Jason Knox was bone-fucking-tired.
Three hours on the bus, three cardiac arrests, one kid who tried to skateboard off a roof, and a domestic where the wife greeted them with a cast-iron skillet. All he wanted was a shower, a beer, and to jerk off to whatever free porn still worked on his ancient phone.
Instead, dispatch lit up his radio like Christmas in hell.
"Engine 17, Ladder 9, Rescue 4—major explosion, Hobb's Bay Industrial Park, CoroAlloys Facility. Multiple workers trapped. Reports of a metahuman on scene. Repeat, metahuman."
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course there's a fucking metahuman."
His partner, Ruiz, just laughed the laugh of a man who'd already accepted death. "Least it's not Parasite again. He ate my boots!"
"You tell that story every time, Ruiz," Jason deadpanned.
"Until you laugh at it, I'll keep telling it!" The older paramedic said.
"Then you'll be telling it forever."
They rolled in hot, lights strobing off the water. The facility was already an inferno—flames licking two hundred feet high, black smoke boiling into the night sky like the city itself was exhaling tar. Workers staggered out, faces soot-black, eyes wide with that special Metropolis brand of "why do I still live here?"
And then the wall exploded outward.
Metallo stepped through the breach like he owned the place, chest cavity open, green glow painting everything sickly. The air itself seemed to curdle around him.
Jason's stomach dropped. "Well. Shit."
"Where the hell is the Justice League, the Special Crimes Unit-?" Ruiz demanded.
Two heartbeats later, a sonic boom cracked overhead.
Power Girl hit the ground hard enough to spiderweb the asphalt, red cape snapping like a battle flag. Blonde hair, blue eyes, red-white-and-blue costume that was ninety percent confidence and ten percent fabric.
She cracked her knuckles and grinned like this was the best part of her week.
"Hey, tin-man! You're uglier than the last time I kicked your ass!"
Metallo answered by firing a fucking Kryptonite beam the width of a telephone pole.
Jason didn't stick around to watch the light show. He was already running toward the burning building with a Halligan bar and his life support gear.
The superheroes were here to do their jobs. This was his.
Fire command was screaming over the radio for everyone to pull back. Something about structural integrity and not being stupid.
Jason ignored them. Always had. It was why the Army loved him and why the Army eventually told him to get lost.
He went in through the loading bay, SCBA mask fogging with every breath. Heat like a living thing trying to cook him inside his turnout gear.
First guy he found was unconscious near a pallet of alloy ingots. Jason dragged him out, handed him off to Ruiz.
Went back in.
Second guy was screaming on the catwalk. Jason climbed a burning ladder that probably should've collapsed, threw the guy over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, came back down.
Went back in.
By the fourth trip his lungs felt like charcoal and his legs felt like wet sand, but the building was almost clear.
Then he heard the crash.
Through the smoke and green haze he saw her—Power Girl—take a hit that would've turned a tank inside out. She flew backward, smashed through a catwalk, and disappeared under a collapsing steel girder.
Metallo laughed, a sound like rusted chainsaws fucking.
Jason didn't think. He just moved.
The pocket of air they were trapped in was maybe ten feet across and shrinking fast. Flames roared on every side like the devil's own applause.
Power Girl was pinned under the girder, legs twisted at bad angles, blood on her lips. Green K shards glittered around her like poisoned snow. She was trying to push the beam off but her arms were shaking.
Jason dropped beside her, jammed the hydraulic spreader under the girder, pumped until his shoulders screamed. The beam lifted three inches. Four.
Enough.
He grabbed her under the arms and hauled. She was heavier than she had any right to be—like dragging a statue made of muscle and curves—but adrenaline is a hell of a drug.
They collapsed together behind a stack of alloy drums just as the ceiling came down where they'd been.
For thirty seconds the only sound was the fire and both of them coughing their lungs out.
Then Power Girl stirred.
Her eyes opened—ice-blue and suddenly sharp again. The violet gem on Jason's cross, hidden under his Nomex jacket, pulsed once. Bright.
She looked at him.
Really looked.
And something in her expression shifted from pain to something far more dangerous.
Next thing Jason knew, the world flipped upside down. She had him bridal-style—him, two hundred pounds of gear and muscle—and rocketed straight up through the burning roof in an explosion of sparks and embers.
