#wolverine inspired

Superman, if described in one short word, would be called kind. He protected Metropolis with his life, sacrifices himself for the biggest and even the smallest of creatures. That farm-boy from Smallville, Kansas developed such a sense of love for the Earth he wasn’t even from.

People adored him, that golden boy drenched in sun with sparkling dimples in his cheeks. Children dressed as him for Halloween, news reporters fawned over each piece thrown together by journalists, and generally, most admired him—well, all except one.

This other superhero who went by the name of Wolverine, drenched in royal blue, gold, and pure brooding.

He’d first spotted her chasing down a man who’d ripped the bag out of an elderly woman’s hands, mid-flight and ready to serve justice—only for the thief to be brutally tackled and sent to the hospital with a busted nose. Press went insane, speculations arising regarding who this new superhero was and if she’d join Justice Gang.

Clark received stories about her constantly at the Daily Planet, sightings, tons of critique, and equal amounts of support (which included Clark himself). Admittedly, he was fascinated—not by the fact that there was a new superhero but because he had not spoken to her once, not even a quip in passing. She kept to herself, apparently had told Guy Gardner to fuck off after he offered her a place in the Justice Gang—which ended those speculations pretty quickly.

In three weeks, Superman was actively seeking out Wolverine like a lost puppy—though he denied it when Guy would comment on the way he hovered farther and farther from central New Troy into Hob’s Bay.

Hob’s Bay was Wolverine’s most frequented district, the large skyscrapers of New Troy transitioning into rundown apartments and lopsided infrastructure. It wasn’t as glamorous as Hell’s Gate or Queensland Park, but the people who lived there needed help the most.

Hob’s Bay, otherwise known as Suicide Bay, had been infamous for its high crime rate and its low police activity. The mayor turned a blind eye to the people’s suffering, focusing funds on LuthorCorp, which backed majority of the infrastructure projects in the city. If there was one thing the Wolverine despised more than the crappy police department in Hob’s Bay, it was LuthorCorp.

Maybe that’s why on a random Saturday evening, she finally left Hob’s Bay as a giant machine tanks were trampling New Troy. Clark had been caught up with work at the Daily Planet, balancing his secret identity with his work life had grown tough over the past few months with the influx of stories entering and leaving their hands.

Rumbling in the streets were the first thing that alerted him of something being wrong, next was the sound of screams—then an explosion, fiery hot and angry. He’d managed to pass it off as journalism work, slipping out the back of the building as he stripped himself of his work attire into that familiar scheme of red, blue, and gold.

The ground shook with the each rotation of those heavy metal wheels, cracks in the concrete deepening as their engines burst alive and released exhaust. Soon, the tanks stalled—stilling head on at something that was at first blocked by jagged edges and oxidized bulk.

Superman’s cape billowed as he shot up into the sky, air curving around him as he cut clean through until he was finally able to see what was ahead. That familiar royal blue and gold caught his eye immediately, then that sickening red.

Wolverine swayed slightly as a small child, no older than six, stood tucked away behind her. Blood dripped down her left arm, or moreso her lack of arm. The right was burned crisp, caught in crossfire and the flesh was an angry red beneath the cracked skin. Three blades stuck out from between reddened knuckles, breathing ragged within her chest as her teeth were gritted together painfully tight.

Clark had seen violence before, had seen the wounds that formed when LuthorCorp was allowed to push the boundaries of humanity. He’d felt the anger, the sorrow that cuts deep and sits in one’s chest, festering. He could see that same anger within Wolverine’s eyes as she stumbled back for a moment, steadying herself on an ankle too twisted and mangled to be stable.

“Golly, are you okay? You need to get out of here, you’re hurt—.”

“You’re late, Supershit.” Her teeth were remained gritted as she spat out the annoying nickname, not full of hatred but not exactly fond either. Wolverine’s eyes flickered down behind her, taking in the little boy’s shaken state—far too young to truly process the danger he was in. There was a pause in her voice as she coughed, blood dribbling past the corner of her lips before she quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. “Get the kid out of here.”

The words were spoken more in a rasp than an actual sentence, but Clark took one look at that little boy and knew. His voice was as gentle as the breeze as he kneeled down, heart tugging and clenching at the shaky hands that quickly grabbed onto his own.

“Let’s get you home, buddy.”

Superman shot off into the sky with that tiny form burrowed between his arms, heart beating double the speed of his own.

A street over, a mother stood in her front lawn—heart hammering within her chest as she searched both ends of the street. Her lips parted in a shout of a name the child in his arm’s immediately recognized, scrambling to touch that familiar freshly mowed grass the moment Clark’s feet grazed the surface.

The mother’s eyes fell upon that little boy and relief flooded her face, feet stumbling over themselves as she scooped her son into her arms. Her mouth spilled out words of appreciation, scolding her son in between each phrase.

Superman remained just long enough to watch them enter the safety of their homes, door swinging shut against its frame before he rose into the sky again. He hovered through the clouds, weightless as he soared—eyes endlessly scanning for the tanks, but the further he flew, the more he was unable to sense them.

Guy Gardner stood in the center of a ring of journalists and paparazzi, a sea of cameras snapping angles to shove into their latest story. Superman hovered for a moment before landing beside him, Guy’s words lost in his ears as he spoke to one of the reporters. “What happened to the tanks?”

Guy didn’t look at Clark as the paparazzi continued to snap photos, simply just tilting his head toward Hobsneck Bridge.

“Why don’t you go ask wolvy over there?”

Charles would’ve scolded you for smoking after a mission, would’ve told you it was a bad habit in some philosophical way that made you question the world. You didn’t give a damn, never did—but ever since moving to Metropolis, you’d begun to miss the way he’d scold you.

Your arms and legs hurt like hell, freshly healed skin stretching thin over aching bones. Your mask clung to the sweaty skin of your face. The sun was too bright, reflecting off the water and directly into your eyes but your ankle was too fucked for you to actually stand—so you sat, legs spread out upon piles of junk metal that were once tanks.

You blinked once, then twice—eyes watering as a cloud that blocked the sun floated out of the way, blinding you once more. After the second blink, you’d given up, opting to lean back against that rather uncomfortable cushion of bars beneath you as your eyes closed shut. Birds chirped as they floated to their nests atop the bridge, waters swaying and splashing against the posts. If you weren’t in so much pain, you might’ve found it relaxing—hell, you’d been in pain so long with this damned mutation that having your arm exploded off was the least of your worries.

A shadow, one far too deliberately placed, suddenly blocked the sun from your eyes. Opening your eyes rather reluctantly, Superman stood in front of you—tall bulking figure working as the perfect reprieve from the sunlight, except now he looked like a damn comic book cover of a superhero. His hair was perfectly curled, dimples etched into his cheeks as a smile was wedged into his lips.

For such a large guy, he seemed weirdly small just standing there—waiting for you to notice him like a puppy needing attention. You snuffed the cigarette onto the pile beneath you, shifting as you released an almost ungodly groan for your age, rolling up to sit straight. As much as you wished you could’ve sounded nicer, which you didn’t, exhaustion had already ate away at your body and you had a shift that started in approximately… half an hour, and you were covered in blood and shit. “What?”

“Hi,” He seemed to become brutally aware of how eager he sounded right after he spoke, clearing his throat as he tried (and failed) to shift into something more casual. “Uh… Hey. You’re really good.”

“…thanks.”

