Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Nice work, Clark. You should really think about joining our team,” Oliver said, lowering his bow with a smirk.
Clark gave a polite smile, nodding as he brushed off the offer. “Thanks, but… I’ve already got a lot going on.”
He wasn’t lying. Between helping his mom manage the farm, trying to keep people safe, and the growing concern over Lana and Lex’s obsession with a dangerous artifact, the idea of joining Oliver’s Justice League just felt like another weight on his shoulders.
Oliver stepped closer, his tone more serious. “You’ve got a lot of potential. You should use it somewhere it matters.”
Clark’s smile lingered, but there was a weariness in his eyes. “You’re right. I just… need time to figure things out.”
“Fair enough,” Oliver said with a casual shrug. “Let me know when you're ready.”
“Thanks. I’ve gotta run—I'll see you around.”
With that, Clark headed toward the elevator. Oliver offered a quick wave as the doors closed behind him.

By the time Clark made it to the Daily Planet, he was moving with purpose. He spotted Chloe at her desk and approached quickly.
“Chloe, do you have any updates on Lana and Lex?”
She let out a sigh, spinning slightly in her chair to face him. “Clark, I care about both of you. And I really don’t want to lose the trust I have with the people I care about.”
Clark’s face tensed with disappointment, but he didn’t push. “Right… I get it. You’ve been keeping a lot for both me and Lana. I can’t ask you to betray that.”
Chloe’s expression softened. “Thanks. Because you wouldn’t want me sharing your secrets either, or your personal life, right?”
Clark nodded, accepting the quiet truth of that.
She added, “When Lana’s ready… she’ll tell you.”
Clark leaned against Chloe’s desk for a moment after she walked off, her words still echoing in his head.
When Lana’s ready… she’ll tell you.
He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, already exhausted by the weight of everything he wasn’t allowed to know.
“Brooding in public, Smallville?” a voice called out behind him.
He turned to see Lois Lane standing near the bullpen entrance, arms crossed, coffee in hand, eyebrow raised.
“Not brooding,” Clark replied, straightening up. “Just… thinking.”
Lois smirked. “Thinking with that look on your face usually means one of three things: Lana, aliens, or an incoming natural disaster. Or some fun combo of all three.”
Clark tried to laugh, but it came out tired. “It’s complicated.”
Lois stepped closer, her tone shifting slightly. “Everything with you is complicated.”
There was silence for a beat.
Clark looked at her — really looked at her — and noticed how her usual sharp confidence had a softness around the edges today. Something in her eyes said you can talk to me, even if her mouth would never admit it.
“Lois…” he started, unsure of what he wanted to say.
She held his gaze, quiet now. That wasn’t like her.
“You ever feel like the more you try to do the right thing, the more you end up losing people?”
Lois blinked, then shrugged. “All the time. Comes with being someone who actually gives a damn.”
Clark smiled faintly.
Another beat.
“You wanna talk about it?” she asked, more gently this time.
Clark hesitated, but nodded.
“I do. Just… not here.”
Lois tilted her head. “Okay then. Where?”
>>>
They didn’t say much on the walk back to Lois’s apartment — but the silence wasn’t awkward.
It buzzed.
Every glance Clark gave her lingered a second too long. Every time her hand brushed his coat, his jaw tensed just enough to notice. And Lois? She wasn’t exactly trying to hide the way her eyes kept sliding over his broad shoulders and that damn infuriating humble hero smirk.
As soon as the door to her apartment clicked shut, Lois tossed her keys on the counter and spun to face him.
“So…” she began, arms folding across her chest with a teasing tilt of her head. “You gonna finally tell me what’s been going on in that overworked alien brain of yours?”
Clark raised a brow. “Alien brain?”
“You know what I mean, Smallville. You’ve been broody all week, saving kittens and dodging your feelings. You’re like a Hallmark movie with a six-pack.”
Clark stepped closer, hands in his jacket pockets, his smile lazy and dangerous. “Is that your professional opinion, Lane?”
She smirked. “Absolutely. And I charge extra for therapy after dark.”
His gaze dropped to her lips, then back up — slow, loaded. “What’s that cost me?”
Lois blinked, and for a second, her breath caught. Damn him.
