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Lois Lane is not the jealous type. She has never been the jealous type—or, at least, she didn’t think she was, not until the words Superman harem started following Clark around like a bad joke.
It’s been months since Lex Luthor tore Metropolis a new one, and months since Clark and Mister Terrific put Metropolis back together. Months, too, since the full message from his Kryptonian parents was broadcast, Jor-el and Lara urging their son to rule over Earth and take as many wives as necessary to restore their dying bloodline. Enough time has passed for Clark—or, well, Superman—to prove he isn’t the lying, conniving piece of shit that Lex was trying to paint him as, and certainly enough time for the sentiment around Superman to shift again, swinging right back to mostly positive again. Gone are the days of #SUPERSHIT. (Mostly.)
And yet Superman harem remains a hot topic.
It’s everywhere: memes, gossip columns, late-night talk show punchlines. What had once been shock and outrage has slowly but surely turned into curiosity, even fantasy. Threads and cheap, click-bait Buzzfeed posts about who would make the “best Kryptonian bride” go viral every other week, and she’s even come across Cosmopolitan articles promising “10 Ways to Attract Your Own Super-Man,” as if it really were as easy as picking the right shade of lipstick. There are Tiktoks of total strangers, women and men alike, auditioning themselves, half-serious and half for the bit, that rack up millions of views and comments that are usually some variation of where do i sign up to be part of the superman harem? or ok but are applications for the superman harem still open? 🫦
Lois doesn’t even go looking for any of it. It’s just—it’s everywhere, and it always finds her.
She really wishes it didn’t bother her so much, or just, you know, at all. Because she’s not the jealous or insecure type, she swears she isn’t, but she is only human, so when the whole world wants to fuck her boyfriend, why wouldn’t she feel bothered by it, even a little? How could she not?
Most days, she can keep it under control. Keep herself sane, unaffected, and she can even laugh at the absurdity of it all, the odd pov: superman just opened up slots for his harem Tiktok actually getting a giggle out of her every now and then, but today isn’t really most days. Today, she’s kind of just fed up with it all.
They’ve barely made it ten steps into Clark’s apartment before Lois drags him towards his couch, manhandles him down into it, and then plops herself down on his lap, straddling his hips. She doesn’t give him the chance to get a word in either, kissing him like she wants him to pre-emptively shut up or like she wants to drown out the entire internet and its collective thirst over Superman, over her boyfriend, fisting his shirt like she wants to rip it off of him like they’re in some cheesy bodice ripper or something.
When she finally and regrettably has to pull away for air, Clark’s half-breathless, half-laughing underneath her, his big hands steady and warm on her hips. “You’re in a mood tonight,” he says, smiling that goofy, boyish smile of his, dimples and all. God, those dimples, they do Lois in every single time, more than she’d like to admit. He squeezes her hips, then asks, still teasing and so very pleased with himself, the fucking dork, “What’s gotten into you, hm?”
“Shut it, Kent,” Lois grumbles, grinding down against the hard line of him through his jeans. It punches a groan, low and needy and not at all very Superman-like, not at all dignified, out of him, and now it’s Lois who is so very pleased with herself. She does it again, because she can, and because Clark will let her do whatever the hell she wants with him—and isn’t that a thought. Before she can think any better about it, she finds herself saying, “I wonder what your little harem on the internet would think if they saw you now. You’re so hard already, and I’ve barely even done anything to you yet.”
“Lois,” Clark groans, reflexively bucking up against her. “We’ve talked about that already.”
They have, and to be fair to Clark, he’s said all the right things. He’s assured her that he doesn’t want anyone else, much less a planet-wide harem, that just the thought of that was so ridiculous it made him wonder how anyone ever actually took it seriously, and that he’s only ever been with two women, herself and a girl back home, that’s it, swear to god. He’s made it clear to her that he wants her and only her.
But Lois can’t help the way she feels, and what she’s feeling right now is that she wants to mark him up for all the world to see. To let them know Superman is taken, and that Superman—Clark—is hers.
“Lois,” Clark says again, softer this time, brows furrowed in concern this time. He reaches up to hold her face in his hand, brushing his thumb gently against her cheek, and then, gently, says, “Baby,” and she kind of hates it, how easily she melts the second he calls her that, “You’re it for me. There’s no harem, and there’s no one else. Just you, Lois.”
