’re worth the trouble.”
Clark chuckled, tugging out his chair. “Noted. No more tie crises.”
Lois smirked. “Or at least text me next time you’re stuck in a mortal combat with your wardrobe.”
“I promise.”
They ordered wine. The steak was perfect. And somewhere between the first laugh and the second stolen glance, she reached across the table, curled her fingers into his, and didn’t let go.
**
The takeout containers sat on the kitchen counter half-eaten; a shared meal interrupted by conversation and soft laughter. The television was on but muted, casting soft blue flickers across the room. Lois padded back in from the kitchen, wearing mismatched socks and holding two glasses, one already half-full.
Clark was on the couch, unusually still, his hands resting against his knees. Not watching the TV, not doing anything really. Just... sitting.
Lois tilted her head slightly. “You okay?”
He blinked, glanced up at her with something too much like panic in his eyes, and then smiled too fast. “Yeah. Yeah. Just… thinking.”
She handed him his glass and dropped beside him, curling one leg under the other. “Dangerous,” she teased lightly, nudging his arm.
He gave a laugh, quiet and distracted.
Something was off.
She took a sip of wine, watching him from the corner of her eye as he fidgeted with the stem of his glass, rotating it, setting it down, picking it back up.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said finally, softly.
Lois turned to him fully. “Okay,” she said, voice just as quiet.
Clark cleared his throat. “I’ve wanted to say it for a while now. It’s just… you matter to me. And this, whatever this is between us, I don’t want it to be built on half-truths. I was waiting for the right time. Maybe I’ve waited too long…”
She leaned her elbow on the back of the couch, wine glass still in hand, and looked at him with something achingly fond.
“You did,” she said gently.
Clark blinked. “What?”
“You’re too late,” she gave a small shrug. “…Superman.”
He stared at her. Utterly frozen.
“You—,” he was floored.
“I’ve known,” she said, smile widening a little. “For a while now.”
“So you’ve just been letting me—?”
Lois softened. “I was waiting for you to tell me. I figured… you’d want to do it your way.”
“You—how did you—?”
She lifted her brows. “I'm a reporter, Clark. You disappear every time there’s a breaking news alert. You flinch at every police siren. You knew about the bridge collapse before it even hit the scanner…”
“But I—I wore glasses,” he said, dazed.
Lois laughed, setting her wine down so she could reach for his hand. “You changed your posture. Your voice. Your whole presence. It was actually really impressive. But still… it was always you.”
He was quiet, trying to piece this into something he could understand.
“You’re not mad?” he asked, quietly.
She shook her head. “I’m not mad.” She paused. “I was letting you find the right time. You were trying so hard to protect something that was never in danger.”
His fingers closed around hers. Gently, like he couldn’t believe she was still letting him hold her hand.
Lois looked down at their intertwined fingers, then back up. “Besides,” she said, “it’s not exactly news. Just… finally confirmed.”
And then she leaned forward, brushing her lips against his. Not rushed. Not a tease. Just a quiet kiss that said she was still here.
And he let himself melt into it, into her.
**
They had been texting earlier that afternoon, trading flirty lines over lunch breaks. Lois had sent a photo of the takeout she was eating at her desk, captioned “Not as good as the Thai place by your apartment. Fix this?” He had responded with “Dinner at 7. You bring the sarcasm, I’ll bring dessert.”
That had been the last she heard from him.
Seven turned to nine. Nine turned to eleven.
The first hour, she’d been mildly annoyed—he was late, big surprise. The second, she’d grown irritated, texting him again. By the third, her anger had begun to harden into something raw and brittle. She had called. She had tried the secure channel. Nothing. Radio silence. And sometime after midnight, when all she had left was silence and the echo of her own fury, her reflection out the window no longer looked like her own.
And now, as the clock blinked 12:53 a.m. in a mocking red hue, the front door finally opened. Quietly, carefully. The apartment was dark, save for the dim lamp over the sink she’d left on by instinct rather than intention. Clark stepped inside, locking the door behind him. He didn’t call out her name. He didn’t have to.
She was already there, standing in the middle of the living room with her arms folded tight across her chest like she’d been holding herself together for hours. Because she had.
He took one look at her and stopped cold.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” No inflection. No warmth. No affection. Just ice.
“I know,” he said, soft. “I’m late—,”
The words were meant to be gentle. Familiar. A callback to the teasing tone they’d shared earlier. But her face didn’t budge.
“Don’t be cute.” Her voice cut sharper than she meant. “Do not be cute with me right now.”
Clark’s smile faltered.
He took a careful step forward. “Lois, I—,”
“You didn’t text. You didn’t call. Not even—,” her voice rose with each word, anger crashing against the edge of panic. “Not even the emergency channel worked.”
“I had to ditch my phone,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “You were in danger. It wasn’t safe for me to call. They could’ve tracked—,”
“There’s always something,” she snapped, voice faltering. “There’s always some excuse, Clark.”
“It’s not an excuse—,”
“Isn’t it? Because you sure as hell didn’t think about what it would be like for me.” Her eyes were glassy now, hands shaking. “You couldn’t even get someone to pass on a message? Or do you just not care?”
He told himself she didn’t mean that. “I was trying to keep you safe. I had to lay low until—,”
“You were just gone. Vanished. For six hours. And no one knew where you were. Not Guy, not Michael. No one. Just silence. And now, what? A threat to me? Really?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what it was.”
“And that’s convenient, isn’t it?” Lois stared at him, her jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
He blinked. “You think I’m lying to you.”
Her shoulders tightened, a breath caught in her throat.
Clark laughed, but it wasn’t amused. It was hollow, frayed, like something inside him had just snapped. His shoulders trembled as he dragged both hands down his face, then dropped them uselessly to his sides.
“Really, Lois? That’s what you think?” He said, voice sharp with disbelief.
There was no composure left in him. No restraint. Only raw, unsheltered hurt. He stepped back like the air between them had scorched him, like he couldn’t bear to be near her while she looked at him like that.
“You think I just willingly ignored you? That I chose to leave you in the dark? That your voice didn’t reach me and tear through me when I couldn’t answer?”
His gaze lifted to meet hers, tired and ravaged. Like she was both the wound and the balm. The only one who could hurt him like this… and the only one who could ever truly make it right.
“After everything we’ve been through…” His voice cracked again, collapsing into something small and hoarse. “Everything we’ve fought for. Everything we’ve survived. The late nights we held onto each other like the world might end. The arguments that ended in stubborn apologies and bland takeout. The mornings you stole the covers and pretended not to. The times I couldn’t sleep, and you didn’t ask why… you just stayed. That time you almost ended things because you thought we were too… incompatible.”
