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mediumgayitalian · 2 months ago

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The funniest thing about the whole ordeal is that he sits by the window, mooning.

Like a Victorian maiden.

"Stop teasing," Cass scolds, visibly choking back laughter. "He's -- little."

"He's down bad facetious," Lee argues. He gestures to Will's feet, which are -- and he cannot emphasize enough -- swinging back and forth. He even --

Gods.

He is twirling his hair.

Cass lets a bubble of laughter through, clamping her hand over her mouth.

"Oh my gods," she says, shoulders shaking. "It's so cute, I'm gonna --"

Will sighs to himself. Deep, long, lovesick; it takes everything in Lee's body not to join Cass on the floor, holding himself to limit the shaking. She keeps her head carefully bowed but even then Lee can see the tears streaming down her face.

"Goober," Lee calls, tongue in his cheek, "what the hell are you doing."

Will startles. He goes, quite immediately, startlingly, pomegranate red, sliding a worn journal against his chest and out of sight. Only, he misses, because he's a klutz, and launches the journal halfway across the cabin, narrowly avoiding smacking Cass clean across the face.

For a moment, there is nothing.

Stillness.

Silence.

Lee glances over at the journal. Will holds his breath. Lee moves his hand, ever so slightly.

They bolt at the same time.

"Nothing!" Will shouts, diving for the book. He is, unfortunately, a pipsqueak, and easily lifted to the side and dropped, screeching and clawing, on Michael's top bunk. "Nothing, nothing, I'm doing nothing --"

"If you're doing nothing, then it's fine if I look," reasons Lee, knowing that if he kept a diary and any of his rat ass siblings tried looking through it he'd kill himself. "Just blank pages, right?"

Will lunges, but Lee is stronger than he is, and his arms are longer. He plants a hand on his squishy face and holds him there, struggling, arms scrabbling for the journal, Cass's wheezing echoing through the largely empty cabin.

"Cass! Tell him -- tell him to give it back --"

Cass looks up, maybe, to tell him off, but she sees Will's squished, roan face and loses her shit all over again. This time she doesn't even bother staying on her knees, she hits the full, total ground, clutching her stomach, tears streaming down her face, choking in agony.

Lee flips open the book.

Will screams.

"Dearly beloved," Lee reads, voice trembling. Will claws at him. In what is, perhaps, divine intervention, the scratch marks disappear as quickly as Will makes them, glowing a soft gold. Will screams again. "We are gathered here today --"

There is laughter, and arguing, outside, and Lee pauses. Will stops struggling. His face drops. He whips toward the window, faster than Lee can even think of stopping him, and brings his clasped hands to his face, head bowed, and begins rapidly to pray:

"Dad, please, if you love me, smite them all, please, do not let them come in, turn off their ears, please, I promise I will scrape off every brownie I get for the next fifty years if you --"

But it is for naught. Because in a great, energized gaggle, the rest of their siblings pile through the door: Michael, scrabbling at Diana's flexed arm, flailing his way out her head headlock; Kate and Pheobe, heads bent over a script; Melody, Mercury, and Leanna, harmonizing over Michael's cursing; Gabriel and Laurel, tossing a basketball back and forth; and, finally, Amir, trailing quietly behind them, bow in hand.

They spill out onto the giant carpet by the door, and pause.

Lee clears his throat.

"--to celebrate the union of --" His voice wavers. Will shrieks, lunging again, but Kate in Phoebe are faster, lunging forward and grabbing one arm each.

"Oh, no you don't," says Kate, grinning, and Phoebe, unusually bold, pokes his ribs until he stops squirming, snickering to herself.

Lee continues.

"-- Nico di Angelo and Will Solace, in the sight of -- oh for fuck's sake, capital-G God -- to join them in holy matrimony."

Will puts his pudgy little hands over his face and yells. He begins, ever so, to glow, like he does when he's healing, and it is the perfect moment to set everyone off: several of their siblings join Cass on the floor, who, at this point, looks genuinely unwell, and several more -- mostly the girls -- rush forward to hang off Michael's bunk, cooing at poor Will, who glares at Lee with all the vitriol his ten-and-three-quarters body can muster.

"I hate you," he croaks. "You are -- the worst brother ever --"

"I'm just trying to have it memorized," Lee says solemnly, "you know, so I can recite and when you and Nico get --"

There is a quick, painful flash. For a moment, Lee is genuinely blind -- his eyes are open, he can feel the air of them on his drying sclera, but he can see nothing but pure, white light -- and it takes a solid minute of blinking to get anything back in front of him, even if it's blurry.

The first thing he sees is Will, off the bunk, with the journal in his hands.

The second thing he sees is Amir, quick and quiet, poised behind him.

"I don't even like him," Will says hotly, "I'm just -- did you know that there are friendship marriages, and --"

Lee meets Amir's eyes and nods. The curve of his oft-stoic mouth incites genuinely glee in Lee's wicked heart, and in a flash their third youngest darts out his deft pianist hands and grabs the journal from Will's hands. Before Will can even shriek, he tosses it across the room, where Laurel catches it, and she sprints across the cabin, scurrying up the wooden support beams, and hangs from the highest rafter. She flips through the pages and opens a new one.