“No—like shockingly good.” Superman shifted side to side, his words growing less confident by the moment as if you were going to punch him for just breathing wrong—which you might for that comment.

You were quick to raise a brow, a chuckle catching in your throat as you watched his face drop, panic flooding his oversized form. “Surprised I can keep up with you, Superman?”

“No, no—! I’m sorry, I apologize. Uhm, I just…” Superman trailed off, brows furrowing as he thought of what to say—what words would remedy the apparent wrongdoing he’s committed. “I haven’t spoken to you at all since you started patrolling Hob’s Bay.”

“Yeah, you haven’t. Didn’t think that’d be a big deal to you, Wonder Boy.” Your ankle was almost fully healed, pain subsiding into an odd tingle as you crossed one leg over the other—eyes tracing from his boots up to his face, to those eyes as clear as the ocean. Fuck, he was perfect.

“I like to know who I’m workin’ with.”

“We aren’t a team, bub.” You were quick—far too quick to answer. You didn’t like teams—hadn’t liked them since the incident, since… you quickly blinked away the memories that ate at your mind.

The words were grossly sincere leaving his lips, eyes softening far too much. Meeting his gaze with your own, you began to understand just for a flicker of a moment why people loved him so much—why he was the comforting presence that blanketed the city and not someone like Guy Gardner. “I know, but I’d like to think we could be.”

That softness seeped into your bones, tugging your heart in a way that made you nauseous—biting back the feeling with a sharp drawl of air into your lungs. “Yeah… uh, you know, I’m not exactly big on the whole chit chat thing. So… I’m going to leave now.”

You stood, rolling your ankle once before applying your weight onto the limb. It felt fine, a little bit sore but stable enough to carry your ass back home and through your shift at the Ace O’ Clubs.

“Oh,” His posture hunched like he was mentally scolding himself for scaring you away, voice slipping into an almost pathetic pitch. “Okay, well… bye! See you soon!”

“Yeah…” You began, carefully navigating past jagged pipes and slabs of various metals. Hobsneck bridge, though connected to the technical slums of the city, had one of the most gorgeous sunsets you’d ever seen—the glow reflecting across the minimal amount of skin your costume showed. “No thanks.”

As much as Superman seemed nice, you weren’t exactly big on the idea of Big Blue tagging along with you for missions—in fact, you want him to stick to New Troy where he belonged. He was a superhero—you weren’t. You never considered yourself that beautiful beacon of hope, you were just a mutant, someone unfortunately born with powers—someone whose team died because of those powers.

The whole situation at New Troy had set you back twenty minutes for your shift, still stuck at your apartment scrubbing dirt, blood, and whatever the fuck else off your skin before messily throwing on your dingy polo and slacks.

The bar was exceptionally busy each time there was a Superman sighting, the owner himself probably being one of his biggest fans. You had regulars, of course, a couple who was too damn touchy but tipped you too well for you to say anything, a group of women who always left more sober than when they arrived somehow, and Jimmy fucking Olsen.

You don’t know how Jimmy did it, but each weekend he’d show up to the Ace o’ Clubs with a girl on his arm that was an absolute smoke show—so hot it burned and he was just… there. Then he’d come back the next day, have one too many shots of vodka before telling you all about how the last girl was sweet but “too much for him”. It was like clockwork at this point, but at least he tipped decently and genuinely thought of you as friend.

Hell, sometimes he’d even ask you about your own life—as stagnant as it was besides the whole mutant gig.

“Nothing much, just been dealing with work.” You swiped a towel over a freshly cleaned glass, soaking up droplets as Jimmy rested his head into the palm of his hand.

“You say this every damn time.” Jimmy groaned out before taking a long sip of a vodka cranberry you’d made half an hour ago. “Keep your secrets, but you’ve gotta be getting laid at least once in a while.”

“Maybe I don’t stick my dick in everything that moves. Seriously, these chicks are too pretty for you.”

Swinging the towel over your shoulder, you put the glass into its designated spot. Admittedly, working as a bartender wasn’t exactly ideal but there was a flow to it that you appreciated. As you took the order of the next group, Jimmy continued to whine and complain about his romantic life.

“I know—I know, they’re like, goddesses. And they get so attached after like, one date.”

The look that came across your face was nothing short of peeved as you slid the man beside Jimmy his drink. “Holy shit, you’re literally just bragging right now.”

Jimmy hands raised as his shoulders shrugged. “I’m not! Imagine how it feels to have someone obsessed with you after just talking once!”

Embarrassingly, your mind immediately drifted to that familiar Wonder Boy drenched in red, gold, and blue—how his eyes were so keenly focused on you. It wasn’t rocket science to know he was at least minimally fascinated by the Wolverine, but it was just that—a childish fascination with a fantasy ‘hero’.

When you snapped back to reality, and to a rather annoyed Jimmy, you turned on the glamour—fanning your face dramatically as you plopped olives into martini glass. “Oh, my name’s Jimmy, life is so hard having so many women fawn over me.”

“Dude.”

“What? That’s literally how you sound.” You didn’t even try to feign innocence as you served your last order for now, shifting to where your hip was resting against the counter across from Jimmy.

“Whatever.” The Ace O’ Clubs never failed to be busy on a Saturday night, but especially not after Superman’s arrival earlier. You’d be raking in tips till three AM, but for now, it was nice to feel like it was just you and Jimmy—talking like friends, even if he’d never know everything about you. “By the way, I invited a friend along tonight. Try to be nice to him.”

A friend? You were tempted to remark that Jimmy didn’t have friends and this guy surely had to be a hallucination, but there was a certain sincerity in his posture as he spoke—like he was scared you’d tear his friend to shreds like a pack of hyenas.

You scoffed out, turning your back to Jimmy as you got to work once more. “I’m always nice.”

Thirty minutes later, a man came awkwardly pushing through the drunken crowd. Jimmy introduced him to you as Clark Kent, the Smallville farmer’s boy with a heart too big for his body (which was admittedly, also massive).

“And this here, is the worst bartender in Metropolis.” Jimmy chuckled as he downed his second glass, cheeks rosy and flushed in the dim lighting of the Ace o’ Clubs. “But she listens to me, so we tip her well.”

A grunt left your lips as you eyed Jimmy, gaze soon tracing up to meet Clark as he sat down—hands clasped together far too politely for the type of place he was in. You flipped your towel over your shoulder once more, gliding over to the countertop as you jutted your finger out towards the most flowery drink on the menu, something in your gut recognizing that look on his face, that familiar furrow of brows as he thought too hard as his tongue pushed against his cheek.

“Try the Dirty Shirley.”

Three drinks later, Clark was still sober as ever and Jimmy was passed out on the countertop.

“So, you work at the Daily Planet with Jim-boy over here?” Your hip was slotted comfortably against the wooden surface, elbow supporting the weight of your upper body.

“Yep.”

“Is he also a mess at work, or does he just reserve that for me?”

Clark took a moment to think, lips puckering around the bright red straw before releasing—arms coming to rest up on the countertop parallel to yours. “He’s a mess, but maybe less of a mess during day hours. Lois tells him to zip it all the time.”

You snapped your fingers as if you had just solved a mystery. “Damn, so that’s why he tips me so well.”

“You’re also just a good bartender,” Clark chuckled beneath his breath, stirring sweet syrup within his cup. He was weirdly sincere almost all of the time, voice far too soft spoken like he was overly conscious of his existence. “but you listen to his guy-talk, so I guess he’s biased.”