Her breath hitched, barely, but he caught it.
“Yeah,” he said, quiet. “I know about that.” There was a dragged, aching pause. “Is this really what you make of what we built?’
That hurt.
“I—,” her hands trembled. “…There were no alerts. No news. No plane crashes, no alien invasion, no goddamn anything. You just… disappeared.”
His shoulders tensed, jaw tightening. “If they’d intercepted any signal—,”
“You always find a way to reach out. Always.”
He faltered. “I… I couldn’t.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Clark stared at her, stunned, like he’d just been hollowed out. “You… you still don’t believe me?”
“You’ve lied to me before.”
It left her lips before she could stop it, and the moment it did, Lois slapped a hand over her mouth like she could shove the words back inside. But it was too late. The silence that followed was raw and blistered.
Clark knew what she meant. Of course he did… The truth of who he was… what he was. But the omission had never been malice, never manipulation. It had been fear. Protection. Love. Misjudged maybe, but never hollow. And she had known that, too. She’d told him so herself.
He looked down, and something in him dimmed, quiet, resigned, like the last of the daylight slipping behind a cloud.
“…Maybe… maybe I should give you some space,” he stepped back, the words like glass in his throat.
“Wait,” she breathed out, bobbling.
Clark stopped mid-step, hands clenched at his side.
“Don’t—,” her voice cracked. “Don’t do that. Don’t walk away like that.”
Clark’s eyes flicked to hers, and they were already full of something too big to name. “You’re upset. And you have every right to be. I—,”
“…That doesn’t mean I want you gone.” It came out broken. All the fire went out of her as fast as it had flared. “Please,” she said, softer now. “Please don’t go,” her voice trembled, and so did she.
Clark was moving before the last words left her lips, crossing the room in three quiet, urgent steps. His hands lifted in instinctive offering, not even reaching for her, just waiting.
That was all it took.
She fell into him with a sound like a sob caught halfway to silence, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he came around her waist. They collided hard enough to stagger her back a step… and then another… until they tumbled together onto the couch behind her, tangled in each other.
His hold tightened, strong and certain, wrapping her in warmth. Her fingers slid into his hair, and he pulled her with a force that almost hurt. But she welcomed it. Needed it. It felt like crashing into a lifeline after hours of drowning. And Lois clung to him with everything she had left.
He rested his hand on the back of her head, voice barely a breath. “I’m sorry,” his lips brushed her forehead. “I tried, Lois, I swear… I tried reaching you. But—,”
“No, no…” she whispered, shaking her head, as if trying to physically undo the words she’d thrown at him. “I’m sorry, Clark… I didn’t mean it,” the words were jagged in her throat. “I do trust you,” she breathed. “With everything. You’re the only person in this world that I trust. Completely.”
“I know, I know,” he said, like it was the easiest truth in the world.
They stayed like that for a long time; entwined, breathing each other in, tears soaking silently into fabric. The world could have crumbled around them and neither would have noticed. Because finally, finally, they were here. Whole. And real.
“I thought…” she choked out. “…I thought you were dead.” Her eyes welled, the words trembling against his neck.
His forehead fell to hers like gravity had pulled him there. His breath trembled against her skin. Clark shook his head, raw and wrecked. “I’m here.” A kiss to her temple. “I’m right here.” Another to the corner of her eye, tasting the salt of her tears. His mouth found her cheek, her jaw, desperate and gentle, like he could stitch her back together one kiss at a time.
She touched his face then, reverent, disbelieving. Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, like she was trying to memorize him before he disappeared again.
Lois pulled him closer, impossibly closer, her mouth brushing his temple.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she choked out. “Don’t you ever—,” she pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face. His eyes were tinted red, wide and unguarded.
But Clark didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
Because how could he promise her something the world would never stop asking him to break?
And Lois knew that. She always had.
It was a plea that carried no expectations, just the desperate, hollow ache of knowing the price of loving him.
**
The memory fractures like glass underfoot. Clark blinks hard, the echo of her voice still slicing through his chest as the present slams back into focus.
Late.
Too late.
…Kent.
The footsteps echo behind him, closing in. Clark braces, instinct coiling in his chest.
But they walk past him.
His breath catches.
They’re not coming for him. They’re coming for her.
“No,” Clark stumbles, forcing himself up, legs trembling beneath him. “Lois—,” his voice breaks, raw and low.
He blinks through the haze, vision fractured, unreliable. The figures move around her. Shadowed, deliberate, indistinct.
He can’t see their faces, can’t tell how many there are. Just shapes shifting in the dark, like wolves circling their prey. There are no blows, no shoves, no violence. Just an eerie lingering.
Then, a hand reaches toward her.
“Don’t you touch her,” Clark lurches forward, growling, then falters.
Dizziness crashes over him without warning, like a wave of darkness surging up from somewhere deep inside, thick and sickening. His head turns heavy, too heavy, like the weight of it might snap his spine. Numbness blooms in his chest first, then spreads, slow and merciless, like poison threading through every vein.
The sudden, sharp flash of green light that follows barely registers in his peripheral vision… a color akin to perky summer leaves but not joyful, wrong. Menacing.
A scream shreds from his throat before he can stop it. Everything inside him convulses. Muscles spasm, blood screams, veins burn like fire. His knees slam into the floor with a blow.
And still, through the fog and distress… he finds his voice, fractured and strained. “Lois… I’m still here.”
And then, suddenly… it stops.
His vision steadies just enough to see her.
Lois.
She’s in the corner, curled in on herself. Her back still turned. Her hands still over her ears. Her shoulders quake. The soft, broken whimpers spilling from her lips tear him apart.
She’s in pain.
“Lois…” His voice is soft now, almost gentle. “Lois, I’m not going anywhere.”
Hands haul him off the floor. He doesn’t resist. Doesn’t look at them. Not even as his heels drag limply over the ground. Not even as his wrists are wrenched tighter, skin biting against metal.
“Don't be scared, Lois,” he whispers. “I’m not letting you go. I promise.”
His eyes never leave her.
Lois doesn’t move. Not at first.
The silence devours everything.
Then she breaks.
Her knees give. Her back curls in on itself like she’s trying to fold away from the world. Her hands stay over her ears as if they could shield her from the sound of his scream, the echo of it lingering in the room like smoke.