"Oh-hoo-hoo, this one is good," she says evilly, wiggling her fingers. "He even got all the letters right, ahem, Mr. Will di Angelo --"

Will is short, but he's fast and he's slippery, so he's out of Kate's attempted half-Nelson in seconds and ripping across the cabin, spider-monkeying up the beam. Laurel shrieks and tosses the journal to the waiting Gabriel, who slides himself in the spot between his bunk and the wall and flips to a new page.

"It's a drawing!" he reports, delighted. "Aw, man, he even got the shine of his hair on here --"

"All of you hate me!"

"It's cute," Leanna coos, scooping Will up from the ceiling. Laurel damn near cries in relief, dropping down and muttering about evil, punishing little brothers and pointy fingers. Will tries to squirm free but Leanna presses a million exaggerated kisses to his cheeks, to his hair, and on reflex, he leans into them. "Baby's first real crush --"

"I do not have a crush on him!" Will squirms free, eventually, standing on his own -- unmade -- bunk and hollering until his face is read. "I just think he's -- cool, okay, he can control zombies and ghosts and --"

"'Makes your heart flutter?'" Melody suggests. She holds up the journal Gabriel has passed to her and traces her hand over an older page, tapping her electric-blue nails. She clears her throat, upping up her own slight drawl to match Will's heavier one: "'Symptoms: sweaty palms, dizziness, rapid heartbeat, high fever -- potential tachycardia? Or plague. Revisit next appearance.'" She closes the book and grins. "Think you're a touch ahead of yourself, kiddo."

Will, as he always does, chafes at the nickname, snapping a reflexive you're four years older than me! Not even! and crawling under his bed. Belatedly, an arm scrabbles up on his mattress, patting blindly until it makes contact with his pillow -- crumpled into the corner under half a metric ton of stuffed toys -- and drags it down with him, screeching into it.

"All I ever do in this stupid cabin is suffer," he bemoans.

Their siblings, for the large part, ignore his wallowing. More interesting is the journal, that they circle around, flipping through the various drawings and doodles of Nico di Angelo, enigma, and the hearts around every strand of hair.

Lee starts feeling a little bad.

A little.

"Dork," he says, peeking under the bed. Will kicks him. Lee grabs his foot. "Come out."

Will pouts. "No."

"Are you embarrassed?"

"Obviously!"

Lee looks down and sighs. He is eighteen, and feeling every year; his knees, actually, have wear equivalent to that of a seventy-year-old man. Michael checked. Michael could, also, have been lying, because he's a tool, but there was a particular gleam of unbridled glee in his eyes when he reported back so Lee is inclined to believe him.

All this to say: he is too old for this nonsense.

And, yet.

"You have not been sweeping under here," he grumbles, pulling a face at the (numerous) dust bunnies. "You have, like, two chores."

"I have so!"

Will coughs.

Lee sighs and holds out his hand. Will's throat is, indeed, closing up, so he fires off a quick hymn to lower the swelling but leaves it itchy in penance.

"I don't know why you continue to lie to me. Your tell can literally, actually kill you."

Will opens his mouth to lie again. Lee pokes him, hard, in the stomach, and he closes it, choosing instead to scowl.

"Get out of here," he complains. "You smell like dookie and I hate you also."

"I do -- I do not!"

Just in case, Lee sniffs, and he -- well, he doesn't smell like roses, but dookie is an exaggeration and after a moment the little shithead snickers, dodging Lee's pinching fingers. Lee rolls his eyes and scoots closer, crushing him against the wall.

"We're not trying to embarrass you," he tries.

Will scoffs. "Lie!"

"Okay, well, we are a little." Lee turns over and stares until Will meets his eyes. He is relieved to find no genuine hurt in them, only annoyance, and maybe a touch of frustration. He searches for Will's hand and squeezes, holding tighter when someone in the peanut gallery cackles, and Will scowls. "But, like. Embarrassment of love and affection."

"That's not a thing!"

"It is. You know how Diana likes to put a curse of truth on Michael and ask him leading questions about his weird love for Orlando Bloom in public?"

"That's different," Will says after a pause. "Diana only does it to punish him for his crimes."

"Of which there are many," Lee agrees. "But it is the same concept."

"But I'm not evil like Michael!"

"No? It wasn't you and Cecil that rigged Jake Mason's birthday cake to explode last week?"

Will's mouth opens. It closes.

"I will speak no further without an attorney," he decides on, and Lee laughs out loud. Will grins, forgetting his anger, and leans in when Lee curls into him, snorting. Lee presses a kiss to his hair and tugs him even closer.

"We are teasing you because we love you and you are being a massive goofball," he says quietly. He squeezes when he feels Will scowl. "You tease me for crushes and foolishness too, brat. You're just suffering because it's your first time."

"I don't have a crush on him," Will insists, muffled. "...I just think he's cool."

"Right. And all the drawings --"

"Anatomy practice!"

"--and the poems--"

"I can't control those! They just come out!"

"--and the marriage vows --"

"I -- okay. That one -- gimme a second." Will screws up is face, considering. He brightens when the idea comes to him. Lee snorts. "Connor and Travis were telling us about levying the marriage system to benefit you and I think Nico would be a willing participant."

Will beams, proud at his quick thinking, and Lee cannot help but try to crush him a little. Will, used to it, sighs and grumbles and tucks himself smaller so he can fit into the shape of Lee's arms, tights against his chest.

