the legal protections for the grid would be so messy.
- what defines a sentient being in order to classify them ‘human’ or program? (is ares alive or still property of dillinger systems)
- what if someone goes onto the grid, messes with their code, and comes back? are they still human or now program?
- if grid technology becomes more accessIble, how to limit people downloading weapons and whatnot (faa would shit itself if everyone suddenly can have a lightjet and fly to the grocery store)
- how to limit people uploading themselves to the grid forever (im thinking ready player one type addiction)
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.
Funko Pop Collection for Psychopaths - Ch. 2 to GN!nurse!reader x Corenswet!Superman
Pairing: Corenswet!Superman x GN!nurse!reader
Summary: Lex Luthor notices Superman hanging around you and has you kidnapped to his pocket dimension prison.
Tags: No use of Y/N, no description of reader (can be read as any gender or race), explicit violence against reader, fear of heights, forced bad hygiene, italics, the most intimate thing that happens is a kiss to Clark's cheek, inaccurate EMT procedures, inaccurate legal procedures, overuse of commas and dashes, not beta read but edited 3 times
Word count: 6.7k
A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy! I welcome constructive criticism to help me grow as a writer!
Proof I don't use ai
Cross-posted to AO3
Masterlist
Read Ch. 1 : Knee-Jerk Reaction
———
After your dinner date on the roof, the next time you see Superman is two days later with a coffee in hand. It’s your favorite order, and you decide not to ask him how he knows; it would be like asking a magician how they do their tricks and ruin the magic.
“Thank you… What do I even call you?” you ask then blanch. “That wasn’t supposed to be me sniffing out your secret identity,” you add quickly. “I was thinking like ’S’ or ‘Mr. Man—‘“ he interrupts you with a snort and a wave of his hand.
“You can call me Kal,” he says, eyes light with amusement.
“Kal,” you repeat, letting it roll off your tongue. The feel of it sparks a memory.
He smiles.
“Kal…El?” That felt right together—something you must have read in the hundreds of articles written about him when he was still new and scary and wonderful (not that he isn’t still wonderful).
His eyes crinkle at the corners and he nods. “Yeah, that’s my family name.”
“Well it’s nice to officially put a name to the face,” you giggle at your own joke, and Kal chuckles with you.
———
Over the next few weeks, Superman surprises you with four coffees before work, a lunch date during a particularly rough shift, three more dinner dates (this time in a park nearby, very thoughtfully no heights involved), and a soft kiss goodbye after a picnic in the park last night.
You have been practically radiating ever since even your first dinner date with him, and your coworkers make friendly teases asking about when they get to meet your new boyfriend.
You blush red every time and insist that you haven’t talked about it yet. (But after the kiss last night, you think it will be a topic that comes up soon.) Besides, nobody would believe you if you said you had been on dates with Superman.
On your way to work, you are too busy daydreaming about last night’s kiss that you aren’t paying attention to the suspicious van parked next to the opening of an alley with a large man in all black leaning against it.
You are walking as you normally would: bag over your shoulder, one earbud in listening to an upbeat indie song your coworker recommended. A lovestruck grin lives on your face.
As you pass the alley, several things happen at once. The side door of the van slides open, a man jumps out of the alley at you, the man leaning against the van lunges forward at you, and a man leaps out of the van to pull a bag over your head.
You scream and flail at the men, but they efficiently work together to zip tie your hands and your ankles together.
“Help! Sup—“ You lose your breath as one of them punches you in the stomach to stop your calls for Superman.
They toss you into the back of the van then speed off.
You have been kidnapped for the second time in your life, but this time you think this is the real thing. Your heart is pounding as you fight against the restraints on the floor of the van.
It makes a hard right turn, throwing you into the wall. One of your kidnappers shoves a wet cloth under the bag on your head and over your nose and mouth.
You struggle to pull away, fighting to hold your breath.
Someone kicks your stomach, forcing the air from your lungs again. You inhale the sickly sweet chemical, and you become lightheaded. You can’t help the subsequent gasps for air as your body panics from the lack of oxygen.
Your limbs grow weak, the world spins wildly around you, and unconsciousness takes you.