A soft, wounded sob escapes her throat. Another. Another. But they’re soundless, strangled. Like grief that forgot how to breathe.
She had stood there. She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t spoken. Not when he called her name, not when he reached for her, not when his voice cracked like it did when he was scared.
She’d just ignored him. Let him believe she’d wanted him gone.
But the truth, the cursed and bitter truth she carries still, is much crueler.
Kryptonite, poisonous and unforgiving, burns inside her. Not in her hands. Not in a lead-lined box. Behind her irises. Lodged like shrapnel beneath her gaze.
She cannot open her eyes. Will not. Because they no longer see… they sear.
And if she dares look at him, if she dares even catch a glimpse… she’ll be his undoing. Breaking him down, molecule by molecule, until there is nothing left but ash and the distant memory of hope and warmth.
friend told me to write so I wrote it….Enjoy 😊 I’m very late for Clois Vday 26 but nevertheless!
I’m not that much of writer as much but wtv
this is kinda ass i just did it cuz i’m unemployed. it’s gonna have more chapters!
Summary: It was supposed to be a quiet birthday. One normal day where Clark Kent didn’t have to be Superman.
Instead, he hears Lois Lane’s heart stop beneath a collapsing warehouse.
When Lois ignores his request to wait five minutes and nearly dies chasing a story, Clark loses his temper in a way he never has before. Fear turns into shouting. Love turns into blame. And for the first time, being invincible doesn’t feel like enough.
Sometimes saving someone isn’t the same as keeping them.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 2 of A Little Peice of Home now up - and apparently it's not finishing there like I expected!
Here's a snippet:
---
Lois wasn’t sure if it was lingering adrenaline or a burst of fresh air that did the trick, but he found some strength from somewhere, enough to propel himself forwards on his own two feet and a bit of support from her. It was a frustratingly slow, fumbling process, but eventually they made it through Clark's apartment door and into his bedroom. Lois carefully helped him lower down onto the bed, and he collapsed against the mattress.
Shit, he’s shivering.
Skin pale. Teeth chattering. She placed a hand over his forehead. He was definitely burning up. Lois tried to remember what you were supposed to do for a fever. She hadn’t been sick much herself, but she’d taken care of Luce plenty of times as a kid. Drink lots of fluids. Cold compress on the neck and forehead. Light layers only. Take some tylenol.
Would it even work on him?
'Clark?' she tried, hoping he might have the answers.
He turned towards her, mouth opening as though trying to speak, but no sound came out. His body squirmed against some unknown pain. Eyes rolled back in his head as he continued to tremble feverishly. A raspy, almost choked breath escaped his lips, followed by a low groan.
Lois felt tears stinging her eyes.
What was happening to him?
He'd told her nothing could hurt him. He'd truly believed that to be true up until now. Whatever that meteor had done to him... they had no idea how long it would take for him to recover.
Or if he even would...
What if he just got worse?
Panic gripped her at the thought, and she wondered whether taking him to a hospital might be the right call after all. Surely Clark had a spare Superman suit here in his apartment somewhere, maybe if she found that she could-
A heaving sound brought her attention violently away from her thoughts. Clark looked somehow even paler, and was trying to roll onto his side as his body started to retch.
Lois grabbed the nearest container she could find, a small plastic bin, and thrust it under his chin just as he started emptying to the contents of his stomach.
'Hey, it's okay, I've got you,' she soothed, stroking his hair as he trembled through a few more bursts of vomiting.
When he was done, he collapsed on his back again, eyes closed but still squirming in discomfort.
Okay, she had to try and get his fever down, now.
'I'm going to get you out of these clothes,' she explained, but he was too far gone to react.
Lois acted without much delicacy. She pulled his shoes from his feet, letting them drop to the floor, then fumbled with his belt buckle. His dress pants slid off easily, but his top half was harder, his muscles unhelpfully resistant to her attempts to pull his shirt off his shoulders.
Eventually she had him stripped to his boxers, and managed to tug his torso up the bed so that his head rested against a pillow. His eyes seemed to focus on hers for a moment, searching her gaze. The fear she saw behind them disturbed her more than she’d like to admit.
She just… wasn’t used to seeing Clark scared.
'It's okay, I'm here. You're safe now,' she said, stroking a hand down his cheek. 'It's going to be okay.'
But she had no idea if that was true.
Lois dashed over to the little ensuite, keeping an eye on him the whole time as she filled a bowl with cold water and grabbed two clean wash cloths from the cupboard. She returned quickly, using the first cloth to wipe his mouth, and then dunking the second in the bowl of water, ringing it out and then laying it across his forehead, pressing it against his skin.
From the deep sigh that came up from Clark's throat, the cold was definitely helping, but she could already feel the cloth drying out. He wasn’t just running a temperature, he was blasting heat like a furnace.
Author’s Note: totally forgot to post these event fics here! So don’t mind me, just cross posting lol. This fic was also posted on ao3 HERE for CloisVDay26.
“Using a handheld or stand mixer fitted with a paddle or whisk attachment- huh where is the-” Lois paused mid-direction to look around the warzone that was her apartment’s cramped kitchen for anything resembling what the directions dictated. She put down the medium sized soup bowl she typically used for eating thai takeout when she wanted to feel fancy, and started frantically pillaging through the cabinets and drawers for a mixer of any kind. Somehow, it had not occurred to her at any point prior that she would need to purchase baking utensils along with the ingredients. She had been operating under a few basic assumptions:
Her kitchen already had everything it needed, given that Clark slept over most nights now and had moved in half of his own apartment into hers.
Anything she did not have, she would not need because she was more than capable of pivoting at a moment’s notice to solve any problem that might arise. (This was not her smartest assumption, given that she knew next to nothing about baking and had never attempted anything more complicated than box mix one time when she was twelve and wanted to win her class’s bake sale competition.)
Vanilla cake had to be a staple in every bakery for a reason- its availability indicated to her that it had to be one of the easiest, foolproof recipes to attempt. It was just cake! Easy as cake, as the expression went, right? (or was it pie? She could never remember which. Frankly, it all seemed the same to her. Dessert was dessert, and if the expression fit well, then… it would be a cakewalk to bake.)