"You -- are -- so goddamn cute, you know that?" Lee says, punctuating every word with a loving poke. "Gods."

Will squirms. "Everyone keeps telling me that. That's why I'm studying Nico. So I can get cooler."

"You're studying Death Boy because you have a big fat embarrassing crush on him."

"No."

"Yes, and it's ridiculous, because you've met him, maybe, twice."

"I have met him three and a half times."

"I don't know what a half is and I'm afraid to ask. Kid, you're whipped."

Will tips his head to rest on Lee's shoulder, groaning. He stays there long enough for the wheezing, riff-raff, and general mischief to quiet, for some of the most hyperactive kids in camp to get bored and move on, poking at another available sibling. Will stays there long enough, breathing heavy, eyes squeezed shut that Lee hears Cass humming as she makes her rounds, tucking in the younger kids, who insist that they are too old for such nonsense but allow it anyway, and brushing her gentle hands on the foreheads of the older kids. She comes to Will's bunk last, kneeling outside of it, matching her breathing to theirs.

"All good?" she whispers, hand coming out to squeeze Lee's shoulder.

Lee nods. "Yeah. Tired out."

He can hear the smile in his sister's voice. "Okay. Don't fall asleep down there, Lee. You'll ache in the morning."

"Won't," Lee promises, knowing full well it's a possibility. Cass snorts, squeezing again, and Lee hears he pad away, pulling back her unreasonable number of comforters -- for a child of the sun god she is always freezing -- and floating off a final night, fireflies.

Lee smiles as all thirteen of them -- including Will, who mouths it silently against Lee's shoulder -- wish her goodnight back.

"I don't." Will makes a quiet, keening noise. "I don't understand why my chest feels so big."

Lee buries his face in coily, tangled hair, breathing deeply.

"You got a big, giant heart," he murmurs. "And Nico needs a friend. I think you, uh, I think you might also have a thing for brown eyes and basket cases, but that's none of my business."

Will giggles tiredly. Lee smiles, holding them close and scooching them gently out from the dusty underbed. His knees, as he correctly assumed, scream when he stands, but Will's little hand is warm in his, and his eyes are cloudy and soft. He is ten years old and too big for it but he reaches his hands up and Lee lifts him, anyway, exhaling at the wrap of his legs and arms around him, at the shift of his head in the crook of his neck. He takes a minute to hold the weight of him, memorizing, before leaning down and easing him onto the softened mattress, tucking the creased, messy sheets around him the way he likes.

"Sweet dreams," he says softly, pressing a kiss to his freckled forehead. He grins. "Of wedding bells, and death-breath smooches."

"Go away."

Will pushes him, scowling sleepily, and Lee lets him, smoothing out his pillow and yawning his way over to his own bunk. He flicks Michael awake in passing just to be a jackass and dives into the bottom mattress, before he realizes, wrapping himself in his blanket and pretending to snore. When Michael has re-settled, muttering mutinously to himself, Lee opens his eyes, squinting over to where Will is curled up, across the cabin, blankets pulled up to his forehead and feet sticking out the other end. He smiles.

He can't wait to bring this up at their wedding, one day.

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annlyticalarchive · 8 days ago

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CHAPTER NINE: The Date, the Dog, and the Domain

”You will be different, sometimes you’ll feel like an outcast, but you’ll never be alone”

Mark Grayson X Kryptonian/Clark Kent! Reader

Prologue|Chapter Eight|Chapter Nine (Here)| Chapter Ten

w/c: 5.6k

a/n: two rewrites done and still not incredibly happy with it, but it’s mainly just the two goobers so I’m content with it

“Superwoman!”

You loved Lois. You really did. She was one of your best friends.

But if you heard—

“Lois Lane, I’d like to interview you for the Daily Planet!” And speak of the devil, and she’ll appear.

You pushed through the crowd that had gathered around you in the park, phones out and filming you and the grounded plane behind you.

“I’m sorry, no comment,” you said with your most polite smile, beginning to hover just out of reach.

“Wait—” Lois started, but you were already gone.

By the fifth time it happened that morning, you were starting to feel genuinely sorry for her.

Well right up until she snapped a cuff on your wrist and then the other on hers.

“I’m getting—” She had to pause, doubled over with one hand on her knees, breathless. “—an interview.”

“Miss Lane…” you sighed, looking at the ridiculous pair of handcuffs connecting you. With your strength, you could break them easily. But you knew that even you couldn’t run from Lois when she wanted something. So, you might as well just give her the exclusive.

“Alright,” you muttered, resigned. You gently scooped her up and took off, heading straight for the rooftop of the Daily Planet.

You touched down lightly, setting Lois on her feet as she fumbled to pull out her recorder with her one free hand, her dominant one now locked to yours.

“Lois Lane, reporter for the Daily Planet,” she said, still catching her breath. “And I have some questions for you.”

“That much is clear.” You folded your arms as best as you could with a reporter attached to one of them. “You’ve been trying to catch me for days.”

“Hah, well—” Lois gave a breathless chuckle, shaking her head before composing herself. “Superwoman, would you be willing to answer a few questions for the people?”

“The people deserve truth and transparency,” you said, nodding. Her face lit up, and guilt twisted in your chest. It didn’t feel great, keeping your secret from her.

“Okay,” she said eagerly. “Who are you?”

