Today's the day. You're finally getting what you've wanted for years and years; you're finally getting top surgery. You're getting the flat chest you so desperately want. Need.

There's only one drawback; you're a Super. Clark Kent's beloved son, meaning that the only way your surgeons are able to do the surgery is by using your dreaded weakness: Kryptonite. The Metropolis hospital you'd been stationed in brought in Kryptonian health experts who had been studying Superman for years. They're qualified for the job, yet, you're becoming increasingly nervous.

Being anywhere near Kryptonite is already enough to make you feel weak at the knees, so you can only imagine how it's going to feel on your impenetrable skin. You can only thank the Gods that you'll be under anaesthetic during your operation.

Luckily, you have a true saving grace; Dick Grayson. Your beloved boyfriend. He's always been supportive of you, he wants nothing more than for you to be safe, and he's done plenty of research on the effects of Kryptonite on your body. He's got you covered.

"It'll be fine, you're in a controlled environment." Dick gently cups your face, smiling comfortingly at you from where he's sat beside your hospital bed. "If anybody tries anything fishy, I'll be in there before you can say 'krypton'. Or-- well, anything, I guess, considering the fact that you'll be out for the count." He laughs, but quickly stops himself upon seeing your lack of enthusiasm about the idea. Dick lets out a heavy sigh. "What exactly are you worried about? Tell me. I can be your... yoga guru." He beams.