Bye Bye Superman (Text Story)

Bye-Bye, Superman – By Lois Lane

Written by SteeleBlazer

The call had come from Lois Lane herself, her voice brimming with urgency and something rare—collaboration.

"Kent, this is a big one. I’ve got a truly great, big, huge scoop. Too big for just one reporter. I’m willing to share the scoop. And the byline with you."

Clark knew something was up. Lois Lane didn’t share bylines. Not unless the story was monumental.

Then came the part that truly gave him pause.

"So hurry up, fly on down here—I really want to show you this."

Fly.

A simple word. A slip of the tongue? A joke? Or just a mundane euphemistic expression?

Clark hesitated for half a second before responding with a casual, "Uh, sure, Lois. Be there soon."

And then he did exactly that—flew. Well, not too fast. After all, showing up too quickly would only raise suspicions. Instead, he made a few strategic stops along the way.

One mugging, a purse snatching, and not just one but two separate bank robberies later, he finally touched down in an alleyway a few blocks from S.T.A.R. Labs. A quick once-over in a grimy window, a few well-practiced tugs at his tie, a ruffle of his hair, and Clark Kent emerged—mild-mannered, slightly frazzled, and fashionably late by what could have been cab-time standards.

By the time he arrived and checked in, he was still smoothing out the wrinkles in his blazer when he stepped into the lab.

Only—this wasn’t what he had expected.

For a top-tier scientific facility like S.T.A.R. Labs, he had been prepared for something sleek, sterile, maybe filled with glowing monitors or strange machinery humming with energy. Instead, what greeted him looked more like a gym—no, a weight room. Stacks of barbells, dumbbells, kettlebells, squat racks—some of the weights seemed oversized, almost comically so.

It was the last sight he was expecting.

And then, Lois spoke.

"Clark, check this out," she said, her voice tinged with excitement.

Clark turned—and that was when he truly saw a sight he wasn’t expecting.

Lois Lane, grinning like a cat with a canary, flexed a colossal bicep.

His breath caught. Her arms—no, her entire body—were a mass of sinewy muscle, every inch sculpted, every vein prominent, snaking across her skin like tributaries on a map. She looked powerful. More than powerful... Just how powerful, he didn’t know. But to use a euphemism—one Lois herself had coined about his alter ego, Superman, in fact—she looked more powerful than a locomotive.

Clark adjusted his glasses. "Wow, Lois! How did you...?"

Lois didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she smirked, tilting her head as she raised one arm and flexed, her bicep swelling like a mountain of coiled steel. The peak pushed against her skin, thick veins pulsing with life, snaking across her arm like tributaries on a map. She turned slightly, catching her reflection in a nearby glass panel, giving herself a once-over before shifting her weight to the side and rolling her shoulders back, making her traps pop.

Then, finally, after one last approving and admiring look at her bicep—her smile swelling almost as big as the peak itself—she answered.

"STAR Labs. They had an experiment for me," Lois said, rolling her shoulder, watching the thick muscle coil and shift under her skin. "No one’s been more exposed to Superman than me, so they figured I was the perfect candidate."

"They wanted to see if Kryptonian energy left any lasting effects on the human body. So, they ran some tests, checked my cells… then gave me something to push the process along."

She smirked. "Some kind of serum. A superhuman protein smoothie, they called it. Something about molecular adaptation, cellular enhancement, Kryptonian radiation synergy—blah, blah, blah. Science talk."

Clark’s brow furrowed. "Superhuman protein smoothie?"

"Yeah. They thought it might make me a little stronger." Her grin widened. "And it did. But then I kept growing."

She rolled her shoulders, her traps bulging, her chest rising as she took in a slow, deep breath. Her biceps swelled just from the motion, pushing against her skin, veins pulsing.

"So they made these weights. Special ones. Dark star metal alloy, they’re heavier and denser than any other mass on the planet. And trust me Smallville, these aren’t ordinary weights, these are way, way heavier than they look. Exponentially so! They’re meant to test just how strong I was getting."

