Knee-Jerk Reaction - GN!nurse!reader x Corenswet!Superman
Pairing: Corenswet!Superman x nurse!reader
Summary: You save Superman from Kryptonite poisoning, meet an intense vigilante in Gotham, and have a lovely dinner with the Man of Steel
Tags: No use of Y/N, no description of reader (can be read as any gender or race), digging Kryptonite out of a wound, swearing, fear of heights, skipping a meal (not an ED, just tired), the most intimate thing that happens is a kiss to reader's hand, overuse of commas, italics
Word Count: 4.5k
A/N: This is my first real fic I have ever posted. If you have constructive criticism I welcome it, but please be kind. Thank you to @distracted-milkshake @geminiwritten and @lasriel for the support and confidence boosts <3
Proof I don't use ai (it's my edited drafts) Cross-posted to AO3 Masterlist
Read Ch. 2: Funko Pop Collection for Psychopaths
~~~
You’re walking home from your shift at the hospital when Superman falls out of the sky into the alley next to you.
He hits the garbage with a loud crash then tumbles to the ground with a thud. You swear as it startles you, but you quickly get over it once you see who the source of the crash is.
You rush into the alley and help him roll over from his stomach to his back. “Shit! Superman? Can you hear me?”
His breathing is shallow, labored, and you can hear wheezing. You dig in your bag for your stethoscope and listen to his lungs. They’re clear. His heart sounds are regular but the rate is elevated.
You shake his shoulder. “Superman!”
You check for head wounds, bleeding, anything that might be causing his unresponsiveness. There are black lines spidering up his neck and on his hands. It looks like maybe a blood poisoning? You find a puncture in his abdomen with a slight green glow to it.
“Oh, god. Ok. I really hope that’s not radioactive.”
You dig in your pockets this time, hoping your regular wad of gloves is still in them. You get lucky with your last one.
“Ok.” You take a deep breath. “Superman, this will probably hurt. I’m going to take out the glowing thing from your side, but I don’t have any tweezers or anything, so I’ll have to use my fingers.” You wince as you think about how unsafe this is. “I hope you’re really unconscious and don’t feel any of this.”
You take another deep breath to steel yourself. Then you stick a gloved finger in the wound to fish out the foreign object. “Please don’t report me to the nursing board for this, I’m falling under good samaritan laws at this point.” You murmur apologies and comforts as you feel around for the object. “Sorry, sorry, so sorry, oh my god.”
You feel something sharp and hard in the wound. “I think I’ve got it!” You talk at him even though he hasn’t responded at any point thus far. “Ok, this will also probably hurt coming out since it’s sharp and will cut as it moves. I’ll try to be fast.”
You push at it and hook your finger under it.
Superman weakly curls away from you and groans.
“I’m so sorry, hun. It’s almost out, I promise.” The term of endearment slips out as you comfort him. In the back of your mind, a part of you is screaming about how Superman is right there and you just called him “hun” like he’s one of your elderly patients.
You get the object close enough to the surface that you can pinch it with your thumb and pull It all the way out, and your focus locks back in.
The object is a glowing green crystal that looks like it has been broken into a shard sharp enough to stab, similar to an arrowhead but not nearly as purposeful.
Superman suddenly takes a deep breath, loud wheezing still underlining the intake. He pushes himself to his knees and tries to move deeper into the alley. He half crawls, half stumbles away then falls onto his side, facing you.
“Superman? Are you ok?” You stay where you are, kneeling at the entrance of the alley.
He coughs and takes more deep breaths. “Need to get-“ he wheezes. “Away from that.”
“What do I do with it?”
“Batman.”
“How do I find Batman?” you ask incredulously.
“Once–” wheeze, “you enter Gotham–“ cough, “he’ll find you.”
A shiver runs down your spine thinking about the cursed city. “That’s super ominous. Ok. Is this hazardous to everyone?” You hold up the crystal.
He shakes his head. “Just me.”
“Right.” You nod. “Ok.” You pull the glove off inside out, keeping the green crystal inside the glove, and tie off the top. You stand and shove the glove in your bag.
As you turn to go, you look back at him still gasping and barely propping himself up. “Is there someone I can call who can help you? I don’t feel right just leaving you here like this.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll be ok.” A deep rattling cough makes him drop to the ground again.
