cosmic-crashout

[cosmic-crashout]

Cough I may or may not getting into DC just a bit

La Vie en Rose

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason wildly preferring you over everyone else

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: standard batfam arguing etc.

You sit curled up embarrassingly close to Jason on the couch, head on his shoulder. The team is still in their gear as they filter into the living room, masks and helmets discarded in scattered locations between here and the cave. The mission had been fairly simple and with all of them together it only took a couple hours to finish up.

As you waited, Alfred had kept your mind busy in the kitchen while he taught you how he makes his famous ice cream from scratch.

The clamor of the heroic party’s return had made itself known sooner than later, and you think your face must have displayed your emotions nicely because Alfred nodded you away with a small smile and no second thought.

You’d walked into the living room, weaving through the mess of siblings until a hand snuck out on your left and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to look at him before Jason pulled you down to sit next him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in and leaving virtually no space between you. His armor sits heavy against you, but a welcome weight on your shoulders.

Tim plops down on the couch across from you and you can just make out a bit of blood on the side of his head, aptly accompanied by an irritated look sprawled across his face. It’s not enough blood to be concerned about—not for them—but you can venture a guess that whatever they were up to shouldn’t have called for any injuries and his pique is likely directly related to that.

Though Dick’s goading aura might have something to do with it too, as he comes crashing down next to him a second later, partially sitting on Tim’s cape and pulling him into an awkward angle. 

Nightwing doesn’t seem too perturbed by the younger vigilante’s agitation and curt manner of pushing him off.

The others are too caught up in chatter to pay much attention to you, and you can be certain that’s why Jason takes that moment to press a kiss to the side of your head. He lets his lips linger there for just a second as you lean into him.

Alfred’s own entrance is the only thing able to subside the flurry of conversations skirting around the room.

“A job well done,” he commends with a nod. “A selection of ice creams awaits you in the kitchen.”

He gives you a sly wink before retreating back through the swinging door, leaving Stephanie and Cass to practically trip over themselves trying to beat each other to the kitchen. Robin follows after unhurried, mask still on, with his hands behind his back.

Jason kneads your thigh before pushing himself up to stand. He turns back, looking down to you. “What do you want?” he asks softly.

You hum, "Just strawberry's good."

Tim sits up, "Can I—”

"No, you've got legs,” Jason grumbles, stalking off to the kitchen.

Dick barks out a laugh and you bite back a smile.

Tim looks absolutely aghast. 

“That’s such bullshit. You know, he used to be nice.”

“No he didn’t,” Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Not since you’ve known him.”

Stephanie stumbles out of the kitchen then, the door hitting her back on the way, as she mutters a curse behind her. You can vaguely makeout Jason grunting something back before she rolls her eyes.

Steph looks at you, shaking her head as she returns to her seat, “You live like this?”

You shrug, “He’s nice to me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tim grumbles.

Jason returns after Cass a minute later with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. He expertly ignores Tim’s unwavering glare as he resituates himself beside you.

He scoops your legs up over his lap and positions the bowl in between you, wrapping the sleeve of his jacket around it so that the cold porcelain doesn’t make contact with your skin.

The others have set themselves up so that the four of them are stuffed up against each other on the sofa adjacent to you, very obviously examining you both. 

And while you’re willing to acknowledge the amused stares and singular glare, Jason only sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he glares at the coffee table.

Only a few seconds of this are allowed to go by before he pulls over a throw pillow and sets it over your knees, so that it rests atop your heads like a mini-fort, successfully blocking out his siblings' view of the two of you.

You smile and press a light kiss to his shoulder as he simmers.

Regrettably, you miss the way Damian side-eyes the pillow above you as he re-enters the room, perching himself atop the back of the couch behind the others.

“This is so nice,” Dick preens. “He used to just leave the room when too many of us gathered in one place. Now he has to stay.”

Stephanie watches the makeshift fort with wary eyes, scooping ice cream into her mouth. “Yeah…I don’t wanna freak you guys out but, uh…”

It’s quiet for a moment and you guess Cass is speaking. 

You’re proven right when Stephanie starts up again, “My thoughts exactly.” Her voice drops into a raspy whisper that isn’t really meant to go unheard, “I don’t know who the hell that is, but it is not Jason.” 

“This is unprecedented,” Damian mumbles, dipping into his own chocolate cup.

“Do they always talk about you like you’re not here?” you ask Jason quietly. 

“Yes,” he grumbles with a scornful look directed at the bowl.

A low hiss can be heard immediately after, “I’ve never heard him whisper before, what the fuck?”

You can’t hide your laugh as well as you mean to, but you know Jason’s light swat to your thigh is nothing more than a rib.

Mumbles continue along the other couch, mostly going unacknowledged, until Tim busts out, “He doesn’t even like strawberry!”

Jason snaps the pillow out of the way, “The fuck do you know about what I like?”

Tim resets his posture with one hell of an attitude, snarking, “Well I can name one thing you really seem to fucking—”

Jason grabs the pillow harshly and chucks it at Tims head which connects with a loud thwack.

Damian swats it away before it can knock him off balance, though his scowl is only half worth what Tim’s is. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a sneer. “This is why you don’t get invited to movie night anymore.”

Jason doubles back at him, “Sorry, is this not your own fucking house?”

Tim huffs, “Yes, which i—”

“Then get your own goddamn ice cream!”

Tim huffs as he stands, sending Jason a pointed look. “I’m going because I want to.”

Jason barely gives him a sardonic nod as he stomps off.

“Get me some too!” Dick calls back, only for the back of his head to be met with a sideways grimace from Tim.

As he leaves, the focus of the room seems to shift towards Damian dripping chocolate onto his cape and it fades away from there.

You turn to Jason, lowering your voice to just below a whisper, “If you don’t like strawberry—”

“I like it,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue as he takes a bite.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Declined.

Voicemail.

Declined.

Declined. 

“I swear to God, he better be dead,” Stephanie mutters to herself.

She shuts her phone off and tosses it into the passenger seat with a huff. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she scans the sidewalk across from her car.

The night before the majority of the team had been involved in a less-than-successful plan, which some have called “a display of complete idiocy and inability to circumspect.”

Then Tim had to go and make a joke about that word choice in what was apparently a bad moment. This gave way to a harsher punishment of the team being forced to clean the batcave foot by square foot—notably, an impossible task.

So naturally, they had to retaliate.

The plan was to dismantle the batmobile piece by piece and leave it a collection of parts for Bruce to find. Problem being, the group as it stood didn’t possess the capability to do so without doing a great deal of damage to the parts. Damage, that the family was not willing to face extra retribution for.

Fortunately, they knew just the man for the job. 

Unfortunately, said man has devoted his life to ignoring their messages, favoring to live peacefully and distantly from them. And because that peace and distance does come with an add-on of borderline complete secrecy from his family, no one had any idea where to look for him.

So, Stephanie decided to do the next most rational thing and track down your location. She’d hoped he would be with you like he always is, but for seemingly the first time in the last year—he’s nowhere to be found.

Now, was revenge for a minor-slight by Bruce so important that it required Stephanie to take all of these steps to get a hold of Jason? No, absolutely not. She’s pretty sure that the others have already given up on it by now and started cleaning. But it’s about the principal. And also, she does not want to clean the floors of a cave.

She jumps up in her seat when she spots you exiting a store, scurrying to unbuckle and pry the car door open.

She’s across the street in half a second, running directly into your line of sight. It actually would’ve been very difficult for her to miss your line of sight, considering she’d landed only a good six inches in front of your face. “Hey!”   

“Oh, fuck—” you jump, grabbing your chest. You take a breath when you realize who it is, less surprised now by the theatrics of the introduction. “Hey Steph.”

“Hey,” she smiles casually, like she didn’t do what she just did. “So Jason’s been ignoring us and I need to get a hold of him,” she tells you.

You nod, still collecting yourself. “Oh. I don’t know where he is—”

She shakes her head, “That’s fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”

You frown, “Is something wrong?”

“With him, yeah,” she snarks. “I called him, Tim called him, Dick called him, Cass called him, Damian called him, we used Bruce’s phone to call him—that was a bit of a long shot, but still. This is our last option. Well, not our last option, if this doesn’t work I could get really invasive, but—” She shakes the thought from her head, “Nevermind.”

You nod blankly, taking in the mountain of information she’d just handed you. “How’d you know I was here?”

She scans your eyes back and forth for a second before her own widen in realization and she’s shaking her head. “No, no, don’t worry we’re not tracking you! I just hacked into the traffic cameras to find you.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding some more. “Okay.”

You hand her your phone without any further questions—for your own sake—and she happily accepts. 

“You know I texted him 115 times?” she tells you as she scrolls through your contacts.

You furrow your eyebrows, watching her click his name and press the phone to her ear. “Did you count?”

“Well, I had the time, di—you son of a bitch! One ring?” Stephanie scorns into the phone.

You can hear Jason groan on the other end of the line. 

He says something to Stephanie that she follows up with a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says defiantly. “She let me use it.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, not pleased with his response. “What if it was an emergency?”

She listens for a second, skeptical look on her face.

She gasps suddenly, “I am not overstepping, we thought you were dead!”

Over the course of about ten seconds the shock on her face drops into just-been-caught guilt. “Well, I mean we considered it.”

You imagine Jason’s telling her to give you your phone back as she stands her ground, pushing, “If you promise to text me back.”

A short response on his end.

“Promise to text me back!”

There’s a brief lull before she’s giving a self-satisfied nod and jostling your phone back into your hands. “Here ya go. Thanks, babe!” She smiles wide at you before jogging back across the street, not waiting for the cars.

You smile as you watch her go, putting the phone up to your ear, “Hey Jay.”

You can hear the relief on the other end of the line. “Hey sweetheart. You know if you see Steph in public, you can just walk away?”

“I’m not going to walk away from your family.” You look again across the street, “Also I don’t think that was an option for me this time.”

“That thing is fucking scary.”

Cass smiles fondly, signing, “I think he’s cute.”

Tim eyes the way Salem traipses around his feet, yellow eyes staring up at him. “Why’s it even here?”

Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll on his phone. “He’s hers. Deal with it.”

Tim scrunches up his mouth. “She knows I hate it. And she, unlike you, wouldn’t subject me to this just for the hell of it. So again I ask: why is it here?”

Jason huffs, looking up from his phone. “What do you want me to say? He wants to be.”

Tim scoffs at that, “‘It wants to be’? You’re the one who put it in the car.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jason says factually.

Tim looks at him sideways as Salem leaps onto Jason’s lap and nudges his hand up. Jason follows along as requested, petting the top of Salem’s head with an open palm. 

Tim squirms to the other side of the couch with a look of disgust on his face. Salem watches him the whole time.  

A smile adorns Cass’ face as she signs, “She says he can read people’s energy.”

Tim huffs, resting his head against his fist. “What does that even mean?”

The conversation is cut off by the clatter of you and Dick stumbling into the room, carrying a freshly painted headboard. Blue paint coats both of your hands and has no doubt stained your clothes.

You’re clearly struggling a bit to keep your grip on your end, the weight of the wooden frame dragging your arms down.