Her smile curled higher. "Only problem was… the more I trained with them… the bigger I got. The stronger I got." And she gave Clark the biggest, hardest most powerful flex of them all, her whole body surged and swelled from the effort, as the muscles upon her body bulged out bigger, and bigger.

Clark’s own eyes grew wider. And wider.

Taking it all in.

Then, still holding the flex, she reached down and grabbed a pair of dumbbells. Not ordinary dumbbells.

Clark’s eyes widened. They were huge. Bigger than he’d ever imagined Lois Lane being able to lift. Bigger than most barbells at a regular gym. Bigger than they had any right to be. And yet, Lois hoisted them with a casual ease, curling them as if they were nothing. Her muscles surged with every motion, thick and powerful, her skin shining under the lab’s fluorescent lights, her veins bulging and pulsing with power.

Clark swallowed. "How?"

Lois grinned, adjusting her grip mid-rep. "I just told you, Smallville." She gave her arms an extra flex as she lifted the weights again, her biceps swelling larger with each curl. "Maybe you should jot this down in that little notepad of yours—unless, of course, you forgot it? You’re always forgetting something." She tsked, shaking her head in mock disappointment before shifting the dumbbells with ease. "Dark star metal alloy."

Clark’s mind reeled. If that was true—if these were actually made of dark star metal—and if what she said about them being far denser and heavier than any other metal was true, then those were even heavier than he thought... And what was it she said—exponentially so—could that be another euphemism of hers?

Regardless, whatever it meant—hyperbole or not—she had hypertrophic muscularity, and she wasn’t just muscular or strong, which would mean—

He gulped at the realization...

She was even stronger than he thought.

And he already thought she was really, really strong. But not only that—it looked like she might also be even stronger than she looked.

And she looked stronger than anyone on the planet. Why, side by side—even against himself, as the mighty Superman—those hyper-massive hypertrophic muscles of hers would make him look like a weakling.

To borrow another of Lois’s hyperbolic euphemisms that she coined for Superman in her articles—

She looked more powerful than the pounding surf! And those mighty female muscles of hers looked mightier than a roaring hurricane!

Then, as if to punctuate it, she let the dumbbells drop.

The instant they hit the ground, the entire room shook.

Tremors spread outward in rippling waves, climbing up Clark’s legs, rattling his spine. The walls trembled, lab equipment rattled, ceiling panels creaked, and the lights flickered from the vibrations.

Clark steadied himself, adjusting his glasses—his jaw still slack, hanging open, almost as if it had been shaken loose from the sheer force of the impact. He barely noticed, still staring, still processing—still in awe of Lois and her superhuman muscularity and strength. Feeling that shockwave from those dumbbells was even more awe-inspiring than he could have ever imagined.

But then again, that was the point. He never could have imagined Lois being this big, this strong, and he couldn’t get over it. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around it—just as he knew he couldn’t, wouldn’t, be able to wrap his hands around those big, beefy, boulder-like biceps of hers. They were muscular mountains, and he just couldn’t get past how incredible she looked and how incredibly strong she was.

Lois, however, was already moving on. She planted her hands on her hips, arching an eyebrow. "Maybe you should take a picture, Smallville—it’ll last longer," she teased, winking at him.

Then, as if just remembering something, she snapped her fingers—sharp, precise, the sound cracking like a gunshot in the quiet lab. "Shoot! I knew I forgot something. I was supposed to tell Jimmy to get over here. After all, this is front-page material, don’t you think?"

Clark barely processed her words. His thoughts were still racing. Just how strong is she?

He wasn’t just impressed—he was amazed. Lois Lane, a human woman, had strength far beyond human standards. It wasn’t just incredible. It should downright impossible.

Yet, he wasn’t worried.

Because he was Superman. And as impressive as her strength was, he knew his was more impressive. He was Kryptonian, after all. And as heavy as those dumbbells were, a person would have to be a dumbbell themselves to think they could compare to his strength.

He was Superman.

And Lois was just a human woman.

Then Lois reached for something even bigger.

A barbell.