———
You wake up groggy with a pounding headache. You roll over on to your side to try to sit up, and you realize your arms and legs aren’t bound anymore. You open your eyes a crack, trying not to aggravate your headache further. They fly open the rest of the way when you find yourself sitting in a glass box. The pain in your head gives way to the confusion-fear-panic you are struck with.
The sight of your cell (because what else would a box with nothing but a stainless steel toilet be?) in a wall of other glass cells stuns you from moving any further. There is another wall of even more cells across a deep chasm.
This isn’t some petty kidnapping, this is big leagues. This is supervillain.
There are others in the cells around you. Some are pacing, some are sitting on the stainless steel toilet, some are laying down. The ones next to you give a small nod or wave of acknowledgment when you meet their gazes.
“What is this place?” You ask.
“Lex Luthor’s personal trophy case,” a man to your left answers. He is sitting against the far wall from you and is wearing a rumpled collared shirt and slacks, glasses, and his facial hair is overgrown. A tie sits discarded in a heap close to your side of his cell.
You aren’t sure what you want to ask first, so they all come out in quick succession. “Lex Luthor? He collects people? What does he want? How long have you been here? Where even is here?”
“Yep, Lex Luthor from LuthorCorp. I was told that this is a pocket universe outside of our own.” He shakes his head with a raised hand at your blank look. “I don’t know either. Sometimes he tortures people—really only the ones he wants information from—otherwise, he wants to control the people he hates. I’ve been here since March fifth, however long ago that was. I don’t know how long it’s been.”
You gape at him. “It’s May now.”
His face falls. “Oh. Wow.” His head leans back with a thump on the glass.
You want to comfort him, but too many things are unraveling in your brain. “You’ve been here for two months? Why does he hate you? And what the heck did I do? I’m a nurse at the Metropolis Trauma Center! I haven’t even met the man!”
The man shrugs. “I’m here because I drew a newspaper comic about him always being one step behind Wayne Enterprises.”
You stare at him blankly. “There’s no way.”
Another shrug. “One of his exes is here for writing a mean blog post about him. Have you ever tweeted about him or engaged with social media critical of him?”
Your face twits into disbelief. “He imprisons people who liked mean tweets about him?” You scoot to the wall connecting your two cells and lean your shoulder against it. Denial keeps you from feeling the horror you know you should be.
You don’t know where to start with your thoughts. Why you? Why now? Why so much effort? “Why didn’t he just kill us?” you ask aloud. “Why go through all the trouble of keeping everyone here alive instead and taking up space instead of just…getting rid of us?”
Your neighbor shrugs. “I think he likes the effort. I think he likes being the sole reason all of us are still alive and under his thumb. And when he visits, he can see all of us in our glass cages displayed like a Funko Pop collection for psychopaths.”
It’s just like you thought originally: this is supervillain.
———
Minutes or hours later (you can’t be sure), a hovering platform pulls up alongside your cell with a tall, slender pale alien at the controls.
“Welcome to your new abode.” Standing with his arms crossed and a victorious sneer smeared on his face is Lex Luthor.
“Why me?” And, really, why you? A nobody nurse who doesn’t have a big social media presence, doesn’t hang out with very many friends, and lives alone.
“Why you, indeed,” he agrees. “What does Metropolis’ resident hero see in you?”
“This is about Superman?” You guess you should have seen that coming. If you weren’t the interesting one, someone you associated with must be.
“Of course it’s about Superman! What, did you think I was mad about the movies you pirated last weekend?”
Your face flushes while a chill runs down your spine. He definitely hacked your stuff. (Oh god, your search history.)
“Why does he keep meeting with you?” Luthor asks. “What are you doing for him?”
You know you can’t tell him anything. Lex Luthor is radiating evil unhinged energy, and you know any scrap of information can and will be used against Superman no matter how inconsequential you think it may be.
“I want a lawyer,” you say. It’s a panic response, and you know there is no way he will actually give you a lawyer, but you need to say something.
He laughs. “Was kidnapping you from the street not enough to get through your simple mind? This isn’t official. Nobody is going to help you.”
It hits you now how you will be missing from work for today. They will try to contact you, it will be marked as a no-call-no-show, and your coworkers will be mad. Tomorrow when you don’t show up, maybe someone will worry. You know that at least by the third day, your manager will call for a welfare check.
But will they check street cameras for you? Did anyone see you get kidnapped?
