#kryptonian reader

I want reader who from another dimension (the DC universe) ends up in Invincible verse. While she starts searching for a way home, She starts off as enemies at first with the Viltrumites, seeing them as just blood thirsty brutes that are in her way of getting home since they have a special material that she needs in order to create a device so she can send herself home.

while they view her as a threat / a worthy conquest so many of them approach her to fight to prove themselves. Despite repeated fights, she easily defeats those she meet but spares their lives usually, unintentionally earning their respect in a weird way and a reputation for her strength and other abilities.

Enter young! Nolan / mark and Other Viltrumite, who are eventually sent to defeat / recruit her but is quickly overpowered. Humiliated yet intrigued, he returns for multiple rematches while still trying to recruit her, and she sees it as some kind of light training for herself. over time their rivalry softens into a strange bond. As they grow closer, Nolan / Mark begins to fall for her and awkwardly tries to ( Viltrumite Style ) court her by prove his strength to her.

( she's oblivious because she doesn't know much about Viltrumite culture) When he learns what she been looking for, Nolan / Mark ultimately retrieves it for her as a sort of a weird courting gift but is reluctant to give it to her after finding out what she needs it for since he doesn't want her to leave him. At least just yet anyway.

Lately, the GDA had taken full control of the situation, putting all their faith in Mark. He was the only one who might have a chance to stop the Empire, or at least delay it. But that faith came with fear: they needed to keep him close, to monitor him constantly, just in case he ever turned against them.

Your time together had been cut in half since then, and now that he was with Eve… spending time alone with him had become even more complicated.

The faint cry of a child pulled you back to the present. You knew neither Mark nor Eve had heard it, but you couldn’t ignore it. You broke formation, diving toward the remains of a collapsed building. They stopped mid-air, probably thinking you had spotted one of the eighteen variants currently tearing the planet apart.

The sound led you to a small boy trapped under rubble. Somehow, he was unharmed, though his sobs made your blood boil. The more debris you moved aside, the stronger your anger grew: not at him, but at whoever had caused this devastation.

You stretched out a hand, and the child immediately leapt into your arms, trembling. You barely had time to ask if he was okay before a shimmering pink bubble enveloped him, pulling him gently out of your grasp.

“I think it’s better if we split up,” Mark suggested, landing behind you alongside the red-haired girl who had conjured the forcefield. “We need to cover more ground and find the version of me that’s behind this. If we all stay together, it’ll just slow us down.”

“Are you sure you’ll be fine on your own?” you asked, unable to hide the concern in your voice. The idea of letting him wander off into a battlefield like this made your stomach twist, especially after his last encounters with other Viltrumites, his father included. “We don’t know how strong they are. You might need backup.”

“I’ll go with him,” Eve interrupted softly as she tended to the boy inside her energy bubble. “I can help with civilians along the way, get them to safety.”

You said nothing. You just looked at them, at the way they moved so easily in sync and how she touched his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. You couldn’t deny the sting of jealousy that burned in your chest.

You’d had your chances, but you never said anything. You never told Mark how you felt, never even tried to show him. How could he possibly have known?

“You’re probably the only one who can beat me,” Mark said with a half-smile, resting a hand on your shoulder as if he could sense your unease. “You shouldn’t have much trouble if you run into one of the variants. Just… try not to get too caught up with the civilians, alright?”

“You know I can’t just ignore them,” you replied, your voice tight. The thought of leaving people behind to die clawed at your chest. “They need me.”

“If we manage to stop all of them and find whoever started this, that’s how we’ll really save them,” Eve interjected, her tone pragmatic but not unkind. And she wasn’t wrong, logic was on her side.

“Fine.” You turned away, taking to the air again, the wind catching the edges of your cape as it billowed behind you. “Just don’t underestimate who you’re up against, and-”

Mark shot upward before you could finish, Eve right behind him. “You’re the one underestimating me now,” he called out with a teasing smirk before vanishing into the distance, heading east.

Even flying at high speed, your enhanced vision allowed you to see every single civilian below, all of them in danger.

How could you possibly ignore them?

You descended swiftly, throwing yourself into rescue after rescue, pulling people out of collapsed buildings, moving them to safer areas, treating their wounds as best as you could and coordinating with the scattered heroes still standing to protect those who couldn’t defend themselves.

Once you’d cleared the last area, you soared upward again, scanning for more survivors. That’s when an explosion caught your attention, a massive shockwave rippling through the skyline. You turned toward it instantly, reaching the collapsing tower in seconds. People were still trapped inside.

You braced your arms and caught the massive building before it could crash down, the weight straining even your strength. Slowly and carefully you lowered it to the ground, creating a path for the trapped civilians to escape.

Then… “Help!” A voice. Several cries echoed from above, drawing your eyes upward. You shot into the air without hesitation, heart pounding, and that’s when you saw him.

His suit was different but his face… his face was the same. Mark’s face. Except twisted into something cruel, his expression filled with the kind of rage you’d only ever seen in his father.

The variant hovered only a few feet from the terrified civilians waiting… or maybe just enjoying their fear.

“Leave them alone!” you shouted, launching yourself forward. Your hands slammed against his shoulders, grabbing him before he could react, and together you shot upward, away from the civilians.

The variant slipped free of your grip with unnerving ease, landing a punch square in your gut that forced you backward.

“Pathetic superhero!” he ground out through clenched teeth, obviously irritated that you’d interrupted him, yet the moment he got a better look his whole expression shifted: surprise, as if recognition warred with disbelief at finally finding you.

You stopped too, studying him more closely: he was an exact copy of Mark, so convincing that for a heartbeat you could have sworn your real Mark hovered in front of you. Of course it wasn’t him, though even the thought made heat rise to your cheeks.

“You started all this, I can’t let you get away,” you said, pointing at him and bracing for the next attack, your fists tightening as you closed the distance and landed several blows to his face.

The harder you hit, the more confused you felt by your own restraint: with your best friend you’d always trained together, testing limits and trading blows as practice, never once imagining you’d kill him, and even the idea of ending the life of a copy of Mark sickened you.

It was still him, in a way.

The variant exploited that hesitation, seizing control of the fight. He grabbed your cape and spun you around him until the centrifugal force flung you into the sky, only for you to stop yourself just in time from slamming into a still-standing skyscraper.

When he spoke your name you noticed, unnervingly, how like Mark his voice sounded: the cadence, the way he watched you and he began, almost pleading, “Listen to me, I only ask this…”

Reluctantly, you paused and let him finish, you hovered thirty meters apart, the city’s smoke and ruin framing the space between you.

“First... where did you get these powers?” he asked, as if it were a private detail he had a right to pry into.

The question felt invasive, you wouldn’t lower yourself to answer something so personal to an enemy.

“That’s none of your business,” you said, keeping your tone neutral and distant, forcing your face to mask the strange storm of emotions that rose at confronting an uncanny copy of the person who’d shared your childhood.

He ignored your rebuke as if he hadn’t heard it and continued instead, “I’m here for one reason.”

“And that is?” you cut in, you wanted straight answers, no games.

His face clouded for a moment as memories of the version of you he knew in his world flickered across his expression, hesitation that seeded doubt in your chest. “I want you to come with me.”

“What?” you shot back, eyes wide at the audacity of the proposal, instantly suspicious of why you were even listening. You kept telling yourself stalling him might buy you some advantage. “Where?”

“To my dimension,” he said finally, the gravity in his voice making your teeth ache, and you could read the pain in his eyes, the same vulnerable, familiar hurt you’d seen in Mark a hundred times. “I miss you, I don’t know what to do since you…” he pressed a hand to his forehead, fingers stiff with emotion.

“To your dimension?” you repeated, hoping you’d misheard despite the infallibility of your hearing, he sounded earnest. “No. I won’t, and I don’t want to.” The words tumbled out uncertain, the whole proposition was too tangled, too loaded even for you to sort through calmly.

He blinked, then said, “I’m serious, I came here for you alone… I’m doing all of this to get you back.” He spread his arms, the destruction and death around you both an ugly, undeniable punctuation to his confession. “I’m not asking you to forgive me for what I’ve done here, but-”

“How can I go with you if I haven’t forgiven you?” you snapped, frowning and digging your fingers into your palms until the skin bit back. “I can’t follow someone who caused this, and I don’t want to.”

The copy of Mark’s face hardened at your refusal. “I didn’t come here to waste time.” In an instant he closed the space between you, his face inches from yours. “This isn’t a request.” He laid a hand on your arm, pressing a firm hold that hurt without breaking skin.

“Don’t touch me.” You jerked away, ripping his hand off your arm. He watched the motion, unmoved and almost unreadable, and said nothing more. “You can’t tell me what to do… this is my home.”

He looked away and exhaled, and when he turned back there was no pretense left: he lunged, all the force he could muster, and you raised your arms to shield yourself as his blows grew heavier, relentless.

“Then I’ll be forced to take you with me!” he snarled, hammering your forearms again and again to test how long you’d keep defending without answering. “Why don’t you show me again those powers of yours? The version of you I knew didn’t have them, I’m curious.”

“You’re curious?” you asked, half-mocking, though he didn’t care for your tease. “Fine. If you want to see.” You trapped his wrists between your hands, his momentum snapped forward as your hold redirected the force, and you drove a headbutt into him, disorienting him.

He immediately clapped his hands to his forehead, grinding his teeth with pain and irritation, then let out a begrudging, almost satisfied, “You’re strong… didn’t expect this from you... I like it.”

Suddenly your eyes flared red and the variant watched in baffled alarm at what unfolded next. When the diagonal arc of your heat vision sliced through part of his costume and hotness seared his chest, he screamed, clutching at the burning fabric.

“You still like it?” you said floating closer, your cape snapping behind you, your words heavy with something that wasn’t quite victory and wasn’t quite pity.

He should have seen you only as an enemy after all he’d done, yet he refused to let go of what he felt: his feelings wouldn’t change even if you killed him… though, perhaps, he secretly hoped you never would.

“Of course,” he replied once the pain had dulled to something he could hide behind a smirk. “The version of you I knew was softer, weaker… you’re different, but you’re still them.”

In the next instant he was behind you, too fast to follow, and his fist slammed into your shoulder, sending you crashing downward through the debris.

“You’ve got their eyes,” he said, landing beside your body sprawled across the rubble, voice low and deliberate. “And I can tell, just by the way you look at me, that you feel the same way about me as they did.”

“I don’t feel anything for you.” You pushed yourself up immediately, brushing dust from your face and wiping the blood trickling down your temple.

Strangely, he didn’t stop you. He just stood there, watching. He huffed, folding his arms across his chest. “Then I’ll just have to change your mind.”

Another voice, the same voice but coming from above, cut through the tension like a blade. “Hey, watch out!”

Before the variant could react, a punch landed square in his jaw, sending him skidding across the asphalt for several meters. You turned, heart skipping, recognizing that voice instantly.

Your Mark had finally arrived.