A comically large barbell. That wasn’t a euphemism—this was literally the kind of thing he’d seen in the pages of Jimmy’s comics, the type of exaggerated weight some ridiculous four-color comic book superhero might hoist overhead.

Only this wasn’t a comic book.

This was Lois Lane.

And she wasn’t wearing a superhero outfit—just red short shorts and a snug blue sports bra—but standing there, legs braced, muscles coiled, her skin shimmering as her muscles rippled, her veins throbbing and pulsing with strength and power, she looked every inch the hero. And the way the fabric stretched taut over her body, clinging to every curve and contour, every ridge of muscle, each and every sinew and bulge, it almost did resemble a superhero costume.

In fact…

Clark adjusted his glasses again, his pulse quickening.

She looked heroic.

Something about her outfit also felt oddly familiar. Unsettlingly familiar.

And then—with ease—Lois lifted the barbell.

Casually. Effortlessly. With a smooth, controlled grace that defied everything he understood about human strength.

A weight that should have been impossible for anyone but him—for Superman—to lift.

And yet, Lois Lane curled it up, pumping the weight up and down, her biceps surging with each motion. With every rep, her muscles swelled larger, her skin stretching tight over the sheer mass. Her veins pressed out, thick and pulsing, growing bigger and bigger as her biceps ballooned, expanding outward, growing mightier with every effortless movement.

Clark stood there, impressed. Awed. Amazed.

And maybe—just maybe—a little nervous.

He cleared his throat. "Your muscles..."

Lois smirked, curling the massive barbell once, then twice. "What about my muscles, Smallville?"

"T-they’re s-s-so big!" Clark stammered.

"Only just big?" Lois raised an eyebrow. "Don’t you think big is too small of a word to use to describe my muscles? You’re a reporter, Clark. Use some of those big, bold words you’re famous for."

Clark swallowed hard, his mouth dry as he stared at the massive peaks swelling on her arms, at the thick veins pressing against her skin like cables of power. His brain scrambled to find the words, and when he finally did, they tumbled out in a breathless stammer.

"M-massive… mammoth… gigantic… titanic… monumental… colossal…"

Lois chuckled, shifting her grip. With an effortless motion, she slid one hand free and continued curling the barbell one-handed, pumping the weight up and down as if it weighed nothing at all. Each rep made her big bold bicep swell larger, thicker, almost as if her muscles were beaming and swelling with pride as Clark complimented them.

"Good words, Smallville." She grinned and flexed, her free arm swelling, the peaks of her muscles rising higher and higher almost as if they wanted to reach out and touch the vaulted ceiling.  "But don’t forget, my muscles aren’t just monumental or colossal…" She shifted her stance, pressed the barbell overhead, and gave a slow, deliberate flex, her entire body radiating raw dominance.

"They’re strong."

She smirked, holding the weight high, letting that truth sink in.

"Stronger than even Superman’s."

And then—Lois dropped the barbell.

Clark would later describe it in his article with a euphemism, not one he coined himself, but one of modern nomenclature—and being the modern reporter he was, he wrote—she dropped the weight as if it was a mic drop, so certain of her strength and power.

The moment the barbell hit the ground, the entire room shook. Not just the room—Clark felt the floor tremble beneath him, and he trembled along with it. Equipment rattled, the lights flickered once more, shorting out with a sharp crackle before shattering, sending sparks raining down. Dust shuddered loose from the ceiling, swirling in the air.

All of this only seemed to highlight Lois and her monumentally colossal muscles in a way that not even the hyperbolic euphemisms Clark had coined to describe her could ever begin to do.

She loomed large, powerful—resplendent.

To be hyperbolic, Clark would later write in the article, it felt like the beginning of her reign.

Lois stood rock-solid. Unshaken.

Not just in her confidence—but unshaken and unshakable.

Clark, however, staggered, adjusting his stance as the vibrations rippled through his feet. He wasn’t sure if it was the seismic force of the impact—or the earth-shaking claim Lois had just made.

Clark let out a small, nervous chuckle. "That's a mighty big boast, Lois."