“Depends,” she said, voice lower now. “You planning to be difficult?”
Clark took one step forward — toe to toe now.
“I can behave… if you want me to.”
Lois narrowed her eyes, chin lifting with faux indignance. “Where’s the shy farm boy who used to stutter when I walked in the room?”
“Buried somewhere under years of pretending I didn’t want to kiss you senseless.”
Her stomach flipped, and her breath hitched — just a little — but enough for him to notice. And oh, did that smug glint flash in his eyes.
“You think you’re smooth now, huh?” she asked, poking a finger into his chest.
“I don’t think,” he murmured, leaning down, “I know.”
And then he kissed her.
Not gentle. Not hesitant. Like every ounce of restraint had been waiting for this exact second to snap.
Lois let out a surprised sound against his mouth — then grabbed his collar and yanked him closer, walking him back toward the couch with a hunger she didn’t bother hiding.
“You kiss like a guy who’s been holding back,” she breathed, lips brushing his jaw as she straddled his lap.
Clark's hands found her waist, holding her like she might slip through his fingers if he let go. “I have been.”
“Oh yeah?” she smirked, sliding her hands beneath his shirt, fingertips grazing over warm, carved muscle. “Show me what you’ve been holding back, farm boy.”
Challenge accepted.
He stood in one swift motion, lifting her effortlessly as she squealed and wrapped her legs around his waist. He kissed her again, harder now — walking them blindly toward the bedroom, breaking the kiss just long enough to mumble, “You sure about this?”
Lois answered by pulling his shirt over his head.
“Does that look unsure to you?”
By the time Clark laid her down gently on the bed like she was something breakable.
Lois? She was about to break something if he didn’t get out of that flannel shirt.
“You gonna stare at me all night, or are we doing this?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow as she scooted up onto the pillows.
Clark leaned down over her, one hand braced by her head, the other skimming up her side under her shirt — hot and slow.
“I’m appreciating the view,” he murmured against her ear. “Don’t ruin it.”
Lois shivered. “You’re a menace.”
“You’ve no idea.”
He kissed her again — deep, breath-stealing, the kind of kiss that made her toes curl and her brain shut off. His tongue brushed hers, slow and possessive, as his hands found the hem of her shirt. He pulled it up inch by inch, teasing more skin into view like he was unwrapping a present he’d been waiting years to open.
When it was off, he leaned back, his eyes dropping to the lacy black bra she’d definitely not worn for him… but now regretted nothing.
“You planned this,” he said, voice low and reverent.
Lois smirked. “Please. You just got lucky.”
Clark leaned down, lips brushing the tops of her breasts. “Oh, I’m just getting lucky?”
She gasped as his mouth moved lower, trailing fire with every kiss. “Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late.”
His hands moved to her jeans, undoing the button slowly — like he wanted to hear her beg. She didn’t. Not yet. But her breath hitched anyway when he slid them down her legs, leaving her in nothing but that damn lacy set.
Clark sat back on his knees, shirtless, eyes raking over her body like he was memorizing it.
Lois rolled her eyes — but her cheeks flushed. “You gonna do something, or—”
He was on her before she could finish, mouth on hers, hips pressing her into the mattress. She felt every inch of him — hard, heavy, ready — through his jeans, and she arched into him with a desperate little noise she’d never admit to later.
Clark pulled back, lips swollen, eyes dark.
“Say it.”
Lois blinked. “Say what?”
His hand slid between her thighs, teasing through the lace with maddening slowness. “Say my name.”
She groaned, tilting her hips into his hand. “You cocky bastard.”
He smirked. “Lois.”
“God, fine—Clark.”
His fingers pressed harder. “Louder.”
She gasped. “Clark—shit.”
“There she is,” he whispered, nipping at her jaw. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
He stripped her underwear off slowly, eyes never leaving hers — like he needed to make sure she was with him every second. It was sweet. Infuriatingly hot. Totally him.
“You always this gentle?” she whispered.
He smiled against her skin, trailing down her body, mouth following his hands. “Only with the things I care about.”
Her heart stuttered.
And then she stopped thinking altogether as he moved between her thighs and put that farm-boy mouth to very, very good use.