He hovered there, chest heaving, eyes narrowing at the other version of himself. Eve was nowhere in sight, she must still have been dealing with the civilians. And then, as if the chaos hadn’t been enough, several portals tore open in the sky, unleashing a swarm of ReAnimen that immediately locked onto the variant as their target.

“You okay? You’re bleeding,” Mark said, landing next to you, concern etched across his face as his eyes darted over your wounds.

You nodded, forcing a small smile to reassure him. Kryptonians were tougher than that, the pain had already started to fade. “I’ve been through worse.”

He frowned, glancing toward the variant struggling against the onslaught of mechanical soldiers. “Strange you haven’t finished him yet. He give you trouble?”

You gave a small shrug. “Something like that.”

You didn’t bother explaining the real reason, that you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to truly hurt him even knowing what he’d done. Instead, you just watched silently as the variant fought back, every punch and blast chipping away at the façade of power he’d tried to project.

For a fleeting second the urge to help him, to stop this from ending with his death, rose unbidden in your chest, but then Mark’s voice pulled you back.

“Eve needs backup. The GDA will handle things here.” He took off before you could respond, his voice carried by the wind. “If it weren’t for you, we never would’ve found this variant or stopped him before he caused more damage.”

You hesitated for half a heartbeat, eyes lingering on the variant still thrashing beneath the swarm of ReAnimen. “Yeah…” Then you followed, launching yourself skyward, leaving both the battle and the confusion it brought behind you.

Was it actually wrong to feel bad for that variant in the end? Maybe you should've followed him, give him a chance... maybe he could've changed for the better. Or maybe you were just delusional and wanted Mark, no matter what Mark, to actually see you as something more than just a friend.

Being alien was simply something he could never forget. Every girl he ever fell for, every opportunity to do the human thing– from each, he was reminded of the choices which lorded over him. Responsibilities he simply could not shirk, because to do so would be to enable destruction and imbue himself with a deeper guilt than he had the will to bear. So he struggled alone, because it was his only choice. When there’s no one to understand you, you must be at peace with understanding only yourself. And it was hard. It never stopped being hard. Even when Kara came and went, it wasn’t enough. She didn’t understand the weight like he did. He just had to accept that Krypton was gone, and with it went everything that might have been his someday, and he had to settle with the human side.

Chloe teased him in passing about his chronic nostalgia issues, and for being a ‘perpetual lover boy’ under all that brooding mystery... and as we know, there is always a bit of truth in every good joke. He could snicker and brush it off, like dust off a broad shoulder, but it clung to his lungs like smoke when he was alone. Nothing felt right as long as he lived like this. Friendships felt like a game he couldn’t win. Relationships were a masochistic nightmare. Chloe was his exposure, Lana was his crash course, and Lois was his best bet for a long time. He loved them all. Yet, it never worked out. It just… wasn't in the cards. Not in this universe, anyway.

It didn’t help that he wanted these things to be simple so badly. The way that he yearned to be understood made him heartsick, and it was something even his most wonderfully experienced friends couldn’t help him through. He just had to come to terms with the fact that he will always love humans too much, and always be unable to devote himself fully, for their sake and his own. So he’d given up on love.

Even though it had been a lifetime of aloneness, there was something of a comfort in this choice. At least he could navigate it. Living alone is living consciously. Nobody knew the world or its reasons better than Clark. He read once in a philosophy textbook something that Kierkegaard said: “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” He found that to be profoundly true. Maybe he had to suffer, but at least he had the privilege of knowing. People counted on him to know. And if he couldn’t be known himself, at the very least he could provide his friends, his family, and the world, a sense of safety. 

This was Clark’s life. And it was… going. That is, until his house shook one night in his sleep. 

————————————͙͘͡★——————————

For a guy who’d stopped alien invasions, he still had a small threshold for shock. 

Clark was tangled in his bedsheets like a monstrous puppy, belly-down, cheek smushed into the pillow. A little pool of warm drool stuck to the cotton casing beside his parted, soft-snoring mouth. He was asleep like a baby for the first night in nearly ten days– because Oliver simply couldn’t handle a snappy Kryptonian at the debrief every morning. He promised to patrol Metropolis and call for backup if need be, for the sanity of the League and friends. 

He was sleeping so well. What a shame.

A thunderous rumble shook the ground somewhere in the fields of the farm, close enough to the barn for Clark to awaken and hear the familiar creaking of its swinging doors. The whole house seemed to sneeze, pictures swaying for a moment before settling, lamps and lights flickering on and off again. The blast only lasted a moment, but Clark’s heart was pounding. He rubbed his eyes and leapt from bed to peer out the window. 

Just beyond the barn, there was a plume of billowing smoke. He focused hard, zeroing in from the second story of the Kent farmhouse, and slowly his vision cut through the haze; behind it, he could see something trapped inside a casing. A body. In something… rounded. The harder he focused, a clear sound came to him, one that made the hair on his neck jump. It wasn’t the frequency he attributed to Kara, or to his father– but it was similar. High, droning, and distinctly out-of-this-world. His stomach felt like it was in his feet, but he moved them light as a feather nonetheless– down the stairs and out the front door in less than a second, flitting to the crash like a lightning bolt. 

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, gaze sweeping over the projectile. 

A silver spacecraft was capsized in the grass, fizzing and sparking, ablaze near the tail. He huffed a gust of air and stamped out the fire, and the droning buzzed louder as he dug his indestructible fingers between the paneling and ripped the ship wide open. 

Inside, was you.

Crumpled with your knees to your chest and clothes that were entirely too small, Clark panicked. He hoisted you from the craft and set you down gently in the grass, inspecting you speedily for any injuries. You were out cold. His mind was firing in a million directions– he had to make sure you were alive, he had to know who you were, why you just landed in a Kryptonian ship, and he had to hide that ship, study that ship, understand… In a frenzy, Clark scooped you over his shoulder and snatched the spacecraft with his free hand. He dragged it down to the trusty cellar that kept his own hidden for so long, hoping it would be sufficient until morning. He’d installed a trip wire and a Kryptonian lock, anyway, which should hold. Clark cradled you once his hand was free, hurrying to get you inside from the biting night air. 

You were alive, he deduced, as he laid you on the kitchen counter. He was less concerned about your comfort as he was about getting your eyes open. You looked his age, which was entirely befuddling. The trip from Krypton to Earth took him three years. Yes, Kara’s ship was knocked off-course in the destruction of Krypton, but she still reached Earth. And worse yet, both her and Jor-El confirmed that the only two ships which survived the blast were his and his cousins. 

So who were you?

You clearly were an adult woman. Young, likely Clark’s age. Your skin was freakishly clear, but somewhat greying where there should be living pigment. Like you were halfway to death. Your hair and nails were spindling. Your clothes looked like children’s robes, the kind he’d seen in his studies at the Fortress, outgrown on your spongey, boundless frame. Your limbs seemed cramped. You’d been stuck in that ship too long, he thought. Whatever happened, you were supposed to be small enough to climb out when you landed. His heart shattered at the sight. 

Clark brushed his fingertips over your hairline, knocking some of the locks back. He could hear your heartbeat, however faint. Resting a palm over your forehead, he lifted your right eyelid with his thumb, trying to see if you’d respond to the light. The pupil dilated and twitched, but that was all. 

Clark rubbed his eyes, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t bring you to the Fortress. He couldn’t leave you here while he went alone. He had to try and find a way to break through your head. He studied the soft bump of your nose, and the way your cupid’s bow clipped, and it came to him. His key. The hexagonal craft key, the one in his loft desk drawer. It emitted his house’s frequency. Maybe it would rouse you, to hear a neighboring call. Less than a moment passed before he zipped across the property and back, holding it gingerly in his palm. 

You looked so broken on that table. He had to get you awake. 

Clark placed the key over your chest and pressed down, truthfully unsure of how to even attempt this. There were no words, no spells, no rituals he knew that might help. But the key seemed to recognize the danger, and it began to thrum under his hand, buzzing and squeaking that shrill tone. The sound filled the kitchen, and almost like the punch of a defibrillator, it delivered a shock– your chest heaved up, and you floundered into a sputtering, frightened state of life. 

“Ah! Ah, God! Woah!”

Clark let out a startled yelp and grabbed a hold of your shoulders. “Hey! Hey, hey, shh! Shh! You’re fine, you’re fine!”

“Get back!” Your head spun as you swung at him, knocking him back with unprecedented force into the sink. In a heavy disorientation, you slipped off the counter and fell, knocking your head against the wooden edge on the way. 

“Jesus,” Clark winced, dropping to his knees. He saw your first rearing and he shoved you back sternly against the island, barking a careful, “Don’t punch! I’m here to help you!”

You panted like a rabid dog as your eyes focused, blinking and screwing your face up in fear. The wood against your back was grounding, the screaming sound was deadened, and his grip was determinate. The room you were in seemed safe enough. Creamy walls, leafy plants, shiny images. A home. 

“Where am I?” You croaked.

“Smallville,” Clark sighed, reluctantly letting go of his restraint on you. He stared at you with anxious awe. “In Kansas. On Earth.”

“Earth,” you grunted, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your palms. “...So I made it.”

He nodded gruffly, running a hand through his hair. Your eyes darted around in a way that made his stomach clench. “You’re from Krypton,” he stated. He needed confirmation. 

“Y…yes,” you offered, finally meeting his gaze. His face was stately. Strong bone structure, gorgeous, even-set eyes. Sharp teeth. He looked like that famous scientist. “So are you.”

Clark swallowed thickly, and he sat back on his heels. “I’m Clark. Kent. Clark Kent, sorry. Or– well, my– actually it’s Kal-El. My Kryptonian name is Kal-El. I’m–”

“Son of Jor-El,” you finished, eyes fluttering with recognition. “The scientist?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, brows furrowing. “You knew my father?”

You shook your head and winced as the ache ramped up. “No. But he was revered. I saw his photographs in the war journals.”

Clark surged forward on instinct, cradling the back of your head and easing you away from the kitchen island. “Hey, hey, easy…”

There was something innate that responded to his care. Your body let itself be guided by him as he tugged you to the center of the kitchen floor. You blinked again, regaining grip, and asked, “Is the House of El in power here?”

Clark tilted his head. “No. Earth doesn’t really work that way. My identity is secret here.”

“We are not welcome?” 

“...Not in so many words.”

Something complicated passed over your face then. A twisting expression, something like lost hope colliding with expectation. Clark didn’t like it one bit. 

“How did you get here? Only two ships survived the Kryptonian blast. At least, that's what my surviving intelligence said.”