“Bub, I have no problem with bias if it pays my bills.”

The bar had begun to clear out as it got later in the night, the regulars already drunk off their asses and stumbling out the door while the last few remaining customers had gravitated toward plush booth seats rather than the hard wooden bar stools.

Clark took a glance around, blue eyes still somehow extremely striking even with the glare of lights upon his thick rimmed glasses. Something about his mannerisms and his scent was familiar, right on the tip of your tongue but you couldn’t quite place it. “You work here full-time?”

“Yeah, for the last year.” You pushed yourself from the counter, grabbing a glass you’d already cleaned but figured what harm could one more scrub do. “How’s work at the Daily Planet?”

He drank down the last few sips of the Shirley, red liquid disappearing between puckered lips before that familiar empty noise filled the space between. You were quick to hand him a napkin, eyeing the bit of grenadine that had pooled at the bottom of the cup and stuck to his lips like a gloss. Clark wiped his face, gaze following yours with a terrifying accuracy that made you break eye contact almost immediately before clearing his throat.

“Honestly? Stressful, a bunch of deadlines and with all this Wolverine content coming in, it can be difficult to keep up.”

“People are talking about Wolverine?” You stilled, hand tightening around the slick glass in your palm.

“Yeah, all the time! Everyone wants to know who this new superhero is. I mean, she is pretty cool—and strong… and amazing.” Clark spoke with this almost dreamlike cadence, like she was his school crush. You swore you saw his eyes visibly sparkle just at the mention of your hero persona, shoving down the urge to roll your eyes.

“I don’t think she’s that cool.”

His posture straightened, brows furrowing once more as his once starstruck look was replaced by skepticism. “Really? I mean, she took down a bunch of tanks without any help.”

“Someone like her should be helping people who can’t help themselves, it’s not rocket science. It’s not something that needs an audience.” Charles had always emphasized how, as someone with… special abilities, it was your job to help those in need the most—to be the hero people needed. Shit, even six feet in the grave, you still heard his voice telling you about how you needed to stop hiding yourself. In truth, you fucking hated these powers—despised them. Not because they made you different, because you were too damn weak to control them even when your team needed you most.

“Where I’m from, people like her… they’re shunned—mutants. Some of them manage to hide their powers, but the ones like her… they parade around showing off their abilities, and someone always gets hurt as a result.”

Maybe that’s why you’d quit the idea of teams after they’d died. Because you knew deep down that you were scared of what could happen if you let someone get close to you like that again—if you let someone truly know you.

“…wow.” There was a dense silence that settled between the two of you, your hands moving just as quick as your mind—grabbing Clark’s glass and refilling it. “Well, in Metropolis, the people need someone to look up to.”

“They need someone to rely on, whether it’s the Justice Gang, Superman… or Wolverine. Just a single light of hope can really make a difference.” A warm bubbled within your chest at those words, your movements stilling as they wormed into your mind—tugging somewhere deep in your heart that you’d locked away. Unfortunately for Metropolis, feelings had never been your strength—so you shoved down whatever you felt and sent it with a chaser of vodka.

“Holy shit, you really are a journalist—almost inspired me to go change the world there.” You laughed in a way that felt just a bit too pitchy to be real, too strained, but Clark didn’t say anything, even as his eyes narrowed for a moment.

Instead, he chuckled. “Yeah.”

As much as you’d love to say that Clark’s words rolled right off your shoulder, you’d spent the last three days thinking them over—mulling through each syllable like they held the answer to the universe, like they’d explain why your teammates were gone and you were the last one standing like some fucking war hero. Except you never felt like a hero, no matter how much you wished you could.

It didn’t help that Superman also was hovering in Hob’s Bay more often than not, that dopey smile of his etched in sunlight as his shadow cast down from high above. He was really convinced about this idea of teamwork, trying to include you in Metropolis affairs that you truthfully didn’t give a damn about—but it was kind of cute hearing the way he’d stutter over his words, how he’d invite you on his next mission or offer to help you on your patrol.

You’d never admit it out loud, but you started to grow fond of Superman in some sense—a routine forming like clockwork. During the day, you’d go through your patrol with that massive kryptonian form hovering nearby, talking your ear off and for some reason, you’d listen. Then, when the sun finally set and your shift at the Ace O’ Clubs started, then you’d spend your time talking with your newest regular, Clark Kent.

Clark was an oddball, those blue eyes piercing your own and captivating your attention with a ridiculous effortlessness. He spoke in a way that inspired you, and you hated it—hated the way you wanted more for yourself just based on a few words that left his lips, and he always spoke with this sincerity that made your stomach feel heavy and your heart stir after it’d felt cold for so long.

Fuck him, fuck Superman—fuck them both for making you feel needed, for feeling wanted in a world that you didn’t actually belong.

You were following your regular routine, except instead of meeting Superman in Hob’s Bay, you found yourself in the middle of Metropolis Park with a splitting headache and a giant fucking squirrel-demon thing that was attempting to swallow the only decent burger joint in Metropolis. Green Lantern had put a muzzle on the anomaly, only for it to get immediately ten times more irritated as it threw a tree at that very same green beacon of light—effectively wiping out himself and Hawkgirl in one go.

“On your left!” Mr.Terrific cut through the air, filling in for his teammates mildly embarrassing wipeout.

“Watch out for the paws!” Superman soared past you after Mr.Terrific and you mentally cursed both of them for being able to fly as your boots pounded against the concrete, claws extending out of your knuckles, a burning heat soaring through your nerves as a result.

The tree’s trajectory was in line with a group of bystanders, panic filling their eyes as they scrambled to move from its path. Some were quick enough to be just behind the radius of its massive bushy branches, but the few that were incapable would die from the impact—a painful and slow death. You shouted for them to clear out of the area as you sprinted, legs burning as they tensed.

Swinging your body in front of the remaining bystanders, you angled your fists toward the tree and its branches—blades slotting into the woods like a knife holder. Branches and twigs scratched against the material of your suit, tearing at the fabric that you’d just freshly sewn back together. The force of the tree brought you to a knee, bracing against its heavy weight as all your muscles tensed so that you wouldn’t immediately collapse. Your vision was filled with a flurry of green shit and twigs, completely encompassed until the momentum of the tree had finally died out and you were able to swing it safely to the side.

You’d told the pedestrians to clear out, to get away—you expected all attention to be focused on Superman as he landed a well placed punch onto the demon-squirrel. But as you shook the remnants of wood from your blades, one clap filled the air, then another, and another after that until the people you’d just saved were cheering and screaming for you.

“We love you, Wolverine!”

It was weird—being celebrated like this, left your chest feeling tight.

The sun peaked out from the clouds, casting warm rays down on your face that for once didn’t feel blinding—they felt like they were meant for you. For the first time, in a long time, you’d felt like a hero. The wave you gave to them was meek, far too unconfident for someone who had literal blades for hands, but it was yours—swinging around on your heel as you began to sprint back into the battleground.

You felt lighter, but definitely not light enough to not feel the metal wall of a fucking bus hitting you.

“Shit.”

The first sensation that greeted you was the cold, chilling through you to your adamantium bones. Then hands, ones that didn’t exactly feel soft like a humans, prodding your abdomen and side—and a feminine robotic voice that followed.

“She is gaining consciousness.”