She was totally wrong in her first assumption. Surprisingly, the kitchen seemed to be the one place that didn’t have Clark’s clear imprint on it. Save for his go-to mug- a handmade, slightly lopsided blue cup gifted to Superman by one of the kids he had saved from an art campus fire a year before he met Lois- and a rolodex of easy, go-to recipes Ma had given to him when he officially moved to Metropolis, there was no trace of Clark within her kitchen. Which meant, unfortunately, that there was no mixer to be found. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath as she re-read the recipe directions for the twenty-second time and tried to determine a feasible solution. She had started out so strong, too.
Well.
In her mind, she had started out strong. In reality, she was now thirty minutes into baking a cake and all she had managed to do was prep the cake pans and whisk the flour, salt, baking powder, and baking soda together. It had taken her a grueling amount of time to grease the cake pans, and cut the parchment paper so that it fit perfectly within the circle. Her first few attempts rendered ovals that were too long, rounded squares that were too small, and a confusing triangle she still couldn’t figure out how she’d managed to cut. When she finally managed to produce perfect circles, twenty minutes had passed. It had taken her another ten to measure out the flour- painstakingly spooning and leveling it into the bowl- and whisk the other ingredients into it with her trusty fork.
Now she was stuck again, staring at the directions as if eyeballing them intensely enough would change them. She sighed. No such luck. “Using a handheld or stand mixer fitted with a paddle or whisk attachment, beat the butter and sugar together on high speed until smooth and creamy. About three minutes,” Lois read aloud to herself. “Hmm…” She gnawed at her bottom lip as she opened a new tab on her phone web browser and typed in “what to use if you don’t have a stand mixer.”
Google spit out: a handheld electric mixer will work just fine in most cases.
Lois grumbled and tried, what to use if you don’t have a stand mixer or handheld mixer
Google replied: Forks, whisks, and long-handled spoons can do the trick for most baking recipes.
“Okay, perfect!” Lois exclaimed, raising a hand to high five someone before remembering she was alone. “Right.” Her eyes darted from side to side as if checking to make sure the coast was clear. Then she high fived herself and got back to it. She measured out the sugar into another medium sized bowl-this one being Clark’s favorite for midnight cereal- and dropped the tablespoons of butter into the bowl one by one with a satisfying plop. “Easy peasy! Okay. Let’s mix.” Lois picked up her fork, then paused. “Huh…”
What the hell was the right approach for this? Did she need to keep the prongs of her fork angled in a particular way? What did mixing with a fork look like exactly? Did she just wind her arm until it hit the right consistency? Yeah. Yeah, that sounded correct. Just wind.
She began a slow motion, approximating what she thought whisking looked like based off of the handful of baking shows Clark had made her watch with him in their first few months of dating. “Almost…” Lois mumbled to herself encouragingly as she watched the globs of butter and sugar slowly get tossed around by the fork, convincing herself that they were starting to cream together the way the video she had watched said they would. “Just need to get the right angle… there we go, yes, okay, we’re getting somewhere,” she kept coaching herself as she whipped her fork around, waiting for the ingredients to perfectly combine. Surely it wasn’t going to take much longer? How long did the recipe say again? Three minutes? She checked the digital clock on the oven. Seven minutes had passed. Braving another glance at the contents of the bowl, she was startled to find that literally nothing had happened. All she had managed to do was mash and coat the butter with sugar. No creaming. No textural difference. “Dammit!” Lois exclaimed, resisting the urge to throw the bowl into the sink and call it quits. No. Lois was not a quitter. She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and grabbed her phone to try a different search.
Can you cream butter and sugar with a fork?
The answer was a resounding “YES! Mash the butter with a fork, then stir with a wooden spoon until the right consistency.”
She glared at the offending contents of the bowl, doubting seriously a wooden spoon was going to save the mess she had made. Nonetheless, she didn’t see any other option at this point. She grabbed a wooden spoon, and began attempting to cream the sugar and butter but frankly it made no sense. How was paddling around the ingredients doing anything? She started pushing the spoon back and forth vigorously, getting more and more irritated with each swivel of the utensil until butter and sugar were flying everywhere and she was shouting, “FUCKKKKKK!!!!!!”
She turned to throw the wooden spoon at the wall, yelping when she saw Superman standing there, his hand outstretched to catch the spoon readily. “Do you kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?” Clark asked, stifling a smirk as he stepped into the kitchen to assess the damage. He had been on the other side of the city dealing with another Kaiju courtesy of Luthor Corps’ latest lab accident, but as always he had made sure to keep an ear out for Lois on the off chance she needed his assistance. With Lois, there was never any telling what kind of trouble she’d get into when he was away, but he could count on her getting into any trouble without fail. She couldn’t help it, it was in her nature to find herself in the middle of disaster. It was part of why she was so good at her job.
“What are you doing here?”
Clark’s eyes swept over the flecks of butter and sugar decorating the cabinetry, the flour dusting over Lois, and the entire contents of their utensils drawer sprawled across every inch of the counters. “I think the better question is what are you doing here, exactly? Conjuring a new monster for me to take care of?”
“Har har,” Lois grumbled, crossing her arms to hold herself. “I was trying to bake you a cake for your birthday.”
Clark’s brows furrowed. “My birthday isn’t for another month, Lois.”
“I know that, Clark,” Lois frustratedly replied as she started angrily cleaning up after herself, practically throwing the bowls into the sink. “I wanted to practice to make sure it came out correctly the day of. Baking is not exactly… intuitive for me.” She started with washing her hands, scrubbing furiously. “Dammit why won’t it-”
Clark stepped forward quietly and turned off the water, reaching for a paper towel. “Butter is grease,” he gently explained as he wiped at her hands. “You can’t get it off with water, you have to wipe your skin dry first then wash. See?”
Lois eyed him as he helped her clean herself up, feeling her irritation evaporate under his calming touch. “Why am I not surprised this is yet another thing you’re good at?”
“Cleaning?”
She snorted. He could be so stupid sometimes. “Making everything better. You think smashing things is your super power, but really, it’s your softer touch.” She shrugged, feeling a little sorry for herself. “I wish I had that.”
He smiled bashfully, giving her hands a gentle squeeze as he finished drying them off. “I don’t know that I make everything better,” he murmured, blue eyes sparkling down at her as he added sincerely, “and you do. Have that. How else do you think I’m able to get up and fight again when I’m losing?”
“Sheer will?” She joked.
“I hear your voice telling me I can,” he said, ignoring her attempt to avoid a compliment, “And then, I do.”
Lois sighed, marveling at him. “I think you believe in me a little too much.”
