Request: how about a sneak peak into Viltrumark mindset before he told his Kent the truth? Like, seeing what his plans and desires for him and his Kent were before they got faced with reality, yknow?
One Year
Viltrumite Mark X Kryptonian/Superwoman Reader
Context: Takes place within/is canon to my series Softer Than Steel. However, it is not necessary to understand.
w/c: 1.2k
He hadn’t meant for it to happen like this.
That was the first thought that lingered, persistent and unwelcome, as Markus stood just outside the apartment door.
Your apartment door. His apartment door.
One year.
A meaningless measure of time by Viltrumite standards. Barely a blink. Barely a fraction of what his life would stretch into.
And yet…
His hand hovered just short of the handle. Because inside your small home, he could hear you.
Not clearly, he wasn’t focusing enough for that, but the rhythm of your movement carried through the walls.
Light footsteps. The soft scrape of something being adjusted. The quiet hum you always fell into when you were concentrating on something
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.
“Yes, skipping,” you repeated, amused. “I spent all day setting this up. You don’t get to ignore it.”
I have a request! Since im a sucker for Sinister, could i request as oneshot where we see how a "usual" fight/interaction between him and Absolute Superwoman is like?
Another Day
Sinister Mark X Kryptonian/Absolute Superwoman Reader
Context: Takes place within/is canon to my series Softer Than Steel. However, it is not necessary to understand and you can simply read it as a powered!reader.
w/c: 1.1k
a/n: So. I know I said I’d release requests in batches with the release of each new episode of S4. However. This one possessed me and I woke up with this written—
The fire had already spread too far by the time you arrived.
Flames clawed up the sides of three apartment buildings, orange and violent against the night sky. Smoke billowed thick and black, choking the air, and blotting out stars.
You didn’t hesitate as you threw yourself into the center of it.
Heat curled around your skin, harmless but suffocating in its intensity.
Around you people screamed. Some trapped in rooms, others trying to flee down stairwells already full of smoke.
You took a slow breath and exhaled.
A controlled, focused blast of freezing breath tore from your lungs, sweeping across the floors.
The blaze flickered as it was smothered, ice creeping along the edges of charred beams and shattered glass. Steam exploded outward where heat met cold, hissing like something alive.
A woman stumbled out of a doorway, clutching a child. You were there before she could fall, steadying her with your arms.
“It’s okay,” you said, softer now. “You’re safe.”
She nodded, dazed, and you guided her toward the waiting first responders.
Then you were gone again.
Up. Through collapsed floorboards. Into smoke so thick even you had trouble seeing through. So you listened instead, listening for heartbeats, breathing, the faint whimper of someone trying not to panic.
There.
A man pinned beneath a fallen beam.
You lifted it like it weighed nothing, as careful as you could make it. Trying to ignore the sound and smell of melting flesh as you picked him up.
Over and over. Room to room. Floor to floor.
By the time the last flame died under your breath, your chest felt tight.
You hovered above the street for a moment, watching as paramedics took over. As people cried and clung to each other and tried to piece themselves back together.
You turned to leave.
Back to the only place you could call a home. But you barely made it a block before you noticed it. A presence, the feeling of being watched.
You froze midair.
Slowly, you turned your head. And there he was.
Floating in the distance like he had all the time in the world.
Watching you.
Your stomach dropped.
Without thinking, you shot off in the opposite direction, faster than sound, faster than thought. The city blurred beneath you, lights streaking into meaningless lines as you tried to put distance, any distance, between you and him.
For a moment, you thought—
“You always run.”
His voice was right behind you. He matched your pace effortlessly, drifting alongside you like this was a casual stroll instead of a chase.
Invincible tilted his head, studying you with open fascination.
“It’s interesting,” he continued lightly, as if you were in the middle of a conversation. “You hear it all, don’t you?”
You didn’t respond. You just pushed faster.
He kept up.
“The screaming. The breaking. The way their bodies fail them so easily.” His eyes flicked downward toward the city. “All that noise.”
“Stop talking,” you snapped.
He smiled.
It wasn’t kind. It was anything but.
“I can’t hear it like you do,” he said, almost thoughtfully. “But I can imagine.” His gaze slid back to you. “It must be overwhelming.”
Your hands clenched into fists.
“Why are you here?” you demanded.
A soft hum of amusement left him. “You know why.”
“No,” you said sharply. “I don’t. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to hurt people just to—”
“To get your attention?” he finished for you.
He grinned. “Worked, didn’t it?”
Rage flared hot in your chest.
“You—” Your voice shook. “You caused that fire.”
“Of course I did.”
So simple. So casual. Like he was talking about a simple mistake.
Your vision burned.
“They were innocent—”
“They were tools,” he corrected, almost gently. “Fragile, breakable, but very, very useful.”
You stared at him. You didn’t understand. You couldn’t.
“How can you say that?” you whispered. “How can you—”
His expression shifted, something darker slipping through.
“Because they’re easy,” he said. “Insignificant.”
He drifted closer.
“And you,” he continued, voice lowering, “are not.”
Your breath hitched.
His eyes dragged over you. Admiring. Assessing.