The blue fluorescent lights were blinding as you jerked your eyes open, squinting at your surroundings. You felt more like you were in a weird ass winter wonderland with the way crystals protruded from the floor and coated the ceiling, snow piled up in the corners of the fortress. A groan left your lips as pain flooded your body, whatever was broken slowly mending itself again.

Then, teal and silver colored robot leaned over you with the engraving twenty six on its chest.

“What the FUCK.” You jolted, claws slotting themselves into what you could only describe as the robot’s stomach.

“No, wait! Don’t—!”

Superman rushed out from around one of the crystal structures, but it was too late as you’d already flipped the robot over you—slamming it down into the table as it released a loud metal clang. You must’ve looked insane with the way Superman put his hands up in the air, eyeing you like a feral animal as you hopped down from the examination table.

“Where the fuck am I?” You didn’t retract your claws as you approached him, his feet tracking backwards until he was pressed against the edge of a large panel that’s technology was far too advanced to be from Earth. “What the hell were your little freak robots doing?”

“Woah—woah, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down—Jesus, that’s literally the last thing you tell someone who’s freaked out. Where the fuck am I, Supershit?” The blades drew closer to his neck, Superman’s head tilting back to avoid getting nicked. Your fingers found purchase in the cloth across his chest, balling the fabric tight.

A small pout pulled at the corners of his lips, unable to be bitten back as he huffed out. “I don’t exactly appreciate that name.”

“I don’t appreciate being kidnapped.”

“Jesus, you weren’t kidnapped!” That’s when he said it—said your name, not the persona but your true identity. You bristled, blades drawing even closer as Superman’s hands scrambled for something behind him.

“Where did you hear that name?” The words were hissed out, warning bells screeching in your wind as everything in your body told you to attack. Turns out being a mutant who grew up in a world that hated you will do that to you.

Superman’s hand swing from behind him and you visibly flinched, eyes closing shut tightly as you braced for impact.

“Look at me.”

You didn’t open your eyes immediately, instead slowly squinting them open.

“…Clark?”

Superman—or well, Clark—was leaned back, thick-rimmed glasses hanging low on his nose as his curls were messily strewn across his forehead. God, you knew something was familiar about him, the scent, the way he fumbled with his hands. It all screamed in your face and you were too blinded to see it.

“Surprise?” The words were delivered with a shrug, those familiar blue eyes flitting behind you for a moment—causing you to turn your head. A ring of robots had formed around the two of you, staring—waiting and watching for your next move. Your fist slowly withdrew while your blades retracted, taking one large step back before raising your hands in surrender.

“Take me home. Now.”

Yeah, you were pissed.

The Ace O’ Clubs was extremely busy tonight, like somehow double the amount of business it’d typically get. Jimmy had gotten food poisoning and texted you mid-vomit that he wouldn’t be making it tonight, which soured your mood even more than it’d already been.

You were engaged in a dull conversation with your regular couple, hands draped in placed you did not care to see or think about as you poured their drinks. They didn’t make you laugh the way Jimmy did—the way Clark had, but you still gave that signature costumer service smile and the occasional giggle.

Your sense of smell was blinded by layers of perfume, ears boxed in by the sound of chatter all around. Wiping up the back counter, you’d begun to drown out all the noise around you—mind wandering to a different place, a different time.

“Could I have a Dirty Shirley, please?” That voice—his voice, always managed to draw your attention.

The glare you sent his way felt intended to kill even if you were throwing together one of the sweetest drinks on the menu, practically candy in a cup. You added too much grenadine this time, watching it pool at the bottom before topping it with lime and ginger ale.

You slid the cup toward Clark. “Here’s your order, sir.”

He took one sip from that vibrant red straw, brows furrowing as his lips drew tight together. “That’s… that’s good.”

Clark was just trying to be polite—trying to put you in a good mood after you’d really considered killing him, or at least trying to, earlier. He continued to sip the drink in silence until it was down to the last drop, syrup sucked through the straw and all. When he ordered another one instead of leaving, that’s when you finally snapped at him—placing your rag upon the counter with more force than needed.

“What the hell do you want?” You hissed out, leaning forward onto your forearms.

Clark’s hands rested on the counter beside your arms as he whispered. “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have taken off your mask, but you were hurt—.”

“I’ve been hurt plenty of other times. I was fine—.”

“Yes, but I was there this time.” The words were scoffed out, Clark’s thick brows drawing together as his eyes began to swirl with an emotion too familiar and too painful for you to delve into. “I wasn’t going to just—just leave you there!”

“Why? Why is it so important to you if I’m injured—!” You shot back, fire filling your veins.

“Because you’re a good person, and a good hero. You’re one of the things I swore to protect.” Clark’s voice was more resigned now, spoken like a definitive truth rather than a claim. He’d taken on this duty to protect all living creatures on Earth, and that included you.

You wanted to believe it was less about you personally, but with the way his fingertips shifted—grazing your arm so gently under the lamplight of the bar, you knew he’d felt more than just duty toward you. In the past month, you’d wanted to despise Superman—wanted to turn him away and shut him out just like you had to the rest of the world. But now, with your face’s so close, and his fingers tracing patterns along your elbow, you were unsure if you could.

“God, I need a fucking drink.”

One too many drinks sent you stumbling into Clark Kent’s apartment, palms braced onto the broad plane of his shoulders as your lips sucked on his neck ravenously. He fumbled with the door as your hands began to wander along his biceps, squeezing the firm muscle as it encircled your waist.

Maybe it was the tequila, but you’d gone from wanting to tear Clark’s head off to wanting to rip his pants off with your teeth—and in your defense, Jimmy did say you needed to get laid.

“Take your clothes off.” The words were hot leaving your lips, body pressed flush against Clark’s as he guided you deeper into his apartment.

“Jesus,” Clark sighed out as your tongue slipped along his jaw, nipping at his ear. Your hands left his arms, moving to his belt only for him to swat them away quickly. “let me get you to the bed first.”

Instead, your hands went to your own clothes, pulling your polo over your head and tossing it into some obscure spot where you’d struggle to find it later. Clark had taken off his glasses, big blue eyes soaking in the sight of your cleavage and bra. His hand slipped from your waist, finger tips lifting to trace along your collarbone up to your cheek—and you hated the way your breath hitched at how gentle he was as he cupped your jaw.

Clark leaned down to seal the space between you in a kiss, light as a feather against your lips. Your fingers wound tight within his hair, mouth meeting his in a more heated embrace—nipping at his bottom lip and matching his groan with one of your own. “You like that, Big Blue?”

“Maybe.” Your suspicion was confirmed by the throb of his bulge within his trousers. His unoccupied hand went to your bottom, scooping your legs up before wrapping them around his hips comfortably.

Clark hobbled into the bedroom, kicking the door closed with his heel before swaying toward the bed. He put you down carefully, eyes fluttering downward to check that your feet had actually made contact with the ground before letting go. His back turned to you as he pulled the string to a small standing lamp, casting the room in a golden glow.

The walls of his room were a dark shade of blue, his bed shoved in the corner with a neatly tucked plaid duvet cover. There was a desk with a computer on top, plus a bookshelf full of comic books and some obscure critique pieces. Overall, a pretty basic room for a guy who practically saved the world every other weekend.

“Wow… you’ve got it nice, Superman.” You whistled as you began to wander around the room, fingers tracing along the bookshelf mindlessly—gaze flicking backwards to look at Clark as he watched you move, watched you fill the space of his room like you belonged.