>>>
She pulled him on top of her, nails dragging down his back, panting into his neck. “Clothes. Off. Now.”
He didn’t argue. Just stood up and stripped in one smooth motion.
Lois actually moaned.
“You’re unreal,” she muttered.
Clark climbed back onto the bed and settled between her legs like it was the only place he belonged. “Say that again when I’m inside you.”
She didn’t get the chance.
Because the second he slid in — slow, deep, perfect — she forgot how to speak.
He moved like he had all the time in the world. Thrusts slow and deliberate, grinding against her just right. One hand braced beside her, the other laced with hers.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
She did. And it hit her — how deep he was, how close, how much this meant — even when she was trying not to admit it.
“You’re dangerous,” she whispered.
Clark kissed her gently. “You’re everything.”
She swore she came just from that.
But he didn’t stop. Not until she was writhing under him, begging, nails dragging down his back like she needed to mark him.
He whispered her name like a vow when he finally let go, body trembling against hers. They stayed tangled together, breathless and messy and quiet.
“Lois?” he said against her shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She kissed him softly and smirked. “Damn right you’re not.”
>>>
Clark woke up to the sun peeking through the blinds and the distinct feeling of warm skin pressed against his chest.
Lois was curled into him, one leg flung over his, hair a mess, her mouth slightly open as she slept. He couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. She looked like trouble and peace all at once.
He gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
“M’not asleep, Smallville,” she muttered without opening her eyes. “You’re breathing all smug.”
“I don’t breathe smug,” he said, laughing softly.
“You so do.” She stretched slowly, the movement making her arch against him in a way that had his heart racing again. “That’s the ‘I rocked Lois Lane’s world’ inhale.”
He grinned. “Did I?”
She opened one eye. “Don’t fish for compliments. You’ll strain something.”
Clark raised a brow. “You’re the one who said my mouth should be illegal.”
“I also said you were annoying, remember?” she teased, tracing a lazy circle on his chest.
“Mm-hmm. While you were pulling me back into bed for the third time.”
Lois rolled onto her back with a dramatic sigh. “Whatever. Let’s just agree I was temporarily out of my mind.”
Clark propped himself up on one elbow, leaned down, and kissed her forehead. “Good. Because I’m planning to keep driving you crazy.”
She groaned and threw a pillow at him, laughing. “You’re disgustingly sweet in the mornings. I might need to rethink this.”
But when he leaned in and kissed her slow, sweet, and full of promise, she melted all over again.
"Okay," she whispered against his lips. "Maybe not.”
>>>
Lois was dozing again, curled into Clark's side, wearing nothing but one of his flannel shirts — oversized, soft, and slightly crooked on her shoulder.
Clark watched the sunrise filter through her window, casting golden light across her bare legs and sleepy smirk.
“If you're staring at me again, I hope it's because I look hot and not because you're planning an exit strategy,” she mumbled without opening her eyes.
Clark chuckled, brushing his fingers through her messy hair. “Definitely the first one.”
She cracked one eye open. “Good answer, Kent. You survive another day.”
He leaned in and kissed her — gentle and unhurried. “I meant what I said last night.”
Lois tilted her head. “Which part? There was a lot of heat-of-the-moment dialogue.”
Clark met her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She blinked, just for a second, and then gave him a lopsided smile — the kind that said she was letting herself believe him, even if it scared her.
"Well… if you do leave," she whispered, “I’m keeping the shirt.”
Clark grinned. “Fair trade.”
They laid there in quiet comfort, tangled in each other, hearts slow and synced. But somewhere miles away — beneath stone walls and dark intentions — another day was already beginning.
>>>

Across town…
Lana stood beside Lex in the Luthor mansion study, a glass of untouched wine in her hand.
“I know him,” she said coldly. “He’s predictable. If she matters to him… she’s a weakness.”
Lex leaned back in his chair, smiling like a man who had already planned the endgame.
“Then all we need to do… is exploit it.”