Jason stands and Salem flows along with his movements easily, leaping down onto the hardwood. He comes over and helps you lift your end of the frame with a stupid amount of ease, to the point that you’re not even holding any of the weight up anymore. The three of you—less so you—move the headboard and lean it up against the wall. After it's set down Jason steps back and looks over it gingerly.

“It looks good,” he murmurs to you, quiet enough to not give his brother the satisfaction of his approval.

Dick had asked you over to help him paint Damian’s bed frame as a surprise for him for not getting in any “altercations” at school this semester. You’d decided on coating it with his favorite color first and then fill it in with a collection of what Dick has “on good authority” are his favorite animals. It’s a fairly random assortment that you’re not sure adds to or disproves Dick’s credibility. You’d spent the better half of the afternoon googling animals you’d never heard of just to make sure you projected their likenesses accurately. Dick had been very clear that you had to be precise on the details because Damian would know if he was really looking at a komodo dragon painting or if it was “some common lizard.”

You sigh, “I hope he likes it. I’m worried we did it too childish for him.”

“He is a child,” Jason says plainly.

“But he is not childish,” you counter. And he sure isn’t. You’d had a hard enough time convincing Damian to watch cartoons, adding a colorful animal mural to his bedroom might be one step too far. You’re still trying to figure him out.

“He’ll like it,” he says firmly.

You smile, slipping around under his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

Not a moment later, Dick slings an arm around Jason's shoulder, grinning as he pulls his brother in close.

Jason’s immediately louring. "No, get away from me."

Dick, unfazed and still smiling, removes his arm and takes a big step to the right. You do the same, figuring he needs his space, but you get caught by the wrist before you can do more than sway to the side. 

“Not you.” 

He pulls you back under his arm, wrapping it around the front of your shoulders. You hook your fingers around his forearm, letting your hand hang.

You hear a double-clap from the other side of the room that has you both turning around to face Cass. 

She signs something to Jason with a fond smile on her face. 

You look back and forth between them as Jason waves her off. “What?”

He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. She said—she said we’re cute.”

You smile up at him and he deflects—not so subtly—and starts nudging you back towards where the group is gathered, now all standing. 

Dick’s quick to start bragging off to the room about how great of a job the two of you did and how really complex and daunting it actually is painting animals for a child.

As he talks, your eyes find Jason, who’s definitely about to roll his eyes any second now. A bit subconsciously, your hand comes up to brush Jason’s white streak of hair back, away from tickling his forehead. 

On the other side of Jason, Tim does the same, sweeping Jason’s hair back in a much more mocking manner. 

This gives way to Jason smacking his hand away, harder than he needed to.

"Wha—You let her do it!" Tim protests, overplaying how much the slap hurt.

Jason scowls, "She can do whatever she wants."

Tim drops his shoulders, looking at Jason as if he’d been scandalized. “Oh but I can’t?”

“Not if it involves touching me,” Jason grumbles.

Tim steps closer, putting a finger to Jason’s chest. “You’re such a—”

From the floor, Salem hisses up at Tim, successfully startling the teenager. “Auahh—”

He stumbles backwards, grimacing at the cat. 

“Fucking demon,” he hisses, walking away.

When Tim’s far enough away and Salem’s seemingly satisfied, he brushes up against your leg, purring. 

You peer down at him with a furrowed brow. 

“What’s Salem doing here?”

“I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“No, come on, 9 out of 10 times is what you said. How ‘bout just once? Beat me one time at anything, Jaybird.”

“Anything?” Jason asks like he knows damn well Dick can’t swear on that word.

Rightly so, Dick backtracks. “Something agreed upon.”

Jason throws his hands up, partially in exasperation, partially relenting.

Dick smoothly turns his back to him, announcing, “Opening up the room for ideas.”

Damian’s eye roll is almost audible from the corner armchair, where his attention is unmoved from intently sharpening a blade he’d recently come into possession of.

Bruce similarly remains unbothered in his seat, trying to read despite the distractions. 

“Ooh, okay. Okay.” Stephanie wiggles up a little on the couch. “You could race!”

Dick shakes his head negatively, “I literally just busted my knee up two days ago, Steph.”

“Convenient,” Jason mumbles.

“You were there!” Dick exclaims with an open mouth.

Steph continues, “Um…”

Cass waves to the room from her position upside down on the couch, head hanging down next to Stephanie’s legs. Attention successfully acquired, she signs, “Staring contest.”

Jason grimaces, “That sounds like a nightmare.”

Dick gives him a faux-smile.

“You should play chicken,” Damian chimes in, holding up his knife.

“No,” Bruce drones monotonously as he flips a page. 

“Tic tac toe?” Steph suggests.

Cass is already shaking her head as she scrunches up her mouth in thought.  

Jason rolls his eyes, “What are we, five?”

Dick nods, cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “No, we need something that really proves our worth.”

Bruce looks up from his book, staring numbly through his brow, but remains silent.

“You could arm wrestle,” Steph suggests.

The elder brother twitches at that, “Uh, no.”

Cass moves past that before a joke has the chance to be made. “Handstand contest?” she suggests.

Jason shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

The elder brother looks at him incredulously. “You’ll do a handstand contest with me?”

“That’s what I just said.”

Dick scoffs, “Jaybird, I’m an acrobat, you’re just some guy.”

Jason, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact, pulls his sweatshirt off from his back. “Well, you’re a lot of things, aren’t you?”

Dick throws his head back with a squint.

Jason fishes his phone out of his pocket and Dick follows suit, offended stare maintaining all the while. 

No exchange is required as they both toss their phones across the room, landing together with a rough clatter on Damian’s lap. Damian’s resulting glare is borderline disgusted.

Dick starts them off, “Alright, go. One…two…”

Both men push up onto their hands, muscles flexing as they find their balance. Dick’s form is better, of course, but Jason looks to have a stronger foundation.   

They both hold strong as several minutes go by with the brothers only maintaining the attention of some of the room, and the interest of none of it.

Stephanie huffs and tilts her head, thoroughly unentertained with the consistency they’re both managing. 

“Starting to wish they’d picked something that moved along a little faster,” she murmurs to Cass.

Dick glances over at the younger brother, clearly displeased with his lack of trouble keeping up with him. He shuffles closer one hand at a time, using the decreased distance to poke at Jason with his foot, trying to knock him over.

Jason kicks him back harder, “Hey! Don’t be a dick—”

“Very funny,” Dick leers.

They both end up finding a struggle to keep balance and are forced to mind their own.  

A chime rings out from the corner that has heads turning briefly in his direction before coming back to the competition. 

“Whose was that?” Dick calls out.

Damian leans over and inspects the screens with disinterest. “Todd’s.”

Jason adjusts his position, “Who is it?”

Damian responds with your name. 

“And?”

He picks up the phone shrugging like he couldn’t care less, “She wants to know if you want to go see some movie.”

There’s a brief silence before Jason drops out of the handstand, standing up. 

Dick’s blood-flushed face peers up at him, bewildered. “Wait, what?”

The family watches with wide eyes as Jason picks his sweatshirt up off the floor and tugs it back on.

Stephanie gawks, bordering on laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

Dick lets himself fall into a kneeling position with a huff, “You would rather go to some movie you don’t even know the name of than win a bet?”

Jason moues at him, “Uh, yeah.”

He tosses a twenty at Dick, and plucks his phone from Damian’s hand as he strolls past him, typing out a reply.

Cass sits up a bit and signs up to Stephanie, “Does he even like movies?” 

Bruce, now attention now fully removed from his book, watches Jason exit with the slightest hint of a smile. Dick sits dumbly on the floor, staring after him with an open-mouth. 

Damian twists the knife in his hands around contemplatively before rising to stand. 

“I will go,” he announces, dropping his blade onto the seat of the chair. Jason grumbles a no but Damian follows after him just the same.

you know what happened to the last guy that didn’t reblog? … 🔪🧨💥😵⚰️🪦

[cosmic-crashout]

THE THINGS YOU'D DO FOR LOVE

pairing sinister! mark grayson x (superhero) gender neutral reader

you’d follow mark grayson anywhere—even into the dark. when he asks you to betray everything you once stood for, you don’t hesitate. not when his hands are the only ones that still feel like home.

taglist @no-bishes

you’ve known mark grayson since you were both kids, back when his biggest worry was passing algebra and not the weight of an empire resting on his shoulders. back then, his hands were gentle when they held yours, calloused from skateboarding but always careful with you, like you were something fragile and precious. his laughter was bright, unburdened by the future, ringing through the school hallways or the quiet of your backyard where you’d lie on the grass, shoulders pressed together, counting stars. you loved him even then, in that innocent, aching way that only children can—pure and unwavering, the kind of love that doesn’t question, doesn’t doubt.

he was always there for you, a shadow with a smile. when the other kids whispered behind your back or shoved you into lockers, he’d appear like he’d sensed it, his voice sharp as he glared them down before turning to you, fingers brushing the tears off your cheeks. when you hid in your room after a particularly bad day, he’d climb through your window like it was nothing, flopping onto your bed with a joke already on his lips until you couldn’t help but laugh. he was there when you tripped on the sidewalk, his hands—warm, firm—catching you before you could hit the ground, lingering just a second too long on your hip as he steadied you. when you walked home late at night, streetlights flickering, he’d melt out of the shadows like he’d been waiting, falling into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.  

people called it weird. creepy. teachers would frown when they saw him lingering outside your classroom, his gaze fixed on you like nothing else mattered. your friends would tease, half-joking, “does he ever not know where you are?” but you never minded. to you, it was sweet. romantic, even—your own knight in shining armor, always watching, always there.

and then he got his powers.

suddenly, his protectiveness had teeth. the bullies didn’t just get glared at—they disappeared for days, coming back with hollow eyes and shaking hands. when you stumbled, he didn’t just catch you—he lifted you like you weighed nothing, his grip just shy of painful. always there to protect you before the villain you were fighting could even hurt you. the shadows he stepped out of at night felt darker, his smile sharper. but you told yourself it was fine. he was still mark. still yours.

(you didn’t realize yet—you were his, too. in every way that mattered.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the world shifts. mark’s eyes, once warm like sunlight through honey, grow colder—darker. his smiles are sharper now, edged with something dangerous, the kind that makes your stomach flutter in a way that isn’t entirely fear. he talks about strength, about destiny, his voice low and fervent as his fingers card through your hair. “earth needs to be ruled,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “and we’re the only ones strong enough to do it.” 

you don’t understand, not at first. you flinch when he crushes a car under his boot just to prove a point, when he laughs at the way the metal screams. but he’s patient with you. always so patient.  

“you’ll see,” he murmurs, fingers tracing your cheek, lingering just a little too long. “you’ll understand.”

and you do.

it starts with little things—justifications whispered against your skin in the dark. “they’re holding us back,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple as you watch the news together, footage of some ‘accident’ he caused flashing across the screen. “they’re weak. we could be so much more.” his words seep into you like poison, sweet and slow, until one day you wake up and the guilt doesn’t sting as much. the fear feels like power.

you’re in your costume now, spandex clinging to your skin like a second shadow, tight against your frame as the wind whips past you. mark’s beside you, his cape flaring behind him like a living thing, the edges flickering like flames in the dim city lights. below, the streets are chaos—flashing sirens, overturned cars, civilians scrambling like frightened animals. some scream, some curse, some hold up signs with shaking hands. monsters. tyrants. we won’t bow.