“I know what’s probably going through your head,” he says. “Work will know, my friends will know, Superman will know!” He smirks and leans against the outside of your cell.
“Officially, you have transferred to another hospital and moved out of your apartment.”
“What?” you hear yourself breathe.
“If anyone goes looking, it will look like you got a job offer, put in your two weeks, used your PTO on those last two weeks, moved out, and didn’t tell anyone.”
“My friends at work will know something is up—“
“I’ve already taken care of that, too,” he interrupts. “They think your mom is having a medical emergency.”
“Is she?”
“I don’t know,” he sighs, “and I don’t care.”
He pushes away from the cell and focuses on you sitting against the far wall, hugging your legs. “Now, tell me about your meetings with Superman.”
You don’t look at him. You can’t tell him anything. Can you play up the in-shock civilian?
You feed into the horror of Luthor erasing your kidnapping. You focus on your cell neighbor and how he has been trapped here for two months. You let yourself fear the man standing in front of you. Your breath comes faster, and shallower. Your hands shake. You tremble as tears streak down your cheeks.
“Oh, don’t do that. I don’t have time for boo-hoos” he spits.
You let out a sob and bury your face in your knees.
Luthor grunts angrily. “Fine. I’ll be back in a week. Maybe once it settles in, you’ll be more willing to participate.”
Your throat tightens at the thought of being here that long and then you’re thinking about your neighbor again. Months. You could be here months.
“Mr. Handsome, take us back,” you hear Luthor say.
Everything seems to hit you in waves then re-sink in as you process other information.
Superman hasn’t been to your apartment before, but you’re sure he could have found it if he looked. If he looks now though, you assume he’ll find it empty or with another tenant already living in it.
What will he think when he can’t find you? Will he believe that you up and left without telling him? You didn’t have a way of contacting him, after all. Maybe he won’t even notice that you’re missing until your fabricated two weeks is up and it looks natural enough that you’re gone.
You just have to have hope that he will find you. You have to have hope that he knows you like him a lot more than ghosting him all of a sudden.
———
A week must go by because Luthor comes back, this time with a masked man dressed in all black.
You stink, your teeth are fuzzy, your hair is an oily mess, and you haven’t been able to sleep for long on the hard glass floor. You are also bored out of your mind.
You already got to know your neighbor, Devin, on the first day here, and the other people nearby at least told you their reasons for being imprisoned by Luthor. (They weren’t as willing to be seen mingling in case the Raptors noticed and reported back to Luthor about it.)
Luthor steps up to the cell wall and smiles patronizingly down at you. “Are you ready to cooperate?”
You are sitting against the front wall in the corner by Devin’s cell, and you don’t want to give Luthor the satisfaction of moving from your spot. Even though he makes you uncomfortable, you don’t want him to know that.
You glance at him and his bodyguard over your shoulder then turn away, leaning your head against Devin’s wall.
“You’re still protecting him?” Luthor chuckles dryly. “He hasn’t looked for you, you know?”
A pang shoots through your heart, but you push it down. Superman is busy, and for all you know he might not have had time to notice you were gone. You don’t show any reaction for Luthor to see.
“Superman doesn’t care about you; how could he?”
This is easier to ignore. You have seen his softness and his excitement to spend time with you, and if he doesn’t care about you, then he could have just said thank you that first time and never seen you again.
Luthor sighs. “I’ll give you one more chance to answer my questions before my methods become more… unsavory.”
You feel the blood drain from your face. Devin had told you that Luthor tortures people sometimes to get information. You didn’t want to find out just how right he was.
“Why are you so interested in what we did?” you ask, voice wavering.
“I couldn’t care less about what you did,” he says. “I want to know about him. What did he tell you about himself? His likes and dislikes, where is he from, what does he do when he isn’t saving the world, who is he?”
“You took me too early because he hasn’t told me any of those things yet,” you lie. He had told you about things he liked and disliked, but you weren’t going to tell Luthor anything.
“Lie,” the masked man’s deep voice rumbles.
You turn abruptly to to face Luthor and his bodyguard. “I’m not lying!”
“Lie,” the man repeats.
Luthor’s mouth pulls into an annoyed frown and he raps his knuckles against the cell wall.