Chapter Text

The loft was quiet—too quiet. Outside, Metropolis throbbed with neon, but up here, in this pocket of stillness, the air was electric. Lois leaned back on the edge of Clark’s desk, legs crossed, smirking at him like she knew exactly how to ruin him and intended to do it slowly.
Clark stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, lips twitching. “You keep looking at me like that, Lane. You know how that ends.”
“Oh, I know,” she purred, sliding off the desk with predatory grace. “I’m counting on it.”
He caught her before her heels hit the floor, hands gripping her waist and yanking her flush against him. Their mouths collided—hungry, messy, full of pent-up want. Lois tasted like sin and sugar, all smug victory and aching need.
“Still not joining the Justice League?” she whispered against his lips, teasing.
Clark groaned into her mouth, backing her into the desk again. “I have enough to handle just trying to survive you.”
Her laugh hitched when he shoved her skirt up around her waist and hoisted her onto the desk. “So handle me, Kent.”
Clark’s hands were fast but reverent, skimming up her thighs, pausing to trail his fingertips where lace met skin. Lois’s blouse was undone slowly, each button a kiss pressed to her collarbone, her jaw, her smirk melting into sighs.
“You always gotta be the one in charge, don’t you?” he murmured against her chest, slipping her bra strap down one shoulder with his teeth.
“I make the rules,” Lois breathed, running her fingers through his hair. “You just break ‘em.”
“Not tonight.”
He pulled her panties down with agonizing patience, eyes never leaving hers. There was a moment—just a second—where she looked like she might run. But then Clark sank to his knees.
Lois’s gasp echoed in the loft as his tongue teased her open. One strong hand held her steady by the hip, the other sliding up to press against her stomach, keeping her grounded as he worked her over—slow licks, then faster, harder, until her thighs trembled around his shoulders.
“Clark—fuck—”
His name was a curse, a prayer, a confession. Her hands clutched at his hair, her voice coming in gasps and curses, sass melted into desperation. When he slipped two fingers inside her, she choked on her own moan, arching toward him.
“Say it,” he growled, lips slick, voice wrecked.
“I’m yours,” she whispered.
“Louder.”
“I’m fucking yours.”
Clark stood, lifted her off the desk like she weighed nothing. She wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively as he carried her across the room to the couch.
The second he pushed into her, she forgot how to speak. He moved with purpose—controlled, deep, unrelenting. Lois gripped at his shoulders, burying her face in his neck, trying not to cry for reasons that had nothing to do with the sex and everything to do with how safe she felt.
She hated that it felt like home.
Clark slowed, sensing her change, brushing a kiss across her cheek. “You okay?”
“Don’t stop.”
He didn’t.
The elevator dinged.
Lois froze. Clark stilled inside her. Time stopped.
The loft door creaked open and a voice—his voice—rang out. “Clark? You left your comm active—”
Oliver stepped into the room.
His eyes landed on them in seconds.
The silence after that felt longer than Clark’s entire life.
Oliver’s face went blank, then tight, then cold. “Right,” he said, backing up. “Guess I got my answer.”
Lois scrambled for her shirt. Clark looked like he’d been gut-punched.
“Oliver—wait—” Lois started, voice shaking.
“Don’t,” Oliver said, bitter and flat. “Don’t insult me with a lie.”
The elevator closed. He was gone.
Lois sat on the edge of the couch, half-dressed, staring at the door.
Clark sat beside her, equally silent, one hand resting gently on her knee.
“I didn’t mean for him to find out like that,” she whispered.
“You didn’t mean to get caught,” Clark corrected, soft but honest.
She looked at him then—really looked. “Are you angry?”
“No,” he said. “But I’m not okay, either.”
She reached for him. He let her.
They sat like that for a while, the city humming outside. Nothing fixed. Nothing broken beyond repair.
Not yet.
The elevator’s echo had long faded, but the guilt hung thick in the room.
Lois sat in silence, one of Clark’s flannels draped over her shoulders like a shield she didn’t deserve. She wasn’t crying—not yet. Her throat felt too raw, her pride too bruised. She hated hurting people, especially someone who had once looked at her like she was his future.
Her phone buzzed.
Oliver: We need to talk. My place. Now.
Oliver didn’t look angry when she arrived.
That made it worse.
He didn’t yell. Didn’t throw accusations. He just stood there, staring at her like a man who had already rehearsed the ending.
“You could’ve told me, Lois,” he said quietly. “Hell, you owed me that much.”
“I didn’t plan for this,” she said softly.
“No. You just let it happen.”
Silence stretched.
Then, without another word, Oliver walked to the window, arms crossed. He didn't tell her to leave, but she knew it was over.
No slammed doors. No dramatic exits. Just something that used to mean something… fading out with a breath.
>>>
Elsewhere, behind reinforced glass and money-stained shadows, Lex Luthor poured himself a glass of scotch.
“She’s out,” he said to Lana, who sat on the other side of the room, draped in silk and venom.
“Oliver?”
“Gone. Quietly. As expected.”
Lana tilted her head. “So what now?”
Lex smiled slowly. “Now we give them enough rope to tie their own noose. Lois and Clark think they’ve won each other. That’s cute.”
Lana’s eyes darkened. “He never chose me. But I’ll make sure no one gets to keep him.”
She raised her glass. Lex clinked his against hers.
“To heartbreak.”
>>>
Some people fall in love. Others fall into war. And Clark Kent? He had no idea which one he was in… yet.