“You’ve named me Superwoman. I’ve been told it suits me.” You smiled.

“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d get your identity that easy,” she muttered, shifting gears. “Where are you from?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Space?” you said, then clarified with a shrug, “But I was raised on Earth.”

She blinked. “Okay… so, alien.”

“Technically,” you nodded. “But Earth is my home.”

She nodded thoughtfully and moved on. “What can you do?”

“I’m not entirely sure of the full extent yet,” you said with a shrug. “I’m still figuring it out. Strength, flight, speed, durability, that sort of thing.”

She glanced at your still-linked wrists, recorder still running. “Are you a member of any hero organization? Any government contract?”

“No,” you said firmly. “I don’t take orders. I don’t want someone telling me who I can and cannot save.”

Lois nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Then who holds you accountable?”

That made you pause.

You looked at her, really looked, and said quietly, “I do.”

She blinked, thrown off for a beat. But then she nodded again, much smaller, more personal this time. “Okay.”

“I just want to help,” you added. “That’s all.”

She exhaled. “Okay. One more, what drives you to help?”

After a beat, you answered quietly, “Because I can. And I think if you can help, you should.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. She just studied you, softly and genuinely, like maybe she wasn’t just seeing the cape anymore.

Then, “That’s a good answer.”

You gave her a small smile. “It’s the truth.”

Lois reached into her bag and pulled out a tiny key, unlocking the cuffs with a smug little flourish. “Thanks for the exclusive, Superwoman.”

“Anytime, Miss Lane.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“You’re overthinking this,” Jimmy said from the couch, watching as you paced back and forth, two outfits in hand.

“I just—what do you think?” you asked, finally stopping and holding both options up to your chest.

“Green. The black’s too fancy,” he replied, propping his chin up with his palm.

“Thanks!” you said with relief, darting off to the shared bathroom.

As you slipped the green blouse over your head, Jimmy called through the closed door, “You do realize it’s just a coffee date, right? Mark’s not taking you to a five-star rooftop restaurant.”

“I know, but—” You paused, adjusting the waistband of your pants. “I’ve never really been on a proper date. I mean, there was Lana back in Smallville, but that wasn’t… this is different. Mark is different. I want this to be serious.”

“Kansas,” Jimmy groaned just as you stepped out of the bathroom, straightening your glasses with one hand.

He got up and placed both hands on your shoulders. “You’ve been pining for him for how long? You both mutually asked each other out after dinner with his family. You’ve got this. There’s literally nothing to worry about.”

You sighed, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ve got this.”

“And if you don’t, you’ve got me and Lois to cry on,” Jimmy added casually as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

You froze mid-step and shot him a glare.

“But you’ve got this! You do!” he rushed to say, nudging you toward the door. “Now go get him, farm girl!”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth as you stepped outside, the door clicking shut behind you.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The cozy cafe Mark picked was small and quiet, tucked between a bookstore and a florist.

The kind of place with real cups and mugs, soft indie music playing just loud enough to fill the silence, and walls lined with artwork painted by local artists with ‘For Sale’ stickers underneath them.

You spotted him through the front window before he saw you. He was already seated, nervously tapping his fingers on the table, a second mug waiting across from him.

He looked up just as you opened the door.

And his smile, soft and wide, made something warm bloom in your chest.

“Hey,” he said, standing a little too fast and bumping the table. “Sorry— hi. You look great.”

You smiled as you walked over, “You look nice too.”

He held your chair out without thinking, and you caught yourself grinning again as you sat.

“I didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?” you asked nervously as he slid back into his seat. “I know we said the time, but I wasn’t sure if—”

“It’s fine,” Mark said, cutting you off with a gentle laugh. “I know you run on ‘on time is late’ logic, but seriously, you’re fine.”

The waitress came over to take your orders, two coffees and a small plate of assorted pastries, had you two pay, then left you to it.

You both settled in, and conversation flowed easily. At first it was a little awkward, at least for you. Stumbling over your words and not knowing how ‘date talk’ works. Mark was sweet though, which calmed most your nerves.

“Wait, you played baseball?” Mark asked, grinning as he leaned forward. “Were you any good?”

“Eh,” you shrugged with a grimace. “Better on field than bat, I was scared of it. But I liked it. Small town league, nothing serious. My Pa was the assistant coach.”

Mark laughed. “Okay, now I have to know, what position?”

“Outfielder.”

“That tracks,” he said with a smirk.

You sipped your coffee. “Let me guess, you were the home run king?”

“Pfft, not even close,” he chuckled. “I was okay, I remember I had one good home run, but other than that I was the strike out king. I think I peaked at neighborhood T-ball.”

You both laughed, the kind that warmed your ribs and made the coffee taste just a little sweeter.

“I’ve been reading some of my dad’s books,” Mark added. You vaguely remembered him mentioning them recently in passing, something about old adventures turned fiction.

“Oh yeah?”

“They seem like novels, but they’re based on him. His experiences. And I was thinking… maybe he ran into someone like you. One of you, I guess,” he said. “We could read them together, if you’d like?”

His voice was softer then, careful. You couldn’t tell if it was because of the subject or because it was you he was offering this to.

Before you could answer, your phone started to ring.

“I’m—ugh, I’m so sorry. Let me just—” you started as you pulled it from your bag, already fumbling to silence it. But your fingers paused when you saw the caller ID.

