Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1- This actually might work.

They were never meant to be a thing, a superhero and a rapper. One, a human with a rocky childhood and mental issues.

The other on top of the world, admired by many, in news articles by day and rescuing citizens by night. But all it took was one glance, it was a press conference.

Superman had been going overboard, landing multiple criminals and villains in jail. He stood, in his multi-coloured suit, smiling and winking at cameras as he answered question by question. Eminem, on the other hand had been chased by paparazzi.

Everywhere he went, public bathroom stalls, restaurants, even his own apartment had been swarmed with fans. He sighed, looking around for any other place to escape when he spotted the large crowd of people in the press conference.

A smirk rose to his lips as a sly idea came to his mind. He jogged towards the crowd, slipping in effortlessly ”or so he thought. No sooner had he stepped inside, a scream erupted.

"Oh my God. Is that Eminem? I'm such a big fan!" Eminem's smirk hung stiff on his lips, the room fell into deafening silence as he looked around. To his horror, more people were staring now..including superman.

Superman however, looked amused about the whole situation. He stepped down from the podium, walking towards Eminem with smooth strides. "Well since Mr Eminem here has graced us with his presence, I'm gonna capitalize on this."

Saying this, he bent down to his level and flashed a smile, posing for the camera. Superman's breath fell hot on Eminem's ear, flushing his earlobe pink. "Pose for the camera, smartie."

Eminem rolled his eyes, shoving the superhero out of the frame, before storming out of the room. He walked for who knows how long, before deciding to take a rest on a park bench.

Eminem looked towards the care free children playing by the slides, there innocent laughter grating on his ears. He balled his fists, shaking his head. All this misdirected anger—it had to go.

And so he did what he always did to blow off steam. Cocaine. At home of course, he didn't want to give the press anymore fuel. It wasn't the best decision he had made, but then again. Nothing in his life could be considered a good decision.

But a flicker of regret emerged in his gut, and no matter what he did he couldn't make it go away. As he grabbed the familiar white packet, for the first time in weeks his hands shook, with what? He didn't know. Uncertainty? Or excitement?

For a few minutes, he just stared at the bag. Was this what he was made for? But he ignored those thoughts , opening the packet and gathering some to snort.

The feeling of euphoria hit him almost instantly, knocking him off balance and sending the drug all over his shirt. Eminem collapsed, on his couch, the bag lying peacefully on the hard wooden floor.

Colours swam through his head, and he smiled. For the first time in a few weeks. The sky was brighter, and his day was lighter. A giggle escaped his lips, this was unlike him. His eyes were glued to the ceiling, a lazy grin forming on his lips as he day dreamed about God knows what.

He rolled off the couch, closing his eyes. Maybe he could actually go to bed this time. Slowly, his breathing calmed, it slowed. He hadn't been able to sleep in ages. Eminem couldn't remember the last time he took a nap.

And so, he slept. It wasn't until the sun splashed through the curtains again that he realized. It was morning again.

He sat up, fumbling for his phone. He rubs his eyes, half asleep as he scrolled through his notifications. Media outlets, fans, Instagram DMs, he sighed. There was a reason why he wasn't online.

Dealing with the outside world had become suffocating. But one piercing notification caught his eye. The Guardian. They never had anything good to say about him. Bracing for something new, he opened the article with reluctant fingers. But what was on the article shocked him even more.

There, in the middle—a blurry photo capturing him, slumped over. On the couch, with white powder over his shirt. His eyes widened, as he skimmed the article.

*Rapper Song Writer Marshall Mathers/Eminem caught in a compromising situation. This snippet of the young artist captures him seemingly intoxicated and inebriated from what seems to be Cocaine.*

Eminem groans, slamming the phone onto the table. He knew his marketing team was already scrambling for an explanation, that would explain the amount of voicemails he had gotten.

So when the device rang again, he almost didn't pick up. Grabbing his phone, he took one look at the number. But this time, it wasn't his grumpy manager. It was someone more important. 'Superman' printed on bold.

Eminem picked up, bracing for whatever snide remarks the hero had to say..

"Hey, smartie. I see you got into some trouble."

Smartie. The name infuriated him, clenching his jaw, he answered back, his voice strained.

"Don't call me that, you know we don't know each other like that."

But the voice on the other end only laughed, seemingly taking pleasure in his anger.

"I don't think you have a lot of say in this, after that disgracing article." He commented. Eminem rolled his eyes, he could practically see the lazy smirk on the bloke's face.

"What do you want?" He asked, his voice gruff and demanding.

"Wow, straight to point? I like that."

"So, here's the deal. I can get you out of trouble, clear your reputation, put you back in God's good graces. But..."

Eminem scoffs, of course there was a condition. "But? What do you want?"

The voice on the other end chuckled.

"But, you have to be my personal assistant."

Eminem huffed, eyes widening at the request. Just who did this guy think he was?

"What, you think you've got it made just because you're some fucking hero, don't you?"

"You listen here, don't contact me. Again. I won't let you down easy just because you're some stupid idol the brainwashed public looks up to. I see through you." With that, he ended the call.

But when he brought it up to management, it was apparently the best thing they had heard all week. They scrambled to reach out to Superman, plastering smiles and practiced laughs on their faces, all in an desperate attempt to land the deal.

Eminem shook his head, watching his team practically on their knees for the hero. Looks like publicity does make you indestructible.

And so he became Superman's personal assistant.

"Now, I want my employees dressed neat and tidy. You think you can do that for me, smartie?" Superman's smug voice rang out from across the room.

Eminem balled his fists, resisting the urge to spit in the taller man's face.
"Yeah." He chokes out.