Lois smirked and brought her arms down in front of her, clenching her fists together in a most muscular flex. Her bulging biceps erupted, smashing into her brawny breasts as her pecs tensed and swelled, pushing them out even farther. The strain was too much—her blue sports bra stretched to its limit, seams popping off with sharp little snaps, lost in the swell of her flexing muscles.

"And I’ve got really big, mighty female muscles," she said, her voice dripping with confidence.

Clark wiped a dribble of sweat from his forehead. He was sweating. Actually sweating. And he wasn’t the one doing the heavy lifting—Lois was. But that wasn’t why he was sweating.

His eyes flickered to the weights. They seemed to glow with an unearthly shine.

"What proof do you have that you're stronger?" he asked, swallowing hard.

Lois hooked her foot around the bottom of a dumbbell handle and, with a casual flick, kicked it up into her hand. She immediately curled it, her bicep surging once more, each rep erupting out larger and larger.

"Duh. These weights," she said, rolling her eyes. "Smallville, weren’t you paying attention? What did I say about taking notes?"

Clark adjusted his glasses. "S-sorry, Lois, I f-f-forgot."

Lois smirked and curled the dumbbell one more time before shifting her grip. "Well, maybe you won’t forget this."

With a casual ease that belied the sheer impossibility of it, she gripped the dumbbell between both hands—and crushed it.

The solid metal screamed under the pressure of her grip, crumpling like paper.

Clark gulped as another stream of sweat rolled down his face. "B-but what proof do you have that S-S-Superman can’t lift those weights... He is Superman, after all."

Lois wiggled her eyebrows and grinned. "Well, if you don’t believe me, why don’t you try lifting them yourself, Smallville?"

Clark’s eyes widened at the challenge. He usually played the timid, mild-mannered reporter, but a part of him couldn’t help but be shaken by her words—or maybe it was just all the actual shaking that got to him.

Lois laughed heartily. "Why, I bet these might be too heavy even for the Man of Steel."

Clark's pride nudged him, even if his own legs were feeling more rubbery than steel-like at the moment. "Quite the boast, Lois. Seems i-impossible."

Lois leaned forward slightly, her smug grin widening. "Want to know what else?"

Clark swallowed. "W-what else?"

"I bet he can’t even lift the smallest weight here," she said smoothly.

It sounded like an impossible boast. But then again, everything about Lois right now felt impossible.

She smirked. "You should hear all the eggheads here at STAR Labs describe these weights. And even this room. It’s specially designed to contain them—something about pocket dimensions and gravitational flux, or something like that. Keeps everything from collapsing in on itself. Or, you know... ripping a hole in space and time."

Then, with the same casual ease that had left Clark shaken moments ago, she dropped the crumpled weight.

And just like before, it was more than just the weight hitting the ground.

It felt like a bomb went off, albeit—a euphemistic one.

And once again, it sent Clark—and the world—trembling.

"It's true, Clark. These aren't ordinary weights," Lois insisted.

He knew she was right—these weights were certainly heavy, really, really heavy—but he didn’t know just how heavy they actually were.

Still, he just knew there was no way they could ever be too heavy for him.

Too heavy for Superman? That would be impossible.

He was a man who had carried the weight of worlds upon his shoulders—and that wasn’t some euphemism from one of Lois’s articles. It was the truth.

He had lifted entire planets before. What were a few dumbbells compared to an entire world?

He didn’t care what Lois said, and he certainly didn’t care what the scientists at STAR Labs might have said.

Lois pointed to a set of barbells, the smallest of which looked deceptively light.

"Here, try to lift that one," she challenged.

Clark, intrigued to find out just how heavy these weights were—and excited to discover how impossibly strong Lois actually was—stepped forward. Still, he needed to be discreet, mindful of his secret identity.

He approached the tiny little barbell, grabbed hold of it, and smiled, pretending to struggle—only to find, to his absolute shock, that he couldn’t lift it.

He tried again. For real this time.

And yet, the bar didn’t budge.

Again, he strained, but with growing horror, he realized he genuinely couldn't move it.

Sweat beaded on his forehead.