You automatically take a step back to help him, but you have to stop yourself. Right now, you are literally toxic to him. (Well, the crystal in your hand is.)
“Once the rock is far enough away, I will start to get better.” His voice is weak and hoarse.
“Right, got it. Get far away as fast as possible.” You adjust your bag on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry I have to leave you like this, nice to meet you, thank you for doing what you do, I hope you get better fast.” Then you take off running.
You hope you get far enough away before your stamina runs out. Sure, you can be on your feet for your whole twelve hour shift, but cardio is way different. Walking up and down the unit doesn’t get your heart and muscles working.
You are able to run about a mile before your lungs and legs are burning too much to keep going, and you hope that’s enough.
You order an Uber to take you across the river to Gotham, not paying attention to the cost. You’ll deal with that later. You select a library near the edge of the city, but still far enough inside that you think Batman should drop by.
In the car you have some time to freak out about meeting Superman then leaving him still a mess. You scour social media for sightings of him and any evidence that he made it out ok. By the time to arrive to the library, you haven’t found anything.
When you step out of the Uber, the sun is below the horizon, and the sky has barely any light left. The street lamps are dim islands of light in the oppressive blanket of shadows covering Gotham.
You hurry up the steps. You haven’t been afraid of the dark since you were a kid, but Gotham’s dark feels like you should be afraid of it.
The library (luckily) closes in a few hours. You forgot to check, and panic for a second as you get to the doors.
You figure you’ll wait inside for thirty minutes or so then walk outside to give Batman enough time to get to you then do the hand off. You busy yourself by walking through the library shelves and try to ignore the suspicious gazes of the library staff.
The books are slightly dusty in the back corner where you have gone to hide from the staff. You are too nervous to really take in the titles, and your eyes dart at every shadow. You don’t think your heart has stopped racing since you found Superman almost two hours ago.
Before your thirty minute alarm goes off, the lights in your section of the library go out, leaving only the eerie red glow of the emergency lights.
You jerk as a hand covers your mouth and another one wraps around your torso. You are grabbed and pulled towards the stairwell, and you struggle trying to pull out of the hold.
You squirm and lurch, but their grip is iron around you. Oh god, is this how you die? In Gotham in the back of a library trying to help Superman?
You try to scream and make as much noise as you can, but your cries are muffled. The sounds don’t travel far from the back of your throat, and they can’t get past the gloved hand covering your mouth.
Your legs desperately kick at their shins and feet, but they have no problem lifting your whole weight as they hold you against their chest. The grip around your mouth keeps your head in place so you can’t slam it backwards to headbutt them like you want to.
In the stairwell, the kidnapper growls in your ear: “What are you doing with that crystal in your bag?”
Instinctively, you start thrashing in his arms harder. The crystal can hurt Superman; nobody can get the crystal; you need to protect the crystal.
“Where did you get it?” he demands.
You try to bite his hand.
“Damnit, stop moving!” He sweeps your legs out from under you and pins you to the ground, hands suddenly tied together behind your back.
The impact knocks the breath out of your lungs, and you groan from the pain.
“I’m taking the crystal from you before you hurt anyone with it!” he says before shoving his hand into your bag.
You still.
Wait a minute. Before you hurt anyone with it?
“Batman?”
He rummages through your bag without answering, knee still pressed into the middle of your back to hold you down.
“Are you the Batman?” you repeat.
“The crystal,” he urges with a painful press of his knee. “Where did you get it?”
You cry out. “I’m supposed to give it to Batman! Superman told me once I came to Gotham, Batman would come find me.”
“You got it from Superman?” he asks. His tone slow and disbelieving like a teacher when a kid tells them a dog ate their homework.
“Yeah, Superman.” You try to crane your neck around to see if your kidnapper was Batman or not. “Well, I had to pull it out of his side first, but he still told me to bring it to Gotham and find Batman.”
He must find the crystal in your bag because he pulls his hand out and gets off of you.
You roll onto your side and slide away from him then manage to sit up. Your arms are still tied behind your back, so it’s difficult and uncomfortable, but your heart is pumping in your ears, and your instincts are screaming at you to get away from him. You keep scooting away from him until your back hits the far wall.
In the dim red glow of the emergency lights, you can see a caped figure in a mask with pointed ears. There haven’t been pictures captured of the Batman, but from descriptions given you think this is him.