Ma.

Mark, who had been watching, glanced at the screen and gave you an easy smile. “You should probably take that.”

“You sure?” you asked, already half-rising from your seat.

“It’s your mom,” he said, shaking his head. “Of course. Go.”

You mouthed a quick thank you as you stepped toward the café’s front windows, lifting the phone to your ear.

“Hi, Ma,” you greeted, trying to keep your voice light.

“Hey, baby. I’m sorry—you're not at work, right?” Her voice was warm, familiar, grounding. But there was a twinge to it. A tension. Enough to make your stomach knot.

“No, it’s my day off. I’m out with a friend,” you said, shaking your head even though she couldn’t see it.

“Oh, I don’t mean to be a bother, but…” She paused, and the slight crackle of the speaker only made your nerves worse. “Something crashed out in the fields. Your Pa said it looked like your ship.”

Your blood went cold.

Without a word, you speed-walked back to the table, phone still pressed to your ear. “I’ll— yeah, I’ll run over real quick. I’ll take care of it.”

Mark stood up as you approached, clearly concerned. “What’s wrong?” he asked as you grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder in one fluid motion.

“Something crashed on our farm,” you said breathlessly. “I need to check it out.”

Mark didn’t hesitate. “I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to— really, it’s fine—”

“I want to,” he said, tone firm, brows knit with a worried frown.

You paused. Maybe you agreed because it was Mark, or maybe because deep down, you knew he could help.

You nodded.

Together, the two of you ducked into a nearby alley. A moment later, two streaks of color lifted into the sky, one red and blue, the other blue and yellow, as you flew fast toward Smallville.

𓈒 ⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The fields of the Kent farm were bathed in late afternoon light when the two you descended, boots hitting the dirt with a sharp thud. Mark landed a half-second later beside you, eyes scanning the rows of corn that bordered the property.

You made a beeline toward the porch. Swinging the door open and walking in quickly while Mark hesitated at the doorway.

“Ma? Pa?” You called in the main room.

Your parents rounded the corner from the kitchen, Ma took your forearms in her hands. Pa, while admittedly giving Mark an odd look, waved the boy in.

“We haven’t gotten close since your Pa got a look at it,” Ma explained as she gently turned you toward the back door. “We called you right after.”

You nodded and waved Mark along. Out back, a thin plume of fading smoke still curled into the sky, like a beacon in the middle of the fields.

“Sorry meeting Ma wasn’t under better circumstances,” you said, trying to joke as you walked. It was the wheat season, so the field was like golden grass. The impact trail was obvious, a long scorched scar across the earth.

Mark chuckled from a few steps behind. “Knowing me, it could’ve been worse.”

And then you saw it.

The ship came into full view, smaller than yours, but otherwise a carbon copy. It sat completely still. No hum. No glow. No movement.

Nothing.

Not until you stepped closer and reached out, your fingertips brushing the surface, despite Mark’s quiet, urgent, “Wait—”

A sharp hiss split the silence.

And then

white.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mark ducked back just in time as a white blur exploded from the hatch, slamming into you and launching you across the field like a ragdoll.

He shouted your name, taking off after you without hesitation.

You hit the ground hard, skidding through dirt and grass as the blur gave chase. Before you could even fully stop, it hit you again, square in the chest with a solid enough thud that Mark could hear knock the wind from your lungs.

Mark didn’t think, instead he dove, arms outstretched, and managed to grab hold of something furry and thrashing. But it squirmed violently in his grip, let out a low growl, and launched itself off him with force strong enough to crack something in his ribs.

He barely caught his breath before it pinned him to the ground. His goggles flickered, vision momentarily blurry, until it cleared.

And then he realized what had him pinned was a dog.

A very angry dog.

White fur. Bared teeth. Piercing blue eyes.

Or rather, eyes that were blue until they weren’t. A glowing red hue started to burn through the irises, heat building behind its gaze.

“No!” your voice rang out across the field, slicing through the tension like lightning. The hound’s ears perked. Its head snapped toward you.

It kicked off Mark’s chest so hard that he doubled over with a wheeze, coughing, definitely bruised, maybe worse.

But when the hound barreled into you again, it didn’t attack.

It bounced.

Literally bounced.

Tail wagging. Tongue flopping. Eyes wide. It leapt up, licked your cheek, dropped to the ground, and bounced again like it hadn’t just tried to kill Mark seconds earlier.

“Mark!” you yelled, still a bit breathless, arms up in a loose shield as the creature practically climbed over you in excitement. “You okay?”

For a brief moment, he wanted to say something stupid like Not when you say my name like that, but all that came out was a dazed, “Yeah. I think so.”

He pushed himself up slowly, wincing. His ribs protested every movement.

You grunted, finally managing to shove the dog off. But instead of backing away, it latched onto your cape in its teeth and started tugging like it was playing tug-of-war.

If it wasn’t so shocking, Mark would find it endearing.

“Stop! Quit it!” you barked, trying to yank the fabric free, but the dog just wagged harder and dragged you several feet, toward the ship.

It let go only once you were directly in front of it.

Then, with a small huff, it bounded back into the pod and reemerged with something clutched in its jaws: a crystal, about the size of a hand.