Taking a painful breath and letting it stretch the muscle of your lungs, you offered an explanation. What you could remember, at least. It took you a while, because every breath felt like it whistled through you. “My parents and I escaped to Dheron… when we heard of the impending explosion. There was a military landing base there. I-it was supposed to be covert, we had no extended family… we were a house of little means except for my father’s service pension… We were going to take a ship, all three of us, to Earth. But the Council found out. They came to Dheron, and they bombed the landing site… My mother put me in a small ship before they destroyed the launchpad. I came alone. They’re probably stuck on Dheron as we speak, waiting to watch our home explode in the sky…”

Clark felt an overwhelming sense of pity, not only because of how awful an end your parents had to meet, but also because he knew a few things you didn’t. He unfortunately owed you the truth.

“I’m so sorry that you had to go through that. I lost my parents, too, when they sent me away. They did the same thing, to save me. But,” he frowned, “there’s something you should know.”

You leaned in, hanging on his words. You felt the authority in them. “Yes?”

Clark swallowed again. God, this never got easier. “Krypton… exploded. Twenty-two years ago. Your parents, your escape from Dheron… that was all twenty-two years ago.” 

It didn’t click. Not at first. Twenty-two years. You’d been inside that spaceship…

“You crashed in my field tonight. I think you’ve been in that spaceship much longer than you were supposed to be.”

“...How old am I?”

Clark sighed softly, eyes weakened by pity. “Time travel can suspend aging, or warp it, depending on where you’ve been and how long… but I’m twenty-two. You look somewhere around there. Like me. Do you… remember how old you were when you left Krypton for Dheron?”

You zoned out at the cracks in the title floor. “Three.”

“Three,” he nodded. “I was three when I got to Earth. My cousin, Kara Zor-El, she was 13 when she escaped, and her ship got stuck– she showed up, like, eighteen years later, and she was technically younger than me. So you– well, I don’t know exactly how old you are. But you’re young. Between mine and Kara’s age, probably. Do you remember anything? Your name?”

Staring at the torn tunic squeezing your thighs, you chewed your lip. A dark exhaustion settled low in your throat. “No. No, I… I only remember my parents, there was… a video, in the craft… It kept me asleep.”

You shook your head blankly as it all began to sink in. You’ve been lost to space for twenty-two years. You didn’t really know who you were– no memory of home, just what it was called, no imagery to remind you of your past. Not even your name. Your parents have been dead, probably, for just as long. Krypton is destroyed. And there's nothing you can do about any of it. 

Clark admired you for a moment in this light. You looked so… fragile. He wondered what your mother looked like, as he watched you. He wondered if this frame, this hair color, these sad eyes, if they all came from her. What of you was your father’s? What of you was Kryptonian? How much of you was that third, floating option, fostered by a lifetime stuck in a galactic coma, hurtling through nowhere? How much of you was alone? 

When you didn’t speak again, Clark reached his palm out and rested it on your head. He whispered, “You’re safe with me here. I can help you.”

You lifted your eyes and glanced over that benevolent face. A face that could make flowers bloom on dead earth. The face of a life you’d never get back again. Something soft blossomed.

“How?” You asked. 

“Well… I’ll show you. How Earth works and everything. But first, I want to get you clean, in good clothes, and into a bed.”

You croaked, “I’m not tired.”

But he saw it in your eyes. No coma could disguise the weight of grief. 

“Just let me take care of you, and we can worry about it after.”

Who were you to say no? It’s not like you knew where to go after this. You knew nothing but his face and the soreness in your body. So, you let him help you off the floor, because any weight you put on those atrophied legs caused them to buckle beneath you. Clark wasted no time in scooping you up, taking matters into his own hands.

It took a lot of the night from him, but he paid no mind. Clark rid you of your rags, and he folded them neatly on the bathroom counter. He would wash them while you slept. Clark ran you a hot bath, and exposed to you what it felt like to be engulfed in the hug of water, surrounded by good-smelling soaps, things that burned your eyes and softened your hair. A luxury you hadn’t been afforded in twenty-two years, clearly. Clark scrubbed and rinsed that hair for you, passed that sponge over your shoulders and back for you, clipped your nails and combed your tresses, all for you. He did it slowly, so you could see his every move, and assess for yourself that it was all harmless. 

It was without charge, these exchanges. In any other circumstance, his human half might win out, and he might fall victim to the idea that some full-bodied alien girl crash-landed in his lap and needed his help. But there was something reverent about this moment to him. You weren’t just some alien girl. You were the surviving piece of home, of himself, that he had made peace with never finding again. Bodies and formalities meant nothing to him, not now. Only preserving you did. By taking tonight to show you something you’d been dead to, he also began within himself a healing process that was uncharted. What he had always wanted, he had gotten. And he would be a fool not to treat you as the precious, living being you were. He would be the souvenir of a planet he had to live without, so you wouldn't have to lose home, too. 

Clark fed you. He didn’t have much, his fridge was little in the way of groceries, but he had enough to conjure a cheese sandwich and some ice cream, and it was all you needed. You devoured it without thought, and he watched how your tongue darted out, how your nose twitched, how your hands shook just a touch. You were sweet, and albeit quiet tonight, he knew you wouldn’t be forever. 

He gave you some ibuprofen for your bone-deep pain. He rubbed your legs, your ankles, your arms, your neck. He told you about Krypton, about his mother and father, about Earth. About humans. About how you’d come to love them. He got you talking, too. Describing your mother and father, what you could remember of them. Your voice was so soft, like it kept itself in a little box in your throat. It could only go so far up and down in intonation before it grew tired. He couldn’t get enough of it. And you seemed not to mind his attention. You never shied from his touch, or looked at him like he was odd for doting on you so intimately. It seemed something just… meshed about it. Like something inside you recognized you’d found a half. Like it was kismet.

After he spent hours and hours in the dark, making sure you felt in contact with the world you’d just hurtled into, he carried you up the stairs of the farmhouse and laid you down in his bed, where the sheets were rumpled up from his awakening. 

“Tomorrow, I’ll show you around.”

“Around where?”

“Here, at the farm. Then town. And soon, I’ll introduce you to my friends. They know about Krypton. They help me protect the people here.”

“Can they be trusted?”

“Yeah,” Clark smiled softly, the sharp points of his teeth poking from beneath his lips. “They’re a bit wild, but they’ll like you.”

“Clark,” you mumbled, snuggling into the covers he drew over your arms. “Thank you.”

He sat at the edge of the bed. He’d already grown fond of you, no surprise. There was a home in your face that he’d never found in any human. An understanding of who he was. For the first time, he didn’t feel like he was the only one living. 

“Don’t thank me. Just sleep.”

You looked up at him, and you asked, “I can stay here, can’t I?’

“Yeah,” he hummed. His eyes glimmered in the dark room like they had their own glow. “I think I’ll keep you.”

He had done a good job keeping his head straight all night, but we can all agree that asking Clark not to fall was like asking the planet to stop spinning. It simply couldn’t be done. So there he went. Thump-thump-thump… 

————————————͙͘͡★——————————

Clark didn’t sleep. He was too raptured.

He perched himself in the chair beside his bed and watched you sleep for a while, making sure you were breathing right and sleeping soundly. He didn’t mean for it to be so intense, but he was just so elated by your arrival. After a few hours, he sent a message to Watchtower that he had a breakthrough, and that he needed a few days to work on something, and he’d let them know when he was ready to share with the group. He was going to bring you home. Then, he had to get his house in order. He washed your tunic and folded it up, putting it in his dresser. He zipped to the five and dime for some coffee and things to feed you when you woke up. And then, he went down to the cellar– all the while, keeping out a super-ear for you.

When you rose, Clark was reclined in the chair with a cup of coffee. In his lap lay a copy of the morning’s Daily Planet, and he was silently thumbing through, smirking at a clumsily shot photograph of the Green Arrow swooping into some bank robbery last night. Between his other finger and thumb, he stroked a metal charm. His attention fluttered up at the soft grunting beneath his covers, and he watched your eyes open and close. Clark flipped the paper shut eagerly and slid to the edge of the chair, leaning over the bed like it was Christmas and you were the present. 

“Hey!”

You, on the other hand… were not a morning person. 

The perky sound of his voice made your nose scrunch in an uncontrollable annoyance. It wasn’t that you disliked him, not at all. It was simply that a sound so happy so soon after you woke up made you all the more inclined to fall right back asleep. You huffed grumpily and rolled over, hiding from the honey sunlight streaming through the window. You preferred the warm, dark heat of the pillowcase against your face. 

Clark snickered softly, his stomach flipping. He placed a hand between your shoulder blades and gave a friendly scratch. “Oh, jeez. Don’t look so happy to be alive.”

Your huff was generously muffled by the cotton sheets, and you peeked at him from the corner of one eye.

“How do you feel?”

“Mmf.”

“Good?”

“Mmf…”

“You remember me?” He smirked. 

“Mhm,” you grunted. 

“Good.” Clark could only smile. “I’ve been thinking about your name.”

Lifting your head, you rubbed your eyes. Very slowly, you walked yourself up into a sitting position on your weary palms, slouching with the covers draping over your shoulders. You glared at him, heatless and exhausted.

Clark held up the charm in his palm. It was a polished silver, and there was a geometric engraving, something like a crest, over the front. “I found this in your ship. Which I have, by the way, it’s safe. I’m keeping it in the cellar.”

“What is it?”

“Your house crest,” he grinned, studying it carefully. “Your last name. This letter, the crest, it’s a Kryptonian M. The engraving itself says ‘Mê’. So, we know your last name. You come from the House of Mê. Like May, the month.”

“May?” You mumbled.

“May,” he echoed. “It’s a nice time on Earth. Flowers, rain, warm weather. Beautiful, really.” Clark couldn’t help but feel like there was no name that was a better fit for you. “And since you don’t know your first, you get to choose.”

“There is no way to find out?"

Clark narrows his gaze, smirking a little. “I can try. But I’ve got to call you something in the meantime.” Then, patting your knee decisively, he stood up with a big grin. “Give it some thought. C’mon, get up. You’ve gotta eat. I’m taking you out today.”

You winced at the sun. “Now?”

“Yes, now,” he chuckled, ruffling your hair and then tucking it behind your ear all in one fell swoop. “Want help?”

You grumbled under your breath as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. You wiggled your toes. It was the oddest thing, you were so weak last night that you couldn't bear your own weight, and now…

Clark caught your curiosity and said, “The sun. It heals you.”

You glanced out the window again, and back to him. Well, more like up at him. Then, with one more look at your legs, the way your thighs seemed to generously spread, you muttered, “At least I did not come out malnourished.”

Clark burst into a fit of sweet laughter, grabbing your wrists and hoisting you up. By some miracle, twenty-two years of space travel managed to preserve hills and valleys of soft flesh. You were full in every sense of the word, and his eyes sparkled at the first real daylight sight of you in his t-shirt. “No, you definitely didn’t… Now, c’mon. I got real food. Not just dairy.”