“Clark.”

“Yeah, my bad. Clark.” You corrected yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as you pivoted on your heel to face him. “So… are you gonna make me ask for you to fuck me?”

“Oh—oh, yeah. Sorry.” Clark sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, foot falls creaking against the wooden planks below as he approached. His hands slid comfortably along your waist like they’d belonged there, pinkies thumbing your belt as if he couldn’t decide to take it off or not. A small smile cracked your too-cool facade, your hands finding your belt as you undid the buckle and tossed it to the ground haphazardly.

Your hands found his soon after, fingers gently wrapped around Clark’s massive wrists in a way that felt too gentle for your violent nature—guiding him to zipper on your pants. He fumbled with the tab for a moment, eyes continuing to shift between your own and the zipper beneath his fingertips. A small nod of your head urged him to continue, a confirmation that you weren’t glass—that you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

The minute your pants had been unzipped, you shimmied out of them—kicking them along with your belt across the room. You stood in your bra and underwear, a dark spot having formed in the center of the fabric.

“Golly…” God, Clark was so cute with the way he took you in like a masterpiece—pupils dilating as they found traced along your body. “You look amazing.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, bub.” Your hips swayed as you approached Clark, a hand finding his belt in a teasing glide while the other moved to his jaw. Your fingers traced along the cool metal of the belt buckle, watching the way his hips jerked to meet the lightest graze along that hulking mass within his pants.

His belt hit the floor with a loud clang, your foot immediately kicking it away as you slowly lowered yourself to the ground. The wood dug into your knees, but it was nothing compared to the way your mouth watered—begging to be wrapped around Clark’s cock and stretched wide. Clark’s breath hitched as he looked down at you, watched you slowly unzip his pants inch by inch until they were loose around his hips and easy pulled down. “You don’t have to do that—“

“I want to,”The eagerness in your voice seemed to calm a bit of Clark’s nerves as your fingers dipped beneath his waistband. “Unless you don’t, I’ll stop.”

“No, I do—god, I do.” The tips of your fingers ghostsd over his tip, his hips jerking toward you frantically to meet the touch. A small breathy laugh left your lips, gaze shifting from his bulge up toward his face, watching the way Clark’s cheeks were flushed and his ears were painted in pink. “You’re so pretty and sweet, god…”

Your thighs ground together involuntarily at the compliment, that wet patch between thickening with need. Sliding his boxers down, your eyes widened at the sheer size of Clark—the way he was hung like a beast in human clothing. Heat flared inside your belly, dripping down to your pussy as it clenched around nothing.

You gripped Clark gently, handling him as his member twitched and bobbed eagerly. Your tongue darted from your lips, flicking along the tip like you were taste testing a popsicle—only to hum out in agreement before opening your mouth wider to take even more. You kissed and sucked on the tip of his cock, worshipping it between lips already stretched thin.

“God dang—oh, Jesus…” Clark gasped out desperately, stomach flexing underneath his undershirt as his hands found purchase in your hair—hips mindlessly pushing forward before he stopped himself. “Your mouth feels—oh!”

One hand remained steady on the base of his cock, shifting to fondle his heavy full balls while the other dipped between your thighs. Shoving your panties aside, the wetness that had formed around your slit made it easy for two fingers to slip inside—caressing and curling in a way that made your spine tingle and a groan vibrate within your throat.

Clark’s hand tightened in your hair, hips pushing forward, causing you to gag around him. His grip immediately loosened as he panicked. “Shoot—sorry. I’m sorry.”

A chuckle left your throat, the vibration alone sending Clark into a spiral as his head tilted back to reveal the long column of his throat. You opened your mouth a bit wider, hollowing out your cheeks as you took his cock deeper into your throat—swirling your tongue and sucking loudly. Your hips had begun to buck along your hand, swollen clit needing gliding along the heel of your palm.

The hand on Clark’s balls quickly grabbed his within your hair, helping him find a rhythm he was comfortable with as his fingers tightened once again—flexing and curling. The more confident he grew, the deeper you took him—pubic hairs tickling against the tip of your nose as you gagged around him again. Clark immediately let go once more, whispering out another apology.

You pulled your mouth away from his cock suddenly, the loss of contact and the sudden cool air causing a shiver to run down his spine. “Stop apologizing. I want you to fuck my face, is that direct enough for you?”

If he wasn’t already red enough, he was matching his suit now.

“Okay—okay… just tell me if I’m hurting you, yeah?” Even as your lips wrapped around Clark’s cock once more and he groaned out, there was a hint of concern in his gaze—watching how your throat expanded around his twitching member as you sucked him off like your life depending on it. The hand in your hair began to guide you, slow at first as his hips slowly moved to meet the pace set—then quicker, your nose meeting Clark’s pubic bone as he released shaky moans past chapped lips.

“You’re so good—Jesus…. So, so pretty. Mmm—oh god!”

Your thumb began to circle your clit in a pace that matched his, hips shifting and grinding into the friction as your throat expanded and contracted eagerly. Your hand left his as it moved back down to those heavy balls, grasping the skin and massaging along them—taking in the way they contracted and tightened momentarily.

“Oh—oh, god! I can’t—ngh!”

There wasn’t much of a warning when Clark came, shooting his load down your throat beyond a startled cry leaving his lips—hips pushing forward as your nose was shoved against his pelvis. You gagged around the load, salty hot sperm seeping down your tongue and into the pit of your stomach. Your lips left his cock with a loud pop, still pulsing with life as tiny ropes of cum dribbled from the tip onto your tits—Clark’s head lulled off to the side beneath his arm as he caught his breath.

There was a moment where it was just the combined sound of your breath and his, hot and steady.

“You okay, Clark?” Your hand finally left your slit, covered in slick and need.

Clark’s nose flared at the scent of your arousal as he moved his hand from his face finally, blue eyes darkened and dilated like a ravenous animal. “Mmm… yes, really good.”

When you rose onto your feet, Clark’s hands were on you immediately—grabbing your ass, your waist, everything as his mouth latched onto yours. He could taste himself on your tongue, the salty tang left behind as his mouth enveloped yours. Clark’s fingers found the wet patch of your panties, a low groan leaving his lips as his index finger hooked beneath the fabric—pulling it down in one quick swipe.

“Let me make it up to you—let me make you feel so good, please.” He whispered against your lips, thumb finding your clit with surprising precision. A mixture of a moan and groan forced past your lips, drawing tight as your arms quickly grabbed onto Clark’s shoulders—pushing him away as he released a pathetic whimper at the loss of contact.

“As much as I’d love that, Clark,” You tilted your head toward his bed, eyeing the way it was a little bit too… perfect, too clean right now. “I really want you inside me.”

“You’re so direct—it’s embarrassing…” He groaned out as his hand dragged across his face, but that didn’t stop him from plopping down onto the edge of the bed with that signature overly eager expression. Your legs were spread onto other side of his own, back pressed against his chest as your hand dipped between the two of you. Fingers grasped his cock, fisting once, then twice as Clark released a gentle sigh.

He was big—you were aware of that, but god, that didn’t stop you from wanting him hot and burning inside you.

His tip glided along the slick of your pussy, dripping down onto the head until it was shimmery and coated in it. The stretch was immediate as you sunk downward, tip splitting past that first ring of muscle. A choked noise caught within your chest, eyelashes fluttering shut as all you could do was feel.