The dog padded toward you, tail still wagging, and plopped the crystal into your lap with a satisfied little chuff before sitting down and staring at you, ears perked like it had done the best trick in the world.

Mark approached cautiously, only to stop as the dog lifted its head and gave a low, unmistakable growl, hackles bristling.

But then you made a sharp sound, one that Mark can easily see you using to get a farm animal’s attention.

And just like that, it settled again.

Mark crouched beside you, resting a hand gently on your shoulder as you stared down at the crystal.

“It’s a dog,” you breathed, glancing up at him. Your eyes were wide, disbelieving. “Alien dog. Are there any alien dogs in your dad’s books?”

“None that I’ve read,” Mark huffed, he was still working his way through him, but for some reason he doubted it’d be in there anyway. “You okay?”

You nodded, standing up and patting your chest, “Yeah, just got the air knocked outta me. Not used to that.”

Mark’s hand drifted from your shoulder, down your arm, to your hand that holds the crystal. “You sure?”

“I’m good, promise,” You turn to give him a reassuring smile, your cheeks flushed.

He watched as you hummed and stood up, the dog quickly gaining energy as it bounced around your feet.

“I’ve seen something like this before…” you murmured, staring down at the crystal. Then you looked to Mark, then back toward the house, and finally, toward the barn at the edge of the field. “C’mere.”

Mark followed you across the grass and through the creaking barn doors. Dust floated in the golden light filtering through the roofing. You walked past old equipment and a sun-faded tractor to a shape hidden beneath a thick tarp.

You grabbed the edge and pulled. Beneath it sat your pod.

“This is my ship,” you said, glancing back at him. “When the vision ended, I saw crystal things like this one, they slid back into the walls here.”

You stepped closer, fingers tracing the narrow seams in the pod’s inner casing outlines where similar crystals had once clicked perfectly into place.

“So you think they’re like… flash drives?” Mark asked, planting his hands on his hips. “Crystal flash drives. Man, I wish that was the weirdest thing I’ve seen from space.”

You made a breathy noise, like a laugh cut short as you tensed, and Mark was about to ask what was wrong until he heard it. A crackle.

Mark stiffened. So did the dog, ears snapping forward as it growled low in its throat.

Mark stepped forward, subtly shifting his stance now fully between you and the sound.

A familiar figure stood framed in the barn doorway, backlit by the setting sun. Scarred. Calm. Watching.

Director Cecil Stedman.

“You know,” he said, voice casual like he’d been here all afternoon, “I almost believed you when you said you didn’t want attention.”

His eye flicked from you to the pod, then to the dog.

“And maybe you don’t know this,” he continued, “but when a ship that matches the one you came down in, crashes down from a suspended orbit around the sun? That’s not exactly subtle.”

“I told you to stay the hell away,” Mark said, low and dangerous.

“And I told you we were watching,” Cecil replied with a sigh. “But now it seems like we’ve moved past requirements for watching.”

He looked back to you with growing irritation. “What have you done? What is that thing, and more importantly, what is happening in the Arctic?”

You stepped forward, voice cool and even despite the adrenaline humming in your blood.

“I’ll be honest and say, I don’t know. But what I do know?” you said. “You’re on private property, uninvited, Director.”

The dog growled, a low rumble vibrating through the whole barn.

Cecil’s brow lifted just slightly. The only sign he’d registered the threat.

He didn’t move.

Behind you, Mark took another step forward, now standing shoulder to shoulder with you.

“I know how this looks,” Cecil said after a beat, voice tight with frustration. “But a large unknown energy surge appeared in the Arctic Circle. The readings matched whatever that came down in.”

He gestured broadly to the dog at your feet.

“And I need to know,” he continued, eyes locking with yours, “if you’re the reason the the next invasion happens. Intentional or not.”

Mark’s expression darkened immediately.

“You serious right now?” he snapped, stepping forward, his fists clenched. “You show up unannounced, throw accusations around, and the first thing you do is threaten her?”

“Mark,” you said softly, placing a hand on his arm.

He didn’t look at you right away, but he stilled under your touch. You stepped around him, calm but firm as you faced Cecil directly.

“Look, if you’re genuinely that concerned,” you said evenly, “I’ll go check it out.”

Cecil’s eyes narrowed, scanning your face like he was trying to see through you. But after a pause, he gave a tight nod.

Without another word, he turned and walked back outside. A second later, he was gone, teleported back to whatever surveillance bunker he’d crawled out of.

Mark let out a slow breath as he stepped closer.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice lower now, more concern than anger. Not that the anger had really faded, just taken a backseat. “You don’t owe him anything. You don’t owe them anything.”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting toward the ship, then to the dog, now curled lazily on the floor of the barn.

Then you looked back at him.

“I think these ships… They only activate for me,” you said softly. “Like they recognize me, or my DNA, or something.”

Mark frowned. “You think that’s why they’re showing up? Because of you?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But if they’re drawn to me, or if someone’s sending them, then I need to figure it out before someone else gets hurt. It’s my responsibility.”

He watched you for a second. You weren’t panicked. You weren’t scared. You were steady. Determined. And it made something tighten in his chest.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling. “Then I’m coming with you.”

You gave him a quick smile, bumping your shoulder against his. “Wouldn’t expect anything else.”

From the grass, the white dog let out a soft whine, tail thumping once against the dirt.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “So… are we bringing that thing too?”