You regained your bearings on the house as he led you downstairs for breakfast. It was a quaint home, full of photographs of him and an older couple, all screaming colors. They must be his Earth parents, you assumed. There were traces of Clark everywhere– weird enough, you could smell them. Everything seemed to be overwhelming your senses all at once. There was a cloud of something minty and spicy lingering in the hall beside his bathroom, and down the stairs you noticed something clean-scented, warm, like clothes. There was a radio buzzing somewhere with news. The kitchen wafted coffee down your throat. You blinked a few times, trying to get a handle on all the disorienting scents. 

Clark scurried around the kitchen like a little kid, opening cabinets and shutting drawers with his hip, pouring coffee, dropping toast into the toaster with spunk. It was only when he  turned around to see you leaning against the wall and rubbing your eyes that he stopped the happy train. 

“What is it?” He worried, coming around the counter to collect you and sit you on a stool. He pried your palms from your eyes and smoothed your hair back from your face. “Tell me what hurts.”

“Doesn’t hurt, just… everything is so…”

Clark understood somehow. You were a developed adult, and your first dose of sun was strong. It was warm today. He should’ve expected that your powers might load up all in one shot. “Stimulating. Right? Bright colors, strong smells?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Alright. That makes sense.”

Clark made sure you could sit upright fine, and he hurried to get a cup of coffee and put it safely before you. Then, with his own, he took the stool beside you. 

“What is this, Kal?” You inquired, peering into the cup.

Clark’s cheeks flushed at the sound of his birth name. Nobody ever called him that, for good reason. But it felt so… right, when you said it. “It’s coffee. It’s sweet, you’ll like it.”

You glanced over and saw the pretty color under his golden skin, and you muttered, “You prefer Clark, don’t you?”

He instantly shook his head, offering a crooked smile. “You can call me whatever you want.”

Smiling came easy to you, apparently. “Okay.”

Clark sipped his coffee to keep busy and started up again. “Well, you’re gonna experience a lot of overwhelm for a little while. Your body is developing its powers from the sun, okay? Do you wanna know what we’re capable of on planets with yellow suns? Or do you just want to pause the alien talk for now?”

Nothing about this made sense, and even less of it was yours to control. Clark knew what was happening. You could only trust him. You wrapped your palms around the mug in front of you, feeling the intense warmth seep under your skin, and you nodded. “I’d like to know.”

 “Okay.” He loosened his shoulders. “So, there’s a lot. Kryptonians are able to smell, hear, and see a lot better than humans can. You’ll be able to look through solid objects. You’re gonna have supernatural intelligence and strength, and the ability to run at the speed of sound, and you’re gonna learn to fly. We can blow cold air, we can shoot fire from our eyes. We can jump high and we can’t be injured by most means. So, you’re lucky. You can do amazing things when you learn how to control them all.”

You swallowed thickly. So many abilities, and so little understanding.

Clark’s eyes softened as he watched you sip the coffee. He put a lot of cream and sugar in it, just in case the bitterness made you bite back. “Is it okay?”

You grunted in the affirmative, rubbing your eyes again. You couldn’t shake the stiffness. Everything he knew was so important, and you were so worried. “Can we… die?”

“Yes. But not easily,” he frowned. “We have one major weakness. When Krypton exploded, pieces of the planet crashed to Earth. It changed in the burnup. It’s called kryptonite, and it’s like poison to us. It makes us weak, enough of it can kill us. But don’t worry, you won’t have to worry about it. I’m going to help you, okay? With all of it. I’m going to show you how to handle your abilities, I’ll show you what Kryptonite looks like. You won’t have to do anything by yourself.”

It was easy to feel helpless. You were, in many respects. But there was no better place you could have landed than in the lap of the last survivor. And he seemed to have it down, didn’t he?

You took a few big gulps of the coffee and wiped your lip, letting out a heavy breath. You closed your eyes, breathing deep, and found things didn’t smell so strongly if you didn’t focus so hard. Clark’s heart twinged as he watched you. He wanted to grab your hands and tug you into his arms, he wanted to promise you that he would take on your burden so you never had to worry or fear ever again. He settled for a soft coax of his fingers though the ends of your hair, and you leaned a little closer by default. Like touching each other was a given.

“I don’t expect you to get it all right now,” is what he said instead. “But I’ll make sure you feel safe. You’re the only Kryptonian on Earth. I’m… happy. To have someone like me.”

You lifted your eyes to meet his. He was terribly gentle. Something inside you, in the middle, stuttered. Thump-thump-thump.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, voice soft as a whisper, “but I’m happy, too.”

The smile he gave you was worth every second wasted in the recesses of space. 

Clark rose from his seat to retrieve the toast that was going cold, and you were subjected to the care of a lonely man all morning. He made you pancakes and bacon, and he gave you as much coffee as you would drink. He brushed your hair right there at the table, and wrapped you in hugs, pressing his chest against your back. You discovered you liked them, and so he gave you more. Hugs and pancakes, I mean. 

————————————͙͘͡★—————————— 

Then, he made use of the first full day: he showed you the farm.

It was entirely anxiety-inducing. The fields seemed to never end, even though Clark insisted there were fences just beyond the eye. In the gated parts, he walked you through thickets of sheep who made these jolting noises and passed right behind your legs like you didn’t exist. You tripped and fell right in the dirt, and he was a bubble of giggles as he tugged you upright again, brushing off your knees for you. The cows slobbered on your fingers when he urged you to patt their bulbous heads, and one sneezed on your shirt. You were getting sick of his laughing by then. He took you through the coop, where the chickens pecked your ankles, and you were beginning to think you hated animals. But then Clark saved the stables for last, all in a grand scheme to charm you. The horses bowed to you, and so you liked them best. Not one of them slobbered or sneezed. By the time the sun went down, he’d taken you across every inch of the land, and he yanked you into the grass to see the sky get swallowed up by dark stars. You rested your head on his shoulder, and he felt something swallowing him whole, too. You fell asleep out there. He had to carry you back.

The next day, a rainy one, he brought you to the barn loft and showed you all the surviving history of your shared home– his Kryptonian journal, his crest crystal, his maps of the Fortress, where he promised to take you soon. You had never experienced such a frontload of information, but the longer you listened, the easier it became to remember. It was like his every word stretched the boundaries of your brain until there was room enough for anything. 

“And what’s this?”

“The Kryptonian alphabet.”

“You can read this?”

“I got a shortcut,” he admitted, “from the Fortress. When we go, you’ll get it, too. You’ll even be able to speak it.”

This may have been Clark’s favorite day, because you took it in like you were starving. You plucked every book off his shelf and flipped through them all. He could see that genius little alien brain computing every novel, every article, every newspaper clipping he had hoarded in that hangout. You draped yourself over the rickety couch, surrounded by volumes, his shirt and flannel pants stretching with your every twist and turn. He sat on the floor with his back pressed to the couch, and every time you had a question, you’d lean over his shoulders and drop the book in his lap, and point to the confusion. Your hair fell over him like a curtain. He was taken by how quickly you warmed to him– he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t help themselves.

It certainly helped that he was so kind with it all; always touching your back, always pointing your attention to the right place, always smiling so softly as he divulged truths in a voice that was warm and sticky with affection. He made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. That these papers and memories he shared could go up in flames, and you would be the one he grabbed and swept away from the fire. You were wide awake now, and you were thrumming with an excitement born out of initial fear. Clark had everything about your roots to share, and you had been given the opportunity your parents always wished for you: to start life again on a planet that could afford it. And even if you hadn’t led yourself down the mental pathway to admission just yet, something in your flesh knew that you wanted to do that with him. It was biological and deliberate, all at once. 

You loved his journal. You took it with you over the next few days as Clark drove you around town. He took the truck into Metropolis and exposed you to the ridiculous stimulation of the city, and he’d taught you a couple things around the farm, too. He worked on helping you get a handle on the easier powers– your strength, your x-ray vision, your speed. You knocked a hole in the side of the barn on a run, and you accidentally bent a tractor bumper, but it didn’t seem to matter. Clark was on cloud nine being able to pass on his knowledge to someone who could finally grasp it. 

After he felt you were starting to come to grips with everything, he flew you to the Fortress– there, he hacked into Jor-El’s lessons, and he stood in the light of the transmission beam beside you. You were bombarded with history and science, all kinds of Kryptonian intelligence and legend– Clark had given you your world back. Jor-El didn’t have your first name, but at that point, it didn’t matter. Clark called you plenty of placeholders– honey, sweetheart, cutie, and this one time he let baby slip…

That first week was beautiful, and it was all yours. Just you and Clark. But there were a few people who were itching to meet the secret that had kept Clark from Watchtower all week, which only permitted him release after a few major criminal acts in the city (these absences he described to you as “work things”,) and he couldn’t hide you any longer.

————————————͙͘͡★——————————

Clark watched quietly for a while as you sifted through his journal on the sixth day, reading the language that now came naturally to your eyes without any lessons. Normally, he would tell himself not to get his hopes up– that a girl in his vicinity did not mean said girl had feelings for him, and that either way, to think so far ahead would only end in disappointment. But your fingers traversed the tracings like they were scripture, and you asked him the same questions again and again, as if you just wanted to hear him explain them one more time. This time spent together was chock-full of moments where you grabbed him and held on, where you exclaimed his name in triumph at a new skill mastered, and when you fell asleep at his side like a bunny in a hole. You two shared a bed now. You wore only his clothes, no desire yet for your own. You stuck to him like glue, and you were happy to do it. That was when he knew that there would be no doubt necessary while knowing you. There were no hopes to get up– something had already happened. He felt it, and he wanted to keep it. 

When the sun was close to its peak, he brushed your hair over your shoulder and said, “It’s almost twelve, cutie. My friends are waiting. You ready?”

You studied yourself. You wore a pair of jeans far too long, and they were a little tight in the hips, so he looped a rubber band through the button hole to give your tummy room. His blue shirt was worn thin and sat like an adorable box on your shoulders, and a grey flannel draped over your fingertips and past your butt like a cape. You were his favorite kind of frumpy, and the skepticism in your face surrounding the clothing was enough to crack him up. 

“You look cute,” he chuckled, “By human standards. My standards, too. Don’t worry, you’re gonna see these guys and wonder what the hell they’re wearing anyway.”

Clark wrapped his paw around your wrist and helped you off the couch, straightening the oversized flannel down your soft arms. The softness in his face made your legs feel weak all over again, despite the beating sun spilling over the cutout in the loft wall. 

“Let’s go get your life started, huh?”

Grinning for real, something unrestrained and first-time beautiful, you replied, “Okay.”

Clark’s ribcage flexed to make room for a growing heart as he walked you down the barn steps. “You know,” he smirked, “I don’t know about you, but I think I picked a good nickname for now.”

You titled your head, cheeks fuzzing pink. “What is it?”

Clark’s smile sharpened. “Bunny.”

It might have helped– or added to your fluster– to know what a bunny was. But you noticed from his tone alone, that whatever this name alluded to, was undoubtedly affectionate. “Oh.”

“Bunnies are these little creatures on Earth. They come out in the spring. They’re soft and fuzzy, and they have these cute little pink mouths, and little tails… but they bite when they want to. We get them on the farm like crazy.”