The driver—Mr. Handsome, you think Luthor called him—pulls a lever that causes the wall to slide up.
You scramble to the back of the cell, but the masked man stomps forward at Luthor’s snap and grabs you.
His hands are steel around your upper arms, lifting you like you weigh nothing.
“No! Let me go!” You thrash against his hold, but he clamps down hard. You wince at the painful grip, and you are sure that there will be bruising later.
“If you can’t be trusted to answer questions truthfully, Ultraman here will show you what happens.” Luthor looks at you with blatant disdain. His eyes pin you in place like a bug.
The masked man holding you, Ultraman, sets you on your feet and moves his hands to your wrists.
“Don’t break anything just yet,” Luthor says. “But make it hurt.”
Ultraman’s hands squeeze around your wrists like vices.
A gasp escapes from your lips. Your bones grind against each other.
“At any point this can stop if you just answer my questions,” Luthor offers.
Your sight blurs with tears as the pain in your wrists flare. You want it to stop. You hear yourself begging for it to stop. You are sure you feel crackles. “Please!” You’re sobbing now. “Please, I don’t know anything!”
“Lie,” Ultraman says, emotionless. As if he wasn’t bruising your skin and bending your bones and causing you pain.
In your normal, boring, non-special life this is the worst pain you have ever encountered. (And something whispers that it will probably get worse if you don’t tell Luthor something.)
Batman may have grabbed you and hurt you a little, but in the end you were able to move past it because it was a misunderstanding and he was just trying to protect his friend. Ultraman hurting you now is the first true malicious thing anyone has done to you. Luthor wants you to hurt.
Your knees have given out, but Ultraman just holds you upright by your wrists. Tears fall in streams down you cheeks, your shoulders heave with every sob.
You haven’t stopped begging and apologizing since the pain started.
“Enough.”
And then it’s over. Ultraman releases your wrists, and you fall into a heap at his feet.
You cry out when your hands instinctively catch yourself. White-hot fire shoots up your arms causing you to divert and crumple to your side rather than fall on your face.
You cradle your arms to your chest and curl your knees closer.
Ultraman doesn’t move except his head to stare down at you.
“I’ll give you another week to think about your position,” Luthor says. “Just know, it only gets worse.”
He snaps, and Ultraman finally leaves your cell.
The wall slides closed, the platform floats away, and you are left alone with your blood roaring in your ears.
Your neighbors stay at the far sides of their cells, and the soft drone of voices you had gotten used to the past week is now silent.
Your soft cries and sniffles are the only thing loud enough to hear.
———
The next week passes by even slower than the first. With nobody to talk to, and the anxiety of what you are going to do when Luthor makes Ultraman snap your bones, the minutes crawl as your brain conjures up scenarios.
The throbbing pain becomes sharp knives at every movement and keeps you from pacing, and a baby was put in a cell somewhere below you and has been crying almost nonstop ever since which has kept you from sleeping the time away. (Though you haven’t been able to sleep for long periods on the hard glass floor anyway.)
You are startled awake when a gunshot explodes across the chasm at the other tower of cells. You see Luthor’s floating platform with the creepy tall pale driver, Luthor himself, a plump man, and someone laying at their feet. Your heart drops when you notice the dark puddle growing under him.
Luthor’s platform floats away, and you swear he looks at you as he goes.
You gasp when you see who is in the cell Luthor shot someone in front of. (Oh God, he shot someone.)
Laying on the floor of the cell is Superman—Kal. It scares you to think about how Luthor could have captured him.
And there is someone sitting in the back of his cell with him glowing green.
Your blood runs cold. You remember the glowing green crystal from your first meeting with Kal. If such a small piece incapacitated him like that, what will a huge chunk do to him? And who will save him?
You want to call out to Kal, but you don’t want to risk the Raptors intervening, so you sit at the front of your cell and watch him.
You have only met with him a handful of times, and it has only been two weeks since you last saw him, but you realize as you watch him that you have missed him. He had become a semi-regular staple in your life, and the night before you had been kidnapped, you had kissed. The desire to kiss him again rears up.
You doze off still facing Kal’s cell and some time later a blinding white light fills the pocket universe. You have to duck your head because it’s even too bright behind your eyelids.
You hear a crash of glass breaking twice then the light goes away.