They landed on a rooftop three blocks away. Sirens wailed below. The night air felt arctic after the furnace.
She set him down gently. Kept her hands on his waist a second longer than strictly necessary.
Jason's legs decided they were done for the day. He leaned against an AC unit, trying to remember how lungs worked.
"Phew… Thanks, Powergirl."
She smirked, voice husky from smoke and something else. "Oh… No problem~…"
He laughed, shaky. "Hoo… That's awesome. Flying, I mean."
"It is," she nodded, "What's your name?"
"Uh, Jason. Jason Knox," he said. "You? I mean… Sorry, you're Powergirl. Obviously."
She giggled. Giggled. He blinked a few times.
"So… Flying is pretty awesome," she said, "Anything else of mine you think is awesome?"
"Uh… Well, uh… Everything, really," Jason managed briefly. Saving her life was one thing. This? He didn't even know how to contextualize this.
Power Girl arched one perfect brow, hands on hips in that pose that launched a thousand ships. "Oh? Anything specific?" She leaned forward slightly with a sexy smirk.
Is she…? She can't be… Well… Hell, if she's asking…
Jason met her eyes, sincere if guarded.
"... If you're going to ask, then… Yes, they're… Amazing."
She barked a laugh—loud, delighted, zero shame.
Then she stepped in close, fingers hooking into the front of his turnout coat, pulling him until they were chest to chest.
"So… you single, hotshot?"
His brain short-circuited. "I am. You?"
"Yup."
His internal monologue went full Windows error sound.
Jason swallowed. "So… why the curiosity?"
Power Girl leaned in until her lips brushed his ear. "Why do you think, Jason?"
He shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the night air. "Well… I'd think you were asking me out."
She pulled back just enough to grin like a cat that caught the canary and the cream and the entire fucking dairy section.
"You need to be the one to ask the girl out first?"
"No. Just… unexpected."
Power Girl's eyes sparkled with pure mischief. "How about I make this very simple? You. Me. Date. Sex after if it goes well."
Jason blinked once. Twice.
"I'd be an idiot to say no… so yes."
Her smile could've powered the city for a week. "This Friday. 6 PM."
"Sounds good. I live on the South side—"
She was already fishing something out of her cape pocket. A sleek silver watch with a stylized S-shield. She pressed it into his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Here. Just hit it and I'll find you. 6 PM sharp. You pick the restaurant—I like a good steakhouse. Rare. Very rare."
She booped his nose with one finger, winked, and launched into the sky so fast she left a shockwave that rattled the rooftop gravel.
Jason stood there covered in soot and someone else's blood, holding a fucking Justice League signal watch, staring at the spot where the hottest woman on Earth had just asked him out like it was nothing.
He looked down at the watch. Then back up at the sky.
"What the actual fuck just happened?"
Later—after the debrief, after refusing the hospital, after the world's longest shower—Jason sat on his couch in nothing but sweatpants, beer forgotten in his hand.
The cross lay on the coffee table. The violet stone was still glowing faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat.
He didn't notice. He just stared up at the ceiling, shaking his head slowly.
"A date with Powergirl… God? Mom? I don't know how you did it, but… Just don't let me fuck this up."
Across town, in a penthouse most people didn't know existed, Karen Starr stood in front of her mirror in tight shorts and a tank top that had given up trying to contain her.
Her cheeks were flushed. Heart racing. She couldn't stop smiling like a complete idiot.
"Get it together, Karen," she muttered. "He's just a guy. A stupidly hot, competent, calm-under-fire guy who carried you out of a fire like you weighed nothing, but still. Just a guy."
She touched her lips, remembering how close they'd been.
Friday couldn't come fast enough.
Neither of them knew it yet, but the violet stone in Jasonary Knox's crucifix wasn't amethyst.
It was violet Kryptonite.
And it had already done its work.
Friday rolled around faster than a Flash's response time.
Jason was restocking the ambulance bay when Ruiz found him elbow-deep in trauma dressings.
"So," Ruiz said, leaning against the rig with that shit-eating grin he'd perfected over fifteen years on the job. "You still jerking off to the memory of Power Girl's tits, or did you actually nut up and use that watch?"
