Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, cheating, creep behaviour, violence, anger, necophilia. These warnings are not exhaustive and some triggers may not be specified for plot reasons.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: As an assistant at the Daily Planet, you’re rarely noticed. Until you are.
Characters: Clark Kent
Note: We came back.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all like Lord Farquaad loves unnecessary vowels. Take care. 💖
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The red blaze sears into the large stone at the edge of the cliff. Clark huffs and reins in his fury, balling it up in his chest as he heaves. He blinks and looks up the burnt husk in his hand. Her body dangles from his grip, lifeless as what's left of her skull is a pile of ash on the ground.
He drops her and recoils, grasping his skull as he snarls. Why did he do that? No! Why did she run? All these months, up here, living together, building their dream, and it ends in dust.
He staggers and leans against a tree.
He’s back in the office, hovering his fingers aimlessly over his keyboard, staring at a flashing cursor. Then he hears her voice. He didn’t know who she was then. Or what she was. His everything.
He sees a hint of her pink plaid skirt as she passes by his office. She’s getting the tour. He stares for a moment then returns to his blank page.
He can’t focus as he hears her muffled laugh. He sighs and grabs his cold mug. He takes it out into the hall and into the lounge. As he dumps it, he hears her getting closer.
“And this is the kitchen, or lunch room, whatever,” Glenn explains. “And our star reporter, Clark Kent.”
Clark looks over his shoulder as he rinses out his cup. He smiles and hesitates to get the quip out as he gets a look at her. Her eyes round in amazement at him. He can’t remember the last time his own wife looked at him like that.
“I think you should reserve that for Lois,” he scoffs. Glenn chuckles in that bootlicker way.
“Don’t let him be humble,” Glenn says then introduces her.
She gives a small wave and a wiggle, “hi, Mr. Kent.”
He smiles. He’s in love.
He sits up suddenly and nearly lets out a wail to the trees. It’s those other voices that keep his muted. He closes his eyes and hangs his head back. Everything gone. Everything he sacrificed for her.
His job, Lois, and his child. He saw it inside her. Growing. She didn’t know yet. He was going to surprise her. Again. He loves giving her surprises.
Loved.
He looks over at her corpse and whimpers. He’s seen the worst of this planet, of these people. Blood, marrow, bone, bruises... he’s faced the worst villain from across the galaxy. This is unlike any carnage he’s ever seen. He is the greatest monster he’s ever known.
He’s not some farm kid. He’s not some saviour. He’s a twisted fucking alien.
He exhales and stands. He paces, mindless of his naked form. He can see beyond the cliff, the outline of the swimmers, he can see for miles the wildlife and thick trunks.
He swallows, his mouth acidic. He keeps his back to her and head back toward the trees. He’ll tear the place down. Burn it. He’ll go somewhere. Somewhere not earth.
He stops before he reaches the trees. He can’t leave her there. He wretches as he makes himself turn back. He brings his fist to his mouth as he crosses back to her lifeless form. The top of her neck is melted and black. Her flesh stinks from the burns.
He drops to his knees beside her. He slides his arms under her gently and scoops her up. He hugs her to him and his eyes tingle. He stands with a wobble. It takes several steps to find his balance.
His heart thumps as he turns and carries her into the trees, the sway of the leaves, the shrill joy of the swimmers, muting into a bitter silence. His footsteps echo through the forest as the chain links tinkle over the ground. Her warmth is draining from her.
He lays her at the threshold of the house. He should burn it with her inside. Burn the whole damn planet.
He can’t.
He starts digging with his bare hands. It doesn’t take long. When he’s done, his nails, his knuckles, his knees are dirty.
He reaches to her as he stands in the hole. He doesn’t look as he drags her over by her ankle. He takes the chain off her before he puts her at the bottom, between his feet. She’s flat, her arms limp, legs too. He looks at her, unable to make himself leave her.
His body moves on its own. He’s blinded with tears as his grief overflows. He’ll never feel her again. He wants to feel her.
He’s between her legs before he can think. He curls an arm under her, crushing her as he guides himself along her cunt. She’s still warm enough. He closes her eyes to block out her stubbed neck.
He ruts into her as the dirt tamps down beneath the shape of her. His knees sick as he pounds with everything he’s lost, everything he ever wanted to give her. He cums quickly but doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop.
The night falls and passes over him. He stills but doesn’t leave her. He stays inside her until he feels the stiffness in her. Until the chill has overtaken her completely.
He grunts as he forces his way out of her. He winces and digs his fingers into the dirt wall to help himself stand. He hops out and goes inside. He finds the plaid skirt. The one he went back for when they got here.
He brings it to the hole and slips it onto her. She doesn’t look like her. Not just because the missing part. She’s truly gone from him. He feels her death inside him.
He’s numb as he shovels the dirt with his hands. He covers her, fills up the hole, then sits on it and watches the house beneath the sunlight. He can hear people. All the way down at the lake. They’re happy. Why the fuck are they so happy?
He’s not.
Darkness comes again. The house is still standing. He goes inside.
He doesn’t come out. Not for a while. Not at the days grow cooler. Not as the snows come. Not as the thaw softens the earth around her body. Only when the sunlight wakes him does his hibernation end.
His hair is messy and long, his beard too. He has no mind for it. He hears the splashing down at the lake. He can see the women diving from the dock. He stands and goes to the door.
He walks out into the summer haze. The grass has grown over her grave. He stomps past it without a glance and heads for the trees.
He can’t get her back, but he doesn’t need to be alone. What he is, he doesn’t need love. Love? It’s so human. So pathetic.
He won’t make the same mistake twice; a cage will do better than the chain.