Once you blink the spots from your eyes, you see Kal’s cell is empty.
“Kal?” you call his name. “Kal!”
He floats up from below you holding a green baby. His eyes are wide as he presses a hand to your cell. “What are you doing here?” His eyes quickly scan you for injuries, and you keep your wrists covered by your sleeves.
“I was taken two weeks ago on the way to work,” you say.
His face crumples. “Your coworkers said you had to go home for a family emergency.”
Oh. He did look for you. Your heart does a little flutter at the thought.
“Luthor did a good job making it look like I left on my own,” you say. “I’m willing to bet he had my stuff moved out of my apartment, too.”
“I’m so sorry—“
“It’s not your fault,” you cut him off.
“But—“
“Kal.” You hold his gaze. “You didn’t do this to me.”
He presses his lips together but doesn’t argue. “I’m going to get you out of here.” He pulls his cape over his shoulder to shield the baby then cocks a fist back, preparing to punch the cell wall.
You move to the back and cover your head.
“Oof!”
You look up to see Kal gone and a swarm of Raptors flying past your cell.
You hope the crystal they used on Kal the first time isn’t one they can use again. He can handle the Raptors, you know that much. But if they have the crystal, he won’t be able to fight them.
You just have to hope he’ll make it.
———
You’re pretty sure another day goes by before you get evacuated with the other prisoners.
The Green Lantern creates a multi-tiered bridge with stairs leading up from the bottom levels and down from the top levels to a middle level for everyone to walk to the portal.
You shakily sit on the stairs and scoot down stair by stair. The construct didn’t come with hand rails, and the chasm is very deep.
You make it to the bridge and walk squarely down the middle. Almost everyone has already made it to the portal and are waiting in line. You and a handful of others slowly make your way to the exit. Some limp, some are too entranced by the pocket universe, and some are like you and are terrified of how high up you are.
The Green Lantern watches with a bored expression. “Let’s go, people! We can’t keep this pocket universe open forever unless we want to tear Metropolis in half again!”
What the heck did that mean? Metropolis was torn in half?
You pick up the pace to a near jog, keeping your eyes trained firmly on the line of people growing closer.
The line reminds you of waiting for a ride at a theme park. A group goes in to the pod, the line moves ahead several paces, then there is a wait, another group goes in, and the process repeats.
The portal seems more like a teleportation device than something you can walk through, and when you finally enter the pod, the experience is disorienting. The machine shudders around you and suddenly the wall in front is behind you, and an office is in front of you, but it’s also on a ship and in the middle of the street?
You exit the office-ship and recognize the Daily Planet. Your apartment is—was—a couple of blocks from here, and your hospital is a couple of blocks further.
There are military personnel guiding the flow of evacuees, EMTs lined up on the side for people to get checked out, and another ship parked next to the office-ship you just exited with Superman talking to people you don’t recognize.
You follow the flow of people and elect to get checked out by the EMTs. Your wrists are dark purple and still very sore. You don’t think they are broken, but bones aren’t your specialty.
A man and woman sit you on the back of the ambulance, tell you their names that you immediately forget, take your vitals, and look at your wrists.
“You should get an X-ray to make sure there aren’t any breaks,” the man says.
“And maybe talk to an officer to press charges on whoever did this to you,” the woman adds with a pointed look at the dark purple handprints wrapped around your wrists.
You nod along, not really knowing where to start in the first place with trying to press charges against Lex Luthor. You hadn’t even thought about it. You assumed you would get out, heal, and go back to life as normal.
But your job had gotten your forged two weeks notice. And your apartment was probably gone now, too. What the hell are you going to do?
Your eyes unfocus on a spot past your feet dangling from the ambulance.
One of the EMTs wraps a shock blanket around you and rubs your shoulders. “Hang in there,” the woman’s voice.
“I heard someone say that Wayne Enterprises is lending their legal team to spearhead a case against Lex Luthor,” the man’s voice.
That does make you feel a little less lost, but you still are homeless and jobless as of this moment. You have a feeling your boss would streamline the process of getting your job back, but everything is too much right now to think it through properly.
The woman EMT kneels in your sightline. “We need to check some more people out, so just sit tight here and we can give you a ride to the hospital once everything calms down some.”