A new heat creeped under your collar as your feet hit the dirt floor of the barn. An animal. You didn’t like most animals, but this one sounded nice. He clearly has been considering it, by the way his face tinted rose. “And I… remind you of these creatures?”

Clark turned around with mischievous eyes, poking your side. “Maybe. I have a feeling that once you’re settled in, it’s gonna be like having a bunny around. Getting into everything and never giving up. Don't tell me you think you’re not trouble.”

A little laugh slipped from you, and you shrugged. “I don’t know…”

“Mm. Well, let’s just say I have a feeling,” Clark teased. 

Then, with the sheepish confidence only a man so beautifully contradictory as he could possess, he looped his arm around your back and hoisted you off the ground. You let out a squeak of surprise, arms looping around his neck on instinct. Clark felt like falling to his knees as you clung to him and queried, “We aren’t driving?”

He brushed his nose against your cheek and pulled back, blushing like an idiot and smiling like a fool. Smitten beyond repair, he shook his head. “Nope. Hold on.”

The world blurred into a white flash around you as he kicked off the ground. You yelped and burrowed into his neck, watching the ground retreat below as the warm wind whipped through your clothes. Clark soared high into the clouds, headed towards Watchtower, cradling his precious cargo with an unbreakable grip. He murmured against your hair, “Don’t worry, bunny. I’ll teach you this trick soon enough.” 

————————————͙͘͡★——————————

“You were hiding a girl?!”

Honestly, of every friend, Tess was the least surprised.

You were quite disoriented when he dropped you inside the Watchtower. He described this towering structure which loomed over Metropolis as his ‘office’, yet it looked anything but. It was a breathtaking two-story loft full of screens and wires, everything buzzing and beeping in an electronic symphony of data collection. When Clark described that he was something of a man-behind-the-curtain in the city, saving people and stopping crime, you expected something more covert like you’d watched on his television– a lair, maybe. The Fortress, even. When you asked why he didn’t just use that, he laughed about how it’s too far and cold for his human friends. But this? This was an information jackpot. This was extraordinary, and it was populated by a few people– young and gorgeous as him– who were staring at you like they’d just seen a miracle.

Chloe, short and blonde and bouncing on the balls of her feet, squawked in excitement when Clark zipped through the window and presented you to them like a prize. Clark mentioned her a lot– called her his ‘right hand woman.’ Oliver walked circles around you, and you knew it was him because Clark said he smiled like a wolf. He did. Under all that spiky golden hair and sunkissed skin, there was a smirk slicing his centerfold face in half, sniffing you out. The tall and intimidating redhead who could only be the Tess who Clark mentioned stared like she was vetting you with her eyes, and the second-tallest guy in the room stood with his hands in his pockets and the sun shining off his scalp. This must have been the illustrious and cunning Lex Luthor, because he began questioning you instantly about your origins, which Clark intercepted protectively. You twitched now and again in the nose, confused and stressed, and clung to his arm as Clark’s friends swarmed you. 

“Who is she?”

“Kryptonian.”

“Yeah, but who? Another cousin?” 

“No, unrelated. We know her last name is Mê. Like May.”

“So, what, her first is a secret?”

“No– well– I just…”

You interjected, “Bunny. That is what Kal– Clark, um, calls me.” You winced a bit, stumbling over the self-correction. You told Clark you would use his human name around new people, but it seems you hadn’t gotten the hang of it yet.

Lex’s expression of unrestrained amusement and disbelief would’ve made a scene of your insertion, but Chloe was bursting and babbling over the conversation. The two of them shared a mixed expression of Are you serious, dude? And Don’t ask! as Chloe grabbed your shoulders and shook you about.

“Oh my god! Girl Clark! Ugh, finally, after Kara left I thought we’d never–”

“I am not Girl Clark, I am–”

“Oh my god, we could really use you, and look at you, you’re so pretty! Come on, I gotta show you around! This is where we work…”

All the attention and excitement had you feeling like you might explode. It was more overwhelming than the smells of Clark’s little house. Chloe dragged you around Watchtower, showing you things on computers, and you struggled against her a bit, not liking the distance from Clark. Tess asked technical questions about space and your ship that you had no idea how to answer, with Oliver in her ear requesting copies of any potential research files. Clark followed you anxiously, trying to swat off Lex’s intrusive questions as he swooped in by the mainframe closet in which Chloe had cornered you. She was trying to explain a wiring issue, which was so useless at the moment and so utterly her. You looked like a lost lamb.

“Guys, let her breathe!”

“Can you do everything Clark can?” Chloe quipped. “He’s really a whiz with wires!” 

“I– no?”

“No, wait, I have to do a diagnostic on that ship– Clark, where is it?” Tess urged, unsure if she was asking you or him the real questions. 

Oliver teased, “Guys, she’s blue in the face, c’mon!”

Lex cackled from halfway up the stairs, “Bunny! I can’t do it! Jesus Christ, man–”

In an instantaneous build-up, all the kibitzing made your ears ring, and you turned in a circle, trying to figure a way out of this echo chamber of Clark’s friends. Your eyes landed on him as he continued trying to deescalate the group, and you watched in a moment the way his shirt sleeves stretched around his bicep, and did something extremely, uncontrollably embarrassing. 

Slicing through the noise, your irises set ablaze with orange rings, and an intense surge of fire shot from them into the wall just inches from Clark’s head. Clark flinched while the rest of them ducked and screamed, taken aback by the sudden outburst. You clamped your hands over your eyes, panic rushing through you.

Clark wanted to laugh, because he had the privilege of knowing just how Kryptonians develop that specific skill– but the obvious anxiety in your frame led him towards sympathy first. Unafraid, he stepped to you and gathered you up in his arms.

You wriggled at first, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to shove him back. “No! I’ll hurt you!”

Clark cooed softly, overpowering your almost equal strength. “No, no, I can’t get hurt, remember? Neither can you, honey, it’s okay… I told you about that, I told you we can do that with our eyes. Deep breath, bunny, don’t you remember?”

You felt his broad chest rising rhythmically against your cheek, so you followed the pattern, drawing air in and out. His voice had that same quality it took just that first morning, and in it you heard the echoes of his explanations. He did say it, didn’t he… that Kryptonians can shoot fire from their eyes on Earth. That you couldn’t hurt him unless it was with Kryptonite. He showed it to you once, real far away. It made you queasy. A rapid sense of relief washed over you. 

“There it is. I know, I know that was scary… You’re okay.”

Lex got up off the floor with Ollie, and they helped the girls up, and the four of them watched you and Clark with something quieter now. Clark held you like he had the world in his hands. He swayed, shifting weight from foot to foot, taking you with him. His palm smoothed up your spine like he could physically press the stress from your body, and seemingly he could– you melted like butter, forehead pressed to his chest cavity, hands twisted in the fabric of his jacket. You took long breaths, suffocating yourself with his cologne. 

Clark had been with a few girls in their time together, always close friends to the circle… but this? They’d never seen this before. 

You lifted your head and propped your chin against his chest, hair dangling down your back in an upward gaze. “I got scared.”

Clark smiled softly, eyebrows knitting with understanding. He brushed his nose against yours. “I know. But I’ve got you.”

As your eyes fluttered shut, allowing the comfort to wash over you, Watchtower itself seemed to recognize that whatever you were, you clearly were here for him. Whether you intended it or not. 

But of course, the moment had to be splintered with a stifled “aww!” from Chloe, who got elbowed by Tess, to which both Lex and Oliver snickered stupidly. 

Clark raised his head with an eyeroll, but he couldn’t help a sly smile. He dropped his clasp on you and let you step away to get your bearings. You were unbelievably pink. He’d have to help you control that fire power soon, if it was the first to manifest without his help… because clearly, it was triggered. He took some pride in that.

“Okay, now that that’s over… I think maybe I’ll just take her back to the farm. It’s been a big day.”

“Well, wait! No! I’m sorry, we’re sorry, that was probably a lot,” Chloe urged, her sympathetic grin wide. She glanced at you with warmth. “We’re just really glad you’re here! Clark’s been alone for so long and–”

“Chloe!”

“What? It’s true! She’s Kryptonian, Clark, isn’t that why you brought her here? She’s with you, isn’t she?”

You watched as he stumbled over his words a bit, feeling a flutter in your stomach. He was always so confident with you, but right now, he was a fish out of water.

“Well, yeah. B-but she’s only been here a week or so, I don’t want to overwhelm her– and she’s– she’s just– we’re not calling her anything yet, she needs to get settled, okay?”

“Calling me what? Weren’t you calling me bunny?”

Clark groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. The others giggled. It seemed something was happening you didn’t quite pick up on. In terms of human nuance and social context, you had quite a way to go. 

“Yes, honey, I am,” he uttered to you, “They mean, like, who you are to me. Because you’re not a relative, that’s all.”

You flushed a bit. “Oh. Right.”

Clark softened up at your sweetness, and he looped a finger through your (his) belt loop. “Do you want me to take you home?”

You nodded softly, letting your eyes fall to the floor. “Mhm.”

“Okay,” he whispered, bumping his forehead against your temple. He waited until you smiled to look back at his team and state, “I’m taking her back. Everybody needs to relax. Maybe you guys can come over for pizza or something, just… easy. I’ll let you know. Okay?”

The group nodded asynchronously, a bit bewildered by the sight of you and him. Getting over the shock of you was all they needed to see this for what it was. And by the heat in Clark’s face, he knew it, too. 

“Cool. Um… Chloe, just… I’ll call you later.”

You sensed a tension in the air, and you assumed it was you. They were the first people you’d met. They probably didn’t understand or trust you like they did Clark, and you didn’t blame them. When he slipped an arm around your waist and steered you towards the doors, you looked over your shoulder– and they were smiling. If only you knew they were smiles of relief. 

“Bye,” you waved to them, meek as a mouse.

Their hands raised in reciprocity, and Lex shot you a wink. “See you, bunny.”

————————————͙͘͡★——————————

Clark set you down at the front door of the farmhouse with a peaceful little smile. His hair was windswept from the flight back, and he took his time then, muttering little apologies for how his friends couldn’t contain themselves and how well you did for your first time around new people. And you clung to him happily, half-listening. In all honesty, something else was more pressing on your mind. You played it back in your head: “She’s Kryptonian, Clark, isn’t that why you brought her here? She’s with you, isn’t she?”

With him. With Clark. Of course you were with Clark. Clark was your world. Clark was all you knew. Any ambition you’d shown this last week about seeing new things, trying anything unfamiliar, he was there beside you, encouraging you. He didn’t consider himself your world– he wanted everything for you, and that was all. You were a newcomer to his planet, you had this potential to do such beautiful things with your life, maybe even beside him when you were ready. He saw you like a shining light that he had the privilege of helping glow. 