“Of course we are,” you murmured, frowning like he was the one being weird. “We have to bring it.”

“We have to?” he echoed, eyebrows raised, hands settling on his hips.

“It came out of a pod,” you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re probably going to check out another pod. It’s a logical decision, Mark.”

“Obvious. Totally logical,” he muttered, raising both hands in mock surrender, fighting the small smile tugging at his mouth. You were already defending the furball like it was your little sibling. “Not like it knock both of us on our asses or anything.”

You ignored that, turning toward the barn with the dog at your heels, now practically prancing after you.

Back inside, your Ma and Pa looked about as surprised as Mark felt when the dog trotted in beside you like it’d always lived there. Your Ma blinked slowly, while your Pa muttered something about needing to redo the field.

You explained the situation, how there’s likely another crash, this one in the Arctic, and that you were going to check it out.

That you’d be careful. That you’d be back.

Your Ma hugged you.

But Mark?

He got a warning. A real, serious one.

“She’s strong, I know,” your Pa said lowly, hand firm on Mark’s shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t keep her safe. Understood?”

Mark nodded. “I will, sir. I promise.”

Outside, you lifted off first, the now late afternoon light catching in your hair as the wind rippled your cape. Mark followed a second later.

And sure enough, like it was the most natural thing in the world, the dog launched after you, legs kicking as it took to the air like it’d done it a hundred times.

Mark watched it for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Right,” he muttered, glancing over at you with a smirk. “Flying dog. Of course.”

You just grinned as the three of you soared north, toward cold winds and a glowing Arctic horizon.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Okay, okay,” Mark said through laughter, turning to face you with his mask on. “But you have to admit, you need a mask.”

You frowned, shouting a little over the rush of wind. “But the glasses!”

“Not exactly a mask,” Mark called back, grinning behind the lenses.

“Then what are your lenses for, bug boy?” you countered, making finger goggles at him.

“To keep the wind out of my eyes!” he argued, mock-offended.

You opened your mouth to retort, probably something scathing and perfect, but the air cracked like a whip.

Sharp. Sudden. Wrong.

Both of you went silent mid-flight.

Then, ahead of you in the snow-blanketed distance, something began rising.

Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, like a spiraling tower unfolding from the depths of the Earth. But not a tower. Not really.

A cluster.

Spikes of translucent blue-white crystal burst upward, spinning, threading together like a frozen bloom.

“Holy shit,” Mark muttered beside you, barely audible over the wind.

And then, barking.

The dog rocketed ahead, a streak of white against white, leaving a flurry of disturbed snow in its wake as it zeroed in on the structure.

You and Mark followed.

The fortress loomed the closer you got. It wasn’t just tall, it was enormous. Alien in design. Each spire jagged but symmetrical, arranged with the kind of deliberate, quiet logic that felt, simply put, alien.

You felt it in your bones before your boots touched the snow.

You landed a few paces behind the dog, Mark thudding into the snow beside you. The cold bit at your face, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were on the structure.

There was a door, or something like one, embedded in the crystal. Seamless and opaque. No handle, no indentation. Like it didn’t want to be opened.

Until the dog trotted up to it.

It barked once.

Loud. Echoing.

The crystal responded with a low resonance, like a chime underwater. Then the door began slowly sink back into the snow.

You stared.

Mark, behind you, let out a low breath. “Okay… that’s new.”

You didn’t reply. You were already moving forward.

The dog trotted through the now-open threshold without hesitation. You followed, heart pounding, senses buzzing. Mark was close behind.

The inside was dim but glowing, lit from within by crystalline veins that pulsed faintly in the walls. The hallway, if it could even be called that, was high-ceilinged, made entirely of seamless crystal, and unnaturally quiet. Every single thing was made of the same crystal. No footsteps echoed. No wind howled through. Just silence.

Then, at the end of the corridor, the dog stopped in front of another formation.

This one wasn’t a door. It was a pedestal. In the middle of a circular room. And in it, one single slot, like the crystals you’d found in the pods belong in there.

Your breath caught.

Mark stepped up beside you, rubbing his arms for warmth, eyes locked on the glowing pedestal.

“Is this..?”

“Like the ones I have?” you murmured, barely above a whisper. “I think so.”

The dog sat beside the pedestal, tail thumping against the crystal floor, gaze fixed on you expectantly.

Mark looked to you again.

You swallowed and reached into your bag that you’d brought, fingers brushing against the crystal you’d taken from the pod.

You slotted it into the hollow.

There was a sound like a bell ringing underwater, and then

light.

Brilliant and golden, flaring out in every direction.

And when it faded, a figure stood before you.

A man.

The same one from your vision. Sharp-featured, robed in layers of red and black, a circlet on his head, his eyes solemn and steady even in flickering light.

You held your breath.

“Do you recognize him?” Mark asked, voice quiet beside you.

You could only nod. “From my vision.”

The hologram opened its mouth and began to speak.

But the language that came out the same one you couldn’t understand.

You stared, heart tightening.

Mark glanced at you. “Yeah. That is definitely not any that I’ve heard.”

You almost laughed, but didn’t. You were too still, too focused.

The man paused, a sigh passing over his expression as if even the recorded message could feel your confusion. He raised one hand and raised it facing you.

From the pedestal, another crystal dislodged and rose.