“look at them,” mark says, voice dripping with disdain. “running in circles like ants. they don’t even know what’s good for them.” 

you swallow hard, fists clenching at your sides. “maybe they’re just scared,” you offer, your tone righteous, matter-of-fact. it’s one of the things mark’s always loved about you—how sure you sound when you stand your ground. he can’t wait to hear that same conviction turned toward his cause, that angel’s voice preaching the devil’s words. how divinely blasphemous.  

he turns to you, visors glinting under the sun. “scared?” he repeats, tilting his head. then he laughs, sharp and sudden, before swooping down so fast the air cracks behind him. you follow, heart in your throat, just in time to see him land in front of a group of protestors. their signs crumple in their hands as they stumble back, eyes wide with terror.  

“you’re right,” mark says, grinning as he turns to you. “they are scared. and they should be.” he steps forward, and a man at the front—brave or stupid—shoves a sign toward him. “monster!” the man snarls.  

mark doesn’t even blink.  

“invincible, don’t—”

one second, the man’s standing. the next, he’s on the ground, blood pooling from his nose, mark’s boot planted on his chest. “say that again,” mark taunts, leaning down.

your stomach twists. but then mark glances back at you, eyes bright with something like pride. “c’mon,” he says, holding out a hand. “show them what happens when they disrespect us.”

for a heartbeat, you hesitate. your eyes flicker between mark’s outstretched hand and the horrified faces of the civilians. you shouldn’t accept it. you shouldn’t even be considering it. but this is mark. your mark. your knight in shining armor. everything would be alright as long as he’s here, right?

just as your fingers twitch toward his, still hesitant, mark pulls his hand back. you look up, surprised, but then you see it—that devilish glint in his eyes, his lips tugging upward in a smirk that spells trouble. he’s scheming. he’s got a plan, and it’s sick enough to make your pulse stutter.

“actually... can you do me a favour?” mark’s voice is low, barely audible over the panicked crowd, but he knows you hear him.

“...what favour?” you ask, wary. it’s adorable, mark thinks. how you act like you might refuse, when he knows you’ll say yes in the end. you’ve always been so good to him, never been able to deny him.  

“fight me.”

“what—?”  

his fist flies toward your face before you can finish. you barely block it, the impact rattling up your arms as you skid back a step. the crowd gasps, some stumbling further away, others frozen in shock.  

“what do you think you’re doing?” you hiss through clenched teeth, your fingers tangling with his in a desperate, bruising grip—like if you hold on tight enough, you can stop him from slipping away. your boots scrape against broken asphalt, the sound grating as the two of you push against each other, caught in a standstill of muscle and will. his hands are warm, familiar, but the way he’s looking at you—like this is just another game, another calculated move—makes your stomach twist. there’s a flicker of panic in your eyes, raw and unguarded, before it hardens into something sharper. betrayal.

was this it? was mark really going to leave you behind, discard you the second you hesitated? the thought cuts deeper than any blade, a silent scream in your chest: you promised. you promised it would always be us.

he’s still smirking, leaning in until the heat of his breath mingles with yours, lips nearly brushing as he whispers, “play along, won’t you? i want you to stay on their side—for now.” the words curl around you like smoke, suffocating and sweet.

“you’re still not making sense, mark,” you grit out, but the tension in your shoulders eases just slightly. the realization washes over you like a sick relief: he isn’t abandoning you. he’ll never let you go, not even if you begged. the thought should terrify you, but all you feel is the dizzying weight of his obsession pressing down on your ribs. the two of you are holding back—you both know it—yet the force between you still splinters the pavement underfoot, cracks spiderwebbing outward like a warning. “are you saying i should fight you? protect these people?” your voice wavers, not with doubt, but with something far more dangerous—complicity.

something inside mark purrs at your tone, low and satisfied. there it is. that righteous fire, that stubborn spark he’s spent years fanning into flame. he wants to bottle it, twist it until it burns for him alone. make it his.

“yes,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your knuckles where your hands still press against his. a mockery of tenderness. “i need you to get on their good side. help me find their stupid little resistance.” his grip tightens, just shy of painful. “you’d do that for me, won’t you?” it isn’t a question. it never was.

it clicks like a bullet chambering in a gun. he doesn’t just want you by his side—he wants you to be his spy, his weapon, his judas wrapped in righteous fury. the realization should send ice through your veins, should have you recoiling at the thought of betraying these innocent people, your friends, every moral you’ve ever clung to. but instead there’s only the searing weight of his gaze pinning you in place, the addicting heat of his absolute trust burning through your hesitation. he’s handing you a purpose wrapped in bloodstained hands, and god help you, you’re already reaching to take it.

“fine,” you mutter through gritted teeth, but there’s no real resistance left—just the electric thrill of your surrender as your eyes flash with dark determination. before he can react, you plant your hands against his chest and shove with enough force to send him skidding backwards, his boots carving trenches through the crumbling asphalt as the crowd’s collective gasp hangs in the air.

the explosion of sound is instantaneous—cheers tangled with screams, someone’s voice cracking as they shriek “get him!” but it all fades to static in your ears. because mark’s already coming at you again. that feral grin flashing as you launch yourself forward to meet him. your fists collide mid-air with a concussive boom that ripples outward, shattering every window in a twenty-foot radius as the shockwave sends debris spiraling through the air like macabre confetti.

you're pulling every punch, every kick measured to bruise but not break. he's doing the same—both of you dancing this violent waltz with clipped wings. but to the terrified crowd below, it must look apocalyptic—their trembling savior trading earth-shaking blows with the devil himself, concrete fracturing beneath each feigned killing strike.

mark's grin splits his face when you pirouette away from his telegraphed haymaker, his voice dropping to that intimate whisper only you can catch. "good job, baby. now sell it." the praise curls warm in your gut even as you spin into the next attack.

so you do.

your body moves on trained instinct—a deceptive stumble left before whipping right, fist connecting with his jaw just hard enough to snap his head back. he staggers with theatrical flourish, clutching his face as the crowd roars. you don't waste the opening, darting past to scoop the bleeding protester into your arms, their blood smearing garish red across your chest.

"move! now!" you bark at the remaining stragglers, shepherding them toward the alley's shadowed mouth with sharp gestures. your voice carries that perfect blend of authority and desperation—the golden hero playing their part flawlessly.

mark doesn't chase. he just watches from his kneel, fingers idly probing his "injured" jaw as civilians scramble past him. but when your eyes meet over the chaos, his gaze pins you with terrifying intensity—black pupils swallowing brown until there's nothing left but hunger.

this was only the first act.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the weeks bled together in a haze of performative heroics and hollow smiles. after that staged battle with mark, you'd stumbled into robot and eve's path, your ragtag group of survivors trailing behind like broken shadows. the shelter they led you to stank of desperation and unwashed bodies, packed with wide-eyed refugees who flinched at every distant explosion. you played your part perfectly—the trembling hands, the fractured voice when speaking mark's name, the way your breath hitched whenever someone mentioned his rampage. eve had pulled you into a crushing hug, her warmth so genuine it made your stomach churn. "we'll stop him," she'd whispered, not realizing the monster she comforted already had its claws around her throat.

you threw yourself into their cause with feverish dedication. evacuating crumbling hospitals, scavenging supplies from irradiated supermarkets, standing guard during the witching hours when nolan's loyalists prowled the ruins. every act of kindness carved another layer from your soul, each grateful smile from survivors feeling like another stone in your gut. but nights were worse. the thin cot in your makeshift room offered no comfort, the moonlight slicing through barred windows like a spotlight on your deceit. you'd curl into yourself, fists clenched in the sheets that smelled like antiseptic and dust—nothing like mark's cedar-and-lightning scent. the loneliness ate at you, sharp teeth gnawing until you swore you felt his breath on your neck, his phantom fingers tracing your spine.

then the whispers started.

"you're doing so well, sweetheart." his voice curled from the shadows, velvet-dark and intimate. you squeezed your eyes shut, but the words seeped in anyway. "eve trusts you now, doesn't she? lets you stand close when she's exhausted from healing." the mattress dipped behind you, an impossible weight. "one quick snap. you could end her before she even screamed." your traitorous fingers twitched against the pillow.

"robot's always watching the monitors," the voice continued, lips grazing your earlobe. you could almost feel his teeth. "but even geniuses need to sleep. imagine it—all those innocent little lives, snuffed out because you flipped the wrong switch." a shudder ran through you, but your thighs pressed together, feeling what little warmth you had start to make its way down. his chuckle vibrated against your skin. "you like that idea. i can feel how much you miss me."

the next morning, you volunteered for perimeter duty with trembling hands. when a child offered you their last candy bar, you nearly vomited. but that night, when the whispers came again, you rolled over and answered them.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the next day, you walked into the shelter with practiced ease, your hero's mask perfectly in place—until you noticed the way eve and robot exchanged a loaded glance before guiding you away from prying eyes. their hands were gentle but insistent as they led you through winding corridors, down a hidden passageway that descended deep underground. the air grew cooler, damp against your skin as fluorescent lights flickered overhead.

your breath caught when the cavernous space opened before you. this was it. the heart of their resistance. makeshift workstations hummed with activity, screens displaying maps of ruined cities and casualty reports. civilians moved with purpose—some tending to wounds, others hunched over blueprints. your eyes snagged on familiar faces: that telekinetic hero from detroit, the armored vigilante who used to patrol seattle, all now hollow-eyed and gaunt. the reality of it sent your pulse thundering, not with fear but something far more unsettling—a cold, detached clarity. your heartbeat echoed through your ribs like a drum in an empty cathedral, steady and... hollow.

eve's voice pulled you back as she explained their plans, her fingers brushing your arm in reassurance. "i know how much this hurts," she murmured, her eyes glistening. "but stopping mark... it might mean..." she couldn't say the words. robot remained silent, his mechanical gaze heavy on your face. when they finally asked for your decision, you made a show of hesitation—biting your lip, staring at the floor. fingers crossed tightly behind your back, you whispered your agreement. the guilt should have crushed you. instead, you felt only the terrifying lightness of a bridge burning behind you.

later that night, you claimed you needed air. eve smiled understandingly, squeezing your shoulder. "just be careful," she said, unaware she was sending a wolf to guard the sheep. you waited until the shelter's doors sealed behind you before launching into the ink-black sky.

you flew recklessly, arms outstretched as wind screamed past your ears. below, the ruined city sprawled like a corpse picked clean, skeletal buildings silhouetted against the moonlight. you spiraled through the air, laughing soundlessly as you skimmed the jagged remains of skyscrapers. this was freedom—the kind that would have sent the resistance into a panic if they'd seen you. the thought made you tilt your head back, savoring the sting of wind in your eyes. let omni-man see you. let mark come.

as if summoned, heat bloomed along your spine. phantom fingers traced your jawline, calloused and achingly familiar. "look at you," mark's voice purred in the hollow of your ear, thick with pride. "my beautiful little traitor." his spectral hands slid down your arms as you flew, guiding your movements like a puppeteer. "you had them all fooled. especially eve." a dark chuckle vibrated against your neck. "she trusts you enough to let you near the children's ward now, doesn't she?"

you shuddered, but didn't deny it. his approval curled hot in your belly.

you missed mark with an ache that hollowed out your ribs, left your hands trembling at your sides. and then—as if he'd plucked the thought straight from your fevered mind—a streak of black and yellow cut through the night sky below you. before you could gasp, strong arms encircled your waist from behind, pulling you flush against a chest that smelled like ozone and that stupid cedar cologne he'd worn since freshman year. your breath hitched as his nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his exhale warm against your pulse point.