In his hand is the tied glove, and he looks at it with a tip to his head.
You have the urge to explain yourself as he scrutinizes the glove. “I’m a nurse.”
His eyes flick to you, and you don’t feel like this is the best idea anymore.
“I still had a glove in my pocket from my shift when I found him. I got lucky.” Your voice trails off the longer he stares at you. “You are the Batman right?”
He nods once slowly.
“I hope you know what to do with the crystal, because it seriously messed him up.”
Batman just stares.
You stare back, unable to do anything else. You hope the show of strength or defiance or whatever the hell your terrified mind can come up with will help you steel yourself or gain his trust or something. You could use anything for help right now.
“I do,” he says after a long silence.
“Cool.” You slump against the wall, immediately losing all of what you had gathered. “Awesome. Thanks.” You take a deep breath to hopefully calm some of your nerves. “Can you untie me so I can go home now?”
He doesn’t say anything as he moves to your side and grabs under your arm to help you up. He keeps you steady with that hand and unties you with the other.
As soon as your hands are free, you nod your goodbye then rush back to the front of the library. You sit at a table in direct sight of the lady at the desk while you order another Uber and wait for it to show up.
This time, the price makes you cringe, but an extra shift or two should cover today’s adventure. Though you are debating about calling out after your encounter with Batman. You don’t think you will have any bruising, but you aren’t sure how well you will sleep tonight.
The adrenaline crash finally hits as you sit waiting for the Uber. Your hands shake and you blink back the tears prickling at your eyes. You know now that you weren’t going to die, but in the moment that had been the most terrified you have ever felt, and no amount of logic can beat the physiological release of hormones no matter how much you tell yourself that you are fine.
The ride back to your apartment is spent scanning the shadows, watching the built in map on the app for any route deviations, and checking for any signs of Superman. You hope that no news means good news.
When you get back to your apartment, you take your time to double check every window’s lock, and you shove a chair under the doorknob of your front door. You know that Batman doesn’t have any reason to come after you and wouldn’t leave Gotham, but it helps soothe the raw insecurity leaving you feeling unsafe.
Once you deem your apartment safe, you are ready to skip the shower and crash on your bed. But your scrubs are gross, and the mile run earlier left you a sweaty sticky mess.
You shower and skip dinner instead. There’s no way you can safely cook anything now with your exhaustion and shaking hands, and the last of your canned soups were eaten a few days ago. You are due for are run to the grocery store, but your weekend isn’t for another two days.
You get to bed a little later than you would on a regular day, but you at least fall asleep within a few minutes of crawling into bed, exhaustion winning over fear.
~~~
The next morning you get ready, grab your things, and run out of your apartment without coffee or breakfast. You usually get both in the hospital cafeteria downstairs before you head upstairs to your unit, and you expected today to be like any other.
However, a friendly superhero intercepts you on your walk to work.
He floats down in front of you, holding an iced coffee and a to-go box.
Your face lights up when you see him healthy and doing well. “You’re ok!” you cheer.
“Thanks to you.” His signature sunshine smile, dimples and all, beam at you. “I had a feeling you might need these after a long night commuting to Gotham and back.”
"Thank you," you say automatically. You take the coffee and box from him, a feeling of bizarreness making you question if this was really happening.
“I hope the meeting with Batman went alright?”
You shake yourself out of your haze. “Yeah!” You clear your throat. “Yeah it was fine! He scared the shit out of me, but I don’t have any lasting damage, and he got the crystal.”
Superman’s brow furrows. “What did he–“
You shake your head. “I’m fine, he’s fine. I think he was freaked out I had something that could hurt his friend.” Your laugh has a small edge to it. “The only thing that really hurt was the Uber cost, but I’ll just pick up an extra shift, so it’s really no problem.”
“Wait, how much–“
“Nope! No, it’s fine!” you cut him off, cursing yourself for even mentioning it. “You needed help, so I helped. I’m glad I was there and able.”
“But–“
“I promise, this–” you hold up the coffee and to-go box, “is all I need.”
He presses his mouth into a line, almost pouting. “You saved my life. I feel like I should do more than just get you breakfast.”
You smile at him. “Just keep being you,” you say. “No matter what they say online or in the news, keep being the force of goodness you are.”
He shyly scratches at the back of his neck. “I just do what I can to help.”