But what did you want? Did you want to make something of yourself, like he was the Blur? Maybe you’d want a normal job. Maybe you’d want kids, or a college degree. He couldn’t expect a thing, because there was so much you still needed to see and understand. He could only hope that whatever it is, you would want him to be a part of it. Parting with you would mean saying goodbye to love all over again.

As he unlocked the screen door and let you inside, you chewed the inside of your cheek. Clark had a lifetime of being human to entrain all of those complicated future worries. But you had a much more simple mind, albeit equally intelligent. You possessed a nature of decision in all the ways he did not. You knew what you wanted without having to figure it out. You knew it right now.

“Your friends were… nice,” you started.

“They are. They’re good people, really, I’m sorry about all that. I should’ve told them about you before springing it, they acted completely insane… and it was too overwhelming for you, I could tell. How are your eyes anyway, huh?”

“They’re okay… Clark?” You asked quietly, closing the door behind you.

“Hm?” He hummed, turning to brush his thumb under your eye and pull at the skin, making sure you were unscathed. 

“What am I to you?”

He paused, looking at you with a preciously tilted head. His face was wide open, and you were grateful you asked. He never lacked surety when you were alone. 

“What am I to you?” He countered, leaning against the kitchen island and crossing his arms. For a second, you worried maybe you’d fire up again, but you blinked the heat in your stomach away. He noticed the little spark and smirked.

You swallowed thickly, throat closing up. His eyes were so bright. You walked past him, wandering around the kitchen. “You’re a Kryptonian. And… and you took me in, and you care about me. I…” 

“You also fell right into my lap, though, didn’t you?” Clark hummed, furrowing his brow playfully, stalking after you like a lion. “Like an angel or something. Oh, that’s a good one… throw that into the rotation.”

Never in his life had he been so shameless with his flirting. But then again, what did he ever have that ever felt like a sure thing? 

“Not intentionally. But I am glad it happened.”

“So am I.”

You scooted along the outer edge of the kitchen, finding yourself closer to the corner by the sink. Butterflies clogged your lungs as you added: “I mean, Kryptonians are not immune to love.”

That made him smile. “Love, huh? Is that what you feel, honey?”

“Should it be?”

Clark cornered you in one swift step, curling his hands on the counter and caging you in. “Well, it’s what I feel.”

You smiled, too. “It is?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, letting his palm smooth over the curve of your hip. His eyes traced your lips. “You live with me. You need me, and I need you. And most importantly, you understand me. You know things, feel things, about who we are that my human friends just… never will. So, to me, there’s love there. Because you’re a part of my life that only I get to know.”

God, it almost aggravated you how easily those kinds of statements came to him. He was romantic to the fingertips. He said them like he was born to believe them, and it made you want to know everything there was about those people who raised him, and how you could make him tell you beautiful things like that forever. Something stuttered again inside you. 

“So when Chloe said that you’d been alone so long…?” 

“That’s what she meant.”

Clark hooked both hands around your hips and bumped you up over the edge of the sink. 

He’d done this exactly two times before. The first was on your second day, in the morning. It was early, and he was making coffee, and you wanted to watch. 

“Really? It’s not all that,” he said. 

“You do it. It must be important.”

“It is. It tastes good.”

“Yeah.” You smiled as he handed you a cup. You liked it the first time, and as you sipped it again, you gave him a pretty little flutter of the lashes. “I like this. This is my favorite human indulgence so far.”

The second time was on the fourth day, when you had broken a glass. The guilt made you cry, so he put you up there to calm you down.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, looking at your palms. “It was a nice glass.”

“I can get more, sweetie, don’t cry… Oh, gosh.”

“I wasn't being careful,”

“No one can be careful all the time.”

“You trusted me with that glass,” you whimpered. Clearly, this wasn’t about the glass. It was about feeling like, in Clark’s already understood life, you were a disruption.

Clark rubbed his hands along your thighs and pressed his nose to your hairline, and he whispered, “I’d trust you with my life. Don’t you ever think differently.”

Each was uniquely intimate and entirely Clark-like. That counter was his best way of showing you just how much he looked up to you. And now, he would do it again.

Clark grinned, standing between your legs. “I could go the alien route and remind you that we technically could propagate the entire Kryptonian race together. That’s a perk.”

You scrunched up your nose, giggling. “Ew.”

“Ew? That’s harsh.”

“Say something nicer,” you flushed, bumping his forehead with yours. “Don’t ruin it with your people humor.”

“Fine,” he sighed, and he brushed your cheek with his thumb. “You don’t need your super brain to know that what I feel for you is love. I loved you the day you fell to me. But you also have a lot to learn, and I would understand if you ever wanted to leave, to branch out and try it alone–”

“Alone?” You pulled back, face contorting in an utterly innocent kind of horror. “No!”

“Well, I know you want me there, I know you rely on me,” Clark chuckled, “But one day you might want to have a little freedom. To figure out what you want to do. I wouldn’t blame you, you’re your own person, and–”

“I think you’re thinking me much too naive, Clark. I may not understand everything there is to life on Earth yet, but I know that the one thing I never want is to be without you.”

Tentatively, because you were not typically the one in the pair that initiated anything first, you brought your hand up and ghosted your fingertips across his cheek. And Clark, who clearly was, pushed his face right into your palm like a dog. You giggled and scratched his head, and he smiled up at you. Seeing you smile would be it, forever. 

“So you love me, is what I’m hearing.”

Through a blush, you cooed softly. “Yes.”

“Good. Now we can skip all the stupid formalities and just get to the good part.”

“What’s the good part?” You questioned, tilting your head. 

Clark’s chest seized, and his eyes dilated with adoration. “Christ, you’re cute,” he grumbled, “What’s the good part?” 

He answered his own question by surging forward and monopolizing your face, sealing his lips over yours like a painless brand. He wasn’t surprised to taste coffee in your mouth, because it was the last thing you had. You did say it was your favorite ‘human indulgence’, like a little robot. He looped an arm around your waist to draw you right to the edge of the counter, pressing your torso to his, and you let out a happy laugh against his lips. Clark beamed and kissed you hard and eager, not even worried about being careful. 

You, of course, were his perfect match. Hands roaming and tugging his shirt and hair, clanking teeth and bumping noses in a severely uncoordinated first kiss, one of many. He threw you in headfirst and it showed, but you followed the hinge of his jaw with your hands and studied the motion, and you recreated it as best as you could. The two of you laughed and grunted and purred in tandem, touching everywhere, swapping hearts. It was only when you pushed at his chest to try and pry him off you and get some air that he retreated, heaving with spit-slicked lips and wild eyes.

“Too much?” He panted, smoothing your hair back, tangling his fingertips in it. 

Yes, it was— your smell was warped, you were seeing in and out of walls as you tried to center your focus, and your heart was beating so rapidly it began to concern you. Little flame rings flashed under your eyelids. But it was undeniably the best rush you’d ever felt in your life. So you said, “No. It was nice.”

“Nice,” he laughed, and he attacked you again, peppering kisses across your neck and jaw and digging his fingers into your waist to draw ticklish kicks and squirms out of you. 

You squealed and sang, smacking at him and wriggling like a snake. “Clark! Ah– Clark! Kal, please!”

He slowed his fingers and laughed with you, smooching up your neck until he reached your lips again. “Only you can call me that, you know,” he promised. 

“I know.”

“So you love me,” he repeated. 

“So I love you,” you confirmed. 

Clark ran his hands down your thighs again and flashed his teeth. “I think I’ll keep you. Y’know, since you’re Kryptonian and all. I mean, what would you do without me?”

Softly, between laughs, you swore: “I’d still be lost in space.”

————————————͙͘͡★——————————

Not long after Clark let you off that counter, you realized you’d forever be on a pedestal. Not because he was so desperate for love, but because he’d finally found it, and it was with someone he never expected to reach. Just when he’d given up, there you were, literally crash-landing into his life. 

You were the right fit against him when he slept at night. You said his name like it meant something. You argued with him about the stupidest, most insignificant things on television, even when you were half-asleep. You drank all his coffee. You learned how to feed the animals, even the ones you quarreled with, while he patrolled the city at night. You burned nearly every dinner you made. And he didn’t want to live or breathe without you ever again. He thanked the fates for knocking you off-course every night, because while you were stuck in that ship, you left behind everything Kryptonian except your name and power. You came to him as human as anything else. After one week, you were his home, and after two, he wondered how quick was too quick for marriage. 

Clark’s friends came to the house a few days later. They brought the whole gang this time– Bart, A.C., Dinah, Emile. Jimmy and Lois came. Clark even invited Pete. He threw a little party, just for you, and he called it your ‘belated birthday celebration’. Everyone brought you some new clothes in colorful bags– which you didn’t like nearly as much as Clark’s– and you did much better with human interaction the second time around.

His mother flew home from D.C. to meet you after your first month on Earth. She fed you pie and made you promise to keep Clark under control. She went through her keepsake box full of Jonathan Kent’s things and told you stories about Clark’s father that made you cry. She then showed you all of Clark’s baby pictures, which made you laugh. She loved you, and slipped Clark her old engagement ring when you weren’t looking.

Clark had grown accustomed to otherness a lifetime ago because he assumed he had to be. But isn’t that just how it works? The most beautiful people, losing everyday, all for one very, very big win? I mean, think about it. “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” Looking back, Clark saw it all clearly. Every loss was a sign that you were on your way. One more heartbreak was just one more step towards the greatest galactic arrangement of his life. He read something else in that textbook, too: “When one has once fully entered the realm of love, the world — no matter how imperfect — becomes rich and beautiful, it consists solely of opportunities for love.” And god, if that didn’t turn out to be true. 

Philosophical or not, Clark didn’t have to be alone anymore. He thought it now as he sat beside you in the loft, with yours legs in his lap, watching you flip through that very textbook. It had been a year. The engagement ring glinted in the setting sunlight as you turned to the next page. 

“There’s some good stuff in there,” he said.

His jaw tightened.

This was never supposed to matter.

Earth wasn’t supposed to matter.

When he’d first arrived, everything had been simple.

Observe. Integrate. Prepare.

Just like his father.

The mission had been clear in a way that left no room for doubt. He knew what Earth was. What it would be. Another world brought under Viltrumite rule. Another stepping stone for the Empire.

The people here were fragile. Short-lived. Insignificant.

He had no reason to care about them.

He still didn’t.

Not really.

But you?

You were everything his mother used to praise about Earth. She’d stopped years ago, but Markus could still remember the stories she’d whisper to him as he fell asleep.

He exhaled slowly, forcing the memory back.

Inside, something shifted. A quiet thud, followed by your voice. Muffled and a little bit frustrated.

He frowned faintly.

You were trying to do something for him again.

The first time you’d done something like this, he hadn’t understood it.

You’d shown up at his door with a poorly wrapped box and a nervous smile, insisting it was “just something small.” He’d stared at it thinking it was a test.

But it wasn’t. It was just something simple. Useless.

He hadn’t known what to do with it. So he’d kept it. Still had it, actually. Tucked away somewhere he didn’t think about too often.