"missed you," he murmured, the vibration of his voice traveling straight to your bones. right. this was mark. your mark. the boy who'd bandaged your scraped knees after bike crashes, who'd appeared like magic every time you'd whispered his name under your breath. your fingers clutched at the fabric of his cape, twisting the material as you turned in his arms to properly face him. his smile was all sharp edges and soft devotion, the kind that made your stomach swoop. 

this wasn't some phantom conjured by your loneliness—his hands were real where they cradled your face, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks. the way his pupils dilated when you finally touched him back, when your palms settled against his chest and felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. his breath stuttered when you leaned in, when your lips grazed the corner of his mouth in a barely-there kiss.

"you're really here," you whispered, the words spilling out like a prayer. he laughed, the sound rich and warm, before capturing your lips properly. his kiss tasted like victory and something darker, something that curled hot in your gut. when he pulled away, his eyes gleamed with something possessive, something hungry. 

"always," he promised, fingers tangling in your hair. "no matter where you go, i'll always find you." the words should have been sweet. should have been comforting. but the way his grip tightened just shy of painful sent a thrill down your spine all the same.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

"hey, can we talk?"  

eve's voice cuts through the bunker's dim hum, too soft for the war raging above ground. you turn slowly, arms crossed tight over your chest—the perfect image of an exhausted hero barely holding it together. when your eyes meet, a wave of deja vu nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. wait, haven't you done this before?

"yes, of course. what do you need, eve?" you uncross your arms, letting your practiced mask slip into something softer, more vulnerable. the concern furrowing your brow isn't entirely fake—you've memorized the new shadows under her eyes, the way her shoulders slump when she thinks no one's looking.

"well, it's just..." eve hesitates, fingers picking at a loose thread on her sleeve before she meets your gaze again. "i wanted to check on you. especially after... earlier."

ah. earlier. the strategy meeting where robot had coldly outlined three separate scenarios for mark's termination while you'd bitten your lip raw pretending to stomach it. you let your hand settle on her shoulder, feeling the tension coiled beneath her jacket. "thanks, eve, really. but enough about me - when was the last time you slept more than two hours?"  

the startled laugh she lets out is worth the twinge of guilt in your chest. "robot caught me napping by the monitors yesterday," she admits, rubbing her neck. "gave me this whole lecture about circadian rhythms while i drooled on the keyboard."  

you snort, nudging her with your elbow. "sounds like someone needs a designated cuddle buddy for nap time." the second the words leave your mouth, you both freeze. it's an old joke—one mark used to make whenever eve pulled all-nighters studying.  

for one terrifying moment, you think you've broken the fragile peace. then eve's lips quirk, just slightly. "pretty sure my cuddle buddy's busy, unless they suddenly found free time then i’m pretty sure they know where my room is," she murmurs, nudging you. it's not quite a smile, but it's the closest thing to one you've seen since chicago burned.

"well, i should go," she sighs, rolling her shoulders back into soldier-straight posture. "robot wants to 'review tactical variables' - which is robot-speak for 'i don't trust you not to screw this up.'"  

you catch her wrist before she can leave. "don't let his wiring get crossed," you say, squeezing gently. "no one could do this better than you." the words taste like ash, but the way her fingers briefly tighten around yours almost makes it worth the lie.

the underground bunker hummed with quiet activity, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and nervous sweat. a fragile peace settled over the space—the kind veterans called "the calm before the storm" with grim smiles. if only they knew how right they were. across the room, eve leaned over a makeshift table, pointing at blueprints while the other heroes nodded along. nearby, robot's mechanical voice droned instructions to a group of civilians, their hands shaking as they prepped medical supplies. everything felt suspended in time, balanced on a knife's edge.

then the world exploded.

the ceiling shattered with a deafening roar, concrete and steel raining down like artillery fire. screams ripped through the dust-choked air as mark descended through the debris, his black-and-yellow cape billowing like a war banner. behind him, nolan's silhouette cut through the smoke—larger, more terrifying, a living nightmare made flesh.

"told you we were close," nolan said, his voice cutting through the chaos. the two viltrumites scanned the cavernous space, taking in the scrambling survivors, the overturned equipment. mark's stomach twisted when his eyes didn't immediately find you, a flicker of something raw and panicked flashing behind his visor. but he crushed it down, buried it deep. he had five minutes. if he doesn’t find you within those five minutes, he’ll have painted these walls with the civilian’s insides, turn this bunker into a slaughterhouse so brutal even his father would raise a brow. the thought sent a thrill through him—not at the violence, but at the certainty that when he found you, you'd be just as eager to watch it burn.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

mark's voice drips with venom as it echoes through the ruined bunker, bouncing off crumbling concrete and sparking wires. "you and your stupid resistance made us kill thousands of innocent people," he says, so calm it's worse than any scream. his boots crunch over debris as he strolls toward eve like this is nothing, like she's nothing.  

eve's hands glow pink as she slams them together, layers of shimmering energy erupting between them—wall after wall of hardened force meant to cage him, to buy time for the last civilians scrambling up the emergency tunnels. she's panting already, sweat beading at her temples. "you did that yourself," she snaps.  

mark doesn't even slow down.  

he flies through the first barrier like it's mist, the second like paper, the third shattering around him in a rain of pink shards that dissolve before they hit the ground. eve barely jerks back in time when his hand lashes out for her throat, his fingers closing on empty air. he clicks his tongue, tilting his head as he studies her the way a cat studies a wounded bird. "cute," he murmurs sarcastically.  

eve's eyes flash. she feints left, then swings her glowing fist right—and for one glorious second, it looks like she might actually connect. the energy crackles inches from mark's smirking face—  

then your boot slams into eve's ribs with a crunch that echoes louder than gunfire.  

she doesn't even have time to scream. one second she's mid-strike, the next she's airborne, her body folding around the impact before she crashes into the far wall hard enough to crack the reinforced concrete. dust plumes around her slumped form, her pink energy sputtering out like a dying light.  

mark blinks. then his grin widens, slow and delighted, as he turns to you. "well," he purrs, "look who finally decided to play."

eve struggles to sit up, her body screaming in protest as shattered concrete digs into her palms. but the physical pain is nothing compared to the way her chest caves in when she sees you—your hands fluttering over mark’s arms, your brow furrowed as you check for wounds that don’t exist. mark leans into your touch, his smirk dripping with smug satisfaction as he watches the realization dawn on eve’s face.  

"...why?" eve’s voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through the dust-choked air like a knife. you flinch, your fingers stilling against mark’s sleeve before you finally meet her gaze. the guilt is fleeting, there and gone in a blink, but it’s enough to make her stomach twist. her expression fractures—horror, hurt, betrayal, then finally, white-hot rage. "why?!" she screams, her voice raw as pink energy erupts around her, forming jagged armor over her trembling limbs.  

you don’t answer. just square your shoulders, fists clenching at your sides.

eve doesn’t wait. she lunges, a war cry tearing from her throat as she swings a glowing fist toward your face. you duck, her knuckles grazing your cheekbone as you pivot and drive your elbow into her ribs. she stumbles back with a gasp, but recovers fast, slamming a knee into your stomach that sends you skidding across the rubble.  

"you were supposed to be better than this," she snarls, her voice cracking. pink energy coils around her fists like serpents. "you were supposed to be good."  

you spit blood onto the broken concrete, your lips curling into something too sharp to be a smile. "good didn’t save anyone," you say, and launch yourself at her.  

your fist connects with her jaw hard enough to snap her head back, but eve’s already twisting, her armored forearm slamming into your throat. you choke, staggering—but then mark’s voice cuts through the haze. "c’mon, sweetheart," he purrs from the sidelines. "show her what happens to traitors. stop going easy on her."

the words ignite something feral in your chest, a hunger that coils hot and vicious under your skin. you feint left—just enough to make eve jerk sideways—before slamming your knee up into her stomach with a wet, cracking sound. the air bursts from her lungs in a choked gasp, her pink armor flickering as she folds in half, hands scrabbling at your costume for balance. you don’t let her find it.

your fist cracks across her jaw with enough force to send teeth skittering across the concrete. she doesn’t even have time to cry out before she’s on her knees, one arm braced against the ground as blood pours from her ruined mouth. her armor sputters, barely clinging to her body now, revealing the deep purple bruises already blooming across her ribs.  

above her, you flex your fingers, knuckles split and dripping red onto the rubble. "stay down," you murmur, voice soft as a lover’s.  

eve sways, her breath coming in ragged, wet hitches. but when she lifts her head, her eyes are wildfire. blood streaks her chin, her neck, the front of her ruined suit. "never," she rasps, and with a broken scream, she lunges.  

her fingers hook into your hair, yanking your head back as her other hand ignites with the last dregs of her power. the pink glow reflects in your widened eyes—just for a second—before you grab her wrist and twist. the snap of bone is obscenely loud. eve’s scream is louder.  

you don’t stop.  

your knee meets her face this time, cartilage crunching under the impact. she collapses onto her back, her nose a ruined mess, her good hand twitching weakly at her side. the pink glow finally dies, leaving her bare and broken in the dust.  

somewhere behind you, mark laughs—that bright, boyish sound that used to echo across playgrounds and now drips with something rotten. it makes your stomach flutter with warmth you desperately wish was disgust. you remember how his laughter used to sound when you’d push him on the swings, how his cheeks would dimple when he’d beg you for one more push, just one more—

the memory fractures when your gaze lands on eve. she’s barely breathing, her body a broken puppet sprawled across the concrete. blood bubbles at her lips with each shallow gasp. the world starts to blur at the edges, the sounds of the crumbling bunker fading into static—until mark’s hands settle on your shoulders. his touch is so familiar it hurts, his fingers tracing the curve of your collarbone before sliding down your arms.

“good job, baby,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice honey-sweet. “you did so good.” his hands don’t stop until they’re wrapped around your wrists, guiding them down to eve’s throat. your fingers twitch against her pulse, still fluttering like a dying bird’s. when she manages to focus her eyes on you—wide, wet with tears, the same eyes that used to crinkle when she’d sneak you candy between classes—your stomach heaves.