Chapter Text

Lois sat at her desk, fingers dancing absently over her keyboard, pretending to work. The buzz of the Daily Planet, usually loud and brimming with gossip, felt distant. Her head was heavy, thoughts scattered, and every passing second only reminded her of what had happened — what she'd done.
It wasn't just the guilt about Oliver. It was the knowledge that she'd lost herself somewhere in between the lies she told him and the pleasure she felt in Clark's arms. Every time she closed her eyes, she could still taste him.
"Lois, you good?" Chloe's voice cut through the fog in her brain.
Lois turned, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just busy."
Chloe raised an eyebrow, skepticism flooding her features. "Busy with what?"
"Paperwork," Lois mumbled, shaking her head. "Nothing important."
But Chloe wasn't buying it; she knew something was up, but couldn't pinpoint it. She stepped closer, her voice quiet, cautious. "Lois… you and Oliver—"
"I said I'm fine," Lois snapped, a little sharper than she intended. She could see the hurt in Chloe's eyes, but the wall had already gone up. "I don't want to talk about it."
Chloe hesitated. "Alright, but you know you can—"
"Chloe," Lois said, her tone softer now. "Not today, okay? Please."
Chloe didn't press, but the look in her eyes said it all. She knew Lois was lying.

>>>
Later that day, Clark found her in the empty conference room, staring out the window with a half-empty coffee cup in her hand. He could see the weight of the world on her shoulders, and a knot twisted in his gut. He hadn't heard from her since… well, since everything. And now, as he stepped closer, he wasn't sure what to say.
"Lois," he murmured, moving behind her.
She didn't turn, didn't acknowledge him right away, but she didn't pull away either. The air between them was thick with unspoken words.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice low.
Lois gave a short laugh, but it was devoid of humor. "Does it look like I'm okay?"
Clark stood in silence, watching her. She wasn't angry — she was just… lost. He could feel it in the way her shoulders slumped, in the way she stared out into the city like it held all the answers. The answers he didn't have.
"I don't regret it," she whispered, the words soft but heavy. "But I… I never meant for it to end like this."
Clark's hand found hers, his grip gentle but firm. "You don't have to explain it to me, Lois. Whatever happens, we'll figure it out. Together."
She turned slowly, searching his face for any trace of anger, but all she saw was concern, affection, maybe even… something more.
She swallowed hard, her heart thumping in her chest. "I don't want to hurt anyone. Not you, not Oliver… but I didn't know how to stop myself from what we were doing."
"I know," Clark said quietly. "I didn't want it either, but I'm not sorry it happened. We can't go back, but we can move forward. We're not alone in this."
Lois closed her eyes for a moment, letting his words settle in. She couldn't promise him everything would be okay, but she could promise that she wasn't going anywhere. Not yet, at least.

>>>
Across the city, Lana Lang stood outside the coffee shop, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She had seen them. Clark and Lois. The way their eyes had locked. The way Clark had touched her. The way Lois had looked at him as though she'd found the one thing that could fix her.
Lana knew it was inevitable. She had always known, deep down, that Lois would eventually end up with Clark. But seeing it with her own eyes, seeing the way Clark cared for Lois in a way he had never cared for her… it left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Turning away, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed Lex's number.
"Hello, Lana," Lex answered coolly. "You've been quiet."
"I saw them," Lana said, her voice like ice. "Clark and Lois. Together."
"And?"
Lana clenched her fist around her phone. "And I need your help. It's time to end this."
Lex chuckled darkly on the other end. "You know where to find me."

>>>
Later that evening, Chloe ran into Lana at a charity event hosted by the Luthor Corporation. It wasn't surprising, given Lana's relationship with Lex. But the tension between them was palpable, a silent war waging beneath their cordial smiles.
Lana took a sip of her champagne, her eyes scanning the room. "So, how's Lois? I've barely seen her around lately."
Chloe narrowed her gaze. "She's been… dealing with some things."
"Oh, I can imagine," Lana said, her smile tight. "I heard about her and Oliver. That must've been hard on her. But I'm sure she'll bounce back."
Chloe didn't miss the subtle malice in Lana's words. She could practically hear the gears turning behind those eyes.
"Lois will be fine," Chloe said firmly. "She's tough."
Lana's smile only grew. "I'm sure she is."
The conversation ended there, but Chloe couldn't shake the feeling that Lana was up to something.

>>>
Lex sat behind his desk, a glass of scotch in his hand. The city lights outside his window flickered, a reflection of the chaos unfolding beneath his careful watch.
He was always two steps ahead. Always in control.
"Lana's gotten soft," he muttered, staring at the files in front of him. "Time to remind her of what we can accomplish."
He picked up the phone and dialed a number. "It's time," he said, his voice calm and calculated. "Move forward with the plan."