He tried once more, using all his strength, gripping the bar with both hands, his face turning red—redder than his superhero trunks, redder than Lois’s short shorts, which stretched across her skin like a painted-on figure.

And still... nothing.

His muscles burned, his vision blurred. He poured out all his vast super strength—strength that had moved entire planets—and yet the only result was more and more sweat pouring down his face. For a moment, he thought he might actually pass out from the effort.

Lois laughed. "Clearly, you're no Superman, Clark."

Embarrassed, Clark wiped the sweat off his brow and tried again, pushing himself to his absolute limit—and beyond. He was a man who had moved planets, shifted entire worlds—and yet, impossibly, he could not lift this weight.

Words could not begin to describe the storm of emotions raging through his mind, and Clark was an award-winning reporter, and yet even he was at a loss to describe his failure.

And then, with a mere flick of her wrist, Lois plucked up the weight and balanced it on a single finger, flexing triumphantly.

Clark’s mind shattered at the sight, just as that bicep of hers exploded upward, a mountain of flexing power.

He wiped his glasses, still trying to comprehend the impossible.

Lois winked. "Don’t be impressed—this is just a tiny little weight."

Then, with casual ease, she bent the steel around her finger like it was nothing—then flicked it away.

The weight soared across the gym, slamming into the far wall.

A deafening crack rang out.

Spiderweb fissures shot across the floor, the very foundation trembling beneath them.

"I... I can't believe I couldn’t lift it," he muttered, still breathless from the effort.

Lois smiled at him, wiggling her eyebrows. "Well, why should you be able to?" she teased. "You’re not a superman, are you?"

Clark wiped his glasses and repositioned them. Thinking to himself that if only Lois knew the truth, that he’s not really just Clark Kent, but he’s actually not just a superman. I’m thee Superman.

I am Superman!

And yet—I couldn’t lift that weight.

The weight of that realization pressed down on him, almost as heavy as the actual weight itself.

Or perhaps, he thought bitterly, that’s just how the reporter in him would phrase such a hyperbolic euphemism.

"W-well," Clark began, "Lois, a-actually..."

Lois cocked her head. "What?" she said, her smirk widening. "Is there something you want to say to me?"

Before he could answer, she giggled and slapped his shoulder playfully—except "playful" wasn’t the word Clark would have chosen.

The force rocked him.

He stumbled, barely staying on his feet.

It was a good thing he was Superman—because if he had been a mere mortal, Lois might have crushed his very bones to dust, as casually as if he were but a gnat or a fly.

Impossible as it seemed, she really didn’t know her own strength.

And what scared him even more? He didn’t know the limits of it either.

Except, as he gulped and rubbed his shoulder, he knew one thing for certain.

It far exceeded his own.

Lois giggled, flexing her arm and winking. "Oopsie, sorry, Clark—I just don’t know my own strength."

Then she brought her arms up, flexing harder, broader, fuller.

"But I think you’re beginning to understand it..."

Her biceps surged higher, swelling like mountains, her bare arms fully exposed, her strength unbridled.

Then, with a knowing smirk, she added, "Don’t you just hate not knowing personal details about yourself… or about someone you think you know?"

She held his gaze as she said it, flexing again, just slightly, just enough.

Clark swallowed.

For a moment, it almost felt like she was looking straight through him—like, hyperbolic as it seemed, she could see through his dress clothes and straight to the superhero suit beneath.

But that was impossible.

As impossibly strong as she was, she couldn’t know his secret.

Could she?

"Lois, you s-should know..." he began, his voice shaky.

"I’m Su—"

Lois cut him off.

"—per weak compared to me. Yeah, I know," she said, grinning as she clapped him on the other shoulder—this time, the opposite side—but with the same jarring, bone-crunching effect.

Clark felt bones crack, and he let out a tiny, involuntary squeal.

Lois’s eyes widened. "Ohhh, Clark, I’m so, so sorry..." she cooed. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."

Then, with a smirk that didn’t quite match her apology, she added, "It’s just... I keep forgetting my own strength. And I keep forgetting you’re just a small, weak little farm boy from Smallville."