“shhh,” mark croons, his lips brushing your temple as your hands tremble around eve’s throat. “you’re helping her. look how she’s suffering.” his thumb strokes the inside of your wrist, tender as a lover. “end it. be merciful.”

your voice cracks like glass underfoot. “...i-i can’t.” the words taste like ash. this isn’t you. this can’t be you. this isn’t right. right?

mark doesn’t get angry. he never gets angry with you. his fingers just tighten over yours, pressing down until you feel the first faint crunch of cartilage beneath your palms. “do it,” he whispers, his breath scorching against your skin. “show me how much you love me.”

eve’s mouth opens in a silent scream.

your hands shake.

then they don’t.

when it’s over, the blood isn’t just on your hands—it’s in the creases of your knuckles, under your nails, streaked across your costume where you’d wiped them absently. mark beams at you like you’ve hung the moon, his hands cradling your face as he kisses you deep enough to steal your breath. his tongue swipes across your bottom lip, licking away the salt of your tears.

“mine,” he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours.

and you are.

down to the marrow.

..... 5.3k words... i'm so sorry to anyone who's been disturbed when they read this umm... i don't know what else to say it took me approximately 4 hours to write this one-shot. wait, does this even qualify as a one-shot still? and if anyone noticed, yes, i know mark still doesn't wear the black and yellow suit during that resistance scene but like... he looks hot in it- that scene where he goes "ohoho, poor angstrom" is just stuck in my head

[cosmic-crashout]

Invincible x Writer!Reader - Scribbled in the Sky

It was a crisp autumn afternoon, the air cool enough to make the leaves swirl around your feet as you walked down the quiet street, your hands buried deep in your coat pockets. You tried to push the growing frustration out of your mind, but it lingered like a heavy fog. The white paper of your new novel sat untouched on your desk, taunting you. It had been days, weeks even, since you’ve felt the spark of inspiration, and each time you tried to write, the words felt lifeless, mechanical. You couldn't seem to find your muse, not even in the farthest corners of your imagination.

You kicked a pebble as you walked, your thoughts drifting into an abyss of creative block. What was the point of even trying? You thought, the weight of every failed idea pressing on your chest. Your heart wasn't in it anymore. The thrill of writing, once your greatest joy, now felt like a task.

Suddenly, a loud crash interrupted your thoughts. She looked up just in time to see a futuristic ships pooling out of some sort of portal, not so far away from you. Your eyes widened in shock as the ship came into view, accompanied by a chorus of roaring engines.

Flaxans. Your mind instantly registered. The Flaxans had attacked Earth before, but the invasion had been brutal and quick. You weren’t sure how they had managed to return—maybe the government had missed something. You didn't have time to think much on it. You were frozen in place as the chaos erupted around you.

A massive explosion tore through the street just ahead, and you stumbled back in fear, the ground shaking beneath her your feet. You ducked as debris flew, narrowly avoiding a piece of shattered building, and instinctively pressed yourself against the nearest wall for cover.

"Hey! Are you okay?" a voice suddenly called out to her.

Your heart skipped a beat. You glanced up and gasped. There, standing before her in all his glory, was none other than Invincible, the city’s most recent hero. His yellow and blue suit seemed to gleam even in the dimming daylight. His posture was confident, yet his expression was warm, concerned. The very sight of him sent a wave of relief washing over you, but also something else—a fluttering in your chest.

"Yeah... I’m fine," you managed to murmur, your voice almost dreamy as you looked up at him, starstruck. You didn’t know if it was the danger or just the sheer presence of him, but for a moment, the world seemed to pause.

Invincible smiled gently, the curve of his lips softening his strong, heroic features. “Good. Stay safe,” he said, before taking to the sky with a swift, graceful motion, heading straight toward the Flaxan ship.

You stood there, mouth slightly agape, watching him ascend higher and higher, his figure growing smaller as he flew into the heart of the battle. Your breath came in a sigh, and a smile tugged at your lips.

You blinked, your eyes widening in realization. A new surge of inspiration flooded her mind like a lightning strike. The plot, the characters, the setting—it was all there now, clear as day. What if...you thought, your imagination running wild. What if Invincible wasn't just the hero of the city, but also the hero of her romance novel?

With that, your heart beat faster. For the first time in weeks, you could picture the first scene of your new novel: a young, strong, compassionate hero who would protect the one he loved, fighting not just for the world but for their love. You smiled to yourself as your creative juices began to flow freely once more. There was something about the way Invincible had spoken to you, the way his eyes had softened with kindness—it was all the inspiration she needed.

That night, back in your apartment, you sat at her desk, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you typed furiously. The words flowed effortlessly, the romantic tension between her heroine and the superhero protagonist practically writing itself. She described the hero’s strength, his kindness, the way he would always put others before himself, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness.

You described the hero’s handsomeness—the strong jawline, the warm smile, and the way his eyes gleamed with determination. But most importantly, you poured into the pages the true essence of the hero: his heart.

"Invincible," you whispered to yourself, a smile playing on her lips. You’ve saved me.

[cosmic-crashout]

WHAT WOULD I DO WITHOUT YOU?

It’s the same question Mark always asks when he’s in a pinch. Always seemingly there when he needs you most, covering his ass multiple times because of his recklessness.

“What would I do without you?”

He asks then again, feeling your fingers brush and dry the tears away from his face.

“Probably burying your head into a pillow and making a terrifying print of your face on it.” You joked. He always appreciated that about you. Light hearted at the best of times, even if it seemed inappropriate for the moment. He never cared if you were blunt like a bad knife, he’d rather you were straightforward than be full of twists and turns.

“Dick.” He sniffles. And you give him that old comforting smile, an infectious thing you have that always makes him smile back.

“What would-I do without you?” He says breathless. Dry heaving onto damp sand, coughing up more of the salty water. His lips feel chapped, despite being soaked to the bone.

“Dead, bloated in the water. Fishes wouldn’t even eat you with how much hair gel you put on.” You pat his back, harder this time. And he coughs up violently and grips at the grains below. An appreciative grin graces his face when he finishes, looking a lot better than earlier.

His hair flops to his forehead on queue, he opens his mouth in defense, but only shakes his head slowly. The droplets of water flickering on your face and knees.

“Yeah, probably.” He agrees hoarsely. The sun beats down on him when you stand, the shade of your shadow now gone to comfort him. “Let’s get you some water, real ones.” You say, offering your hand as he looks up to watch you, the sun blinding him.

He takes your hand, gripping at it tight, and you pull and pull for him to stand. Clashing back down to the sandy ground when you fall back with him; laughing.

“You were supposed to lift me up!”

“You’re too heavy!”

“What would I do without you?” He says, quietly. Leaning his head on your shoulder while the two of you look outside the window of his room, the moon being the only source of light.

You wrap your arm around his shoulder, and let him lean to your chest as he gently breathes. His hair devoid of product, only the smell of fresh laundry clinging on him as you inhale.

You shrug lightly. Hand rubbing his arm up and down in a slow motion, your cheek mushes on the crown of his head when you answer. “Lots of things,”

You feel him shake his head. Sighing deeply.

“Thats a lie.” He mumbles.

“Why would I lie?” You ask, quick and genuine. Now watching his chest rise and fall while he plays a circle on your leg. A heavy shrug against you.

“Dunno, to cheer me up I guess?”

“Well. Is it working?” He bristles, silently laughing and he shakes his head no.

“You suck at this.”

“Better than nothing.” You kiss his head, an act you’ve done on numerous occasions in the time you became his best friend. He moves and faces his body completely towards you, wrapping you in a hug.

“Thank you.”

“What would I do without you!” Mark cheers, jumping up and down in joy with you in his arms. You jostle and stumble in his hold, a bit sick from all the movement.

He lets go, and spins around. Taking the letter of acceptance and pointing at it with a huge smile on his face.

“I can’t believe it! Im going to college with Amber!” That stung. More than the time you were bitten by the beetle he found on the side of the road.

Still, you shrug it off. A sly smile and jab to his arm.

“Well, let’s just say you’d be out there working at Burgermart till the smell of grease stuck to you till death.” You and him laugh.

“Still, if you didn’t help me with the studying, i’d probably have to go someplace else! No thanks to William for the help.” He grumbles, putting it back down on the counter, a bit more tired than his usual energetic personality a few moments earlier.

“I can’t screw things up with Amber, not this time.” He says, more to himself than for the both of you. You lean back on his cabinet, nodding.

He talks some more, but you don’t listen. Your ears going fuzzy and hazy while staring down at the ground. He’s recalling moments and times that you’ve already heard of before, it seems like he’s got it all figured out.

“What would I do without you?” He smiles, taking Eve’s hand in his. His face is practically beaming, expression screaming ‘i love you’ when he looks at her.

He used to say that to you.

Mark finally introduced Eve to you, but you already had a feeling about her before everything. The missions, the attacks, you already knew who it was with the way he spoke with such fondness.

Why couldn’t he do that with you?

“Shut up, dork. Are you gonna order or what?” Eve’s gaze flitters to Mark, then you. Giving a big warm smile that you have a hard time giving back.

“Fine, fine. I’ll just get my usual, same with you?” He asks, you. Eyes finally peeled away from Eve, staring at you.

“Yeah, you know my usual.” You say, and smile. Closing the menu and sliding it to the middle of the table. Watching Mark handle the waiter to order everyone else’s food.

“So, tell me. Is Mark as much of a geek as he is now?” Mark sweats at her prying tone, a pleading expression as he looks over at Eve and you.

There’s nothing you can do, nothing to do. Only to fake it till you make it, hopefully on the other side.

“Man, wait till you hear about that one time he blamed me for leaving dirty laundry in the bathroom. He had the gall to say those dog printed boxers were mine!”

Eve’s laugh bounces in your head like an echo chamber. It kind of makes you smile, having this effect on him and her.

“Please, stop.” Mark begs, and you lean in to the table to continue.

“And after that, he made up a whole complicated story to try and get off scott free. Can you believe that? Him throwin’ me under the bus because he can’t admit those were his?” Eve’s in hysterics. Something about the way you spoke and told the story, made it out to be funnier than what had actually happened.

“Oh my god.” Mark’s red, from embarrassment or shame, you don’t know which it is. But you’re cherishing the moment each second.

“What do I do without you?” You sob. Ugly crying right beside his unconscious body, shaking like a leaf battling against the violent winds.

It’s been day since he’d last woken. A day since you saw his broken arms and bruised body. Blood covering him like it was his skin.

You haven’t cried this much since he had told you about him and Eve, haven’t cried this much since you fell on your bike as kids. With Mark bandaging you up with stickers to try and cheer you up. It hurt, so much.

Each day passing by, you could feel him slipping. Slipping from your memories, from your routine, from your heart. He was outgrowing you in more ways than one. He’s more now, not just that awkward teenager you once knew, always holding your hand when going from place to place. Not that light hearted boy you knew and grew up with.

He’s more, and you’re just less.

“Im scared, Mark. Can you even hear me?” Your voice trembles. Gripping at the white blanket that covers his lower half. Too scared to actually touch him, too scared to even look at him.

He doesn’t reply, can’t. The constant sound of his heart monitor beeping and beeping further solidifies something you didn’t want to come to terms with. Something you didn’t want to face. So you pull away, wanting to be gone from the now suffocating room.

“I would have died without you.”

No one’s visited him today, thats what you thought at least. You were always the first one to come and visit him, and the first one to leave. Not wanting to take up too much time for the other people who’d visit, you were considerate like that.