“You feel it all,” he murmured. “Their pain. Their fear.”
A pause as he hummed. “I wonder…”
Your stomach twisted.
“What yours would look like.”
Something in you snapped and the impact cracked the air.
Your fist connected with his jaw, sending him hurtling backward through the sky.
He barely had time to react before you were on him again, striking again, faster, harder, each hit fueled by something raw and shaking in your chest.
“What is. Wrong. With you!?”you shouted, each word punctuated by another blow.
He caught your wrist mid-swing.
Effortless. Just like that.
“There you are,” he said softly. A smile on his face, but not the usual condescending one, it’s sharper.
He twisted, slamming you downward. The ground rushed up to meet you in a blur of asphalt and debris, the impact sending cracks spiderwebbing through the street.
Pain flared, but brief, manageable.
You shoved him off, scrambling to your feet.
He followed, slower, almost lazy.
“You fight so hard for them,” he mused. “For something so… insignificant.”
“They matter,” you shot back. “All of them
“They matter to you,” he corrected.
You lunged again.
He met you this time. But he wasn’t fighting to win.
He was playing.
You could feel it.
And It made your skin crawl.
“You’re exhausting yourself,” he noted, catching your arm again, leaning in just enough that you could feel his breath. “All this effort. All this pain you carry for them—”
“Stop it.”
“—and they’ll never understand it.”
“Let. Go.”
“Not like I do.”
Your vision flared red.
Heat built behind your eyes—
And you let go.
The blast of heat vision struck him point-blank, bright and blinding and angry. It sent him flying back, tearing through the air and slamming into the side of a distant building hard enough to crater it.
You didn’t wait.
You turned and ran.
You didn’t stop until you were home.
Until the door slammed shut behind you.
Your hands were shaking.
You stared at them.
Then at your arms.
Your skin.
You could still feel him.
You always could.
It felt like he stained your skin with ink. A stain that spreads and taints and corrupts.
You moved without thinking, stumbling into the bathroom. The faucet twisted on too hard, water rushing out in a steady stream as you braced your hands against the sink.
You scrubbed.
Your nails dragged across your skin, over and over, like you could erase the feeling, like you could tear away whatever disgusting feeling he’d left behind just by trying hard enough.
You continued to scrub until your skin burned.
Until your breath came in sharp, uneven pulls.
Until—
You stopped and turned the water off.
Sighing, you pushed off the sink basin. And it wasn’t long until you’d dressed yourself in overalls and headed outside.
Heading to the one person that you knew would make you feel as normal as possible.
i LOVEE your oneshots they hit the spot!! could i request one with lensless? im rllyy curious abt his potential beef with lex luthor 😛 would lensless compete w krypto? the way he'd ragebait kent? would lois and jimmy approve of lensless? what about ma and pa? feel free to ignore thiss, thankyou ❤️
The Fly
Lensless Mark X Kryptonian/Superwoman Reader
Context: Takes place within/is canon to my series Softer Than Steel. However, it is not necessary to understand and you can simply read this as a Powered!Reader with familiar names/alias.
a/n: These ideas man— Unfortunately I could only fit in Ragebaiter Mark, his beef with Lex, and a slight hint at what Jimmy and Lois think of him at the end…
w/c: 870
In four. Hold seven. Out eight.
In four. Hold seven. Out eight.
In four—
“Superwoman!”
And there’s that annoying, grating voice.
You huffed out your breath and turned your head. Like you assumed, he was already sneering at Lex, whose armor was being stripped from him piece by piece so he could be properly restrained for transport back to prison.
“Invincible.” You had to bite the inside of your cheek. “If you’re looking for a fight, you’re late.”
He scoffed as he dropped from the air, landing harshly enough that the pavement cracked under his boots. His arms crossed, posture loose. Like he wasn’t taking any of this seriously.
“Who says the fight is over?”
“I do,” you said flatly, gesturing toward the heavily armed agents securing Lex. “And the fact that Lex is in custody.”
At the mention of his name, Lex Luthor let out a sharp, humorless laugh as two guards forced his arms behind his back.
“Charming company you keep, Superwoman,” Lex muttered, eyes flicking toward Invincible. “But I suppose your standards are simply slipping.”
Invincible’s grin sharpened instantly.
“Oh, you,” he said, stepping forward causing the guards to visibly tense. “Can I break something? Just one thing. As a treat.”
“No,” you snapped.
“C’mon,” he dragged out, tilting his head. “He’ll survive.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Feels like it should be.”
You stepped between them before he could move any closer. “No.”
His eyes flicked to you.
And lingered.
Then, slowly, he leaned back, raising his hands in mock surrender.
“Fine,” he said easily. “You win.”
You didn’t relax.
Because he wasn’t looking at Lex anymore.
He was looking at you.
You waited until Lex was fully secured, until the transport lifted off, until the last agent cleared the area, before you turned away.
“Stay out of it next time,” you muttered as you passed him.
You didn’t wait for a response. You just took off. But you didn’t get far.
Because, of course, he followed.
You slowed just enough to hover above a quiet rooftop, turning sharply to face him.
“I’m not doing this tonight,” you said.