Clark rubbed his shoulder—or tried to. He barely had the strength to lift his arms.

That’s just it, he thought.

"I’m not f-from Smallville, I’m—"

Lois leaned in, cutting him off again.

"Going to contact Superman for me so he can come give me a real challenge, right?" she said as she reared back her arm, about to slap his shoulder again.

Clark couldn’t help it—he braced for the inevitable impact, closing his eyes and wincing…

And then—nothing.

Slowly, and cautiously he opened his eyes, squinting through them, and timidly glanced down, noticing her hand had stopped mere inches from making contact.

Lois just grinned at him, her smile almost as wide as those shoulders of hers—shoulders that utterly dwarfed his, just as her strength utterly dwarfed his own. He was a man—a Superman—bullets could bounce off his chest and it wouldn’t even tickle him, and yet he was flinching from a playful slap from a woman he had rescued not just the other day, but five times in the last two weeks. And now he felt as if he might need someone to rescue him from her!

Then, with a playful wink, she adjusted his glasses for him instead.

Clark’s breath hitched as she looked at him, smiling a knowing smile.

Just what she knew... Clark could only wonder.

"I mean, you’re the only one who knows how to contact him," she said smoothly. "And right now, I’d love to get in touch with him," she said, slapping him on the back, sending him doubling over.

"...And find out just how much stronger I am than him."

Clark winced, looking up at her, still bent forward. He could only begin to guess just how much stronger than him she really was, if he was a normal man and not Superman he might very well have been nothing more than just a puddle on the STAR Labs floor right now.

Lois folded her brawny arms, her smirk beaming almost as much as those biceps of hers bulged. "Anyway, Clark, what was it you were saying?"

Clark straightened up, trying to appear as heroic as possible.

His back ached.

His shoulders burned as he tried to flare them out.

His arms hung limply.

His legs trembled.

His knees buckled.

His chest hitched as he tried to puff it out.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand tall.

"L-Lois, I’m Super—"

Before he could finish, Lois finished for him.

"—man."

She gripped his blazer—and with one effortless tug, she ripped it off—along with his dress pants!

His dress shirt came along with it, buttons snapping, fabric tearing away in an instant.

His iconic S-emblem was exposed.

His superhero suit lay bare beneath.

Clark Kent had just lost his disguise.

And Lois Lane stood there, smiling.

"Yeah, Smallville," she said with a wink. "I know."

“B-but... h-how did you know?” Superman stammered exasperatedly.

"Wasn't much of a secret, Clark," Lois replied, playfully flicking the glasses off his head—splitting them right in half with the sheer power of her little flick.

"Great Scott!" Clark gasped. He caught his breath, reassessing the situation—reassessing Lois Lane, who was still just as large and imposing in front of him, a veritable mountain of muscle.

"So... what do we do now?" he asked her.

"Well," Lois grinned, winking at him, "I want to test my strength against Superman's."

Clark groaned. "But why? We both know you're stronger than me."

Lois’s grin widened. "Yes, but I want to know just how much stronger... besides, of course, the fact that I’m very, very, very much stronger than you. I think STAR Labs might use the word exponentially stronger than you. And I think I’ll use that in my article to describe it as well."

Later, when Lois wrote and published that article, she would go on to do just that—using the word correctly and spelled properly, although she did have to ask Clark how it was spelled. That was something she always did, and Clark couldn’t help but think, Is this what I’m reduced to? All these superpowers, and I’m her super spell-checker?

But right now, Clark wasn’t helping her spell words—though he was trying to spell out all his reasons for saying no to Lois and her arm-wrestling challenge. He tried to dissuade her, listing every excuse he could think of, but Lois was adamant—insisting, refusing to take no for an answer.

Clark shook his head. "Lois, no. This is ridiculous. We already know you're stronger than me—what's the point?"

Lois just grinned, wiggling her eyebrows. "Oh, c'mon, Smallville. It'll be fun."

Clark groaned. He thought to himself for her, maybe. For him, not so much.