“I could say the same about you in regards to myself,” Clark lobbed back at her with a wink. They shared a laugh, warm and easy and exactly the kind of sweet comfort she’d been hoping to bake on her own. She smiled softly to herself. Silly. She forgot the best things they made were the things they made together. “Alright,” Clark clapped his hands together, then procured an apron from the bottom cabinet to tie around himself. “Why don’t we try this again?”
Lois cackled. Standing in her small kitchen with an apron over his supersuit, he looked every bit as ridiculous as she felt for taking this so seriously. “Okay,” she conceded, reaching for her phone to pull back up the recipe. “Let’s try this again.”
Half an hour later, two cake pans were successfully baking in the oven, the kitchen was immaculate, and Clark was giving the frosting one last whip to ensure it had come together properly.
“Here,” Clark chuckled, offering Lois a spoonful of frosting. “This is what it’s supposed to look and taste like.”
She frowned, narrowing her eyes at him as she took the spoon. “It’s not funny.” She indulgently licked the spoon, oblivious to the way Clark was staring at her as he often did when it was just them two and he could be open in his wanting of her. At work, in public, he often had to sneak small glances. But here in the comfort of her home- their home now- he could admire her unabashedly. “Baking is surprisingly challenging,” she grumbled between licks. Clark’s throat bobbed heavily as he watched her, enraptured by the way her tongue delicately flicked at the frosting. A happy moan slipped out of her. “God, this is really good Clark.”
“Yeah?” Clark grinned, his mind everywhere but on the frosting.
“Don’t let it go to your head, Smallville,” Lois warned. “I’m chalking it up to unfair advantage.”
He barked a laugh. “Not everything has to be a competition, you know.”
“Ah, see,” she said, eschewing the spoon and going straight for the frosting bowl with her finger instead, “that’s why you never win anything.”
“My debate ribbons would suggest otherwise,” Clark retorted, his eyes laser focused on Lois’s hand. As Lois brought her finger back up to her mouth, ready to dole out another witty quip before indulging herself, Clark firmly grabbed her hand and locked eyes with her.
“What are you-” she began, her face scrunching in confusion before realization dawned on her. “Ah, right. Sorry. I’ve polluted the bowl, is that it?”
Clark shook his head once, his grip still firm on her hand as he locked eyes with her intently. Slowly, he brought her finger up to his mouth. Lois’s breath stuttered as she watched him, the heat from the oven giving way to a different kind of humidity as he lightly licked at the frosting on her sweet skin. “Mmm,” he hummed. “It is good.”
“More?” Lois croaked. Clark nodded. Lois dipped her hand back in the frosting bowl, this time scooping a glob of the sugary confection with two fingers she promptly raised back up to Clark’s mouth. “Have another taste,” she murmured, her voice raspy with desire. Clark greedily acquiesced, first licking the tips of her fingers again before pulling them entirely into his mouth. He sucked on her sweet, sticky digits voraciously, his tongue sweeping over every possible millimeter of her skin in a bold reminder of just how good he could work his mouth when he wasn’t busy running it. “I think you missed a spot,” Lois said cheekily as she removed her fingers from him and brought them back to the bowl for more. Before she could accomplish anything, Clark swiped a clump of frosting first and dabbed some onto the side of her neck.
“You mean here?” he asked, stepping forward to lift her up onto the kitchen counter. With one hand on her hip and another at the back of her head, he pulled himself closely into her and let his lips wrap around her neck.
“Not ah, ooh,” Lois moaned, “not exactly.” Her hands wrapped around the back of his head, sticky fingers tangling into his messy curls to hold him in place as she lost herself in the hypnotic rhythm of her pulse against his lips. She could feel him smiling against her skin as he reached for another scoop of frosting.
“Huh,” he mused aloud playfully. “Perhaps you meant here then?” He drew a line of frosting, starting at her collarbone then trickling down through the v-neck of her cardigan into the valley of her cleavage. He flicked his tongue over the hollow of her throat, letting it flatten over her skin and linger, the heat of his breath melting the frosting as he took his time lapping at her sugar coated skin. His tongue slithered its way down as his hands moved to unbutton her sweater, creating a dizzying effect upon her. She felt goosebumps prickle from the initial cool of being exposed, then quickly dissipate as her body continued to warm from the desire radiating off of her in heatwaves. When his lips got to her cleavage, they parted. All tongue and fire and the sloppy kind of wanting that made Lois blush from its intensity, Clark planted an open-mouthed kiss upon Lois’s breast right where her heart was nestled. He suckled at her pulse, determined to leave a mark where it mattered most. Lois’s legs tightened around Clark’s hips, pulling him as close as possible to herself, spurring him on. His lips worked over her more frantically, desperate to see red give way to purple; to see her give way to him. Yeah. He could be so stupid sometimes. He had no idea that what he was trying to stake a claim upon was something he already owned.
“Hey,” she whispered, tipping his face up to hers by his chin. “C’mere,” she cooed. Not one to let Clark have all the fun, Lois smeared a streak of frosting across Clark’s lips before surging into a kiss. She nibbled greedily on him, giggling at every small whine and groan that spilled out of Clark each time she teased at his lips with her teeth or swiped her tongue along his.
“We’re making a mess,” Clark murmured as he grabbed her by her ass and dragged towards the edge of the counter, helping her to grind herself against him.
“We?” Lois kissed at his Adam’s apple, tugging on the curls at the nape of his neck as she did so and eliciting a truly pathetic whine from Clark.
“Don’t, ahem,” he cleared his throat, more firmly pressing her down onto his hardness, “don’t pretend like you’re not helping me.” His lips brushed against her ear as he leaned in and added in a low voice, “we both know how much you love getting dirty.”
“And we both know how much you love clean up duty,” she quipped back, swallowing down a moan. Fuck, he felt so good, and she wanted more. “So why don’t you get to cleaning, if the mess bothers you so much?”
“Bother is the wrong word, Lois,” he playfully chided as his hands found the waistband of her pants and began to tug. “Your mess drives me crazy.” In one fell swoop, he removed her pants, leaving her on the kitchen counter in her underwear, bra, and unbuttoned cardigan. She arched a brow at him.
“Forgetting something?” She asked, watching him kneel in front of her. He grinned wolfishly, mischief glinting in the corner of his eye.
“Nope.” He scooped a handful of frosting out of the bowl, and sloppily spread it down the gusset of Lois’s underwear. His mouth latched onto her before she could protest about how unsanitary this probably was. He made slow, tedious work of the mess, his mouth lapping at her in lazy, languid motions she jerked needily against. Her underwear quickly became a wet, flimsy mess, soaked on the outside from Clark’s ravenous desire and sticky on the inside from her own, all the while his tongue kept massaging against her clothed center teasing but never quite giving what she wanted.