He hovered a few feet away, hands loose at his sides, like this was some casual, common thing the two of you did.
Then again, unfortunately, it kind of was.
“Doing what?” he asked, feigning innocence.
“This.” You gestured between the two of you. “Whatever this is.”
He hummed, like he was genuinely considering it. “Nah.”
You exhaled sharply, turning to leave again. Then suddenly, he was in front of you before you could move.
Your frustration spiked. “Move.”
“Make me.”
“Look.” You stepped closer, voice dropping. “I am not in the mood.”
“That’s the best part,” he said lightly.
Your hands clenched into fists as you felt your lips tug into a sneer.
His grin widened. “There it is.”
“Invincible—”
“You get this look,” he interrupted, circling you slowly. “Right before you decide whether you’re gonna hit me.”
Your patience snapped.
“Why are you like this?” you demanded.
That seemed to genuinely interest him. “Like what?”
“Antagonistic. Reckless. Completely incapable of acting like a normal person—”
“Normal’s boring.” He leaned in slightly, close enough that you could see the way his eyes lit up.
His interest in you made your stomach twist.
“And I’m trying to see how far I can push you before you snap.”
Your stomach dropped. “You— What?”
He smiled, and it wasn’t a nice one.
“You’re sexy when you’re mad.”
The words hit like a slap. You recoiled instinctively, disgust flaring hot and immediate.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Plenty,” he said easily. “You gonna do something about it?”
For a second, just a second, you really wanted to.
Your heat burned behind your eyes. Your muscles tensed, ready to move.
And he all but leaned into it.
“C’mon,” he coaxed, voice low. “I know you want to.”
That was the worst part.
He wanted it, maybe for you to prove him right, maybe just cause he loves it.
Either way, you hated it,
You stepped back instead. His expression faltered, not quite with disappointment, but with something close.
“No,” you said, voice steady despite the anger still burning in your chest. “I don’t.”
You shot upward, faster than before, faster than he could casually keep pace without effort.
By the time you reached your apartment, your chest felt tight.
You landed harder than necessary on your balcony, shoving the door open and stepping inside.
The quiet hit you immediately. Safe and normal quiet.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding and dropped onto the couch, dragging a hand down your face.
“Rough night?”
You startled slightly, head snapping toward the kitchen.
Jimmy leaned against the counter, a half-eaten snack in hand, watching you with mild concern.
“…You didn’t hear any of that, did you?” you asked.
“Just the landing,” he said, taking a bite. “You break the balcony again, you’re paying for it again.”
“Sorry, sorry. I know.”
He waved it off, stepping further into the living room. “So what happened tonight?”
“Invincible.”
He grimaced. “That guy’s a fucking freak.”
You huffed out a weak, tired laugh, leaning back against the couch.
Could i request some future Kent, Mark and the twins domestic fluff?
The Discovery Center
Future!Mark X Future!Kryptonian/Superwoman Reader
Context: Takes place within/is canon to my series Softer Than Steel. This point in the story has not been reached, and is simply a look ahead in the timeline. Terra and Jon are twins within STS.
w/c: 1.1k
Summer was always the harder months on your family.
Not because anyone in the house was prone to sickness. And certainly not because you or Mark would need to leave for work for days on end.
No, you’d struck a deal with Mister White ages ago for easier assignments during the season.
It was the simple fact the kids were out of school.
You loved them, with all your heart you did.
But keeping them occupied all summer break was the hardest fight you’ve ever encountered.
As the days passed, your go-to visits to beaches or waterparks just weren’t enough to keep them entertained. Healthy and active, sure. But unfortunately Terra quickly grew bored of physical activities compared to her brother.
Speaking of your twins, you could hear them squabbling in the kitchen from all the way in your and Mark’s bedroom down the hall.
“If I step out of this bathroom and see my children giving their father a hard time,” you call out the threat as you tied your top on, “we will stay home and read. All day.”
You pushed your glasses into place, making sure the necktie was securely knotted before stepping into the hallway.
“You said nine!” Terra whined the moment you entered the kitchen. “It’s nearly nine!”
“I said it opens at nine,” you corrected, pressing a kiss against Mark’s cheek as you took the bowl of cereal from him. “Thank you.”
Mark leaned into the kiss instinctively, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist before you stepped away. Even after years of marriage, even after twins and too may sleepless nights to count and calendars scribbled full of different events, he still softened under simple affection like that.
Jon, on the other hand, was practically vibrating in his seat.
“Mom, we have to go now,” he insisted, drumming his fingers against the table. “What if the other kids use all the good stuff first?”
“There is no ‘good stuff first,’” you replied patiently, reaching for the milk.
“There is,” Terra argued, glaring at her brother. “You always hog the engineering stations.”
“I do not hog them!”
“You absolutely hog them.”
You bit back a smile as Mark sighed through his nose as he packed snacks into your bag for you.
“Finish eating,” he said. “The Discovery Center will not vanish.”
“You don’t know that,” Jon muttered.
“Yeah! Mom vanished. Why can’t buildings?” Terra pointed out.
“That was special. And won’t happen again.”