“And that’s enough for me.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t press it. “Thank you,” he says. His eyes locked on yours, heavy seriousness in his voice. “You really did save me yesterday.”
Now it’s your turn to blush and be shy. You shrug. “I’m a nurse. It’s in my nature to help. Plus you’re you. You do so much for us, of course I had to help you.”
He smiles warmly, soft eyes and a gentle pull at his lips.
Your ten minute notification goes off reminding you to clock in.
“Oh shit, I’m late!” You still have a five minute walk left to work. “Thank you for the breakfast, glad you’re ok, see you around, bye!” You take off running as best as you can while trying to to spill the coffee or food.
“Have a good shift!” he calls after you.
“Thank you!” you yell back over your shoulder.
You make it before your official shift time starts, but late enough that you don’t have time to go over your patient’s charts before report. You’ll just have to do it after.
You eat as night shift hands off their patients to you.
Superman got you a basic American breakfast: pancakes, eggs, and bacon. It’s perfect. And the coffee is incredible. If you ever see him again, you have to find out where he got it.
You dive into work, and by the first few hours of putting out different fires (critical labs, a pulled out IV, and rapidly tanking vitals), you forget about Superman. All of your thinking power is spent on talking to doctors and making sure the medications you are giving are right.
At the end of your shift, you’re satisfied that your patients are still alive, clean, and have all their meds. You hand off your group to night shift then head home.
You honestly weren’t expecting to see Superman ever again after this morning, but you as he floats down beside you, you realize you probably should have.
“Hello again,” you greet with an amused smile.
He walks along side you. “I, uh, I have dinner for you on a roof nearby,” he says. Then he adds: “If you’re interested.”
You stop walking and turn to him. Until this moment, you had kept a strictly professional mindset towards him. Superman was so unbelievably out of your league that you didn’t entertain any thoughts about him. You had sorted him into the same mindset as patients you take care of.
But he brought you dinner. On a rooftop. That he’s going to fly you to.
Every thought that had been blocked by your professional wall comes flooding forward all at once, and your attraction to him ignites.
Your face burns, your stomach flips, and your heart skips. “Ok,” you agree softly.
He holds his hand out for yours. His eyes are soft, and his smile is just there enough to have his dimples sink into his cheeks.
You place your hand in his, your perpetually cold fingers meeting his warm ones. His hands are strong and mildly callused and large.
He gently pulls you closer as he steps forward until you are chest to chest against him. He wraps the arm not holding your hand around you, and tells you to hang on.
Oh. You didn’t think this through.
Your hand yanks free from his as you hug him tightly. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your face buries into his chest to hide from the height.
He doesn’t say anything as he wraps his other arm around you.
Luckily it only feels like an elevator ride with a little bit of sideways movement. His arms keep a steady grip on you.
If you weren’t so terrified of heights, you would be melting down from the proximity to him. Your face: in his chest. His arms: around you. His smell: divine. But you’re hundreds of feet in the air.
You try your best to keep your breathing level and not think about it. Against your efforts, you feel like a chihuahua. The size difference between you and him as well as how bad you are trembling in his arms bring forth an image of the small dog. It makes you want to laugh but also die of embarrassment.
He murmurs soothing encouragements and reassurances in your ear. “I’ve got you. It’s ok. We’re almost there.”
The deep timbre of his voice helps take the edge off your panic, but you still cling to him.
Soon your feet are brushing against the roof, and you are gently set down. Only once your full weight is on your feet do you pull your face away from his chest enough to open your eyes and look.
Superman is looking at you fondly, dimples sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. “Are you alright?” he asks softly like the two of you are in a small world of your own.
You nod. You are shaking still from your body’s unconscious response to the panic, but you try to ignore it knowing it should go away soon. “Not a fan of heights,” you admit with a self deprecating chuckle.
“Sorry.” And he looks like he means it: brow furrowed and frown pulling at his lips.
“It’s ok. I know you wouldn’t let me fall.”
Then his smile is back shining for you.
He loosens his arm around you which prompts you to realize you are still clinging to him like your life depended on it.
Your eyes go wide and you abruptly let go of him and you step back. “Sorry!”
He catches your hand in his, not letting you go too far.
“Don’t be,” he says. He keeps hold of your hand as he walks you to the center of the rooftop where a small picnic has been set up.