Before he could argue further, Lois grabbed hold of his cape and started walking—straight toward one of the bigger dumbbells, the kind that would be used in lieu of a table. Tugging on his cape, she pulled him along effortlessly, as if he were just a small little dog on a leash instead of a superpowered superhero—Superman—who was as immovable as any immovable object ever could be.

And yet, Lois moved him with ease.

Clark stumbled behind her, dragged along in her wake, his protests ignored. Just before they reached the dumbbell, Lois gave one mighty heave and tug on his cape—and suddenly, Clark was spinning like a top, twirling uncontrollably before landing perfectly in position, standing to the side of the dumbbell, right where she wanted him.

As he steadied himself, using the big immovable dumbbell to regain his balance and get into position and his place for the arm wrestling match, he couldn't help but question Superman’s position and place in Metropolis when there was a Lois Lane who was exponentially stronger than Superman.

But he didn’t have time to ponder. Lois was already moving into position, settling herself in for the arm-wrestling match.

While Clark already knew the outcome, what did surprise him was Lois holding out only her pinky for him to grip.

Not only that—Lois was using just her pinky against Clark’s two hands and arms!

"I'll just use this to make it fair," she said. "Well, as fair as I can make it. I can’t exactly arm-wrestle with my pinky toe now, can I?" She winked at him, wiggling her little finger playfully.

Clark swallowed hard and took her pinky in his hands, trying to play along, but he already knew—this was going to be humiliating. He tried not to let that thought settle in, tried to push past it just as he’ll be trying in a few seconds to push Lois’s pinky, but Lois had humbled him in ways that words could never convey, and it’s not just because he was now arm wrestling her pinky finger. And despite being a veteran, ace reporter, he knew he’d forever lack the words to describe exactly how he felt in this moment.

Later, when he read Lois’s article, he’d realize that she found the words for him. And those words not only reminded him of his humiliation, but humiliated and humbled him further, and so no matter how low he sinks now, it wouldn’t until later that he’d learn the true depths of him humiliation—even if he never does learn the true scope and limits of Lois’s power and strength...

Maybe she doesn’t have any? Superman was about to find out or attempt to.

And with great humility and trepidation, he tightened his grip, determined to do his best.

But it all soon turned out far worse for Superman.

The match began.

Superman had always been the immovable object, his strength unmatched, his power unrivaled—then, in this moment, Clark truly felt an immovable object.

Because no matter how hard he pushed, no matter how much strength he poured into it, Lois’s small, tiny, little pinky finger didn’t budge.

And she wasn’t even trying.

It wouldn’t be hyperbole to describe Lois as the irresistible force, then the moment the match started, Clark had finally met an object he couldn’t move, and her name was Lois Lane.

Lois smirked, yawning exaggeratedly. "C'mon, Smallville, don't tell me that’s all you've got."

Superman gritted his teeth, his arms trembling, muscles bulging, sweat pouring down his face. His fingers locked around her pinky and him pushing and pulling and yanking and praying with all his might. But the only movement was his own shaking arms, while Lois sat there cool as ever, watching him struggle.

Clark grunted through clenched teeth. "H-how is this possible!?"

Lois smirked. "I told you, Smallville. Next to me, you're no Superman."

Then, with a flick of her pinky, she slammed his arm down so fast that Clark was sent tumbling down to the ground, hitting the floor with a loud thud that shook the room and put new cracks in the floor.

Lois loomed over Clark, flexing her muscles victoriously, even though she didn’t need those muscles to beat him—just her tiny, itty-bitty pinky finger. "Now, isn’t this just super?” she said.

Clark groaned as he tried to shake out the cobwebs in his head. He was Superman, and he was, in fact, wearing his superhero costume. He considered himself somewhat of an expert on all things super, and yet, sprawled out on the floor, having suffered the most humiliating loss of his entire life—not at the hands of Lois Lane, but rather at her pinky—he didn’t see what was so super about any of this.

“Don’t you just think this is going to make a great story, Clark? That I'm more super than Superman?" she beamed, flexing a bicep that swelled like a mountain.

Clark sighed, rubbing his sore arm. He didn’t really like the idea of the story itself, but he couldn’t argue the fact that she was more super than him now—and he most certainly didn’t want to get into an argument with her right now.