Despite the urgency, the car ride was… pleasant.
Jon spent most of it bouncing slightly in his seat, listing everything he hoped they’d have at the Discovery Center. Terra corrected half of what he said based purely on the principle of disagreeing with her brother.
Mark drove with one hand resting loosely against your knee, thumb absentmindedly brushing back and forth as the twins debated.
“You encouraged this,” Mark murmured quietly.
“I encourage curiosity,” you corrected. “Would you rather this, or the tablets?”
The Discovery Center was already busy by the time you arrived, filled with the particular chatter of excited children and tired parents pretending they weren’t counting the hours until naptime.
Jon grabbed your hand the moment you entered, tugging you toward the large map display.
“Okay, okay, okay,” he said, scanning everything rapidly. “We have to be smart.”
“We’ll be smart about our time,” you promised him.
Terra leaned against Mark’s side, studying the map more calmly.
“There’s a grocery,” she said thoughtfully. “And splash tank.”
“And arts ‘n crafts!” Jon added.
Mark crouched beside them. “What’s the plan?”
Terra tapped the map decisively. “Food first.”
Jon squinted at her. “Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“You just want to play cashier.”
You hummed as you stirred them into that direction. “We can make a circle and hit everything. We have all day.”
Mark rose again, offering you a small smile. “Lead the way.”
The food exhibit was surprisingly detailed, guiding children through how crops were grown, harvested, processed, transported, and eventually turned into meals.
Jon immediately gravitated toward a display where kids could “harvest” plush vegetables from a mock garden bed.
“I got a carrot!” he announced proudly, holding it up like a trophy.
Terra examined the soil display nearby, carefully reading each label.
“Hey, Mama? Why don’t we do this one?” she asked, fascinated and pointing at a simple drawing of a center-pivot irrigation system.
Mark crouched beside her, “Your mother’s farm is a bit too small for that. They use it for big farms that feed a lot of people. See?”
You leaned against the railing nearby, watching your family with quiet fondness.
Jon eventually joined Terra at a mock grocery station, scanning fake produce and bagging it with intense concentration.
“You forgot the eggs,” Terra informed him. Which quickly devolved into a squabble on the need for the item.
Mark sat beside you taking the bag from your lap and placing it in his.
“I am impressed we survive.”
“You signed up for this.”
“I would sign up all over again.”
The water exhibit was louder, full of rushing streams, pipes the could rearrange, and plastic gates children could lift and lower to redirect flow.
Jon immediately attempted to control the entire system.
Terra immediately attempted to correct his methods.
“You’re flooding it!”
“That’s the point!”
“That’s not the point!”
Mark rolled up his sleeves without hesitation, kneeling beside them.
“If you can’t do this together, we’ll move on,” he warned quietly before redirecting gently, adjusting one of the barriers, “Terra, why don’t you try moving the pipes around to stop the flooding then?”
The arts and crafts section was quieter, filled with the soft scratch of crayons and the occasional glitter spill.
Terra selected watercolor paints immediately while Jon chose air-dry clay.
You sat awkwardly in a child-sized chair. Taking the crayons Terra handed you and decided to make a card.
While you couldn’t exactly make out what Terra was attempting to paint, you had to give your girl credit for not letting her colors bleed into a mess on her paper. Jon had the easier projects. The molds offered for the clay made it easy to shape the colors he picked into a T-Rex.
Terra leaned slightly into your side as she worked while Jon hummed quietly to himself.
Mark’s knee pressed lightly against yours beneath the table.
By the time you left, the twins were tired but happy, clutching their creations like priceless treasures.
Jon’s clay dinosaur lost a half of its tail to the car.
He mourned briefly before Mark told him it could be a “battle injury.”
Terra carried her painting carefully, already planning where she wanted it displayed.
Mark opened the car door for you, resting his hand briefly at the small of your back.
You reached for his hand as the twins buckled themselves in.
Summer might be exhausting.
Chaotic. Loud. Often somehow sticky.
But as Jon launched into an animated explanation on why T-Rex’s were the best dinosaur and Terra corrected every detail—
You wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Not for anything in the universe.
And judging by the quiet warmth in Mark’s expression, neither would he.
Oh you're taking variants requests? Could i ask a Mohawk one where he and Kent hang out? Before he discovered she was Superwoman
Skipping
Mohawk Mark X Kryptonian/Superwoman Reader
Context: Takes place within/is canon to my series Softer Than Steel. However, it is not necessary to understand.
a/n: sorry this is a bit shorter than most other variant requests, this one actually gave me more trouble than I thought it would—
w/c: 809
“Oh c’mon! I don’t think they expect every student to be there.” He groaned, leaning against your locker door.
“They expect everyone that’s on the student newspaper.” You crossed your arms. “And besides, that’s where they expect everyone to be this afternoon if not in class.”
Mark huffed as he rolled his eyes. He knew you’d say no, why did he even bother to ask.
Oh wait. He did know.
You could actually be pretty fun when you let loose.
“You don’t really think they’ll do a head count, do ya?” He refused to move as you gave his arm a tug, trying to move him away so you could open your locker.
“Yes.” You told him simply, “Now can I get my bag?”