But the room has voices inside, muffled. And that sentence, that one sentence. It was as clear as day. You couldn’t even make out the rest, but that one, that was the only thing that reached your ears.

You shouldn’t be eaves dropping, shouldn’t be sad, or angry. Shouldn’t feel entitled to Mark at all. But why did it hurt?

“I guess I’m doing this without you.”

You stopped talking or contacting with Mark all together. A month had passed-and nothing. Not a peep or even a word from Debbie. You were nothing to him now. Thats what it felt like.

But thats a selfish way of thinking. He had a life now, a half brother, a girlfriend even. He had responsibilities one person shouldn’t even be burdened with, and you’re here throwing a pity party for yourself.

You knew that, fuck you knew that. But you didn’t want to know it. Refused to acknowledge it. Knowing it now clearer than ever, was gut wrenching.

The old and worn photo album your mother had put together was nostalgic. You can recall certain moments when she’d stick these on, watching and recalling the events while she glues it on.

It spans to birthdays and events, to milestones and your many few ‘firsts’ in life.

Even that one time where you had boldly kissed his cheek for a photo, now it was forever captured on the book.

There’s a reason this was hidden away in the back of her closet, but it came beckoning to you like a voice.

Landing on a memorable photo, you trace the edges of the page. It was Halloween, dressed up as a typical sheet ghost with jagged holes for your eyes, and Mark as ‘duct-tape man.’ You smile. Fond of the memory of having to help with removing it in the bathtub, making sure he didn’t end up bald and ripping his skin off.

You shut the book. It smells like old memories and childhood.

“I guess I know what you’d do without me.”

a/n: haha jonathan I am questioning my mark

[cosmic-crashout]

Did I mention Ive been obsessing over Emery crashing out? Yes Emery and Rex all the way, but consider Mohawk and Emery, just hear me out, lemme cook

It’s crazy how many thoughts I have regarding Emery because here’s the problem, Emery loved Rex, like capital L loved, deeply and so utterly in love that it destroyed him when he learned about Rex’s death, the worst part? He wasn’t even there, he was elsewhere, sure he was saving lives but it aches and tears him apart because he could’ve been there, he could’ve helped Rex, maybe could’ve prevented his death in some way and if not, then he could’ve at least died with him, by his side

So yeah Emery having a major crash out, whether or not he was together with Rex doesn’t take away that he was in love and that love broke him badly and he couldn’t move on, so I imagine realizing that those Invincible variants came from other timelines, and the possibility that Rex might be alive in any of those timelines? Boy would that break him further, maybe far enough to make any sort of deal he has to to get to any Rex, because no matter the world, no matter whether Rex is a hero or a villain, Emery will take it even if it means making a deal with a variant that wants nothing more than to conquer other worlds

It’s honestly toxic but god if a love that treads into unhealthy and codependent doesn’t make my brain go brrr, I thank you for indulging me, I’m a bit all over the place but I swear there’s a thought process that goes on and makes sense

[cosmic-crashout]

Did I mention how much I love Rex right now? Cause I love him and I love making doomed onesided love, I especially love making little scenarios in my head where Emery fell hard and fast but never had the courage to confess and then the Invincible War happened and he realized he would never get the chance

Doomed Yaoi is incredible and waters my crops and I hope it brings you just as much agony and joy as it does me, my bestie made me a drabble about the exact moment Emery learned about Rex’s death and it legit made me cry

Song: Eu Sem Você (Por Que Te Vás) by Lilan

[cosmic-crashout]

Crawling Back to You

Chapter One

Synopsis: You quit. The Guardians of the Globe? What a joke. You are surrounded by assholes. Rex-Splode being the biggest of them all. Except, now he keeps trying to call you. And there's a knock at the door.

Pairing: Rex Sloane x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Chapter: 1/?

• TW: alcohol mentioned,

Note: My first attempt ever at a fanfiction. Could not find any Rex x Reader on Ao3, and I am a sucker for a slow burn. Just watched two YouTube videos on how to use Tumblr, and here’s the first draft of chapter 1! Please tell me what you think! Once I have more chapters I’m going to post it on Ao3 as well.

Background: Chapter 2 will character build the MC more, this chapter is meant to be more of a hook.

“Go away!”

The knocking stilled for a moment; you stood just a few feet from your front door. God, he did not know how to take a hint. You had turned your phone off over half an hour ago when he first tried to call you. And you were sure if you turned it on now a litany of notifications would hinder it from running smoothly for at least a few minutes.

The silence lasted a bit longer before a few more knocks rapped against the door. It was dark out; it must be late. But to be honest, you were not sure what time it was. After all your phone has been powered off for who knows how long, and you were not about to just sit in front of the microwave for your time-checking purposes.

“Please-” A soft voice said through the door, followed by a soft thud. The assailant must have just put their head against the door. You could picture it. A sad, pathetic sight. With a sigh and a roll of your eyes you responded.

“Why Rex.” It was not really emphasized as a question, but an exasperation. Running a hand through your hair you turned and put your back against the door. Against your better judgment, your fingers brushed against the cool metal of the lock.

There was another long pause, for a second you thought you could hear his breathing, quick, erratic, messy.

It is odd to think that everything has led to this. Years, months, weeks, days, it did not matter, a lifetime had passed since you had both met. He’s an asshole. Has always been an asshole. It was the first thing you thought when he opened his damn mouth during your first encounter. Never had you ever met something so egotistical as Rex-Splode. God, even thinking his name made you want to rip your hair out. It was insane to you that someone could be so in love with themself that they did not even have an identity outside of their “secret” identity.

Maybe he was ashamed on some deeper level. If he was even capable of being that self-aware. Maybe the only interesting things about him were his abilities. Who he is on a level past that is so disappointing and pathetic, pathetic, that he has erased it. He practically lives in his costume, in fact, you once saw him wearing street clothes and before you could fully be surprised, he disintegrated it to reveal that he was in fact, still wearing that damn costume.

But you had to admit, he was able to jump into the action much faster than you because you had to grab your backpack and pull your own costume on. Which regrettably you still are not great at doing with complete efficiency.

He was a good hero though, you could admit this to yourself internally. As unpleasant as he was as an individual, he made up for it in a lot of ways with his competence. They had definitely gotten their asses beat loads of times, but he was never one to give up.

This was one of the few things you admired about him, but as of right now, it was the bane of your night.

“I… I have to talk to you.” The voice responded finally, “Fuck- Please Joy.”

You found yourself rolling your eyes once again. You hated that nickname. And you made it well known. You held nothing short of disdain for that stupid, stupid-

And then he whispers something, it hardly makes its way through the wood. You cock your head slightly in surprise, pointing your ear towards the door. And then you hear it again, a little louder this time, you had not imagined it. Rex had just said your name, your actual name, not your alias, or any of his ridiculous nicknames for you, your given name. You could count on one hand how many times you remembered him saying it.

Suddenly you’re unlocking the door, bad idea, and you’re pulling it ajar just slightly, bad idea.

His hair is wet, it must be raining outside. It’s too bad you cannot hear it in your apartment, it would be nice to lull off to sleep to the rhythmic tapping. There is also a faint scent of alcohol. Great. Much to your surprise he is wearing street clothes right now, but part of you wonders if even now he is wearing that orange and yellow suit underneath. That cannot be comfortable.

After a few moments of silence, you realize you are just standing there looking him up and down. Is he not going to say anything? Your mouth parts slightly, ready to say something snarky, your brow rising.

“Can I come in?”

Silence again. No, you cannot come in, I hate you and I hate your stupid face and your stupid ponytail, man-bun, whatever it is. You have done nothing but complicate my life and make me feel miserable.

“Fine.” Shit.

You shuffled slightly to the side, letting him come in. He took in your apartment for a second, seemingly forgetting why he was here. In the dim light of your apartment you could see now that not only was his hair wet, but he seemed to be almost soaked, scratch that, he definitely was soaked.

“Did you walk here?” Disbelief is clear in your tone. Headquarters was much too far, a twenty-minute drive on a good day. Maybe he had been drinking at a nearby bar, but that was still quite the walk.

“What? No.” There was that familiar indignation. Most assuredly a lie though, there was no other reason why he would be quite literally trailing water into your entryway. Rex had a way of seeming disingenuous no matter what he said, which made it hard to see through his lies sometimes, but you were starting to be able to pick up on certain cues.

He walked up to a shelving unit in your living room. It had books on it, not that you ever had time to read, they were mostly birthday and last-minute housewarming gifts. There were some framed photos too, well kind of. There were picture frames that still had the generic stock footage in them from the store. A sad reminder of the fact you could not have a normal life, and now Rex was staring at them.

“You like the family tree?” You finally quip, sighing as you leave to go get some towels from the other room “You’re making a mess everywhere.” You state dryly, handing him a towel and drying up the trail he left from where he was standing to the front door.

Rex simply gave an absent-minded hum. He never shut up for this long usually, it was nearly impossible to get a word in without him feeling the need to have the last word during your first. Even if you were not saying something that could be argued with, he always seemed to find a way. He hesitated for a moment just standing holding the towel before he tried to dry off the ends of his pants which were the major culprit of the indoor mess.

You could not deny your mind was racing, and he was apparently in no hurry to explain why he wanted to come in. After spending far too much time making a sad attempt at banging down your door, he was suddenly docile. He was not looking at you and his hands were fiddling with the damp towel. If you did not know better, you might even think he was nervous. Had he even looked at you since entering?

“I like your apartment, the interior design in here is… nice.” He finally said.

What.

“Oh, thanks?” What? “It actually came mostly furnished; I did not want to search for furniture while also trying to settle in with the Guardians you know? Kinda…busy.” What is happening right now?

“Oh.” He seemed almost disappointed. “Well, it’s nice.”

Great talk.

“So-”

“Uh-”

“Oh sorry-”

“No, you go first.”

YOU’RE THE ONE WHO WAS JUST BEGGING ME TO LET YOU IN WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘No, you go first’ WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

“Not to interrupt your sightseeing in my apartment, but what exactly do you want Rex?” Silence. Again. Is he drunk? He’s not swaying, but you definitely caught the scent of it earlier. He was not usually the poster child for moderation either. But he was also not slurring, then again, he has said approximately seven words since walking in so how can you really know.

“You have to come back to the Guardians of the Globe-”

“No.”

Theres the eye contact, first time since he walked it, but now it felt weird. You wish he would go back to staring at the embarrassing frames on the shelf.

“You’re a strong asset to the team-”

“Oh do not give me that rehearsed bullshit. Is Cecil feeding that to you right now? Because that’s a new low for him.” That was not a new low for Cecil, he has definitely gone much lower. You knew this after learning more about the ReAnimen.

“Fuck, Joy what do you want me to say?” He held his hands out in exasperation, taking a step towards you.

“I am not going back; you’re wasting your time. I am sure that you have better ways to spend your evening than being here beating a dead horse. Also, I am getting tired of you calling me that.” You step back towards the door, grabbing the handle to escort him out.