Lois smiles despite herself. She reaches up too, placing her hand over his where it caresses her face, and leans a little into her palm, his touch, when she replies, “Yeah, I know.”
“You’re Lois Lane,” Clark tells her, smiling that annoyingly endearing, handsome smile of his again, “you’ve got nothing to worry about, and nothing to prove. Not to me, and not to any of those people on the internet.”
Lois snorts out a laugh. She can’t deny that hearing him say that does make her feel better, though. There’s maybe still a small part of her that detests that it does, like she needs anyone to remind her just who the hell she is, or to make her confront the fact she is, maybe, feeling a little insecure, or a little jealous, over the attention her boyfriend is getting from literally everyone on planet Earth when she shouldn’t give a damn what anyone else thinks, but it’s—it’s something, and it’s everything, having Clark remind her just how much he loves her. That she’s it for him, every bit as he’s it for her.
Clark loves her, and she believes him, of course she does, but that doesn’t stop the restless heat curling low in her gut, or the need to feel him under her, inside her, right where he belongs. He’ll let her take as much of him as she wants, Lois knows that for a fact, so she’s going to take what’s hers.
She rolls her hips again, grinding down against Clark where he’s straining against his jeans, making her intent very clear. His mouth falls open in a soft grunt, eyes fluttering shut like even that’s too much already, and when he looks at her again, she smiles at him sharply. Clark huffs, like he wants to be exasperated with her but really can’t get himself to be, the lovesick fool, so he just beams up at her in the end, dimpling and so unbearably handsome, as he says, deliberately letting his voice drop an octave lower like he always does when he’s in Superman mode, “I’m all yours then, Miss Lane.”
Lois ducks her head to kiss him again, soft and lingering, before she reaches a hand down between them to work his jeans open.
Clark makes a rough noise in the back of his throat when Lois wraps her hand around him. She takes a second to just appreciate how it feels, hard and blood-hot against her palm, before she strokes him once—just once—because she’s not feeling particularly patient tonight and she wants him inside her now. Every inch of him, hers. So she hikes her dress up and pushes the fabric of her panties to the side, then she reaches down to take Clark in her hand again, lining his cock up with her cunt. She braces her other hand on his big, broad chest, lifts herself up, and then sinks down onto him. Clark’s hands fly to her thighs like he’s falling and he needs something to hold onto, groaning helplessly and trying so very hard to stay still as Lois takes more and more of him inside her, thighs shaking, until she’s finally got all of him inside her and she’s fully seated, pressed flush against Clark’s hips.
She wraps her arms around Clark, holding onto him now like she’s the one falling. She doesn’t move at first, not yet, just stays there like that for a while, adjusting to the searing stretch of his cock inside her, the fullness that radiates all throughout her body. He murmurs reassurances to her, that’s it, and just breathe for me, holding her close as she trembles in his arms, until she squeezes down around him, and then he’s gasping instead, jolting her entire body as he bucks up into her.
“Lois,” he breathes out, voice tight with need and just a hint of impatience, so Lois lifts herself up, about as high as she can manage, then sinks back down on his cock, watching as he tips his head back as he groans, chest-deep.
It isn’t long before Lois is riding him fast and hard and like she wants to fuck him through his couch. Clark just makes all these perfect, totally undignified noises as she fucks herself on his cock, gripping onto her hips like he’s holding on for dear life. He always gets like that, when she’s on top of him like this, and it would be a lie if she said she didn’t love that about him, or that she didn’t love that she has Superman just sitting there and letting her do whatever the hell she wants to him. Letting her use him. He could just move her up and down his cock, use her to get off, so easily, but he doesn’t, and the thrill of knowing she has that power over him lands hot and heavy in her cunt.
The slap of skin on skin echoes in Clark’s apartment, all around them, as Lois drives herself down on his cock over and over and over with purpose. She can see him trying—trying so hard—to stay quiet, to hold it together, or to at least act like his brain isn’t dribbling out of his ears, but he moans for her anyway, his head tipping back against the couch as his grip on her hips tightens to the point of trembling. She lifts herself up and then slams herself back down, taking him in as deep as she can have him, until it feels like he’s become entirely a part of her, and then just stays like that for a long, agonizingly perfect second, rolling her hips in a slow, circular grinding motion, squeezing and pulsing around his length. The sound that comes out of his mouth this time is something caught between a moan and a whimper, an actual whimper, and it never gets old, making Superman make a sound like that, and making a mess out of the most powerful being on this entire planet.