"It's not a real signal watch," he said, "Just a replica."
"Uh huh, and you just happened to get it right after meeting Powergirl?" Ruiz asked dryly.
Jason didn't even look up. "We're going out tonight."
Ruiz froze. Then he punched Jason in the shoulder hard enough to stagger a normal guy.
"No fucking way."
"Yes fucking way."
Ruiz whooped loud enough to turn heads across the bay. "My boy! My sad, lonely, serial-killer-vibes boy finally pulled the hottest piece of ass on the planet!"
"Jesus, Ruiz—"
"I'm buying you a beer. No—ten beers. Fuck it, I'm buying the whole bar. Knox, you've been a goddamn hermit since you got back from the sandbox. Eating MREs for dinner, talking to your mom's picture, jerking off in the dark like a raccoon with depression—"
"I get it."
"—and now you're banging Power Girl. I'm so proud I could cry."
Jason finally looked up, smirking despite himself. "It's just a date, man."
Ruiz wiped an imaginary tear. "Sure. Just a date. With the woman who could bench-press the moon. Wear the good underwear, hermano. The ones without the hole."
Jason flipped him off, but he was smiling.
He picked The Stockyard—old-school steakhouse in the heart of the city, dark wood, low lighting, the kind of place where the steaks are thick and the wine list doesn't fuck around.
He was waiting outside in a black button-down and jeans that actually fit (Ruiz had threatened to burn his cargo pants if he wore them), when she walked up.
Brown wig in loose waves, big dark-rimmed glasses, tight black sweater that was fighting for its life, a skirt that should've been illegal in twelve states, and knee-high boots with just enough heel to make her legs look endless.
Civilian Powergirl looked like the hottest librarian porn had ever dreamed up.
Jason's mouth went dry.
She grinned when she saw his face. "You recognize me."
"Hard not to," he said, voice rough. "You're still built like a brick shithouse. Glasses aren't fooling anybody."
Karen laughed, low and warm, and looped her arm through his. "Good. I'd hate to waste the wig."
They got seated in a corner booth. The waiter took one look at her and forgot how to speak English.
Steaks came out bloody and perfect. Wine was red and expensive. Conversation flowed like it had been waiting years for this table.
Jason told her about Iraq. Not the sanitized version. The real one.
How he'd been a combat medic with the 75th Rangers. How the first time he used his "gifts" was dragging three wounded guys out of a burning Humvee while RPGs cooked off around him.
How the strength and durability were low-level—just enough to make him harder to kill, not enough to punch through walls.
"I could've gone cape," he said, cutting into his ribeye. "Register. Get a stupid name-Uh, no offense."
"None taken," Karen chuckled.
"Try to fight aliens on the news every week. But well… I got my ass kicked by muggers the first time I went out. And the second. And the third. I decided I would do better if I went into the military, and then help people afterwards."
Karen listened like he was the only person in the universe. So he listened just as attentively when she began to talk.
She told him about Kryton, and Argo. About losing everything—family, friends, an entire fucking planet—waking up in a pod on a strange Earth where she was suddenly the cousin of the world's greatest hero, but not really.
"I was supposed to be the older one," she said softly, swirling her wine. "Watch over Kal. Instead I got here late, lost decades in stasis. Had to build a whole new life from scratch. New name. New world. New everything."
Jason reached across the table, thumb brushing her knuckles. "That why you do it? The hero thing?"
"Part of it. The bigger part is… someone has to stand up. Someone has to say 'not today' to the monsters. I lost my whole world once. I'll be damned if I let this one go without a fight."
He nodded slow. "Same. My mom used to say, 'God gave you strong arms for a reason, Jasony. Don't waste them.' She died while I was deployed. Breast cancer. Never even got to say goodbye."
Karen's hand tightened around his. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Me too."
They talked for three hours. About family. About loss. About why normal life felt too small
sometimes, but also why it was worth protecting. About how saving one person in a burning building could feel bigger than winning any war.
The chemistry was fucking nuclear. Every casual touch—her foot sliding against his calf under the table, his fingers tracing the inside of her wrist—felt like live wires.
When the check came, Jason paid before she could pull out the black card that probably had no limit.
Outside, the night air was cold enough to bite. Karen slipped her hand into his like it belonged there.