“Only if you come with me.”
He watched as you readjusted your glasses, pushing them further up your nose bridge as you tilted your head.
Like a puppy, he briefly thought.
“What?” You stammered.
“Like basketball games are important at the beginning.” He shrugged, “C’mon. We go out, chill, and join at the last minute.”
He watched as you gnawed at your lower lip.
“You don’t miss who won, and you wouldn’t be lying if you said you went. Easy.”
You sighed and rocked on your heels for a moment. But eventually, you nodded, “As long as we’re back in time.”
He scoffed as he turned around, inputting your combination into your lock to open the door and toss you your bag. “Have I ever lied to you?”
“Yes.” You frowned as you slung the strap around your shoulders, it took you longer than he thought before you did a double take. “Wait. How did you know my code?”
Mark only smirked, already walking down the hall.
“You worry too much.”
“That’s not— Mark!”
Driving with you in the passenger seat was… interesting.
You were quieter than most people he hung out with. No constant chatter, no loud music. You just watched the road, occasionally glancing at him.
The mall wasn’t particularly exciting either. Not during school hours when the main demographic was stuck in school.
But you still looked around like you were excited to see everything.
He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as you paused in front of the bookstore entrance.
“Seriously?” he asked.
“It’s just for a minute.”
“That’s never true.”
You pushed the door open anyway and he followed.
The bookstore smelled like paper and coffee, and you immediately gravitated toward a display table near the front.
Mark leaned against a shelf, arms crossed, watching as you skimmed spines with careful interest. You selected one, flipping through the pages with focused attention.
You looked… happy.
Relaxed in a way that was rare for you. Different from the tense, overly responsible version of yourself at school.
Eventually, you let him drag you into a store he actually wanted to visit.
You didn’t complain, even though he could tell it wasn’t your usual scene.
You trailed along beside him, occasionally picking things up to examine before placing them back carefully.
“You don’t have to pretend to like it,” he muttered.
“I’m not pretending.”
He snorted. You wandered a little longer before stepping outside the store to wait while he checked out.
When he joined you again, you were leaning against the railing, watching people pass with quiet curiosity.
“You bored?” he asked.
“No,” you said honestly. “Just people watching.”
“…And that’s fun?” He grimaced. He couldn’t imagine a more boring thing to do.
“People are interesting.” You simply shrugged.
He studied you for a second, before rolling his eyes, “You’re weird.”
“So I’ve been told.”
By the time you both agreed to head to the game, the sky had already begun to shift toward late afternoon.
The stadium was loud by the time you arrived.
The echo of sneakers against polished floors carried through the open doors, accompanied by the roar of students packed into bleachers.
The buzzer sounded. The gym erupted into cheers.
Their team won.
You blinked, surprised by how pleased you felt.
“Well,” you admitted, adjusting your glasses again, “all of this was… nice.”
“Told you,” Mark said smugly.
You laughed softly. He liked that sound more than he probably should.
You shifted your bag on your shoulder before glancing at him.
“…Thank you,” you said.
He shrugged, “Guessing it was worth it?”
You nodded. “Totally worth it.”
Something warm settled in his chest at that.
Not entirely unpleasant.
You stepped a little closer before he could question it.
Your hand brushed his sleeve lightly as you leaned up just enough to press a quick, chaste kiss to his cheek.
It was soft and brief. Gone almost immediately.
But it left him standing there like someone had just rewired something important without asking permission.
Mark touched his cheek.
Oh, yeah. All his begging was definitely worth it now.
omg u still taking requests??? Ive got one for phantom mark (the one with the full face mask). you wrote some time ago a small 'what if' snippet where his Superwoman was revived, how about another oneshot where we see how he acts/thinks around her since she's back?
Desperate for Normalcy
Fullmask Mark X Kryptonian/Superwoman Reader
Context: Takes place within/is canon to my series Softer Than Steel. However, it is not necessary to understand and you can simply read this as a Revived!Reader.
a/n: I’m always taking requests, I love getting to write these oneshots— It’s a nice Brain Break and I absolutely love getting to write the variants as I won’t be able to in STS proper!
w/c: 1.1k
It’s at times like these Mark thinks he’s hallucinating.
He’s seen this sight before, and each time he’d wake up.
Hell, it didn’t even matter what or where. He’d wake up in the end. Cold, and alone, and sick to his stomach, the phantom warmth of your presence fading from his arms like smoke slipping through his fingers.
So sue him if he doesn’t want to close his eyes.
Not when it risks you disappearing once more.
He remembers the weight of you then.
How wrong it felt when he would wake up. How loud the silence was. How cold he felt.
He remembers begging something, anything, to let him keep you.
And he remembers getting nothing.
But now you’re here. Alive, warm, and oh-so real. He would never regret going to Hell and back for you. Well, a place worse than Hell if you’d ask him.
Steam curled around the bathroom in soft white spirals, the mirror fogged beyond recognition. The air smelled faintly of your shampoo, and it was familiar enough that it twisted something tight in his chest.
“I don’t want to get shampoo in your eyes,” you told him, your voice soft and nearly drowned out by the steady rush of water against tile.