His fingers curled slightly at his side.

One year.

You were celebrating one year. A year since you met him. A year since you let him into your life. A year since he started wanting things he was never supposed to want.

It wasn’t the planet. He could admit that much, at least.

Earth itself held no value to him beyond its strategic importance. Its people were still weak. Still temporary. Still only for the purpose of keeping the Empire alive.

He could leave it behind without hesitation.

Without regret.

But you?

That was where things stopped being simple. Because he could picture it too easily.

You on Viltrum. Not hiding like you did here, but thriving. Living stronger, sharper, more untouchable than you’d ever been.

At his side.

It was always at his side.

His throat tightened.

He wasn’t supposed to think like that.

Viltrumite relationships weren’t built on… this.

It was built on the simple need of reproduction. Not the gentleness of which you treated him. Not the softness in which you showed him how to love.

And certainly not with the devotion you showed him.

His gaze dropped to the door.

You were still moving around inside. Your hum finding a much more listenable melody.

Markus swallowed.

His future unfolded in his mind whether he wanted it to or not.

Not Earth. It was never on Earth.

But something else. Something better.

You, standing beside him, not pretending to be fragile, to be something that needed to be protected, but as something equal. Someone who could withstand the weight of everything he was. Everything he would become.

You, looking at him the same way you did now, but stronger. Untouched by the limitations this planet forced on you.

You, with him, not for a year. Not for a fleeting moment in time. For as long as Viltrumites endured.

The thought settled deep in his chest.

He wanted that. He wanted you.

Not just like this. Not just in this small, temporary way you understood.

But fully. Completely. Permanently.

You would fight him. That part, he knew.

You were too stubborn not to. Too rooted in the idea of protecting people who couldn’t protect themselves. Too attached to a world that would never be able to stand beside you the way he could.

The way he would.

But you would come around. You had to.

Because once you saw it, once you understood what he was offering, you wouldn’t choose this place over him.

Inside, something clattered to the floor. Your voice followed, quieter this time. A soft groan of frustration. Then a small laugh.

Markus closed his eyes.

Just for a second.

That sound. It did something to him. Something he couldn’t categorize. But he knew he wanted to have it forever.

He pushed the door open.

“Markus?”

Your voice lit up immediately, soft and bright and completely unaware of the weight he carried in with him.

“You did all this?” he asked, quieter than he intended.

You smiled, a little shy, a little proud.

“It’s just something small,” you told him. “For us.”

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice low. “For us.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you added quickly. “I just thought—”

He crossed the room before you could finish.

You barely had time to blink before his hand found your wrist, gentle but firm, grounding. His other hand came up to your cheek.

Careful, always careful with you.

“Markus.” you sighed with a smile, leaning in as your nose brushed his.

It was soft. It always was with you.

A simple press of your lips against his. Warm, familiar, safe. Always safe.

And almost instantly, all that tension he’d carried in with him, melted away, just for a moment, as he leaned into you. His grip shifted, hands settling more securely, pulling you closer.

You hummed softly against him, smiling into the kiss.

And that sound. It did something to him.

His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading just enough to hold you there. Wanting more. Needing more.

Markus stepped forward, and you gave way instinctively, pushing you against the edge of the counter. The kiss deepened as he tilted his head further into it.

His thumb brushed along your jaw, down your throat. You let out a small breath against him, and that was enough to make his grip tighten.

There it was again. That thought.

The same unrelenting thought of a future.

You pulled back to breathe and he followed instinctively, unwilling to let the space stay between you, his forehead brushing yours.

“Markus,” you laughed softly, a little breathless now. “Hey—”

“Mm,” he hummed, like he wasn’t entirely listening.

“Okay— Hey.” you huffed softly, pressing a hand to his chest to stop him before he could follow. “We are not skipping straight to that.”

Markus blinked at you, something almost confused flickering across his expression.

“Skipping?” he echoed.

You laughed again, shaking your head as you took his hand and pushed him back a step.

you had always admired her independence and compassion. she taught you and nolan the history, beauty, and culture of this peculiar planet. it wasn’t long until she and nolan had stolen your heart. the house was empty and mark was off to college. you had come back home from the grocery store, a box of debbie’s favorite snacks in your hand when you caught sight of her sobbing self.

debbie was the strongest person in the universe to you. she had always put the needs of others before herself. this time, you’ll be sure to make her feel loved and supported. she didn’t push away from you as you took her into your sturdy arms, nolan’s shirt immediately forgotten.

she let’s out a sob when she felt your lips trailing from her collarbone to her neck. a few tears still manage to escape her closed lids but disappear as you kiss them away. debbie sits on your lap as she hides her swollen face on your chest.

“i’m sorry—”

“you have nothing to be sorry about.”

“how could i’ve been so stupid to believe him for all those years—?”

you gently cup her tear stained cheeks as you softly muttered, “i believed him too. nolan’s betrayal hurt us both. but you’ve been dealing with it all by yourself when we should’ve been dealing with it together, debbie. you’ve been strong long enough, for mark and myself. i’ve never been more proud of you, but now it’s your turn to let go and be taken care of. will…” she gasps when you give her waist a small squeeze, you continue to ask with soft eyes, “…you let me?”

debbie had never felt more loved in her life, she had no clue what she would do if you weren’t there by her side. the bed was never cold. your tender smile greeted her every morning. you treated her like she was a queen worthy of your worship. she was so tired of putting on a facade. tonight, she wanted to be yours.

debbie answers your question by wrapping one of her arms around your neck as her plump lips pressed against yours, to which you warmly welcomed back. all the while, her other hand snuck under your shirt and started stroking your abdomen.

you removed her shirt and unclasped her bra, debbie let out a pleased sigh as her chest was released from its cage and hung free, her nipples hardened under your lustful gaze. you didn’t waste any time in getting naked yourself as debbie continued to strip herself for you. her heart leaped when you stared at her body with the same hunger as when you first saw her naked all those years ago.

a string of slick reveals itself as debbie removes her panties when she catches sight of your toned muscles shining under the light of the sunset peeking through your bedroom window. your dick throbbed and felt heavy as debbie took it in her hand, you shallowed your groans with a steamy kiss as her fingers played with your tip.

before debbie could make a move to take you into her mouth, you stopped her. she stared up at you puzzled.

“i’m supposed to take care of you, remember? i wanna spoil you, make you feel good,” you spoke in a thick tone that it has debbie clenching around nothing. you said nothing as you picked up debbie like she weigh nothing as placed her carefully on the cold bedsheets. you spread her legs apart until you were met with the delicious sight of her wet pussy. your cock jumps and your balls made it painfully clear that they were full than ever. you wanted to dive into her body and never part, but you ceased those thoughts. this was for debbie, not you. there would be a time for that later.

debbie looked up at you with pleading eyes, you lowered yourself down on the floor at the edge of the bed. your hands continued to lovingly caress debbie’s thighs. then, without warning, you leaned your face towards her cunt and push your tongue inside her twitching walls.

“oh fuck— ah! oh, this feels so good,” debbie cried out, her legs wrapped themselves around your head. she didn’t know if it was because you were an alien or whatever, but your tongue always managed to reach the deepest depths of her better than nolan could.

debbie fists the sheets as you continue to stretch her out, but you didn’t stop there. you ravenously sucked her clit, your growls sending pleasant vibrations through out. you devoured her like an inmate on death row. debbie was reminded on how greedy you were when it came to her pussy. whether it was to eating her out or thrusting your fat cock into her, it didn’t matter. you were drunk on her and nolan’s respective holes nonetheless.

debbie let out gasping moans as your tongue flattened over her overstimulated clit and dragged it back and forth. just to throw her over the edge, you pumped your fingers in and out of her sopping pussy, curling them up and pressing them against her walls until they found her sweet spot. you stared up at her with a soft, demanding look, as if you were commanding her to let go and release all over your face.

the only sounds in the rooms were the slurping of your mouth against debbie’s sex and her uncontrollable noises and pleas for more. It was too much and perfection at the same time. debbie shook as she choked out a cry, she sees stars as her orgasm rushes through her and slick squirts over your lips and nose.

debbie laid on the bed like a stringless puppet, her eyes closed as she catches her breath. meanwhile, you rise from the carpeted floor, wipe the clear slick from your face, and use it to lube your hard cock. it had already turned bright red near the tip due to you ignoring it. now the real fun can begin. you give debbie a few minutes to rest, you handed her a bottle water to drink as you showered her in praise.

debbie flushed at the overwhelming adoration. debbie recalled another memory of you taking charge in the aftercare as nolan and debbie held each other in warm embrace after a particularly exhausting session. you made sure they were the most comfortable.

finally, you set debbie sideways on top of the soft pillows as you laid behind her, snaking your arm around her waist as you grind your dick against her entrance. debbie whined when she felt the tip of your cock touch her clit after every movement of your hips.

you peck her neck once more and whisper next to her ear, “i love you, debbie. more than anything else. you aren’t alone, this wasn’t either of our faults. you’re my strong, beautiful wife. nothing’s gonna change that.”

you hear debbie’s breath hitch before salty tears fill her eyes once again. she turns her head and holds onto your neck so she could press a kiss to your lips. your bodies were tangled up like a intimate pretzel, even if you didn’t have your super hearing, you’d still be able to hear debbie’s heartbeat due to how close she was.

nobody else but yourself, debbie and nol—

…nobody else but debbie and youself existed…

debbie pulls away from the kiss first as a few tears escape from her eyes again, she stares at you with pure love and trust as she mutters out, “thank you for everything. i love you more. please, please put it in—”

debbie trailed off and let out a sighing moan when she felt your cock fill her to the brim, your hips press flush against her. your tongue was perfect, but your dick was divine. you were going to do everything in your power to make sure nobody hurt your family again. but in the deepest corner of your mind laid a traitorous thought.

where did nolan go, and was he okay?

after you and debbie were done making love, you use your super human speed to make quick work of clean up and gave debbie one last kiss good night before covering the two of you in a blanket and sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks.

meanwhile, nolan stared up blankly at the countless stars above him from his spot on the balcony that was just outside his bedroom, where andressa slept peacefully on his bed heavy with his future child. despite how far he traveled, nolan could never run away from the memories of what he’d done. he was a disgrace to his empire, and to his family.

the picture of you and debbie appear in his mind. no matter how many times he tried to deny caring for the two of you: he couldn’t believe it himself. he wished things could’ve been different.

You never thought you'd feel like this, but after everything that's happened these last twenty-four hours, all you wanted to do was escape that damn voice.

It's why you had fled the planets atmosphere in the first place. Speeding off to curl up in your hiding place next to the sun as soon as things had died down.

It was the one place you knew you could avoid Mark— or at least, your Mark.

It was the one place you could escape the sound of his voice spitting words he'd never say.

"You look exactly the same... You're as beautiful as the day I lost you."