“Can you just-” She interrupted herself with a squeal, caught off guard by the way he bit at the gusset, pulling it and releasing it so that it snapped against her.
“Yes, Ms. Lane?” He smirked up at her smugly from between her legs, causing her legs to involuntarily buckle in around him in an attempt to ease the pulsing ache between them. He shook his head, placing his hands on either of her thighs and forcing them to stay spread open. “Use your words, you’re usually so good with them,” he teased.
“You really can be such a shit, you know that?” She huffed, attempting to catch her bearings as he kissed the cloth over her pussy.
“Ah ah,” he tsked at her. “Language.” He rocked back on his knees and shot her a reprimanding look.
“Clark, please.”
“Are you gonna be a good girl?”
“No,” she snorted, and stared him down defiantly. “But you are gonna be a good boy and take care of me.”
“Always.” His eyes blazed pure and true at her. Not wasting anymore time, he helped her out of her underwear and found his way back to her, relishing the distinct tangy-sweetness of her as he licked a line straight up her cunt. He traced the outline of her folds as if mapping her out for the first time, letting himself enjoy every centimeter of her before sinking his tongue in and flexing the muscle, firmly pressing against the roof of her velvety walls. Her fingers tangled into the curls at the top of his head, his hair serving as her anchor as she undulated against him, chasing after the tingling sensation that was growing. He dragged his mouth up, gently biting at her clit before sucking it between his lips.
“Should we, ah, oh, fuck-” Lois’s thighs squeezed Clark’s head unforgivingly as she clamped a hand down over her mouth. “Sorry, I know you don’t like- fuu-dge. Clark!” He let his mouth spread as he chuckled into her, setting off warm vibrations against her that only served to intensify the pleasure that was blooming deep in the core of her stomach.
“I’ll let it slide this time,” he murmured, looking up at her with a wink. He gently slid two fingers into her to make up for the loss of his tongue as he asked, “what were you gonna say?” He curled his digits, deftly massaging her pussy to continue coaxing an orgasm out of her. From the way she was squirming on the counter, she was close.
“Just wondering if maybe we should- right there, baby,” she gasped as she braced herself on his shoulders to better rock into his hand. “Should we check on the cakes?” She was panting, practically putty in his hands and yet no matter how well he worked her over, he never quite seemed to be able to turn off her brain.
He balked. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
It’s one of the things on my mind, yes.”
“You’re crazy,” he chuckled, bringing his lips to the soft patch of skin beneath her left ear and kissing her gently, his tongue teasing its way down her jawline in between soft pecks.
“Certifiably insane,” she hummed, “but I think that’s what you love about me.” He licked his way into her mouth, pulling her head back by the hair at the nape of her neck to deepen the kiss, sucking in the gasps she exhaled as his fingers quickened their pace. She was starting to tighten around him. She just needed a little more.
“One of the many things, yes,” he replied breathlessly, pulling back to look at her. His thumb padded gently at her clit, rubbing a light circle into her with just enough pressure to send her over. Lois grabbed at his shoulders as her orgasm blossomed through her, every ripple of pleasure as sweet as Clark’s sugar coated kisses.
“So,” she exhaled, trying to catch her breath. “The cakes?”
He nuzzled his nose against hers, stealing another kiss before replying, “well. You did say this was just for practice.” He picked her up off the counter, guiding her legs to wrap around his torso as he whisked her away to their bedroom.
dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Your daily doses of tooth rotting fluff follows Lois and Clark on Saturday. The Daily Planet staff is off, but check out what these two lovebirds are on about in an empty bullpen. They are also moving in together, yay! ...But that first night comes with a chaotic surprise.
Summary: Lois and Clark have been in a committed long term relationship for a little over three months. They are still trying to figure out a few things about their relationship, mostly how to keep it professional at work where their coworkers aren't shy to tease them about the not-so-subtle affection that they have for each other.
A slice-of-life that follows Lois and Clark during the span of a week. From Monday morning to Sunday afternoon, it focuses on the little moments they share at work and at home.
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Clark Kent/Lois Lane
Characters: Lois Lane, Clark Kent, James "Jimmy" Olsen, Cat Grant, Steve Lombard, Ron Troupe, Perry White
Special shoutout to @marajvde for the lovely mood board. I love you and your support means the world to me!
Summary: Superman returns from space travel and some heroes and Lois have a causal get together to celebrate.
CW: Rated G, Mention of past pregnancy loss
WC: 2K
AN: A family friend flufffest. This goes with a couple other stories I've written, Take Me to Bed and Vows if your interested in reading them too.
****
The first thing Clark wants to do when he gets back from his intergalactic space travel is find Lois and just hold her. Space is a breathtaking sight a beauty beyond compare but having Lois in his arms is the comfort he strives for. Clark can’t go to Lois right away there’s discussions to be had and returning people to their loved ones and a press conferences. Him along with Mr. Terrific and Martian Manhunter were tasked with rescuing a dozens humans who had been kidnapped from earth by a formally unknown race of aliens.
Lois not being at the press conferences made him uneasy. Another reporter was there in her place but Lois not showing up for a breaking news event unheard of. He searched for the sound of her heartbeat while Mr. Terrific went on about how the alien race weren’t dangerous that their intentions with the humans wasn’t to harm. Clark found it, miles away but still in Metropolis, at the Hall of Justice. Her being there makes her not being here even odder. He can hear other heartbeats too, Hawkgirl and Kara and a few others.
“Several of the worlds governments claim this is a sign of aggression from life in the stars. Do you agree with the idea that we should be further arming ourselves against alien invaders?” Asks a reporter.
Clark comes to the pudendum to answer. “No. Like Mr. Terrific said these species weren’t acting out in malice, to them they did not understand why here on earth we have humans living out on the street. They took these humans in the way humans may take in a stray cat. Their execution was flawed but they believed they were helping and they gave everyone back with their deepest apologize and gifts for the trouble. Martin Manhunter has some video showing off this their food, language and there’s even a video of me attempting to learn a popular dance.”
J’onn steps up and starts talking about the aliens culture and customs, this had been Mr. Terrific’s idea. When the misunderstanding was brought to light all three knew they would need to steer the narrative away from more weapons and anti-alien rhetoric. The worlds governments have been looking for an excuse for years now, they barely tolerated him and J’onn.