Your fingers threaded carefully through his hair, slow and deliberate, like you were working through something delicate instead of simply helping him wash it.
Mark stood in front of you, shoulders slouched as his head was tilted back for you, unmoving.
Compliant as he could be.
He didn’t trust himself to do anything else.
Your touch was grounding in a way nothing else had been since you came back.
Warm fingertips against his scalp. Gentle pressure as you worked the soap through his hair. The careful tilt of his head when you rinsed it clean.
He couldn’t stop watching you.
Even with the steam blurring his vision, even with the water dripping down his face, he kept his gaze fixed on your face like it might vanish if he looked away.
You noticed.
Of course you did.
“You’re staring,” you murmured, not unkindly.
He didn’t deny it as his gaze remained locked onto you.
“…Just making sure,” he said quietly.
Your expression softened.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised.
He didn’t respond.
Because he’d heard those promises before.
From his father.
From his mother.
From you.
And look how that turned out.
Your hand brushed his temple as you rinsed the last of the soap from his hair.
You were here. At least now, you were back.
“You’re turn now,” you said gently once he was clean.
He hesitated only a second before stepping aside, letting you slip past him into spray of the shower.
The sight of water running down your shoulders did something strange to his breathing.
He busied himself grabbing the soap, focusing on the task.
He was careful.
More careful than he’d ever been with anything in his life.
His hands trembled slightly as he lathered up the soap on your back, slower than necessary, like rushing might break the illusion.
And he’d be alone again.
You didn’t comment on it. Instead you simply leaned slightly into his touch, trusting him.
And that trust settled somewhere deep in his ribs.
Heavy and it made him feel sick.
His gaze caught on the scars before he could stop himself.
Faint, pale, and raised.
Marks that didn’t exist before.
Evidence that something terrible had happened.
Evidence that he hadn’t been fast enough.
Hadn’t been strong enough.
His hands stilled on your waist.
“You can ask about them, you know,” you said softly.
His throat tightened. “… Does it hurt?”
“No,” you said gently.
That wasn’t what he meant. You knew that.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
He swallowed. His thumb brushed lightly across one of the marks, careful enough that it barely counted as contact.
It was proof, you’d told him.
Proof you were real.
Proof you were alive.
Proof you were his.
Afterward, wrapped in towels and lingering warmth, you guided him to sit on the edge of the bed while you fetched a comb.
He watched you the entire time.
“You used to wear it like this,” you said, gently working through the damp strands.
He frowned faintly. “…Did I?”
If he was being honest, he was surprised he recognized himself in the mirror after all this time.
You hummed in confirmation. “Back when we were in school. Actually… I don’t think I ever saw you wear it differently.”
Your hands moved with quiet confidence, shaping his hair with familiarity that made something twist low in his chest.
He hadn’t worn it like that in a long time.
Not since…
Well, not since before everything went wrong.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror once you were done.
And for a moment, just a moment, he didn’t see the man who had clawed his way through so much grief he never wanted to wake from the dreams you still existed in.
Instead, he saw something closer to the boy you met.
“…Haven’t worn it like that in a while,” he admitted.
“I know,” you said quietly. “But I like it. Easier to see those pretty eyes of yours.”
You disappeared into the closet briefly before returning with a soft cotton shirt.
He recognized the faded graphic and worn collar. The familiar, slightly ridiculous design.
“You kept it?” You asked, a small chuckle leaving you.
“Of course I did.” He responds immediately.
Of course he did. That was the one you stole often. You probably wore it more often than he did.
The old Seance Dog graphic tee fell easily into his hands and something inside him twisted sharply.
He pulled it on slowly, smoothing the fabric flat against his chest.
He remembered you wearing this while sitting beside him on the couch.
While arguing over movies.
Before everything.
“It’s my favorite,” you told him. “It’s like, pajama soft.”
Mark looked down at himself, then back at you.
Everything felt…
Safe.
He reached for your hand before he even realized he was doing it.
Your fingers curled easily around his.
This moment felt fragile in a way that terrified him.
Like if he said something, breathed too hard, it wouldn’t all shatter.
And he would wake up again.
Alone again.
He wrapped his arms around you, arms locked behind your back, and he squeezed you.
Can I request kent and mark going on a picnic date on the Kent's farm, (rex getting money from Kent to babysit Krypto) like them on a blanket having a date with delicious food and each other company.
Mark and Kent enjoying the sun and peace feeding each other food and, chasing each other sharing kisses (pure tooth rot ) and then flying around the world holding hands staring at each other.
You know feeding baby animal, and them enjoying their day together, and then Kent coming with Mark at home after the date dropping him off at home and mark having this lovey dovey expression on his face (Kent is the same and both parents are happy for them the goofballs in love )
The Usual
Mark Grayson X Kryptonian/Clark Kent! Reader
w/c: 747
Context: Takes place within/is canon to my series Softer Than Steel. However, it is not necessary to understand and you can simply read this as Powered!Reader or ignore the fact you can fly.
Rex’s eyes followed the Tupperware container as you handed over your latest baking experiment.
He looked deeply suspicious. “What is it this time?”