You nod, letting them do what they need to. You burrito yourself in the blanket and swing your legs up so you can lay on your side in the back of the ambulance. The ambient noise of the city, the sun on your face, and the fresh air all work to unfurl the tightness in your chest that has been living there ever since you were kidnapped. You feel like you can breathe again for the first time since being taken to the pocket universe.
You are dozing in the place between sleep and waking when a familiar voice pulls you out: “Are you alright?”
You open your eyes to Kal kneeling in front of you.
You smile at him, still foggy from your half nap. “I’m ok. Are you ok?”
He smiles back. “I’m ok.”
You sit up and let the shock blanket slip from your shoulders to pool around your waist.
He looks at the rest of you and frowns when he sees the bruises on your wrists. “What happened there?”
You shift and try to cross your arms to hide them, but you don’t like how closed-off that makes you seem, and your arms are still sore enough that crossing them hurts. You wince then allow them to lay back in your lap.
Kal gently takes one of your hands to inspect the bruising. His brow furrows as he looks at it, and seems to squint to look more closely.
“It’s not broken,” he says then takes your other hand to do the same.
You blink at him. “You can see my bones?”
His eyes snap up to meet yours. “I uh– yeah. I have X-ray vision that I can turn on and off.” He seems to be waiting for you to say something.
“Do you shoot X-rays with your eyes?” you blurt. It’s not the most emotionally intelligent thing you’ve said, and you want to hide your face as soon as you say it.
“What?”
“Well X-rays work by shooting X-ray radiation through something and having a detector on the other side to catch the radiation, so you get a picture based on how much radiation can penetrate the object. Lighter spots are less radiation due to something dense blocking it, and darker spots are where the radiation can go through. Bones are dense enough to mostly block X-ray radiation, so that’s why we can take pictures of bones and still see breaks and things.” (Shut up shut up shut up shut up)
“It just doesn’t make sense how you can see my bones without shooting radiation to see it because there isn’t enough ambient radiation around to go through me and for you to pick up on it.”
Kal soundlessly opens and closes his mouth, his eyes amused. “I don’t know.”
You blush and nod. “Right.” Your eyes start watering with the embarrassment.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks.
The smile you give him is shaky, and you fight a losing battle to keep your tears in. “I am,” your voice cracks.
Kal’s expression softens, but his brow furrows with worry. “It’s ok if you aren’t.”
You shake your head. “I really am ok,” you insist. “It was just scary, and I thought I was going to be the next person Luthor shot in front of you—“ Kal flinches—“and I’ve never been hurt on purpose before—“ tears start falling freely. You shudder as your breathing becomes more shaky. “He took my job and my apartment, and he kidnapped me for two weeks.”
Maybe you weren’t ok.
At the realization, you completely break. You lunge forward to wrap your arms around Kal. He catches you and cradles you to him as you fall apart.
“I was so scared,” you sob into his shoulder.
He strokes your hair and holds you. He murmurs reassurances that you’re safe and Luthor is going to jail and he’ll help you get your things back and that it’s going to be ok.
He helps you believe that it’s going to be ok.
———
Later when you have calmed down and the EMTs are still checking over other rescued prisoners, Kal tries to apologize. He is sitting beside you on the back of the ambulance when he turns to you.
His face is pained, like seeing you hurt is hurting him too. “I am so—“
“Don’t apologize for something you didn’t do,” you cut him off.
“But this did happen because of me.”
“It happened because Luthor was unreasonably obsessed with you,” you say. “You didn’t do this to me, he did.”
Superman frowns, not convinced. “This never would have happened if—“
“Stop.” You take a breath and take his hand. “I enjoy our time together, and I really like you. Nothing would make me want to trade that for anything.”
His eyes soften. “I really like you too,” he says gently. “I just hate that he hurt you to get to me.”
“Well, luckily he was very uniquely crazy about you,” you chuckle dryly. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that happening again.”
“That’s just it, though. Anyone who tries to go after me will go after the people I care about.”
“But nobody goes after you like that.” You trace circles with your thumb into his knuckles. “It’s been three years, and Luthor is the first person to try to hurt you.”
He sighs. “You missed a lot in the pocket universe.”
“What do you mean?” You frown. “Like what?”