He whispers your name like a prayer, and it sends a violent wave of nausea rolling through your stomach.

Just yesterday it would have brought you an embarrassing amount of glee to hear his voice calling out to you in such a tone.

The teasing lilt and deep, raspy pitch would normally send a wave of comfort over your tensed figure, instantly quelling your fear... Mark always did have the innate ability to shatter your defenses. Even with something as simple and small as a laugh.

"Please. I'm not here to hurt you. I'd never hurt you, I just... I needed to see you again. It's the only reason I came here."

His voice trembles, pitch heightened as he begs, "Please let me see you."

Your body trembles as you feel his presence drawing closer. Whether it was with fear, rage or exhaustion, you don't know. Maybe a sick combination of all three...

"I'm not that person..."

It was the only thing you could think to say in the moment, and your enhanced hearing allows you to hear the stutter in his breath all too clearly...

Along with his heartbeat, which was beating almost as fast as yours.

"I know."

His voice is small, defeated. As you finally turn to face him, body coiled and tensed for a fight, you find yourself freezing at the sight– because this Mark was different.

His face was stronger, more defined. All chisled cheeks and sharp jawline, no trace of the leftover baby fat you loved to squish when he was being too cocky.

Prominent eyebags and traces of a five o-clock shadow age him significantly. Although, taking into account the scars that littered his face and hands and the pure size of him, it was safe to assume he was a bit older.

As your gazes finally meet, you find yourself hesitating at the amount of pain and fondness his eyes held.

That hesitation lasted for only a moment, because as soon as your brain processed the full image of this Mark, you froze.

There are quite a few reasons you feel as though you should be afraid of him, but none of them were what set you off.

It wasn't the suit, which was, to your horror, the classic Viltrumite uniform that you had seen on the previous visits from the race.

It wasn't the length of his hair, which was only slightly shorter than your Marks' was and added to the aura of stern maturity he carried.

It wasn't even the broad expanse of his shoulders, that easily beat your Mark's in comparison, that caused you to freeze in such fear.

It was because of how much he looked like his father.

From the slope of his shoulders to the cinch of his waist, even down to the swell of his thighs, this Mark was undeniably his fathers son.

You'd never thought that Mark had looked like Nolan as much as everyone said he did, but seeing what could be– what is, this other Mark... One who is far from the slender, goofy, childhood best friend of yours that can't build huge muscles if his life depended on it...

Suddenly made you grateful that Debbie's genes had put up such a fight.

Because even as you see Nolan in the mass of his muscles, and the stance that takes up as much space as possible while simultaneously exuding danger and strength– You can still see the remnants of his humanity in the shape of his eyes and curve of his lips. In the slope of his nose and the brown of his iris, you see traces of one of the greatest women you've ever known.

Which is the only reason you haven't moved to attack.

Because this Mark was different. Not just from your Mark, but from all the other Mark's who you had fought (and killed) throughout the past few hours.

Whereas those Marks were all varying in size and stature, their eyes had all held the same sinister glint.

They all shared the same sick inclination to violence and pride, never hesitating to attack first, with a stupid, egoistic whip and strength that rivaled your own.

He didn't.

Despite his size, his posture was carefully submissive, hands splayed open before your eyes in a show of innocence and vulnerability.

His eyes were gentle and tired, rather than obsessive and manic as the others had been.

Still, despite his seemingly unviolent nature, you don't know why you never attacked him.

Maybe it was the desperate hope to find another Mark that was good, or at least, not as bad as all the others.

Maybe it was the overwhelming exhaustion that had numbed your mind since you were first forced to kill a version of your best friend.

Or maybe it was because he somehow knew where to find you, when even your Mark had no idea about your solar absorption, that led you to where you are now.

Sat next to him in a cozy little crater on the moon, overlooking earth as he recalls your alternate life.

"We grew up together. Inseparable since the moment Nolan brought you home from the GDA after your little ship landed in the middle of New York." You note the peculiar use of Nolan's name, nodding along with his words as you reflect on your past with your own Mark.

"I used to be so jealous of you growing up. Unlike me, you had your powers since birth. Nolan always told me that it didn't matter how long you had your powers because when I got mine, I'd be stronger anways." He scoffed, "Fucker was always trying to pit us against each other..."

You tilted your head at that, confused by the notion, "He... never did that here." Your voice was hesitant, unsure if sharing the fact would comfort or further upset him.

Based on the way he smiled at the sound of your voice, you assume he wasn't too concerned with your actual words.

"That.. Makes me so happy to hear, actually." He laughs, breathless and without much humor, "I imagine we– You have a much better relationship with him then..." He trails off, glancing questioningly your way.

You pause, "With Nolan? Or..."

He huffs, leaning more into his elbows that are crossed over his bent knees as he responds, "Both, I suppose..." He gazes out at the expanse of space longingly, "I've thought about it a lot... What it could've been like if he never made us hate each other."

His grin falters, "But that didn't happen. Well, it did, just– not fast enough..." He stutters, and you watch nervously as his fists clench.

"We were at each other's throats our entire lives, and it only got worse when I finally got my powers– I think I was thirteen?" His body remains tense as he continues, "I used to see you as competition. Nolan always paid more attention to you. He took you with him on patrol, he trained you, he.... He made me feel like you were in the way of our relationship as father and son."

He scowls, "I felt like I had to fight for Nolans attention whenever you were around, and it made me hate you because you seemed to take it for granted. You were never enthusiastic about spending time with him, you even seemed to avoid it, and it pissed me off to see you taking advantage of it when I had to beg for crumbs of his approval." He grit his teeth, shuffling ridgedly and you instinctively lean further away at his agitation.

His head snaps your way, and your heart lurches in your throat, wide eyes meeting his as he softens under your flighty stare.

"That's exactly what he planned..." He trails off, head turning away as his body slumps, agitation fizziling out at the sight of your fear. "He wanted me to hate you, so that I would eventually have the will to... eliminate you when the time came to conquer earth. He-He knew that you were the only thing that could pose a threat to our takeover." You both winced at the wording.

"It wasn't until junior prom that I actually opened my eyes..." He laughed sadly.

"Mom made us go together, seeing as neither of us were very popular and tried to use that as an excuse not to go..." He smiled with a wistful sigh, "I'm glad she did. It... ended up being the best night of my life." Your heart clentched at the sight of his crooked smile. His eyes were glazed and reflected the light of the stars in a way that had your breath hitching all too familiarly.

He laughs again, eyes crinkling with affection, "I still remember how awkward you looked in your cute little outfit." His voice took on a teasing lilt as he glanced at you, "Standing at the top of the stairs all grumpy because mom wanted a picture..." He leaned back to lean on his hands with a laugh, "I remember standing there like an idiot. Gaping like a fish because, all of a sudden, you were more than the annoying kid who took my dad from me... You were just... A normal teenager... Who also happened to be the prettiest person I'd ever seen." Your cheeks flushed, and despite knowing he's not actually talking about you... you couldn't help but let yourself indulge in the compliment that your Mark had never even come close to speaking.

"You know, I beat myself up the entire car ride to the school. It was so awkward and it made me realize that despite my dad's interference... You never hated me."

Your eyes are wide and curious as you listen. His voice held so much fondness for this other version of you, it was shocking to imagine him ever hating her.

"I felt like the worst person alive when I realized that despite how awful I was to you, you never held it against me. Guess it's because you knew that I didn't know who my dad actually was..." his voice trailed off, and you could sense the rising anger simmering in his eyes.

"Who knew all it took for you guys to get along was teenage hormones and the dougie..."

Your absentminded comment snaps him out of his haze, drawing his attention as a bewildered stare graces his features.

"I mean, a sixteen year rivalry ended in one night! Must've been some prom..." You smile as you finally get a laugh out of him, quietly reveling in the sound.

"Yeah. It sure was." He smirks, eyes twinkling with a familiar mischief, "You can dance a mean cupid shuffle."

You burst into laughter, tossing your head back with a grin, "Tell me, does you having two left feet translate to every universe?"

He grins back, "Well, yeah– but you said it was cute!"

Your laughter rings in the quiet expanse of space, heard only thanks to the superior senses of your respective alien biologies.

In your humorous fit, you fail to realize how close you began to lean towards Mark until the warmth of his bicep met your own.

Your laughs dwindle at his sudden silence, head tilting to eye him as you grow concerned.

You were met with a gentle, fond smile that set your heart ablaze. His eyes were soft, cheeks pink and dimpled as he stared at you reverently.

You stayed quiet, allowing yourself the moment to soak in his undivided adoration, silently preening under his gaze.

It wasn't until he reached a hand up to brush against your cheek that you snapped out of your stupor. Hesitantly pulling away as you reprimand yourself for getting swept away.

After all, this isn't your Mark.

This isn't your best friend (and nothing more).

Your Mark would never willingly speak so adoringly of you.

Your Mark would never caress you so softly, as if you were something to be worshipped.

Your Mark just didn't love you like you loved him.

It was cruel and unfair to lean into the embrace of this Mark and take advantage of his feelings because at the end of the day, you are not the you he fell in love with.

Your thoughts drive you to break the silence with a sharp sigh, pointedly ignoring his hurt stare as he slowly lowers his hand back to his side.

"Why are you here, Mark?"

He stares at you with a furrowed brow, "I told you, I wanted to see–"

"No, I mean–" You take a breath, gesturing to the earth before you half-heartedly, "Why did you come here with them, if you don't want to conquer our world like they do?"

He takes longer to answer you this time, and you began to worry about his answer.

"It was the only way to see you again." His voice is shaky, the warmth from your previous conversation gone as he glares out at the planet. "Angstrom promised that if I helped him get revenge, he'd let me see you– have you." He pauses, and you tense at the implication of his words.

He sighs, wincing at your jumpiness as he rushes to reassure you, "I'm not here to be the bad guy. I don't want to conquer this earth, I could care less about this Mark! I just– I needed to see you alive. T-To know that you're happy and healthy here... and to make sure it stays that way." His last words are spoken so softly they were almost whispered, and you hesitate to believe them for the sole reason you think you might have hallucinated them.

Nonetheless, you stay silent at the revelation, allowing yourself the time to properly digest your entire encounter thus far.

Your head is far more clouded than when you originally came up here after Mark had disappeared with Eve. After your heart could no longer take killing him again and again...

You don't know what you're supposed to do anymore...

You want to cry, but you can't because you know the Mark next to you will want to comfort you, and the worst part is that you'd allow it.

You want to go back down and pummel every varient you come across just to let out the frustration you feel, but you won't. Not after discovering the possibility that they're not all bad.

So what can you do? What should you do?

What will you do?

What you always do–

"Well, you said you weren't here to be the bad guy, right?"

You slowly rise from your seated position, looming over Mark with a steeled gaze.

Despite your seriousness, you can't help the quirk of your lips at the intense way he nods his head. You shoulders stiffen as you turn back towards earth resolutely, sparing him one last glance before taking off.

"Prove it."