Chapter Text

It started with silence.
Clark watched her sleep—barely breathing, skin flushed from the storm they’d made hours ago. Her leg still draped across his thigh, claiming space like she belonged there. And maybe she did. But nothing about this was right.
He shouldn’t be touching her again.
He wasn’t supposed to need her like this.
And yet…
His fingers brushed down her spine, gentle. Possessive. Greedy.
Lois stirred, eyes fluttering half-shut, too sleepy to protest. “Clark…” she whispered, like she was dreaming about him. That was all the permission he needed.
He looked down at her sleeping face, soft and relaxed beneath the morning light. Quietly, reverently, his fingers traced down the front of her shirt, lingering over every curve like he was memorizing her. Gently lifting her, he cradled her in his arms and whispered into her ear, “Even now... you’re mine.”
Carefully, he pulled off her shirt, his mouth finding her neck, then moving slowly downward. He kissed along the soft swell of her chest, unclasping her bra and easing her back down onto the bed. His lips returned to hers, a slow, possessive kiss as his body moved against hers—hard, needy, already aching for her.
She stirred beneath him, eyes fluttering open. The moment she realized what was happening, she didn’t pull away. Instead, her breath hitched—desire lighting behind her gaze—and her hands slipped under his shirt, pulling it off. Then her pants. Then his.
Their mouths collided as she wrapped her legs around him, and with a deep groan, he slid inside her. The rhythm started slow—deep, grounding thrusts—but quickly became desperate, frantic. She flipped him over, taking control, moving her hips in a rhythm that had him gasping her name.
He came with a low, broken sound, his hands gripping her hips tight. She froze for a second—realizing, too late, they’d forgotten a condom. But neither of them moved to stop. She stayed on top, riding it out, pushing them both past the edge again.
When she finally slowed, she leaned down, trailing kisses along his stomach before taking him into her mouth, slow and eager. He moaned, twitching under her touch, completely undone.
Eventually, she crawled back up beside him, tugged the covers over them both, and laid her head on his chest. His hand drifted lazily through her hair, and for a moment, everything was quiet again.

Her tears came later.
Not from pain—never that. From guilt, from wanting, from being seen too deeply. Clark didn’t stop when they fell. He held her tighter.
“You think crying makes me stop?” he growled against her neck. “No. It just makes you look even more beautiful.”
(Insert degrading kink here — examples might include calling her “a mess,” “filthy,” “mine no matter how many lies you tell yourself.” Keep the emotional push-pull strong: he both reveres and breaks her.)
She tried to turn away, but he caught her chin, forcing her eyes to his. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she whispered.
“Louder.”
“I’m yours,” she cried, a tear sliding down her cheek.
He licked it away.
>>>
Meanwhile...
Lana stood by the LuthorCorp window, fingers wrapped tightly around a glass of red wine. “They’re falling apart,” she said, mostly to herself. Chloe had been too soft to do anything. But she wasn’t Chloe.
Lex approached behind her, arms looping around her waist. “Let them. All we have to do is watch.”
Lana smiled, eyes dark. “And when they break, we’ll be there to collect the pieces.”
>>>
Lana sat cross-legged on the velvet chaise, sipping red wine like it was blood.
“Oliver will crack first,” she mused. “He always does when it comes to her.”
Lex chuckled lowly. “He already has. She just doesn’t know how loud the silence sounds when someone stops trusting her.”
He turned to face the giant screen behind them — security footage still paused on a blurred image of Lois entering Clark’s apartment in the dead of night.
“Let’s see how loyal they stay... when it all starts burning.”