“Holy—you’re so tight… oh my—god..” Clark’s head fell into your shoulder, heat pants of breath beading across your skin.

Each inch felt like you were experiencing a new degree of heaven, walls stretching wide just to accommodate Clark’s size. He was nudged up against your cervix in mere minutes, a few inches still waiting to be taken but you were so snuggly tight that it felt impossible. Clark’s hands grasped your waist, kneading the skin as you just breathed him in—took in the way he stretched you more and more with each tiny roll of your hips.

“Fuck—you’re big, like… super big.”

You gave an experimental roll of your hips, Clark’s mouth opening in a wet gasp as his own hips stuttered. One roll turned into another, your thighs stretching and aching as you adjusted your position—feet planting themselves onto the edge of the mattress. Your hands found purchase on Clark’s knees, hips rising until just his tip was snug inside before slamming down with a ferocity that knocked the wind from both yours and Clark’s lungs.

You began to ride him, ass slamming against his pelvis as your pussy clenched and strained around his cock—member twitching within your walls every few pulses. Clark’s fingers tightened their grip on your waist, digging into the flesh as his hips lifted to meet your own movements. The bed beneath you both rocked, wet gasps and groans filling the air along with the scent of sex and sweat.

One of the hands on his knees found its way to Clark’s hair, gently tugging at the curly locks—a whine leaving Clark’s lips as your pussy swallowed him up so eagerly.

“You like this—mmph… like the way this pussy fucks you?” Your ass jiggled with each bounce, grinding deeper and deeper onto his length as your clit throbbed needing for attention.

“Yes—yes, oh…mph…” Clark’s mouth latched onto the flesh of your shoulder, tracing kisses up your neckline until he reached raised bump near the back of your ear—that’s when he smelled something, pheromones seeping from the skin. His tongue traced along the spot and your mind blanked for a moment, hips stuttering as you clenched around him hard.

“Fuck—that felt good… what the hell.” One of Clark’s hands shifted in front of you, applying pressure onto your tummy as his thumb swiped languid circles against your clit. The other, found a place on your jawline—tilting your head as his mouth latched onto that precious little spot.

He sucked, and for the first time, you whined—genuinely whined out pathetically. Your pace grew sloppy as his tongue darted across the raised bump, pussy sucking him in to the hilt as your body shuddered and spasmed with each wave of newfound pleasure. Clark gutturally moaned into your neck, teeth grazing along the skin before nipping in a way that caused your back to arch as your legs were rendered into jello.

“Oh—you like that, sweetheart?” Clark mirrored your own words, his hands shifting to your hips as he took over your pacing—lifting your body before slamming it right back down onto his throbbing cock.

“Mmph—oh, fuck.” He managed to hit all those sweet spots inside you and outside as he alternated between sucked on your skin and nipping at your ear—legs shaking with incessant heat the longer he bounced you like a ragdoll. As much as you wouldn’t admit it to him, you were getting increasingly wet just because of the way he was manhandling you so sweetly—hips bursting with force up into yours as his hands slammed you down once again.

A heat began to form within the pit of your stomach, but it was different this time—building too damn fast and way more intense than you were used to. Your hands began to clamber for anything to hold onto, anything to ground yourself as Clark’s languid thrusts turned into quick ruts as his balls began to draw tight. Heady gasps left your lips along with the whines, swollen clit twitching and throbbing as your fingers began to draw fat mean circles across the sensitive nub. “Yes, yes, please… I’m gonna—!”

“Come with me—please, oh god—I’m…” You both crested at the same time, walls tightening and pulsing to life as your orgasm swept over you. Clark’s hips bucked mean thrusts into you as he spilled his seed deep inside the warm expanse of your pussy, costing you from the inside out.

You’d blanked as you came, a scream tearing itself from your throat as your back arched and your fists strangled his duvet sheets, a tingling sensation forming in your knuckles. A sudden wetness coated your thighs and his, your mind taking a moment to truly register what had happened. When you were finally able to think past the pulsing of your pussy, you had realized you’d squirted all across Clark’s bed and thighs, coating them in clear fluid and cum. On top of that, the fists you’d burrowed into the sheets had daggers protruding out of them.

The Clark Kent had not only made you orgasm so hard you squirted, but also had managed to make you stab his bed.

His hands smoothed along your sides as you breathed, body going slack against his chest as sweat beaded and dripped down your bodies. Even though you couldn’t see Clark, you could feel his smile pressed against the crown of your head—arms sneaking around your form as his cock stayed nuzzled inside your walls. Your chest rose and fell with his, sweaty bodies clung together like a set rather than two individuals.

Part of you wanted to stay like this, in his arms, safe and warm—but the louder sort of you, the part that had seen cruelty and shown it yourself, told you that this was just sex, that it was only going to be just sex. So, you pushed away from Clark—cleaning yourself up in the bathroom before slipping on one of his shirts and your discarded (and clammy) underwear.

But as you walked down the hallway toward his bedroom, your chest felt tighter than it had in years of being Wolverine. Clark had already made you a cup of tea in a mug that had Green Lantern’s face plastered all across it, a mixture of a scoff and a laugh bubbling in your chest as he handed you the cup with this ridiculously beautiful smile etched on his face. You sometimes didn’t think this man was real with how perfect he is.

“It was the last mug they had.” Clark’s voice was soft as he answered the question held your expression, hand slotting itself on your lower back to guide you toward the bed. Somehow, he’d managed to change the (ruined) bedsheets, clean the duvet, and clean himself up while you were in the bathroom which admittedly really made you question how long you were in there—but those thoughts melted from your brain as Clark’s fingers curled around your waist, guiding you onto the plush mattress.

It felt impossible for a bed to be this snug and comfortable as you laid down beside Clark, sheets pulled snuggly over your barely dressed bodies. The tea was hot within your hands, steam curling in the air as you took a long sip. The warmth soothed the ache of your throat, which was still definitely going to be sore tomorrow—but for now, tea was a good remedy.

Your side was wedged against Clark’s, his arm draped behind you in a half-hold like he was nervous even in your post-sex haze that you’d try to rip his head off. The tug in your heart wasn’t helped by the fact you’d curled into him, head slotting itself onto his shoulder as you simply just got the chance to be.

Your legs were shaky, but it wasn’t from pain. Your lungs ached, but it wasn’t from being Wolverine. Your mind was hazy, but it wasn’t from drinking yourself into a coma. You felt alive, and for once, it wasn’t because of the pain your mutation caused or because of your past.

You don’t know when you had fallen asleep in Clark’s arms, but when you awoke, it was still dark outside and unbearably quiet within his apartment. The air was cold on your legs as you crept from the bed, shocking you into a state of awareness. You winced as your feet fell upon creaky wooden planks, casting a gaze over your shoulder only to find Clark Kent in a deep sleep, curls strewn across his face.

A cigarette was wedged between your lips as you wrenched open one of the apartment windows, taking in a deep suck of nicotine before releasing a puff of hot smoke from your mouth. The sting was a familiar comfort to you in times where your heart felt too real for your chest, throbbing in tandem with that sleeping man’s breath in one room over.

The window sill was cold against your arm as you rested your elbow, moonlight streaming past the blinds eagerly, coating your face in its fluorescent glow. Metropolis felt quiet for once, the world having finally fallen into a peaceful slumber—no late night missions tonight.