They walked slow, no rush.
She stopped under a streetlight, turned to face him, still holding his hand.
"So," she said, voice husky again, eyes bright behind the glasses. "Still interested in the 'sex after if it goes well' part?"
Jason stepped in until they were chest to chest, until he could feel her breath on his lips.
"I'd be a goddamn fool not to be."
The cab ride was twenty minutes of torture.
Karen sat pressed against him in the back seat, one hand resting high on his thigh, thumb drawing slow, deliberate circles. Jason stared straight ahead, jaw clenched so tight the driver probably thought he was having a stroke.
By the time they hit his building in Suicide Slum South, Jason was half-hard and fully insane.
He fumbled the keys twice at the door. Karen's laugh was low and filthy against the back of his neck.
"Problem, hotshot?"
"Shut up and get inside."
She did.
The second the door shut he had her against it, mouth on hers, hands finally, finally, on the body he'd been dreaming about since Tuesday. Karen moaned into the kiss, fingers threading through his hair and pulling just hard enough to sting.
Jason broke away long enough to yank his shirt over his head. The cross necklace swung between them, violet stone pulsing like it had its own heartbeat.
Karen's pupils blew wide.
She grabbed the chain, tugged him back in, and licked a stripe up his neck that made his knees buckle.
"Bedroom," she growled. "Now."
He didn't argue.
Clothes came off in a trail: her sweater tossed over the lamp, his belt hitting the floor with a metallic clank, her bra (black lace, front clasp, thank every god ever) landing somewhere near the kitchen.
By the time they hit the mattress they were both naked except for that damn necklace.
Karen straddled him in one smooth move, knees pinning his hips, hands braced on his chest. The wig was gone, blonde hair spilling everywhere like silk.
Jason's hands went to her waist, thumbs tracing the cut of muscle that dipped into pure, obscene curves.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Karen."
She rolled her hips once, slow, dragging slick heat along the length of him. His head slammed back into the pillow.
"Don't bring him into this," she purred. "Tonight you only worship me."
Then she sank down.
No teasing, no hesitation, just one long, tight glide until he was buried to the hilt and they both groaned like they'd been punched.
She was hot and wet and impossibly strong, thighs flexing as she started to ride him with deliberate, filthy rolls of her hips.
Jason's hands slid up to cup her breasts, heavy, perfect, nipples hard against his palms. He sat up enough to get his mouth on one, sucking hard, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp.
Karen's rhythm stuttered. She grabbed his hair again, yanked his head back, and kissed him like she was trying to crawl inside his skin.
He flipped them without pulling out, her back hitting the mattress, legs wrapping around his waist like steel cables.
Jason set a brutal pace, deep, hard strokes that punched the air from her lungs on every thrust. The headboard slammed against the wall in a rhythm that was going to get him evicted and he didn't care.
Karen's nails raked down his back hard enough to draw blood. She arched up, meeting every thrust, moaning his name like a prayer and a curse at the same time.
"Harder," she demanded, voice wrecked. "I'm not gonna break."
He hooked an arm under one of her knees, opened her wider, and gave her exactly what she wanted.
The violet stone bounced between them with every snap of his hips, glowing brighter, hotter.
Karen's eyes rolled back. Her whole body locked up, thighs trembling, and then she came with a sharp cry, clenching around him so tight his vision whited out.
Jason followed two strokes later, burying himself deep and spilling with her name on his tongue and a growl that came from the bottom of his soul.
They stayed like that, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air, sweat cooling on their skin.
Eventually Karen laughed, breathless and delighted.
"Well," she said, tracing the scratches she'd left on his shoulder, "that went well."
Jason dropped his face into her neck and laughed until his ribs hurt.
Round two started ten minutes later in the shower.
Round three on the couch.
By the time they collapsed back in bed sometime after three a.m., the cross necklace was the only thing either of them was still wearing, and the violet stone had finally stopped glowing.
Karen curled into his side, one leg thrown over his, fingers tracing lazy circles over the scars on his chest.
"Hey," she whispered into the dark.
"Yeah?"
"Next Friday. My place."
Jason grinned at the ceiling.
"Yes, ma'am."
Authors note:
By the way Karen is powergirls alter egos name in this series, kill the writer of this story not me.
- Austin James Cook