“Half the Guardians just left on some bullshit expedition to Mars, only Rae, Kate, and I stayed behind.” He folded his arms and did not budge. “If anything happens-” He gritted his teeth, man it must have almost physically hurt for him to admit that you were a good member. It was not too long ago that he practically threw a fit when Cecil introduced you. “At least wait until the others get back to go on this pity party.”

Rude.

“Seriously?” You could not believe the nerve he had to beg to be let in and then pull whatever this was. “If you need back-up so bad ask Mark.”

“He left with them.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Honestly Rex, I do not care. You’re a big boy, I think you can hero without me holding your hand for a little bit.”

“What is your deal!” He glared but then closed his eyes taking a breath. “I did not come here to fight or force you.”

Cute, he’s doing self-affirmations now. Okay, time to go. Out.

“Alright this has been fun, bye Rex!” You started to open the door just to feel it slam shut again. Your gaze snapped up to his hand pressed against the door. He moved fast.

“Fuck this isn’t-” He was a little too close for comfort. You back away, your hand trailing off the door handle. His eyes follow you closely.

“Rex, you’re drunk-” You start, your arms crossing over your chest.

“No-”

“It is really late-”

“No-”

“I am tired, it’s been a really long day-”

Your name, said loud, for the third time tonight, finally shuts you up for a second.

“You’re not listening.” There’s a tense silence now, his hand is still against the door even though you have stepped away. “I’m not drunk.” He almost whispered, shaking his head as if even he did not know where he was going with this.

Right… sure…

If there was one more long silence you were going to do something violent.

“Do you need me to call a car to drive you back?” You said quickly, turning around to go get your phone. He did not say anything, but you could hear him impatiently tapping his foot behind you. After a second of holding down the power button your phone flashed to life. As you expected it struggled for a bit, once fully on a litany of messages flashed across the screen and your notification sound went off an obnoxious amount of times. You turned around to see Rex now pinching the bridge of his nose. It was such a bizarre situation you almost wanted to laugh. But instead, you ordered a car. Five minutes out.

“You did not really leave because of me, did you?” It takes you off guard, his voice is soft, there is no layered sarcasm. It is almost vulnerable feeling.

“What do you want me to say?” You mirrored his words from earlier back to him, raising your eyebrow. Was it one hundred percent his fault? No. Was it approximately ninety-two-point-eight percent his fault? Yeah, that sounded about right. But what productive would come from telling him that?

“Say it wasn’t my fault.” He rasped. He stepped towards you again. You stepped back again.

He almost looks hurt.

“The car is going to be here soon, let me show you out.”

“Goddamn it.” His jaw tensed and he looked away, but did not say anything else, and stepped aside so that you could open the door.

The tense feeling did not stay behind you in your living room, it followed you down the hall. The other apartment doors one by one make you feel like you were in a box of mirrors. Did it always take this long to get to the elevator? If you lived in an apartment building with less stairs you would have jumped at that. Quickly running down the stairs with only the footsteps resounding in your head. The idea of the two of you standing side by side in the elevator as 13 floors passed was not one you were fond of.

You shook your head to yourself remembering his outburst about not being drunk. You were getting very tired of the lies. Pressing the elevator button there was nothing left to do but wait in more silence.

Maybe you should go back to the Headquarters with him.

If he was telling the truth about the Mars trip, then it might be better for you to be around. Even if Rex was lying through his teeth earlier about you being an “asset” in his eyes, you actually were. Even if he did not truly think so.

God, no what are you thinking? You have not even been gone twenty-four hours; you haven’t even been able to sleep on it. No way.

But a part of you wanted to make sure Rex got back safe. Even if he made horrible decisions and bruised your pride more often than not, you had been through a lot of fights together. And he does not seem to be thinking clearly.

With a ding, the elevator door opened, and you stepped in, Rex following behind. You pressed the button for the first floor.

Begrudgingly, you had to admit he had even saved your skin more than once, not just in the field but to the team before as well. He was not one to step down when he thought someone was being unrighteously lectured. Even if he did not like the person being lectured very much. He must have had some sense of loyalty. God forbid you defend him though, or he would get upset you did not let him handle it himself. Now you were getting irritated all over again at several unpleasant memories.

If you were one hundred percent honest you were probably going to go back to the Guardians after a week, maybe less. It would be embarrassing after the scene you made about leaving “for good” but you were meant for it. What good were you if you were not a hero? A week. Maybe less. Rex gave you approximately fourteen hours.

You glanced over at him without turning your head. He was biting the inside of his cheek, staring straight forward. No readable expression. Why was he so quick to try hauling you back? He could hardly stand being in the same room as you for more than five minutes. You used to pride yourself on being mostly likable, you had very few enemies. You were even nice to Rex for quite some time, but it did not make a difference. He was just an ass. An ass who thinks to come to your apartment when he’s drunk? He turned his head slightly and you faced forward again with a snap.

The elevator dinged again, ground level.

Hurriedly, you leave the elevator, a certain discomfort you couldn’t place enveloping you. The glass doors are an entryway ahead of you, showing clearly how much it was pouring outside. No wonder he was unintentionally giving your floor a spot clean. You could see the car waiting outside, the rain showing even more clearly in the beams of the headlights.

You could hear it now, the thrumming of the rain. It immediately made you feel more relaxed. You did not hold the glass door for Rex.

It was very cold outside; you should have grabbed a coat. I guess you had more pressing matters on your mind. You sighed to yourself, not able to hear it over the rain. The windshield wipers of the car squeaked as you got closer. You waited a moment for the driver to open the passenger window, telling them where to take him, and to make sure he gets inside fine. If the driver was just some random guy this would have been highly irregular and definitely not in their job description. But it was one of Cecil’s guys, so they knew exactly where to go.

The passenger window closes, and you go to open the back seat for Rex. Once again, his hand stops the door from fully opening and you prepare yourself for another short-lived argument. But you glance up and he’s just… looking at you.

There’s that feeling again, from when you left the elevator. Was it apprehension? Waiting for him to say something stupid? You shifted back slightly; he leaned forward slightly.

Odd.

“The driver will take you to the headquarters.” You say finally, your gaze jerking from his eyes to his shirt collar. You could see a sliver of orange and yellow and for a second you thought triumphantly that you knew it. He is wearing it still, typical. Focus.

“Come with me.” His brow is furrowed, he must be angry. Angry he was not able to force you into submission, into coming back.

“No.” You said softly, managing a sympathetic smile. You needed at least twenty-four hours of not being around that ridiculous team.

He leaned forward slightly more; you were very close now. That feeling again. Manual breathing is now the only thing that enters your mind. How do you remember to breathe when you are not actively thinking about it? How did you manage for so long until right now? Because this is taking a lot of effort to make sure you’re breathing normally.

“Please.” He’s not looking you in the eye, his eyes have flickered down for a moment, a blink and you miss it moment. You did not blink, and you did not miss it. His lips are slightly parted, and he edges forward what could not have been more than a millimeter. Your gaze returns to his eyes. There is no way. He is drunk and you are imagining this, go to bed.

“Goodnight Rex.” You finally say, but you do not back away immediately. He is entirely in your personal space. But a small insignificant voice in your mind is screaming at you not to move, not to go back to your apartment. You had to know why he was there. For Pete’s sake, it had only been fourteen hours. Why were you now standing here feeling crazy wondering if he was actually leaning forward more. You needed him to explain.

And then you stepped back.

If you did not know better the emotion that crossed his face would have looked a lot like disappointment.

Rex got into the car and closed the door. You turned around to watch it drive off. A shiver ran through your body. Damn rain.

He’s an asshole. Has always been an asshole. It was the first thing you thought when he opened his damn mouth during your first encounter.

Divider credit: @/ saradika

[cosmic-crashout]

Male Reader (Emery) x Rex

I’ve been lost in the sauce of Rex and Emery, I have some sketches I wanna line but these two have a tight grip on my soul right now

I just love the idea that Emery tries to act professional but when faced with Rex he just melts and his true nature comes out, which is being an absolute menace

[cosmic-crashout]

Male Reader (Rhodes) x Maskless Invincible

Hi, may I introduce the second of many ocs I’ve made for this fandom lol, his name is Rhodes, he’s a regular human who works for the GDA because of his superpowered sister, but of course you can view him as just a male reader

Anyways to the main point, Maskless Mark, the man, the myth, the icon who spoke so tenderly, I imagine this variant missed reader dearly, they lived in the same world yet the distance seem so vast that by the time Mark knew how to cross it, reader was already dead with Mark never even getting the chance to speak properly to him let alone confess his feelings

The worst part of it is Mark didn’t know, he tried to find his love but there was too much going on, he prayed that maybe his love was somewhere in Chicago, searching as he destroyed and conquered while his father burned down the GDA, Mark didn’t waste a second after he was done wrecking havoc to rush to the GDA, hoping he was wrong and reader wasn’t there, of course his hopes were crushed quickly and even killing the Atom Eve of that world didn’t bring him anything but numbness

I bet when he was given the chance to go into an alternate dimension, he wouldn’t care about the plan to wreck havoc, he would keep his end of the bargain only after he swept his reader to safety, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again and lose his love before they could get the chance, it’s made even better if the reader hated Invincible and wanted nothing to do with him, aggravated by the hero and how he operated with his skewed priorities (they are absolutely skewed) but he wasn’t expecting the hero to grab him from out of nowhere and carry him away, not given a chance to do anything before he’s kidnapped and brought to a home that seems to belong to the hero, the variant taking the reader to his room and just holding him tightly and burying his face into his chest to hear his heartbeat even as the reader smacks at his shoulders and tugs his hair trying to be released

I just think Maskless Invincible would be much more soft spoken, still ruthless and cold but not to his beloved reader, all he wants is to be able to sit there for a while and listen to the still beating heart of the man he loves before he must go fulfill his end of the deal, whispering that when this is over he’ll bring reader back with him where they’ll finally get to be together, whether the reader wants this is irrelevant, Mark has gone through too much to let anything get in the way

Oh dear that was long, sorry I just really like Maskless Invincible and with Rhodes as the reader I got even more invested and made this lengthier than I meant to, but I hope ya enjoy this art and the rant I went on lol

[cosmic-crashout]

i just wanted to say that i love your art and its literally so beautiful <33 emery/male reader (i'm a new follower so sorry if im mixing anything up) is literally me. i love him with all my heart and he's soso cool. i also wanted to ask how detailed we could make requests or what format we could use to make requests because i would love to send you one but i don't want to come off too pushy or asking for too much especially since you do this for free, which is so cool. thank you so much, enjoy your day, babes.

Hello! First of all, thank you for such a sweet compliment on my art and I’m so happy you enjoy Emery, he’s my sweet workaholic boy (I have more ocs in storage, they’ll be revealed as soon as I finish working on their pieces) have a lil doodle of him

As for request details: specifying gender and character attributes (like freckles, glasses or vitiligo or a specific race or such unless you’re leaving that to me, which I’m very happy to) as well as saying which character you’d like is the best, I’d also appreciate if it’s worded politely, I know that sounds like common sense since you’re right that I am doing these for free but I have already had people demand certain things without a please or anything lol

That being said if you just wanna talk about some fun possible scenarios just regarding characters whether canon or some reader variants I’m happy to rant

[cosmic-crashout]

LOWKEY drop more lore abt Emery🙏

OH MY GOSH

REALLY!?