Away from the podium and the microphones Clark asks, “Any reason why Miss Lane, from the Daily Planet isn’t here?”
Mr. Terrific gives him a side eye. “Maybe she took a day off?”
“She doesn’t do that? She’s at the hall with the others. Was i suppose to receive a message, did something happen?” He tries to stay leave headed but he has been gone for a couple months.
“The last messages we got came in a couple days ago, from Kara’s reports nothing unusual. Did Miss Lane message you privately at all? Say anything?” Lois had sent a few message while he was gone, not a lot just the ones he could while they were still close to earth’s satellites but Mr. Terrific would know that, he’s playing dumb. And in those messages she hadn’t acted off.
As soon as the press conference was done the three of them head to the Hall of Justice. There are more hero’s there several more as they get closer he can hear them talking and still Lois’s heartbeat strong, comforting and steady. He’s still trying to figure out why she would be here. She didn’t particularly like hanging out there, she wasn’t close to the other heroes. Kara and her do hang out some but at a coffee house or thrift shopping. Now that he thought about it Kara hanging out at the Hall is odd too she found Guy insufferable.
The hall was packed, more heroes then Clark had seen in one place. All happy to see the three of them back. Mr. Terrific goes to his computer to finish the reports while J’onn finds Oliver and Vixen and Kara comes up to him slapping him on his shoulder.
“Heard that slight you had for the worlds governments. ‘They don’t understand why humans would live on the streets,’ something tells me a certain journalist is going to pull on that thread.”
He quirks his lips, “It was the truth of the situation. How was being Metropolis only super while I was gone?”
“Boring. A few robberies, one comic being looking for a fight, dozens of cats saved from trees. There was someone who thought they’d take advantage of you being gone but they were put in there place.” He nods but he finally spots Lois sitting on the couch alone. Kara follows his line of sight. “Go on, I doubt you’ll hear anything I have to say now.”
She shoos him away and he goes to Lois. Her hair is brushed back and pulled into a ponytail, wearing his favorite shirt of hers, a plum purple textured sweater, he loved fingering the lines when she leaned over to him after a day of work. Her face is pink like she had been outside recently and her lips rosey. He takes her all in, the subtle changes since he’s been gone, the tried and true set of her jaw and playfulness in her eyes as he approaches.
Lois stands and its a fluid motion of his hands coming to her waist and hers going to his shoulders as he leans down and she pushes up on her toes. He kisses her soft and sweet and holds her close. She pulls back her smile spreading. “Welcome back! I’ve missed you.”
He keeps her next to him resting his head on hers and smells her eucalyptus and cucumber shampoo bringing his hand up to feel the locks between his fingers. He wonders if he can brush her hair tonight.
“I missed you more.” He says.
There’s a whistle and Guy’s voice loud over everyone else, “Save the bedroom eyes for the bedroom!” Clark feels the heat travel up his body and Lois gives an awkward laugh. “Look at him. Can fight gods and monsters but blushes like a virgin in a brothel.”
There’s a loud thud and Guy gives a ‘mff’ and curse rubbing his shoulder and gut. Kara and Hawkgirl are standing next to him both giving him a frown.
“Why weren’t you at the press conference?” He asks.
“Oh, I had to get some things ready here.” She says turning away from him and going to grabbing a gift bag. He takes it eyeing her.
“You got me a present?”
“Yes. You better like it because I can’t return it.”
Everyone is watching them now. He can tell with how quite its gotten. He pulls out the tissue paper and sticking out is a rolled up news paper. He pulls it out setting the bag down. It’s smaller then the Planet, and from the bit he skimmed as he unrolls, it isn’t any publication he’s familiar with.
He opens to the front page and scans. Breaking news big and bold across the top, a black and white photo of an ultrasound. Baby Kent will be making her deadline on August 12th. The byline going to Lois Lane and Clark Kent.
Clark stares at the paper his breathing stopped as he reads again and again. He looks at Lois then back down to the ultra sound. He tries to find a baby in the dark mess but he had never been good at reading ultrasounds.
“August?” He finally asks.
“Yeah, she’ll be a Leo, fire sign, and of the sun, fitting if you ask me. Since she’ll be half Kryptonian.”
“We’re having a baby? Like really having a baby?”
Lois gives a smile and her eyes are watering. “Yes!” He has her in his arms before the word finished on her tongue. They were in the air. Her arms tight around his neck and his hands firm on her lower back. Tears spill from his eyes and everyone around him is cheering. They were finally having a baby, after trying for so long and the heartache that came from the last few years.
“And it’s a girl?” He asks.
Lois nods and slowly he brings them back down. Kara gives him and Lois a hug and Mr. Terrific a hand clap into a shoulder hug, the others congratulating them too and holding out their cups.
“Wait when did you find out? August is a little under eight months away.” He ask.
She pulls out the paper and shows another column with a picture of a posotive pregnancy test, the ‘article’ going into the reasoning as to why Lois took the test, they were trying to conceive, her period was late and her nipples were sore. The date of the test was listed under the photo of it like how a real newspaper would date photos October 29th.
“October! Lois I didn’t head out for space travel for nearly three weeks after. Why didn’t you tell me.”
She looks away her eyes going glassy again. “I didn’t want to get our hopes up again. So I waited and waited and then you left and I didn’t want to tell you before you left because you would worry since the last time and I wanted to make sure.
“So I’m past the first trimester and coming up to…” She stops and he knows what she was about to say. Coming up to the week when they had lost their last pregnancy. “Anyway, I talked to a counselor while you were gone and they encouraged me to do this. Something we can add to her baby book. And it did help, made this something to look forward to not be afraid of. There’s some fun little easter eggs I put in there. Kara helped too.”
“Yeah, just going to tell you your future daughter isn’t going to find the article about when and where she was conceived as a fun easter egg.” Kara says leaning to sit on the back of the couch.
“Oh my god! You didn’t put that in there did you Lois?” Hawkgirl asks with a shit eating smile. Clark goes red when Lois confirms it’s on page three.
Clark and the rest got through the paper finding and reading articles, one about the dad to be with a picture of baby Clark and current Clark, of mom to be with a baby photo of Lois and one from her recently. There’s a family tree, Ma and Pa and Sam Lane. And articles about Lucy, Kara and Conner. A list of the top ten girls names and a empty box for mom and dad to write in their contenders and Clark reads a handwritten note from his Ma before she passed begging him if he has a daughter to not name her Martha.