“Blondies,” you answered proudly.
He popped the lid open immediately, peering inside like a gremlin assessing treasure. “How long are you gone?”
You smoothed down your sundress and adjusted the ribbon straps on your shoulders. “Few hours.”
He grabbed one before you could even finish speaking. “You have exactly four before I finish these and get bored.”
You snorted. “Oh, the horror.”
“It will be,” he said around a bite. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
You rolled your eyes fondly as Krypto bounded around your ankles excitedly before Rex scooped him up with one arm.
“If I’m not back in time, just swing by my place. Jimmy should be home.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Rex waved you off dismissively. “Tell Mark he looks shitty.”
“I won’t!”
“You should!”
“I shouldn’t!”
He laughed as he disappeared into his and Rae’s apartment, Krypto barking happily in his arms.
You ducked into a nearby alley and waited just long enough to make sure no one was watching.
Then you kicked off the ground.
The farm was quiet in a way the city never was.
The air smelled like fresh grass, warm dirt, and wildflowers blooming near the fence lines. The sun stretched gold across endless fields while wind moved lazily through tall grass.
Mark followed as you led him toward one of the larger trees on the property.
You spread a blanket beneath it while he unpacked the basket your mother had sent.
Mark stared at the inside. “…Did your mom think we were feeding an army?”
You looked over his shoulder. “There’s only six sandwiches.”
“Only?”
“She made pie too.”
Mark slowly looked at you. “I love your mother.”
You laughed softly as you sat beside him, “She loves you too.”
The immediate sheepish flush that crawled across his face made your chest feel warm.
“Yeah?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
The picnic quickly devolved into teasing.
Mostly because Mark kept stealing dessert off your plate.
“That was mine.”
“You weren’t eating it.”
You narrowed your eyes as he bit into one of your chocolate covered strawberries.
“Traitor.”
He smirked. “You can have half.”
“That was my strawberry.”
“It’s our strawberry now.”
Although somewhere between the strawberries and the pie, the space between you closed without either of you really noticing.
“You’re getting crumbs everywhere,” you murmured, reaching up instinctively.
Your fingers brushed the corner of his mouth, wiping away stray crumbs of the crust.
Mark stilled, his eyes flicked up to yours then downward to your lips.
“Mark…”
His hand moved to your waist carefully. Like he was giving you every chance to pull away.
You didn’t. You actually leaned in first.
A brush of lips that quickly turned deeper when he made a quiet sound against your mouth.
His hand tightened slightly at your waist while your fingers slid into his hair at the nape of his neck.
Slow and warm, and so sweet it made your head spin.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless.
Later, once all the food was finished, you took his hand again.
“C’mon,” you said.
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
You brought him the roof of the old movie theater on Main Street, your favorite spot since you were a kid.
You landed on the roof of the old movie theater on Main Street.
Mark looked around.
Below, people wandered through town. Couples leaving restaurants. Families heading home. Kids riding bikes.
You sat near the edge, legs dangling over, and Mark was quick to join you.
“This was always my favorite place growing up,” you admitted softly.
“Why?”
You shrugged. “It’s a good place to people watch, I suppose.”
Your gaze stayed on the town below, “Though you probably think it’s boring...”
Mark looked at you.
At the way sunset painted your skin in warm oranges and pinks, the softness in your expression, the reflecting in your eyes.
And he realized, he would take simple and boring if it meant days like this.
By the time you walked him home, night had begun settling over the neighborhood.
You landed gently outside his house.
“Thanks,” he said softly.
You smiled. “For what?”
“For today.”
Your thumb brushed over his knuckles “Anytime.”
He kissed you first this time. Hands finding your waist as yours cupped his face.
When you finally pulled apart, he looked completely ruined and utterly happy.
Can I please request eve staying at the Ken farm for a while
I want to see eve happy imagine her having a difficult time at home and Kent saying she is welcome to stay over at her house ma and pa Kent missed her so she stays in Kent her childhood room on the Kent farm for a while.
I can imagine ma and pa Kent taking care of her like a daughter and her helping around the farm and just having a good time she deserves it
I can see kent and sending texts every day talking about how it's going
A Weekend Away
An Atom Eve Sidestory…
a/n: Eve my love,,, When I said I had this idea circling in my brain for a while— I’m glad you requested it, gave me a chance to finally put pen to paper <3
w/c: 1k
Context: Takes place within/is canon to my series Softer Than Steel. In Chapter 22, Eve is given the offer of a safer place away from her parents if she ever needs it. In this, she takes Reader up on her offer
The door slammed shut behind her as Eve practically stumbled into her bedroom.
Her eyes stung. Her throat felt tight, and she had to bite her lip to keep anything from slipping out.
Collapsing onto her bed, she pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, forcing herself to breathe.
Nothing about tonight helped her already waning patience with her family.
Not the argument. Not the way her father’s voice carried. Not the way her mother tried to smooth it over like it was nothing. Like it always was.
Eve dragged in a shaky breath, turning her head toward her bedside table.
Her phone.
She reached for it without thinking, fingers moving on autopilot as she unlocked it. Her thumb hovered over your contact.