“Like, I stopped a war, strained political alliances, Metropolis was ripped in half.” His shoulders curl in, making him smaller. “Like, my parents sent me here to rule over Earth and make lots of Kryptonian babies. Everyone hates me now.”
You are certainly shocked, but the miserable wet cat face Kal is making tells you that he doesn’t want to follow his parent’s plan.
“But everything is ok now, right?” you ask. “Metropolis looks like it’s whole again, and you obviously don’t want to rule over Earth.” You blush thinking about him making lots of babies, but push past it. “You are sunshine incarnate, hope if it were a person. Your presence in this city has cut crime in half, and inspired thousands.”
Kal shifts in place and ducks his head. A ghost of a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.
“People will know what you stand for just by seeing what you do. And it won’t matter in a few weeks anyway. Some Kardashian or whoever will do or say something stupid, and that will be in the news next.”
He nods along to your words.
“Plus, Luthor had that monkey farm stirring everything up. Now that it’s gone, the majority will be much more on your side, I’m sure.”
That seems to break through to him. He meets your eyes with a light smile. “Thank you.”
You smile back. “What for? All I said was the truth.”
“For your kindness and persistence.”
You shake your head but lean into his side as he wraps his arm around your shoulders..
You slip your arm around him too and lean your head on his chest.
“I still am sorry you had to go through that,” he turns and murmurs into your hair.
“I’m ok,” you reassure him. “It sucked, but It’s over now, and I’m still here.”
He squeezes you once then kisses the top of your head.
You hum your contentment.
“I’m scared,” he admits.
You melt at the confession. “That’s ok.”
“I want to spend more time with you, and I want to show you who I am.”
You shift so you can look at him. “You don’t have to push yourself if you aren’t ready,” you say. “I’m ok waiting.”
“It’s not that part I’m scared of.”
Your forehead creases between your eyebrows. “Then what?”
“I’m scared that I’ll lose you.”
You wrap your other arm around his front in a full hug. “You could,” you agree. “But you could say that about anyone. People get into accidents or get sick or get hurt everyday. That’s just life. You can’t deprive yourself of good things just because something bad might happen.”
He doesn’t say anything for a while. The both of you stay hugging the whole time.
Then, finally: “You’re right.”
You pull back to grin big and bright.
He matches your enthusiasm with his own signature sunshine smile.
You hear the radio in the front of the ambulance come to life with a muffled voice. It pulls you back to your situation and makes you realize: “I don’t need to wait for a ride to the hospital since you already saw that my bones aren’t broken.”
Kal’s brow furrows. “Shouldn’t you get checked over for being in captivity?”
You shrug. “They’ll give me some IV fluids, take some blood that tells them I’m dehydrated and a little malnourished, tell me to follow up with my primary care doctor, and tell me to eat and drink plenty.”
Kal doesn’t look convinced.
“I don’t have the insurance to pay for an ER visit, and I don’t need to go to the ER.” You smile sadly with a ‘what can you do?’ shrug. “I’m not dying, or needing to be under observation, so I would just contribute to the unnecessary long wait times.”
Kal sighs. “Yeah, ok.” He nods. “You would know better than me.”
You hop off the back of the ambulance then freeze. Now what? Where do you go from here?
Kal notices your hesitation. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t actually know what to do now,” you say. “I don’t know where Luthor put my stuff.”
Kal’s expression firms into determination. “I’ll take you to my place, and we can make some calls from there. You can stay with me until we get you back on your feet.”
You automatically start trying to tell him that he doesn’t need to do that, and that you can figure something out.
Kal places his hands on your shoulders and ducks down to look you in the eyes. “Let me help,” he says kindly. “I want to do this for you.”
Tears well up and your vision blurs. “Ok.” You nod. “Thank you.”
———
His apartment is oddly sterile. All glass and chrome and sharp corners. It doesn’t match his warmth at all.
“I’ll get you something to change into so you can shower,” Kal says as he strides down the hall.
Your embarrassed flush goes unseen. (Oh God, how bad do you smell?)
He comes back with a t-shirt, sweats, and a pair of boxers. His cheeks are tinged pink when he hands them to you. “I, uh, brought some underwear in case—“ he clears his throat— “I wasn’t sure—“
“Thank you.” You take the clothes with a soft smile. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”
His dimples sink in and his eyes are warm. “It’s nothing.”