You smelled and heard Clark before he’d even entered the room, vibrations of his feet padding against the floor in your direction. The heat that radiated from his body was tempting as he stood behind you, arms slinking around your waist as his hands squeezed your hips affectionately.

“Hey.”

Shit, you weren’t already starting to feel sore, his sleep-ridden voice would’ve made you want to go another round. Clark buried his nose into the crown of your head, breathing in the scent of your hair—of you.

“Hey, Wonder Boy.” You took a long drag of the cigarette between your fingers, puffing smoke from your lips. Clark’s nose scrunched at the scent, lips planting a gentle kiss against your temple.

He pulled your form a bit tighter against his, body going slack in a way that made you feel weirdly domestic—like this could be your life if you allowed it, like you could actually find acceptance. Bullshit. “Those things’ll kill you.”

“No shit.”

Clark’s movements were too quick for you to react as he plucked the cigarette from your mouth, snuffing the lit bud in between his fingers before tossing them into the nearby trash can.

“Seriously, Clark?” Brows furrowing as your arms pulled across your chest, expression shifting into one of obvious annoyance. He hummed out, mimicking your body language with his own—biceps flexing before he crossed them over his chest. Your eyes rolled so hard they were tempted to roll out of your head. “Whatever.”

You’d begun to quickly gather your clothes, each item strewn across his apartment in different directions. Clark followed you, hovering from behind like he always did on patrols—but there was this energy about him, a nervousness that crackled beneath the surface.

“Are you… are you going to leave?”

You paused in your track, hands stilling upon your belt. The question was resigned, like he already knew the answer but was holding out a bit of hope for you—for this to work. Things never worked out for you, though.

You cleared your throat, tossing the belt into the crevice of your arm. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, to see those gentle blue eyes begging you to stay—to admit that you felt something for him that wasn’t just a fleeting touch. “Clark, you know this is just sex, right? This isn’t supposed to be like—something meaningful or anything. We had our fun, now we go our separate ways.”

“But—what if I don’t want to go separate ways?” His body moved to block yours, his hands hovering like he wanted to touch you but was unsure.

You hated the way your voice came out sharp, hurt registering within his eyes at the sudden harshness. “Then that’s real tough, bub.”

Clark’s brows furrowed as you weaseled around him, slipping your pants back up your legs in miniature jumps.

“Tough? That’s really all you have to say?” There was a thinly veiled danger beneath each syllable, like he was holding himself back from finally snapping at you and tearing into you. He was peeved and it was evident with the way he began to approach you, always remaining in your line of sight no matter what you did to avoid looking at him.

“What the hell am I supposed to say? I thought we were on the same page—.”

“Same page isn’t having sex with someone after they pour their heart out to you, then leaving like it’s nothing.”

You jerked your head upwards, finally meeting his gaze with your own—and you regretted it immediately. Clark looked hurt, not in the way that someone gets injured on the battlefield, but in that love struck way when you realize you never had a chance. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ blame me. I told you before, I don’t do the whole teamwork thing.”

“Why?” You turned on your heel only for Clark to weave around you, blocking you from approaching his apartment door. That pissed you off—bad. A grunt left your lips as you attempted to push past him, his bulking mass remaining rooted in the ground like a tree. “What’s stopping you from just staying—from connecting with people?”

“That’s none of your business, Supershit—!” A hiss left your lips as you stopped attempting to run, finally facing him head-on with your own rage boiling in your veins.

“Jesus, I told you not to call me that! What’s your problem?” Clark waved his hands, emphasizing his point so vividly with each word that was spat out—your hands growing cold and clammy while your face heated in embarrassment. “You’ve been so hot and cold since we’ve met, I don’t even know which part of it is you anymore. One second you’re threatening to punch my face in, the next, you’re ripping my damn pants off—!”

You interrupted, shoving your finger into his chest in a way that made Clark’s nose flare. You were so caught up in the moment that you hadn’t even noticed the tears brimming in your waterline, stinging as they threatened to spill. Your voice began to raise in decibels quickly. “You want to know what my problem is? Do you really want to know, Clark?”

“Yes, god, maybe then I could understand what’s wrong with you!”

“My teammates died because of me—because I was too damn weak to finish a job I should’ve years ago! I let them get close to me, and I couldn’t fucking protect them. There, does that make you happy?”

There was a pause of silence as those tears finally began to spill over, dripping down your cheeks in a steady warm stream. Clark’s expression shifted, anger melting away into something softer, sympathetic—but the damage was already done.

“I—… I’m sorry—.”

“Don’t you think I know I’m an asshole—that I’m fucked up? I’ve lived my entire life being a mutant fuck-up.” Your fist made contact with the hard plane of his chest, pushing hard before dropping to your side weakly. “My parents died and I wasn’t able to stop it, my body is constantly on fire because of this fucking adamantium, and I’m being lectured by the perfect superhero dipshit of Metropolis!”

You gestured wildly toward the window—to the city that adored Superman, to the city that you wished you’d never come to.

A short, strained breath filled your lungs as you quickly wiped away the tears from your face, determined to regain that calm facade you’d kept on for so long. A small sniffle left your lips, and you mentally scolded yourself for looking so pathetic—for feeling so small in a world so big.

“So,” Another sniff followed. “do you have any other questions or statements before I get the fuck out of here?”

Clark’s mouth was formed into silent words as he stood there, no longer making a conscious effort to block you. Your shoulder collided with his harshly, not enough to knock him over but enough to sting as you moved toward the door. The palm of your hand came into contact with the cool brass of the doorknob, twisting and squeezing tightly.

“I love you.”

The words were a whisper in the darkness as the door hinges creaked, barely carrying over the loud noise. Your heart jumped into your throat, because he’d just confirmed everything you feared. The palm of your hand traced along the wood grain of the door, unable to bring yourself to look into Clark’s eyes as you stabbed his weeping heart in two words.

“I know.”

The sound of the door closing behind you was more akin to a death knell.

Life without Superman was weird. You did your patrols, but there was no figure hovering nearby to ask about your day or to talk about how he’d had the best hot cocoa of his life. Clark stopped showing up to the bar. Jimmy said it was because he was swamped with work, but even Jimmy delivered the words with a certain skepticism.

There was a pit nestled into your stomach, an unease that you couldn’t shake with booze and cigarette smoke. You continued your work as Wolverine, but the weight remained, suffocating you from the inside out. It wasn’t like you had always been around Clark, getting lost in those expressive eyes and shining dimples, you’d been alone before. You could do it again, at least that’s what you’d like to believe.

But as days stretched into a week, then another, the feeling began to eat you from the inside out—tossing and turning in your bed as you began to mourn someone who was still alive and well. You thought more sex would fix the problem, but it turns out that meaningless sex was just that, meaningless.

Superman remained the poster boy of Metropolis, working double as hard to defend the city from ruin. He was practically unstoppable—until he wasn’t.

Turns out Wonder Boy was immune to many things, but magic wasn’t one of them as he was sent flying from New Troy into Hob’s Bay. The sheer vibration alone alerted you that something was wrong, weaving through alleyways to find the source. A blur of red, gold, and blue shot past you just as your boots came into contact with the sidewalk—bursting from the darkness.

“What the—.” You traced the path to the source, a figure floating in the sky in the sky with a black suit and an obviously extraterrestrial appearance.

The men landed on the ground, boots so heavy that the vibration was felt from all around. Sucking in a deep breath, pain shot through your wrists as your claws slowly extended past the layers of your skin. Your walk quickly transitioned into a sprint as you bolted into battle, only to have a hand grasp the back of your neck like a dog.