There’s a section on Krypton, an insert they can remove so when they announce this to their friends at the Planet they can read everything without fear of finding out about Clark. The last page has the due date big at the top but blank underneath it. With the question when do you think Baby Kent will meet her deadline?
Kara wrote August 8th while Mr. Terrific had an equation that led to August 13th and Guy put down September 3rd and who he assumed was Lois writing underneath ‘Please no.’
When the party slows down and people start filtering out Lois rest her head on his shoulder and Clark continues to stare at the ultrasound on the paper. “Sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“No you are right if I had known while I was gone I would have been a wreak.” Finally he get the courage to ask. “Where is the baby in this ultra sound?” Lois laughs and points to a white speck that he can’t distinguish from any other speck.
“There’s more in the bag, and Mr. Terrific set up an appointment for us to go to together. She’ll be bigger.” He touches the speck and Lois tucks herself into him, they needed to get home soon. “Can you hear her?” She asks.
Clark closes his eyes and concentrates. He hears the tapping of feet, the drip of water, the buzz of the AC and the pattering of Lois’s heart. He moves past it, to her other sounds that she’s normally embarrassed that he can hear, the sounds of her body working as it should. And it’s light, not really a heart beat, its to young for that but he can hear the sounds of a baby forming, fluttering. It’s a strange sound not one he would look for on any other day but when he pulls Lois into his arms and flies them home its all he wants to hear.
****
AN: I think the idea of using a paper for a pregnancy announcement was cute, I had wanted to do it with the cast of the Daily Planet but couldn't make it work. I'm looking for beta readers too if anyone is interested. Likes, comments and reblogs are welcomed.
Here's a snippet from today's story. Read the full thing over on Ao3 (chapter 1 posted, chapter 2 to follow).
Written as pre series Superman & Lois TV, but easily accessible for all Superman fans.
---
A Little Piece of Home
Clark tried to do something, anything, to show the man defiance. He pressed his palms beneath him, managed to push himself an inch off the ground - and then collapsed again, the small effort taking so much out of that he couldn't hold back a scream as the next rising tide of pain swept through him.
‘Don’t worry, Superman,’ Lex continued once he'd stilled again. His voice was thick with sickening satisfaction. ‘I have no intention of killing you today. I just needed you to know that this little feud of ours is over. It has been a fun challenge while it lasted, but I think it’s time you kept your nose out of my business. You can carry on saving all the innocent cats stuck in trees you want, but from now on, you stay out of my way.’
Luthor paused, glaring down at him. Then he turned to face Lois, adding, ‘Both of you.’
‘Go to hell, Luthor,’ Lois spat back, but Clark could hear the emotion she was masking.
He tried again to lift himself, this time not even managing to separate himself from the ground. It felt like gravity had been dialled up to a thousand, weighting him to the rooftops surface helplessly.
Blackness began pushing in at the edges of his vision, along with a fuzziness that would soon evolve into unconsciousness. He fought against it, willing himself to stay awake. Couldn't just abandon Lois to Luthor's whim, even if he was powerless to stop it either way.
To his surprise, Luthor retrieved a small metal box and placed the green rock inside.
As soon as the lid closed, the weight keeping him pressed to the floor was lifted. The pain subsided so fast he pulled in a shocked breath, coughing as his lungs struggled to process the sudden intake.
‘Well, I'd better be going. Have to pick my daughter up from school. I'd say this has been a productive meeting though, wouldn't you?’
With one final smirk in Clark's direction, Lex and his goons strode towards the door back into the building.
Lois. Where was Lois?
Clark managed to lift himself onto all fours, picking his head up to search for her. But she was already rushing to his side, crouching beside him and taking his chin gently in her hand.
‘Are you okay?’ they both asked at one.
She half smiled, in spite of everything. ‘I'm fine. They didn't hurt anything but my pride. Are you…?'
‘I think so…’
‘What the hell was that?’
Clark shook his head, trying to process the blurry nightmare that was the last few minutes. The pain he'd felt was now completely gone, but he was still weak, disoriented.
She caught on. ‘Do you think you can stand?’
He nodded, though he wasn't really sure. With a bit of support from Lois, he made it to his feet, pausing to let a dizzy spell pass.
‘I have some spare work clothes. Hidden under the air vent,’ he said, his voice sounding slurred.
She nodded, leaving him propped up against the fire door as she searched for his disguise.
God he was tired.
More tired than he'd ever felt in his life.
It was going to take everything he had to get himself home.
Lois returned with his clothes, and with great difficulty, they managed to get him out of his suit and into the pair of dress pants and white shirt. She placed his familiar glasses onto his face, and he felt oddly comforted by the presence of the frames.
He was just Clark Kent now. The invisible nobody. There was safety in that.
Lois gave him a once over before declaring, ‘Okay, let's get you home.’
Clark was too exhausted to do anything but follow her lead. He trudged what felt like the thousand steps out of the building, both too nervous of running into someone they knew in the elevator and being stuck with questions they'd rather not answer.
By the time she had him piled into the back of a cab, he had no will left in him to fight the fatigue trying to claim him.
He could see Lois’ mouth moving as his eyes began to droop, but no sound met his ears.
And then he was just… gone.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Superman (Movie 2025), Superman - All Media Types
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Clark Kent/Lois Lane
Characters: Clark Kent, Lois Lane
Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Wedding Jitters, Lois Lane Knows Clark Kent is Superman
Summary:
It’s (technically) the morning of her wedding. Lois isn’t nervous, she swears.
Clark Kent x Lois Lane (DCU) | Smallville 10.04 "Homecoming" AU
"whoa, old flames. i should've known this would happen, i haven't seen her since your barn when we were about to..."
"she's not coming."
- fluffbruary 2026, day 2: worthy (prompt by @fluffbruary).
- #cloisvday26, day 2: jealousy (prompt by @someones-disaffected-niece and @hereonthenightcloud).
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
The audience consisted of the working commuters passing by, and Lois and Clark. They swayed side by side, allowing their hands to brush occasionally. Lois felt her heart pounding and she started to wonder about that second glass of wine, because surely that was why she wanted to hold Clark Kent’s hand.
tags: explicit, Clark Kent/Lois Lane, M/F, valentine's day, bath, pegging, vocal training, oral, body worship, sex toys, too much cum, more on ao3
summary: Clark Kent has been wanting a nice romantic night where he and Lois Lane make love in missionary with rose petals and candles. Lois has her own plans for Clark.
Dont Mind Me @pleasemovealong - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