Your stomach swoops and your lips part as you take in the scene ahead of you. It’s straight out of a movie. And it’s for you.
A dark navy quilt is spread under a basket with empty glasses and dishes.
“Wow,” you breathe. “This– you really didn’t have to.”
“I know,” he says. “I wanted to.”
He leads you to the quilt where you set your bag down and sit. He sits next to you and starts to unpack the food from the basket.
Your heart swells from the thought and effort he put into it.
He brought a simple pasta dish with garlic bread and roast vegetables. “I wasn’t sure about alcohol, so I brought apple cider instead.” He holds up the bottle for you to see.
“It’s perfect,” you assure him. “All of it.”
His face lights up and shoulders relax. You hadn’t realized how nervous he was until the tension is easing off of him.
You both make small talk over dinner. He asks about your work, how long you’ve been a nurse, if you like it. You ask about his time as Superman, what he enjoys about it, and if he ever takes time off.
Your nerves melt away as the conversation flows. You talk about books you both are reading, movies you like and are wanting to see (which leads you both into a long excited discussion about Star Wars and Did you know that George Lucas was actually friends with an alien which is where he got a lot of his inspiration for–)
At one point, a cold gust of wind makes you shiver. Superman inches closer and drapes his cape around you. It is thick and heavy and warm, and your side presses against his.
Your blush alone warms you right up, but you don’t move away.
“Thank you,” you say.
“You’re very welcome.” He looks at you like nobody ever has: with tenderness and full attention like you are the only other person on the planet.
Holding his gaze, you ask him: “Do you make dinner for everyone who helps you?” You want to know if you can keep hoping. You want to know if what you feel is real.
His cheeks flush pink. “Not… really?” He smiles, sheepish.
A spark of hope in your chest flickers. “Why me?” Your voice is low and soft again, like you’re sharing a secret.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I guess I wanted to know more about the woman who didn’t think twice about saving a stranger then ran off to Gotham in the middle of the night just because he asked.”
You frown. “That shouldn’t be such a high bar.”
“And that.” He smiles. “You believe in the same kind of goodness I do.”
A warm glow flushes your cheeks and fills your chest. Your gaze drops, his eyes suddenly too much. Too piercing, too seeing, too… everything. “I don’t know, it was a knee-jerk reaction. I just do what I can. I was there, and you needed help, so I helped.”
He gently tips your head back up with two fingers under your chin. “I’m glad you did.”
You meet his eyes, the deep blue feeling like falling into an endless ocean. “Me too.”
A group of first responder sirens wail from somewhere in the distance. Superman snaps his attention in the direction of them and seems to look directly at the source. (With his other powers, you wouldn’t be surprised if he actually was.)
He turns back to you with an apologetic frown.
“Duty calls?” You ask.
“I’m so sorry.” He rises from the floor, and helps you up, you hand in his again.
“Don’t be, I had a good time.”
He smiles. “I can take you back down before I go,” he offers.
You shiver at the thought. Mostly from the fear of how high up you are, but a little from the desire to be held again. “Actually, can I take the stairs?” You laugh with a nervous edge to it. “I don’t want to throw up on you.”
“Oh! Yeah!” He jogs to the roof access door and makes sure it opens.
“Thank you again.” You follow behind, shouldering your bag. “ And I meant it, I had a good time.”
He takes your hand in both of his and brushes your knuckles with a kiss.
You inhale sharply at the contact. Your heart races, your whole upper body practically catches fire, and that small spark of hope in your chest grows brighter.
“I’d like to do this again sometime,” he says, his breath warming your hand as he looks at you through his eyelashes.
You’re nodding before you even think to. “Me too.”
He must hear something from the emergency because he straightens and releases your hand. “I really have to go.” He starts moving back from the door.
“Be safe!” You call after him.
He smiles over his shoulder then lifts off the roof and shoots towards the sirens.
You are left grinning like an idiot down a hundred or so flights of stairs and back home to your apartment.
You go to sleep still warm and floaty, remembering the night and the kiss and how he smiled at you.
You resign yourself to being ruined for any man that will ever talk to you again. You are so gone on Superman, and there is no recovery.
But maybe, that spark of hope in your chest whispers, maybe you won’t need to recover if he keeps coming back.
~~~
Read Ch. 2: Funko Pop Collection for Psychopaths