You wanna know more!? Cause I have more!!!

Okay, so

Emery’s civilian identity isn’t well known not because of any hand wavy bullshit, it’s literally just cause he’s not interesting enough to the public (specially the media) to keep an eye on, why would you waste time covering a single hero who only rebuilds when you could focus on the heroes who destroyed the buildings in the first place? You don’t, and Emery is a bit of a hermit when he’s off the clock so it attracts less scrutiny on his out of the field activities

Emery is big on separating business from personal life, at least most of the time, not when it involved a certain explosion hero that he occasionally had to clean up after but his relationship with Rex will be for another post if yall want to know, but a few facts about Emery,

He’s a part time student working towards a degree in Architecture and lives in a studio apartment, he’s halfway through his second year in S3

He has a work husband named Carden (my bestie’s oc), they’re close and met because they’re both usually on the rebuild/search and rescue teams

He’s originally from California but moved to Illinois for college and the GDA, he’s actually only been a hero for 2 years when Invincible S1 takes place, starting his hero career at 18 but having trained his powers since he was young

Hes not super close with his family (due to them not fully understanding or accept him being gay) but he still loves them, it’s complicated and messy but he tries not to let it bother him, it’s one of the reasons he moved to Illinois, his family is also why he didn’t start his hero career til he turned 18 due to his parents refusing to let him

On a lighter note,

I HC the GDA, like the Pentagon, has a food court that has like fast food and there’s a fast food worker Emery has beef with for no reason (inspired absolutely by that McDonald’s in the Pentagon song I’m not even sorry)

He has a bit of experience with relationships but he’s never had a crush so overwhelming and as bad as the one he has on Rex, Carden doesn’t approve at all and constantly questions his taste in men

That’s all that I can think of right now that’s solid, if you have anymore questions about him, I’d love any chance to blab and talk shop about my boy

Have a lil doodle of my boy

[cosmic-crashout]

ngl i wanna see emery’s entire superhero outfit

Ask and you shall receive!!

I could gush about Emery but my bestie said I should explain the exposed thighs/calves first

Ive said before Emery’s power is Tactile Telekinesis so I thought a suit that reveals skin in certain places would allow him the chance to use his powers even if his hands were bonded in some way, as long as his skin makes contact with something he can use his powers, but he doesn’t broadcast that, instead making it seem like he needs to touch with his hands to use his ability

Of course he’s a non-combative hero like I said before and his speciality is actually restoration since his powers are very useful for that, and so I made his hero name be ‘Preservation’, he has the ability to be a fighting hero but he never attempted to make that known or secure a spot on Teen Team or the New Guardians and so it was decided he’d be put with the cleanup crew which also helps the public see that Heroes can be trusted to protect as well as help rebuild

Sorry for the blabbing but I just love him so much and hope yall like him, I would add more like his whole civilian identity and such but I’ve babbled enough, thanks for giving me the opportunity to!!

[cosmic-crashout]

ᢉ𐭩-MARK BEING A (CUTE) BOTHER

Pairing: mark grayson x f!reader

Synopsis: mark being a little shit while you’re trying to actually get productive work done.

Warning: probably a tad bit cheesy but who cares

A/N: omg I’m finally writing a story where mark isn’t fucking/getting his brains fucked out say wahhhhhhh. Anyway, just a lil domestic/fluffy lil story while I work on some bigger ones. Nobody can convince me that mark wouldn’t be cute annoying, NOBODYYYY 😞…(I loaf him sm…)

“Shew shew-“ you grumble as Mark keeps smashing his face against yours while you’re busy working. Your fingers clack away at the keyboard trying to get done as quickly as possible he just bothers you.

“How does this have anything to do with all your telekinesis crap or something,” Mark asked in an annoyed tone continuing to bother you—he wanted to have fun with you while he was free but for once you were the one busy. He was kind of getting a taste of his own medicine.

“Because it just does, now go before I kick your ass.” Powers or not, you still had to do paperwork like anybody else suffering on earth. You said before pushing his face away. That had him intrigued now. How did you even plan to kick his ass, he knew you were just talking shit but now he wanted to see it. So, he kept bothering you.

Whether it was poking at your face, leaping in front of your computer, or making annoying noises in your ear. He saw your eyebrow twitching more and more as you were losing patience. He wanted you to try and fight em. So he kept going.

You finally sprung up—you had had enough of his shit.

“One last chance, go away, Mark” you said squinting your eyes at him trying to seem as serious as you could.

“Not a chance, babe.” He said with a smug grin on his face holding out his arms. He was basically mocking you—wanting you to “do your worst”

You had leaped onto him like a damn cat knocking both of you on the floor as the tussle began. Now, the hard part began—you actually had to kick his ass…

A smirk flew across his face. He knew you had given in—as you began to roll around on the ground with him and tussle now. You two were like a log going back and forth. One second—you were on top of him. The next second—he was on top of you.

“Cmon babe…you’re really gonna kick my ass?” Mark said with a soft smile trying to get you to fold just from his face. You were on top of him in the moment holding him by his shirt collar as you had paused for a second. You honestly wanted to lean in and give him a little smooch but you had to keep your word and kick his little smug ass. Sadly, that wasn’t working out that well (never was going to) so you had to resort to empty threats.

“Mark! I will literally never ever ever kiss you again if you don’t give up like right now!” You threaten as he doesn’t believe it for a single second. He picked you up tossing you on the bed before leaping right back on top of you. He held you tight this time trying to make sure you didn’t move or win as you squirmed like a fish out of water

He was pecking kisses at your face every few seconds. He wasn’t letting up one bit. You loved how sappy he was, like a little puppy. You honestly almost lost for a second, stopping to stare at him. His brown eyes were like a trap for your heart. However, you had stopped for him wayyy too many times before—if you didn’t finish this paperwork now, it wouldn’t only be overdo (once again) but it’d just pile up again. You had to be a person of your word and kick his ass. He was probably gonna let you win anyway.

“MARK!” “Nuh-uh,” you two were back and forth about who was in charge. You sighed using your powers to your advantage just as he was, you were forcing his body to stay on the bed while you finished working. Mark knew he could’ve fought back or pulled through, but he let you have this little win.

“Lemme up-“ mark asked trying his best to annoy you so you’d give in

“No” you weren’t buying his shit for a second not letting up one bit

“Lemme up-“ mark continued the cycle the entire time you worked…he was trying his hardest to be insufferable

You two were just back and forth the entire time you finished your paperwork. Eventually, you were finished freeing him from the hold your powers had on him at the moment. You stood in front of him with crossed arms. “Kicked your ass and finished my paperwork.”

He just rolled his eyes before leaping on you again as the cycle of endless tussling began right back up again. He had let you win the first time since he didn’t even attempt to fight back against your powers. But this time…he’d redeem himself and win. You let him do exactly that—melting into his kisses like butter. He held you tight against his chest as if he never wanted to let go. You’d be a little asshole just like he was earlier.

“Lemme go,” you asked sarcastically

“Nope,” Mark said with absolute seriousness in his voice

“Lemme-“

“Nope”

The back and forth began once again.

Silence filled the room are you two were absolutely content with each other. You were in his hold and he had you held near and dear. It then hit you in the face that Mark mentioned something about the correlation of powers and paperwork. How he said “the two had nothing to do with each other so why’d you have to do paperwork for it 🤓”

“Mark…” you said softly waiting for his response

“Yes babe?” He was all ears for what you had to say to him.

“Have you been doing the paperwork that Cecil has been giving us—or should I say you?”

Silence filled the air…he wasn’t doing any paper work what so ever…

“Get your ass up and do that paperwork…” you said gently but your face was honestly so stern it had him tense up for a second

“Yes ma’am” he said as he placed a kiss on your head before moving over to the desk to begin his paperwork. He had a shitload to get started on and you’d make sure he finished every little bit before you two had fun again.

He was stubborn and so were you—a match made in (hell) heaven.

a/n: (ik for a fact he would duck and dodge every bit of paperwork he’d have to do…😭)

[cosmic-crashout]

Male Reader (Emery) x Rex

Oh the pain of inconsistency, it’s fine

Anyways I wanna draw some Mark x Reader but I’ve had this as a sketch and needed to finish it before I started on other pieces,

I love the kind of polar opposites ships, whether it could be non powered reader or more serious and calm hero reader with Rex, he just needs that kind of person to ground him, and if it’s Emery/Reader who has a strong power that’s used to rebuild what breaks and considers the job a regular 9-5 then all the better, with Rex Emery/Reader can be just a normal dumb young adult who can let loose on occasion

I love Rex and have been obsessing over the pass few days if you couldn’t tell, but more Mark possibly on the way with more different designs/ocs

[cosmic-crashout]

Superpowered Male Reader (Emery) x Rex

Sooooooo I may have liked one design a lot more and decided to make an oc out of him, you can defintely still see him an a male reader, he’s a hero with tactile telekinesis who works at the GDA as part of the reconstruction crew (he refuses to be combative unless absolutely has to)

I like a kind of seemingly no nonsense reader (just wants to get the job done then go home) who falls for Rex despite him being the opposite of what you’d think they’d go for, different departments but still he sees Rex enough and at first it’s definitely just because of his looks (like DAMN THOSE BICEPS AND ABS) but then reader starts enjoying how unabashedly outspoken and confident he is, still definitely an asshole (til he almost dies) but hey you can’t help who you crush on sometimes

Sorry for the lil blurb but I love my boy so much rn

[cosmic-crashout]

Can I perhaps request no goggles mark/guardians of the globe invincible hugging a random reader super close? Just being a real weirdo and sniffing their hair lol

He’s such a freak and god do I love him

He’s my absolute favorite and definitely one that would need a super powered reader cause otherwise he might accidentally break his lover, that man is an absolute sadomasochist and nobody can tell me otherwise, he’s a total weirdo who’d cling and rub against you like a cat would before biting hard

Like I said he’s my favorite, though Mohawk Mark is now a surprising close second

[cosmic-crashout]

totally here for the rex love! his arc was just *chefs kiss* and the way you draw him is so 💥🫶❤️‍🔥

id love to see more soft rex and reader! loving the idea with him trying to take things slow after he moved way too fast through all his other relationships! mayhaps a kiss on the cheek (could be from rex or from the reader) or the holding of hands :3 just general fluff <33

especially w/ nonbinary/androgynous reader w/ glasses! i cannot be the only one who can see! 🪴🪲🪐🎧

I lvoe Rex, he’s just such an interesting and well written character and I loved his character development and story and NOTHING BAD HAPPENED

I adore the idea though with Rex taking it slow, they do the shy hand holding and cheek kissing, the cute first few dates, sure, they’re both no longer teenagers but no matter what age you’re at, love can send ya right back to that shy awkward phase

Maybe a reader who works with heroes but not a hero themselves, maybe a healer with powers or maybe someone who worked in GDA and they met before Rex and co left the Guardians

I also think it’s hilarious you asked for a reader w glasses, I also wear glasses and just draw my self without them cause I’m usually lazy lol