>>>
The sound of the door softly clicking shut was the only thing that stirred Lois from the trance she was in.
Clark stood there, shadowed in the dim light, still half-clothed from earlier. His expression unreadable — quiet, but intense.
She didn’t speak.
He crossed the room without a word and cupped her face in his hand, eyes dragging across every inch of her like he was memorizing her guilt.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured. “Is it because of me… or because of him?”
Lois opened her mouth to answer, but didn’t get the chance.
Clark kissed her — not gently. Not sweetly. Possessively.
He lifted her in his arms with terrifying ease, as if she weighed nothing. She gasped as he pinned her against the bedroom wall, lips trailing down her jaw, her collarbone, her shoulder.
“I said you were mine,” he growled, voice deep with something dangerous. “So why does it feel like you’ve been giving pieces of yourself away?”
Lois moaned, her back arching into him as his mouth moved lower, teeth scraping over skin with just enough pressure to make her breath hitch.
>>>
He pulled back only briefly to whisper “Cry for me if it hurts... but don’t pretend you want me to stop.”
She whimpered — somewhere between pleasure and pain — but never said no. Not once.
Her wrists were pinned above her head, breath hitching as Clark pressed her back against the wall. Heat radiated off his body as he stepped in close. His grip was firm, his strength effortless, but it was the way he looked at her that made her melt — like she was the only thing tethering him to control.
“Mine,” he growled, low and possessive.
She gasped as his hands slid down her sides, grabbing her hips and pulling her flush against him. He kissed her like he needed it to breathe — deep, consuming, devouring — before dragging his mouth to her neck and lower: biting, teasing, making her knees weak.
One hand slid up beneath her shirt, cupping her breast with a mix of reverence and hunger, his thumb brushing over lace. The other slipped below her waistband — slow, deliberate, like he was unwrapping something precious he already owned.
“Clark—” Her voice cracked, high and breathless, as her body arched into his touch.
He dropped to his knees, never breaking eye contact. He peeled her pants down with maddening slowness, pressing kisses to her thighs, her hips — every inch that made her tremble.
When his mouth finally met her heat, she let out a strangled moan. One hand clawed at the wall, the other buried in his hair. Her body jerked at the intensity, legs trembling, tears stinging her eyes from how good it felt — overwhelming, raw, too much and still not enough.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped, voice breaking as pleasure rolled over her in crashing waves.
“Please, don’t stop—”
He didn’t.
And when she came undone against him, it wasn’t just her body. It was everything — her control, her defenses, her carefully drawn lines — unraveling in his hands.
His fingers traced the slick mess he’d made, slow and sure, like he was memorizing her all over again.
“You act like you’re in control, Lane,” he breathed, lips brushing her inner thigh,
“but I’ve had you trembling since the moment you walked into my life.”
She didn’t argue.
She couldn’t — not when he was inside her, slow and deep, making her feel everything she wanted to forget.
Each thrust was laced with fury. With heartbreak.
And something else neither of them wanted to name yet.

As sunlight filtered through the curtains, she stirred beneath the sheets, her body aching in the best way. A vague, hazy memory clung to her skin — the kind that feels like a dream but leaves you breathless when you remember.
She remembered the weight of him over her.
The way his fingers slid down her stomach in the dark.
How he whispered:
“Even now, you’re mine.”
She hadn’t even been fully awake — her body reacting before her mind could catch up. The sheets had been tangled around her legs, and his hands — so large, so certain — had held her hips with quiet command. Not rough. Just... inevitable.
She remembered the warmth of his breath. The teasing pressure of his lips that made her arch before she even opened her eyes. The way he took his time — like he owned every inch of her. Like it was a reminder. A claim.
Not rushed. Not careless.
Just Clark — focused, deliberate, reverent — making her fall apart before the sun had even risen.
And when she finally woke — fully, eyes open, breath caught in her throat — he didn’t stop.
He just looked up from between her thighs and whispered,
“Morning, sweetheart.”

Afterward, she lay there — breathless, dazed, her thighs trembling from the aftershocks. Her cheek rested against his chest, damp with sweat and fading restraint.
“I shouldn’t want this,” she whispered.
He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.
“But you do.”