“Lois,” he gasps again, voice cracking as his chest heaves, his face flushed and damp. He’s a mess underneath her now, his hips twitching up into her helplessly as she tries to wring out every little pathetic sound she can possibly get him to make.
“You’re really just going to sit there and take it?” Lois says, laughing breathlessly before letting out a bitten-off whimper of her own as she sinks back down onto him. God, it feels amazing, how big he feels inside her, hot and thick and alive, his length dragging against her walls every time she lifts up just to sink back down onto him. “Come on, Superman, show me what you’ve got.”
Clark makes this frustrated sound in the back of his throat before he hauls Lois down onto his cock at the same time that he drives up into her, knocking all of the air out of her lungs. Lois gasps out, “Oh, fuck,” and clings onto him as he fucks up into her in these short, brutal thrusts, both his arms wrapped around her now so he can keep her steady, keep her from flying off his lap or something, holding her flush against his chest. She tangles her fingers into his curly, sweaty hair, kind of just petting him for a second before she pulls and tugs insistently, panting out fuck, Clark and that’s it, come on, give it to me, as he ruts up into her, grunting with every thrust. “Yeah, yeah, come on, Clark, harder,” she commands, moaning when Clark does as he’s told and starts fucking her harder, harder, harder. “That’s it, that’s it.”
Clark groans into the curve of Lois’ neck. “Lois,” he gets out in between grunts and pants, tilting his head up like he’s nuzzling her, lips brushing against her chin, the line of her jaw, “Lois, I—I can’t, I’m—god, oh god—”
Lois takes his face into her hands and presses their mouths together. She swallows down Clark’s every gasp and whimper as he thrusts into her desperately, erratically, the way he always gets when he’s really, really close already. She is too, she can feel her entire body winding tight with it, can feel it hot and low in her gut, clenching down around him tighter and tighter, like her body’s trying to pull him in even deeper and then just keep him there. Every squeeze and pulse of her cunt around him knocks another helpless, mindless groan out of Clark and makes him just fuck her harder, and she says, breathless and just so hot all over, burning inside and out, “There you go, Clark, that’s it. Come now. Come for me.”
Clark thrusts up into hard a few more times then comes hard, sobbing against her throat as he spills inside her, hot and wet. As he tries to catch his breath, working through his orgasm, Lois moves her hips again, and when she tells him, “Good boy,” he whines and she feels his cock twitch inside her, spurting weakly one last time before he slumps back against the couch and lets Lois claim her own release on his cock too. She gasps out incoherent nonsense as she rides him for all he’s worth, grinding hard against the base of his cock, and then she sinks down hard onto his cock one last time and it hits her all at once, has her screaming, her body locking up as her orgasm rips through her entire body, whiting everything out completely for a minute.
Clark holds her through it, running his big hands up and down her sides soothingly, murmuring, “I’ve got you,” to her like there was ever any doubt about it. She just hangs onto him as she comes back down from her orgasm and back into herself, letting his touch and his voice ground her. She slumps down against him, his cock still lodged inside her.
It’s quiet for a while as they take their time catching their breaths, basking in the afterglow, then Clark says, voice cracking just a little like he’s not entirely recovered yet, “You know, you’re the one who’s always giving me flak for letting what people on the internet say get to me.”
Lois squeezes down around him in retaliation, laughing at the way he hisses, oversensitive. Says, “Yeah, well, you’re Superman. You’re supposed to be better than that.”
Clark just grumbles something barely audible in response. He holds her like that for a little while longer, warm and happy and maybe just a little bit smug, then he says, soft and tender, “Hey—I love you.”
Lois smiles into his hair. She pulls back, bracing her hands against his chest again, and tells him, “I love you too, Smallville,” every bit as tender. The world can audition all it wants, thirst all it wants, but they’ll never have him, not like this. Sweaty, disheveled, and looking at her like she’s given him the world and more just by telling him she loves him. No, this is all hers. He’s hers.