She stared at the picture she’d picked for you.
You, grinning brightly, holding up a newspaper like it was the most important thing in the world. Your glasses caught the flash, reflecting it back in a way that made your eyes impossible to see, but she remembered them anyway.
Warm, and proud, and happy.
A knock on her door made her flinch.
“Samantha, honey.”
Her mom.
“You know your father didn’t mean that… Look, please, come downstairs. Your dinner will get cold, you know how much he hates that.”
A hollow laugh bubbled up, but she swallowed it down as she rolled her eyes.
She waited until she heard footsteps retreat before finally pressing call.
It only rang twice.
“Eve, heya!” Your voice was immediate. She could hear noise behind you. Typing, muffled conversation, the buzz of somewhere busy.
Guilt twisted in her chest. “Uh— hey, um…”
Her voice caught. She swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “Is that offer still standing?”
“Offer? Offer…” you echoed, then— “Oh! Of course!”
Relief hit so fast it almost hurt.
You started talking quickly, words tripping over themselves. “Is everything okay? Do you want me to come get you?”
“If… if you wouldn’t mind,” Eve said, quieter now. “My window, please.”
There was no hesitation in your next words. “Be there in ten.”
Your voice softened. “Okay?”
“…Okay,” she whispered.
She packed quickly. Tossing her clothes, toiletries, into the bag. Preferring to use her hands rather than her powers to keep her hands busy.
By the time the soft tapping came at her window, she was ready.
You hovered outside, crouched slightly, one hand raised mid-knock. You looked sheepish, like you’d shown up too fast, even though she knew you hadn’t.
“Heya, Evie,” you said softly as she opened the window. You just reached for her bag like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I already called my folks,” you added. “Gave them a heads up.”
Eve nodded, throat tight as she took your outstretched hand and kicked off the ground.
The farm was quiet. Dark in that peaceful way that only came with open land and distance from everything else.
When you landed on the gravel driveway, Eve immediately noticed the porch light. And the figure sitting beneath it.
Your dad stood the moment he saw you.
“Hey, sunshine!” he greeted, pulling you into a hug before turning to Eve without missing a beat. “And Eve. Nice to see you again.”
His smile didn’t falter, even for a second, as he ushered the two of you inside. “C’mon in. It’s cold out.”
Inside, it smelled like something warm and homemade. Tea, if she had to guess.
Your mom appeared almost instantly from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Oh, honey,” she said, moving straight toward Eve. “You must be freezing. I was told you like tea, so I put some on for you.”
Eve blinked. “…Thank you.”
That was all she could manage.
Your old room hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d visited.
Posters, and trophies, and photos lined almost every surface imaginable. Glow in the dark stars still on your ceiling.
Well, mostly unchanged. Your old wooden desk had been cleared off and the bedsheets had changed.
“You don’t mind?” you asked, lingering awkwardly in the doorway. “We, uh, don’t really have a guest room.”
“I don’t mind,” Eve said quickly.
The first night, she slept harder than she had in weeks.
The next morning, she woke up to sunlight and quiet.
No tension, no raised voices.
Just the distant sound of something cooking and the soft creak of the house settling.
For a moment, she didn’t move.
But then a soft knock properly woke her up.
“Sweetheart?” Your mom’s voice. “Breakfast is ready whenever you are.”
Eve swallowed.
“…Okay,” she called back.
It became routine faster than she expected.
Mornings with your parents.
Helping your dad with small things around the farm, things she could’ve done faster with her powers, but didn’t. There was something nice about doing things slowly.
Your mom showed her how to cook things that didn’t come from a microwave or a box. She laughed warmly when Eve messed up.
Like mistakes didn’t matter.
And you?
You texted her constantly.
Wall-E: You survive the chicken coop?
Eve huffed a quiet laugh, thumbs moving quickly.
Eve: Are they normally bad???
Wall-E: That means they like you! Sometimes they’re pecky
She smiled.
Eve: Your mom made pie today.
Wall-E: Really?! What kind?
Eve: Apple.
There was a long pause as she watched the typing bubble for a while.
Wall-E: Gosh, I’m jealous. I miss Ma’s pie.
Eve snorted.
Eve: I’ll bring you back a slice.
At night, she’d sit on your bed, scrolling through your messages while thinking about her day.
Everything here felt easy. Safe.
A week passed.
Then another.
No one rushed her.
No one asked when she was going back.
Your parents just… let her stay.
One evening, she found herself outside with your dad, watching the sunset stretch across the fields.
“You’re welcome here as long as you need,” he said suddenly. “We’re glad you like it here.”
Her chest tightened. “…Thank you.”
Later that night, she texted you again.
Eve: Your parents are really nice.
The reply came almost instantly.
Wall-E: Yeah. They’re kinda the best.
Eve hesitated before she sent her next text.
Eve: It feels nice here.
Wall-E: I’m really glad.
Another message followed quickly.
Wall-E: You deserve somewhere that feels like that, Eve.
She stared at the screen for a long moment, then set the phone down gently.
For the first time in a long time, Eve felt like she could stay.
Not because she had nowhere else to go, but because someone wanted her there.