You shake your head. “It’s everything.”
His lips twitch but he doesn’t say anything in return. He wets his lips and his eyes flicker down and you think he might kiss you and then… he steps back.
“The bathroom is the first door on the left. I have an extra toothbrush laid out for you, too.”
You bite your tongue to keep yourself from turning red and nod. “Thank you,” you squeak. Then you practically run to the bathroom.
You do everything twice. Shampoo, body wash, the works. Then when you’re done in the shower, you brush your teeth three times. You feel refreshed and clean.
Kal’s clothes are huge on you, so you have to forgo the boxers and roll down the waist of the sweatpants as well as roll up the legs. The shirt is baggy and soft and smells warm like him.
You step out of the bathroom to a wafting aroma of something cooking. Your stomach rumbles at how good it smells, so you follow it down the hall to the kitchen.
Kal is standing at the stove in regular civilian clothes. He is wearing sweats and a t-shirt like you, and his hair is a curly mess. It makes you pause to stare.
You haven’t seen him in anything other than the Superman uniform. You knew he had a life outside of Superman, he had told you as much, but you never really thought about it. It hits you now that he is a regular guy, too.
He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you. “I figured you would be hungry, so I’m making something easy on the stomach.”
You have a sudden thought that this is what it would be like to date Kal and wake up in the same apartment as him and have him cook for you. Your chest aches at how much you want it.
You thank him and sit on a stool at the counter. You watch him move through the kitchen and let your mind wander. You need to call your landlord to ask about your stuff and maybe move back in if your apartment hasn’t been sold, you need to call your boss to set up a meeting (your situation is easier explained in person), and you need to sign up for the Wayne Enterprises legal assistance. All things you can do.
Kal sets a plate of food and glass of water in front of you. “How are you feeling?” He sits beside you with his own plate.
You meet his worried gaze. “I’m ok. Just thinking about the things I need to do.”
“You should at least eat first,” he suggests. “I know I think clearer when I’m not hungry.”
You nod and dig in. “Oh my God, Kal, this is incredible.”
He takes a sip of water then says: “It’s Clark, actually.”
You pause to look at him. “Clark?” you say around a mouth full of food so it sounds more like “Glarg?” Then you swallow.
He holds out a hand to shake. “Clark Kent.”
You take his hand. “Clark Kent,” you repeat. Your heart flutters in your chest; this is a big next step for your relationship with him. “It’s nice to meet you, Clark.”
———
(Bonus)
You walk into the living room holding up today’s Daily Planet newspaper. “You’re a reporter and you write articles… about yourself.”
Clark blushes and leans back in his chair. “I mean I think of it more like Superman is getting his story out under a pseudonym.”
You arch an eyebrow at his use of the third person.
“You know what I mean,” he grumbles, deflating.
You giggle at his grumpy face and cross the room to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Sure, sunshine.”
ares falling for the first person who shows him kindness. ares not understanding boundaries and becoming super dependent/obsessive over eve. going too far and dipping into horror territory.
viruses spreading in the grid corrupting people’s code and either overwriting them or ripping them apart
an anti-grid movement spreading the virus and people not wanting to digitize due to fear of catching it
all of society reshaping itself to maintain the grid and become marketable in the grid until the anti-grid movement forces more people back off the grid and realizing the earth is deteriorating from giant data centers and pollution (oh wow a real life parallel)
imagining printing perfectly compatible organs and tissues and blood from the grid for people waiting for transplants.
imagining how healthcare would collapse as an industry (good riddance) if there was nobody needing treatment
imagining a path like altered carbon where the rich can just upload themselves to the grid and come back out in a young body
imagining a fomo skin industry that forms with micro transactions for people to change their looks at the press of a button. the makeup industry, clothing industry, etc collapse too
imagining creating movies in the grid and not needing as much post process cgi because its generated already and the actors can act more convincingly (stunt doubles wearing the actor’s bodies in the grid or being completely obsolete if you can download info like the matrix “i know kung fu now”)
the clip of eve where she talks about ai being used to talk to a loved one who has passed away made me think of a darker timeline/more obsessed eve who makes an ai version of tess. it can go the black mirror episode uncanny valley eve knowing shes perfect but not real route or the westworld tess horrified that she has the memories and personality but isnt real route