Chapter Text

Lois sat on the edge of her bed, phone clutched in her trembling hand. The screen glowed with a message she couldn’t ignore.
Oliver: “I know what happened.”
Her breath hitched. For a moment, everything else — Clark’s touch, the tangled sheets, the weight of secrets — faded into silence. She wanted to deny it, to pretend none of it was real. But Oliver’s words weren’t just a question; they were a verdict.
A knock sounded at her door.
Her heart pounded as she opened it to find Oliver standing there, eyes dark and unreadable.
“Lois,” he said quietly. “We need to talk.”
Inside, the tension thickened. Neither said a word as she stepped aside, closing the door behind him.
“I trusted you,” Oliver finally said, voice cracking just slightly. “And you... chose him.”
She looked down, shame and pain twisting inside her chest. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I didn’t mean to—”
“Didn’t mean to what? Hurt me? Betray me?” His voice rose, but so did his own pain.
Before she could answer, Clark’s voice came through the open window — low and steady, but charged with something fierce.
“Oliver.”
Clark stepped into the room, his presence filling the space. His gaze locked with Oliver’s.
“This is between us,” Clark said.
Oliver’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
Lois swallowed hard, caught between two worlds — love and loyalty, truth and lies.
Lex and Lana’s plan was working. The carefully woven web of deceit was unraveling.
But somewhere beneath the chaos, a flicker of something raw and real remained.
“I’m sorry,” Lois whispered.
Clark reached for her hand, squeezing it gently.
“Whatever happens now,” he said, “we face it together.”
Oliver’s jaw tightened, but for the first time, there was a hint of resignation in his eyes.
The battle lines had been drawn.
And there was no turning back.
>>>
Oliver stepped back, jaw clenched, his hand twitching at his side.
“I gave everything to you,” he said, quieter now — too quiet. “And I was still never enough.”
Lois’s lips parted, but the guilt was too heavy for words. Her fingers curled around Clark’s out of instinct. Wrong or not, it was him she needed right now.
Oliver’s eyes dropped to their hands. That was the final crack.
“Then I hope you’re ready to watch him fall,” he muttered, almost to himself.
Clark’s eyes sharpened. “What did you do?”
Oliver looked up, and there it was — satisfaction.
“I’m not the one you should be worried about,” he said. “Lana’s not finished. Neither is Lex.”
He tossed something on the bed — a small flash drive. It slid across the sheets like a bullet casing. “You think she just wanted Clark back? No. She wants everything—and she’s not the only one.”
Clark moved to pick it up, but Oliver had already stepped away. “You made your choice,” he said, staring at Lois. “Now live with it.”
He walked out, leaving the door wide open.
Lois stood frozen, the sound of the city bleeding in through the broken silence.
Clark picked up the flash drive and plugged it into Lois’s laptop.
Onscreen: dozens of files. Surveillance footage. Audio logs. Photographs. Lois and Clark. Lois and Oliver. Lana in shadows. Lex’s voice on tape.
Then one labeled simply: “PROJECT: BLUEKRY”
Clark’s entire body went rigid.
“That’s not possible,” he whispered.
Lois turned to him, heart racing. “What is it?”
“They’re not just trying to ruin us.” Clark’s voice was raw now. “They’re trying to take me apart. From the inside out.”
Before she could speak, the laptop screen glitched — once, twice — then turned black. A countdown appeared.
01:00… 00:59… 00:58…
Clark yanked the plug.
Too late.
The lights flickered. A pulse shot through the room.
And somewhere in the distance, alarms started blaring.
>>>
In LexCorp:
Lana watched the flashing screen, her smile soft and venomous.
“I told you,” she said. “They’d tear themselves apart.”
Beside her, Lex calmly opened a small metal case — the contents glowing blue.
“Time to finish what we started.”
>>>
Back in the apartment:
Lois gripped Clark’s arm.
“Tell me we can stop this.”
Clark looked out the window — eyes glowing faintly. “We’re already in it.”
The past was unraveling. The future was war.
And none of them were walking away clean.
>>>
Lois barely had time to react.
One second, Clark was by her side — tense, glowing, protective.
The next, the entire window shattered inward with a sonic blast. The force knocked her back onto the floor, glass raining like daggers.
Through the smoke and chaos, she saw them.
Mercenaries. Black suits. Kryptonite-tipped weapons. The LexCorp insignia on their sleeves.
“Get away from him!” she screamed, crawling toward Clark.
But he was already on his knees — eyes dim, breath ragged. The air around him pulsed with something unnatural. Blue veins spread under his skin, glowing faintly like poison.
They'd triggered it.
PROJECT: BLUEKRY. A synthetic compound. Engineered to neutralize Kryptonians — slowly, painfully, permanently.
The leader raised a weapon. “Bring him in. If he resists, kill him.”
Lois launched herself in front of Clark. “Over my dead body.”
“That can be arranged.”
Suddenly, a blur moved through the room.
A figure in red.
Kara.
Faster than light, she smashed through two agents, her eyes wild with fury. “Get away from my cousin!”
It was chaos — fists, gunfire, powers colliding. Kara held them off, but more were coming.
Clark grabbed Lois’s hand, weakly. “Run—”
“No.”
“You have to—”
“I’m not leaving you again!”
The blast hit before either could move.
A sharp, searing explosion. Kryptonite-laced gas filled the room.
Clark collapsed.
Lois screamed.
The world went black.
>>>
Hours later…
The apartment was abandoned.
Wrecked. Silent.
A single news alert buzzed on Lois’s shattered phone:
BREAKING: Clark Kent Missing. Believed Dead.
LexCorp issues statement: “We regret any loss of life during today’s attempted containment. We remain committed to public safety.”
Somewhere far away, in a lead-lined cell deep underground, a heartbeat slowed… but didn’t stop.
>>>
And in a private penthouse overlooking Metropolis:
Lana stood by the window, sipping champagne.
“He always thought love would save him,” she mused, almost wistful.
Lex stepped beside her, slipping an arm around her waist.
“But we both know… love makes you weak.”
She smiled. “Exactly.”
The screen behind them flickered to life — Clark’s unconscious body, suspended, restrained.
Still breathing.
For now.
Fade to black.