A startled yelp escaped your mouth before it could be stopped, legs swinging beneath you as the ground you had become to comfortably familiar with was growing further away in distance. Looking up, Clark was holding you steady—grip firm as he swung you down onto a nearby rooftop. “Stay here.”

“What? Why—?” The words were quick as they left your mouth, legs wobbly beneath your body for a moment as you reestablished your footing on solid concrete.

“You’ll just get in the way.” The words were bitten out in a way that betrayed any facade Clark was putting on.

“You need help.”

“Not from you.”

“Well, I don’t see Green Lantern or Hawkgirl anywhere nearby. So, I think I’m all you’ve got.” You began to move toward the fire escape of the building, only for Clark to pull you backwards quickly—your boots catching on themselves as you stumbled backwards. His hand moved to your back, stabilizing you as he spoke softer now, far too soft for the circumstance.

“Can you just—can you listen to me for once? This guy will hurt you, if he doesn’t find a way to kill you.”

“I can heal.”

“But I can’t let you get hurt.”

There was a pause in your argument as you met Clark’s eyes, took in the way he looked stronger now—set in his resolve and unwilling to let you into the battle. Your hand cupped over his own with a gentleness that was shocking, a spark shooting through your fingertips. Your other hand mindlessly moved toward Clark’s face, cupping his jawline with that same gentleness as your expression shifted to something unreadable, the depths of your eyes swirling with conflicting emotions.

“I can’t watch you get hurt either, Clark.”

Your words were soft, eyes tracing along his face tentatively before finally meeting those big blues sculpted from in aquamarine and love. Clark’s resolve crumbled a bit as you pulled away, hand slipping around your waist as he shot straight into the air. Silently, you both agreed on one thing: that you’d do this together, as a team.

The figure stood in the middle of the street, crushed and destroyed chunks of concrete floating in the air around—cutting through the air as they soared in your direction. Clark’s hand moved to brace against your head, drawing you tight into his chest as he took the brunt of the blows. Your landing was a bit rough, but you managed to catch your balance quickly.

“You go left, I’ll go right.” You spoke, slipping back into that commanding position you’d once taken in the X-Men. God, you missed this.

Clark nodded, turning to look at you one more time. “Stay safe, please.”

“I will. You better stay safe too, Wonder Boy.” The familiar nickname caused his dimples to etch deeper into his face, a chuckle bubbling up past his lips.

The way you both moved was more of a whole rather than two individuals, bodies synced as you fought. Superman would land a punch and you’d follow with a stab of your own. When he would be knocked away, you would cover him in your own way—and when you’d be kicked down, Clark would defend you with his life.

The sun shined the brightest it ever had as you both worked together. It wasn’t long before the figure was sent flying back into the atmosphere thanks to Clark’s inhumane strength.

You were sitting on the curbside, knees pulled up to your chest as sweat dripped beneath your costume. Your eyes fluttered shut as you breathed out hot pants of air, sun shining bright upon your eyelids. Just as you were about to move into the shade, a bulking figure stood in front of you—a shadow casting down upon your face.

“Turns out we make a good team.” The cheesy comment made a smile slither its way onto your face, scoffing out a laugh as your eyes opened to see a messy-haired Clark. His hand was extended towards your own, and you accepted it graciously.

“I guess we do.” He tugged you from your spot on the curb, legs protesting in exhaustion as you stood.

There was a silence that formed between the two of you as Clark shifted to stand beside you, both of your eyes set upon the sunset over Metropolis. It wasn’t an angry silence, it was one full of unspoken words that were waiting to be spat out.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” You were first to break the silence, eyes remaining on the warm yellow hues of the sun.

Clark didn’t say anything, just slipping his arm over your shoulders before giving your arm a firm squeeze.

The words came up like word vomit as you finally broke your lifelong stare with the sun, instead choosing to watch the way the yellow and orange hues reflected in Clark’s eyes and illuminated his skin.

“I love you, too.”

Your words were punctuated with the weaving of your fingers through Clark’s, holding firm and steady. Mentally, you promised to never let go—to hold onto him forever and let him hold you in turn. Clark wasn’t in love with the perfection, he was in love with the mess and the pain, he saw it all and loved you in spite of it.

His smile deepened, his own eyes breaking from the sun to look down at you—and god, somehow he always made you feel like the prettiest person in the world.

“I’m sorry. And I love you too—mmph!”

Clark wasn’t able to finish his sentence as you practically jumped into his lips, fingers weaving through his curls so sweetly as his arms enclosed around your waist. Your noses were messily smooshed together, but it was nothing compared to the warm fuzziness that bubbled in your lungs and chest, filling your heart with joy. Your feet had lifted from the ground as your lips imprinted on one another, bodies swaying in the air as Clark conveyed his own thoughts in a less verbal way.

And the longer he held you, the more you were sure he’d never let you go.

SUPERMAN AND WOLVERINE: SUPER SECRET RELATIONSHIP GONE PUBLIC.

Headlines were crazy for a month and Clark was bombarded with articles to read and annotate, filling the margins with critiques and compliments that were probably too personal to be simply a journalist’s take. But Clark didn’t care, not when he’d been coming home to you in his apartment everyday.

“Do you think they know each other’s identities? I mean, it wouldn’t make sense if they didn’t.” Lois was leaned against Clark’s desk, speculating aloud as Clark scribbled into his notepad.

“I think they would, Lois.” Clark mumbled beneath his breath, ink smearing beneath his fingers every few words. “A relationship is about trust, and I just can’t see how they wouldn’t trust each other.”

“Hey, Clark! That bartender from the Ace o’ Clubs just dropped by, she asked me to give this to you?” Jimmy walked in with a white paper cup and a note neatly taped to the side of it, covered in your handwriting. Clark’s hand encompassed the cup before he popped off the lid, his senses immediately being assaulted by the smell of too much cocoa and just the right amount of milk—just how he liked his hot chocolate.

He peeled off the note on the side as Jimmy plopped into his chair, wheels creeping as he wheeled himself closer to Clark nosily. The smile that Clark had tried to hide originally became obvious the longer he read the note, dimples etching into his cheeks in this cheesy grin.

“Ran a few errands and thought you’d like a cocoa. Tell Jimmy I said hi and to fuck off.”

Just below that in smaller text it read:

“P.S. it’s your turn to make dinner.”

“No way…” Jimmy’s mouth was agape as he wheeled a foot away from Clark in shock, snapping him back to reality as he folded the note and shoved it into his pocket. “You’re totally having sex with that bartender!”

“Jesus, Jimmy! Keep it down.” Clark’s ears flushed a bright red, neck heating up quickly and unforgivingly. Jimmy wheeled himself back over quickly, placing his hands onto the desk as he readied himself for possibly the gossip of the century.

“Tell me everything—not like, the sex, but I thought she hated everyone.”

Clark Kent, if described in one word, would be called kind. Not just because he was Superman, or because he was a hero, but because he saw the flaws in people and things, and chose to love in spite of it. He chose to love Earth with all his heart, even when it turned its back on him, even when he saw the nastiest pieces of humanity.

He saw your flaws, saw your weaknesses, and instead of turning his back on you, he pulled you into his arms and wiped your tears like you were porcelain. Clark Kent loved your flaws, loved your strengths—Clark Kent loved you.