Superman smirked, crossing his arms over his chest, his muscles straining against his suit.
"You're so cooperative, the way things are going. This actually might work."
He whispers to himself.

"Be at my place by 9 next Monday." He instructs, his tone suddenly stern.

Eminem rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

Chapter Text

Eminem sat in his room, clothes sprawled out on the floor after repeatedly flipping through his closet. Superman had required him to wear formal fashion. He had sworn he had a few suits back in his trial days. But they had all mysteriously vanished from his wardrobe.

A dejected sigh escaped his mouth as he slumped back on the floor. He scanned his surroundings, his lips stretching into a thin line.

Who would have thought that world renowned rapper and song writer Eminem would be living in absolute filth and ruin. He looked towards the old clock still hanging on the wall, forever stuck at 6:13pm. When had he changed the battery? He didn’t know.\

A shrill ring from his phone jolted him out of his thoughts, and he scrambled to answer. Superman’s husky and deep voice vibrated through the phone, making Eminem roll his eyes.

“Hey, smartie, everything alright?”

“Yeah.”

Superman chuckled, he could practically see the scowl through the phone.

“You’re lying, smartie. I can tell when you lie.”

Eminem huffed, his fingers clenching his phone.

“Okay, spit it out. What do you want?”

Another deep laugh on the other end.

“Now, now. Is that the way to talk to your Boss properly?”

“What do you want, sir?”

Eminem spat, scoffing at the audacity. His finger hovered over the hang up button, he was done with this conversation.

“Well, I was hoping I could take you shopping. My employees need to be well groomed, I can’t have you messing up my reputation.”

Eminem shook his head, but the word no hung in his throat, unanswered.

“Okay, fine. Meet me at 5 outside my flat.”
Then he hung up, flopping back onto his bed.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eminem sat outside on the curb, scanning the passing cars. He shook his head, wrapping his cardigan around him once again. Superman was known for many things, just not being punctual. He ran fingers through his dirty blonde hair. Shivering again as the sharp wind blew through him.

Then, there he was. The 2026 Toyota zooming through his neighborhood and stopping right by him. Out stepped Superman, in his bright suit and flashing douchey smile. It ticked Eminem off, those pair of lips that he had used to smirk at so many fans, made females faint, made males swoon. Yet, when he flashed them on Eminem, Marshall felt nothing. Just an overwhelming wave of disgust and growing irritation.

“Hey smartie, hop in.”
He flashed a smug smile, and then a wink.

But Eminem remained firm, rolling his eyes as he reluctantly walked towards the car, his whole attitude radiating impatience.

“Where are we going?”
He asks, barely looking up as he did his seatbelt. The depressing apartment buildings seemed so much more interesting than anything inside the car as of now. And Superman didn’t like that one bit.

He pressed a button on his dashboard, and with that all the windows were tinted. A black curtain draped over each window —- except the front one, of course.

Eminem’s eyes widened, an exasperated groan escaping his lips.

“Do you fucking hate me?”

Superman only shook his head. “Oh, smartie. If I hated you, you’d long be vapourised by these eyes.”

Eminem rolled his eyes, looking towards the floor.

“Whatever, just don't talk to me. Be quiet.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The two pull up to a fancy looking boutique, with flowers plastered along the wall and a sickly sweet sign reading

Home Sweet, Home. Eminem steps in, barely looking up from his phone. To his surprise, Superman just snaps his fingers, and a crowd of attendants swarm them.

“Good evening Sir, what would you like today?”
One attendant calls out, her voice shaking with what seemed to be excitement and nervousness, after all who wouldn’t be absolutely thrilled at the idea of serving the superhero himself.

Superman shakes his head, pointing to Eminem, slouched in the corner.
“You would be assisting him today, my dear friend. Marshall Himself.”

The Attendant’s eyes twinkled with shock and nerves. Two public figures in one shift?? Oh she could almost faint.

Eminem looks up from his phone, casting a lazy grin at the two before looking back down.
“Nice to meet you, too. Can we get this over with?” He stands up, stretching his arms in the process.

“Very well, sir.”

He followed the attendant into the changing rooms, briefly describing the dresscode he had been given. “Yeah, I just need something formal and elegant, like a suit.”

“A suit? Exquisite choice.”

His eyes flicked over the assortment of blazers and dress pants, his gaze dulling. Each different style he tried on looked the exact same, the same shade of depressing millennial beige, same stripes, same length. Yet every piece had a different story, perspective and backstory.

“Bleh. This one will do.” He pointed to one, without looking. The attendant blinked.
“Uhh, this one isn’t available right now.”

He blinked back. “But.. it’s on the coat hanger, can I not..take it?”

A deep gravelly voice interrupted the exchange, with the owner being none other than Superman.

“What she means to say is that this suit is only reserved for me.”

Superman puts a hand on Eminem’s shoulder, applying enough pressure to make a point.

“You have suits custom designed for yourself now? It’s the first time I’m hearing about this.”

Eminem tilts a brow, dusting away Superman’s shoulder with little to no hesitation.

“Fine then, I’ll get another one. That one.”

The attendant nodded, slipping away to package the clothes.

Eminem turns to Superman, a look of disdain on his face.

“I thought we were here to shop, not for you to play mind games.”

Superman chuckles, a tight smile on his face.

“Smartie, this isn’t a mind game. I just need to remind you who actually has the power.”

He leans down to Eminem’s height, his breath hot against his ear.

“And it isn’t…you.”

And with that, he walked away and out the shop, but not before leaving him another reminder.

“Be ready to come at 9!”

“Wait, How am I supposed to get home?”

“Not my problem, smartie! Do I look like an uber to you?”