Lois bent down and offered him a hand to help him up. Clark hesitated—for good reason.

But before he could react, her grip closed around his hand and yanked him to his feet in an instant—so fast, so strong, that pain shot through his fingers. He winced, immediately shaking out his crushed hand.

Lois giggled. "Oopsie! Sorry, Clark—I keep forgetting just how strong I am... and how weak you are next to me."

Clark grumbled, flexing his aching fingers. "Lois, it's Superman."

Lois cocked her head. "What was that, Smallville?"

Clark shifted his feet awkwardly, continuing to rub his sore hand. "When I’m wearing my outfit, I’m Superman," he muttered—though even as he said it, he didn’t truly believe the words himself. Right now, he felt less like a superpowered superhero and more like a silly little man wearing a pair of pajamas.

Lois laughed—a big, booming laugh, her thick neck muscles bulging, her chest bouncing with the motion.

Then she clapped him on the back—multiple times. Each "playful" slap not only made his knees buckle and his chest hunch over, but the sheer force of it drove his feet into the floor, the impact cracking the ground around them.

Pat after playful pat, she drove Clark down—nailing him into the ground like a stake, his red superhero boots sinking deep into the cracked floor.

"Are you Superman?" Lois teased, smirking down at him.

Clark grit his teeth and tried to rise, to show her that he was still Superman. It took effort—more effort than it ever should have—but he finally managed to straighten up, forcing himself to stand tall.

"I’m Superman," he said, hoping the words sounded more convincing than he felt.

Lois winked. "I’m just teasing ya, Smallville."

She lifted her palm to her lips, kissed it softly—her big, brawny, bulging bicep flexing and hardening as she did—then blew him the kiss.

The force of it alone nearly sent him flying across the room, had Lois not grabbed him by the cape. She yanked him back, and into her arms, those brawny, impossibly strong thews wrapping around him, making the Man of Steel feel more like the Man of Tin Foil as she crushed him in a passionate embrace.

And then—she kissed him.

A kiss so strong. So powerful. So passionate, it didn’t just leave him breathless—it made him weak in the knees. When Lois finally set him back down, he nearly collapsed. Once again, she had to steady him to keep him from falling over.

It might have sounded like a hyperbolic euphemism, but that kiss felt like an ecstatic, euphoric eruption of ecstasy more powerful than a thousand suns—and that would actually be putting it mildly...

At least, that’s how the mild-mannered reporter would phrase it in his article—if Lois let him share the byline like how she promised she would.

Clark would also describe how the kiss had left the Man of Steel feeling like literal and figurative putty in Lois’s hands—but, of course, he wouldn’t ever mention the one part of him that was still as steely as ever...

The part of him that was bulging out against his red trunks!

She winked. "Now, get going! And you better be faster than a streak of lightning," she said to him, quoting one of her seldom-used euphemisms about Superman’s super-speed.

"Try not to be late for once. Only stop to save the day—don’t stand around in the spotlight playing the hero… Although, you might want to savor it while you still can."

She placed her hands on her hips, striking his iconic superhero pose. Then she puffed up her chest, flared out her shoulders, and her entire body swelled even bigger, a living monument to sheer power. Clark Kent—the man also known as Superman—couldn’t help but wonder if there was even room in that spotlight for both of them anymore. He had a sneaking suspicion he might forever be in Lois’s shadow.

And those would be the words—a tad euphemistic, a bit hyperbolic perhaps—on which he would end his article.

Lois, however, would end her article differently.

She would declare that a new hero had arrived in Metropolis, and she vowed to make the city—and the entire world—safer than ever before.

And that, as it turned out, wasn’t just hyperbole.

It was a promise she kept.

Many, many times over.

And there it was, printed front and center on the Daily Planet—"Bye-Bye, Superman" with the sole byline reading Lois Lane. Beneath it, the accompanying photo by Jimmy Olsen captured Lois Lane looking larger than life—and, of course, way, way larger, more muscular, and more super than Superman himself.