Cautiously, you reached out. As your fingers brushed it, a flicker of light bloomed in your vision, projected into your mind more than your eyes.

You saw letters, an alphabet. Complex. Elegant and sharp. Completely unfamiliar.

But then, the letters shifted.

They morphed. Bent. Aligned themselves into something you could understand.

English.

It was a translation key.

You blinked, stunned, as more characters slid into place, one by one, matching up with their English counterparts.

Beside you, Mark tilted his head. “Is it working?”

You let out a breath, half-relieved, half-annoyed. “Yeah. Kind of. It’s like the Rosetta Stone.”

“So… you’re gonna have to learn your message?”

You glanced at him, deadpan. “Apparently.”

He let out a low whistle. “Man. That’s one hell of a voicemail.”

Despite yourself, you smiled.

But it didn’t last long.

Because the hologram hadn’t stopped. He was still speaking, still trying to reach you. And now, with the translator forming around you, slowly translating his words in pieces.

Not full sentences. Not yet.

But fragments.

“...my daughter…”

“...survival…”

“...Krypto... safe…”

You sucked in a breath.

The dog whined softly, pressing its body closer to your side.

You looked up at the stranger, no, your father’s flickering image, your heart pounding in your chest, not from fear.

But from something heavier.

A grief you felt like you had no business feeling.

He was a stranger. A ghost. And still, somewhere in the echo of his voice, you felt small, like a child left behind.

Without another word, you reached out and pulled the crystal from its slot.

The image stuttered once then blinked out entirely.

Mark said your name softly behind you, but you didn’t wait.

You turned and walked out of the chamber, leaving the crystal where it was.

“Let’s go,” you said, voice even. “It’s probably late back home.”

Mark didn’t argue.

He followed without a word. The dog padded after him, quiet but alert, as though it could feel the tension you weren’t voicing.

The flight back to Kansas was silent. Wind rushing. Sun beginning to dip low behind you.

When you landed in front of the farmhouse, your smile was automatic.

Your parents greeted you with warm voices and concerned eyes, but you waved it off. You asked them to keep an eye on Krypto, if you’d read the slowly translating message correctly, that was his name, for a few days while you figured out if Jimmy’s lease allowed dogs.

They said yes without hesitation.

And still, Mark frowned.

It wasn’t until you landed on the roof of your apartment building in the low light of the evening that he finally spoke, arms crossed, his posture rigid and tone blunt.

“You gonna actually tell me what’s wrong? Or do I have to force it out of you?”

You sighed, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your palm. “It’s nothing. Promise. Just…”

You hesitated, voice softening into guilt.

“I’m sorry our date got ruined.”

Mark’s brow furrowed, confused.

“I get it if you don’t want any more hero craziness in your life,” you continued, avoiding his eyes. “You’ve already got so much on your plate, your dad, Viltrumites, the GDA. You don’t need me throwing in a dead planet and a dead father I can’t even understand and—”

Your voice cracked as the words rushed out in a ramble, messy and fast. “—and I feel selfish, even trying to pretend I could have something normal. Like a date. Like us. I shouldn’t have expected that. I shouldn't have dragged you into this—”

“Hey.”

Mark stepped forward, cutting you off with a hand on your arm.

You finally looked up.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked, voice gentler now despite the irritation in his expression. “Do you seriously think I don’t want to be here? With you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

Mark shook his head, stepping closer. “Yeah, I’ve got crap going on. You do too. And yeah, today got hijacked by… spaceship dogs and holographic dads and mysterious Fortress-of-Whatever in the Arctic.”

Despite yourself, a short laugh escaped your chest.

“But I’m not here because I want things to be easy,” he continued. “I’m here because it’s you. Because you make the hard stuff feel bearable. Even when you’re being stubborn and self-sacrificing like it’s a competitive sport.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how earnest he sounded.

“Also,” he added with a wry smile, “I don’t know if you know this, but I kinda like you.”

A breath of laughter slipped past your lips, shaky, quiet.

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m mad that you keep deciding how I feel,” he said gently. “But I’m not mad at you.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stepped forward, slipping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest.

Mark didn’t hesitate. He wrapped you up immediately, strong and steady, like he’d been waiting for the chance.

“…So,” he murmured, voice low and warm in your hair, “can I still count this as our first date?”

You tilted your head back just enough to look up at him.

“Yeah. But I’m paying for the next one.”

His grin tugged wider. “So there’s going to be a next one?”

“Of course. Here I thought you said you liked me,” you muttered, trying to pull away.

Emphasis on trying. He just held on tighter.

“Oh, I do,” he said, voice annoyingly smug now. “Which is why I’m not letting go until you say it back.”

You snorted. “Mark.”

“Say it.”

“I literally just said I’m paying for the next date—”

“That’s not the same and you know it.”

You groaned and dropped your forehead against his chest again. “Fine. I like you too. A lot. Happy now?”

He hummed, satisfied. “Very.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t pull away this time.

“…Wanna come in for a bit?” you asked, voice quieter. “I think we have leftover cake on the counter.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, smirk pulling at his lips. “Are we talking actual cake, or like..?”

You swatted his chest. “Actual cake, you perv.”

He grinned. “Still sounds great.”

And together, you made your way through the roof access door and downstairs.

#kryptonian reader #invincible x reader #invincible x you #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #softer than steel

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