#Invincible variants x reader

[stareiiez]

Fully masked Invincible is the sweetest variant you've met. Sure, he's killed people, but everyone makes mistakes, and the way he says, ' I'm sorry for every little thing,' is a lot cuter in your books. A true textbook bottom cutie, but he argues he can top for real if given a chance.

he saves you from the civilian casualties that one of the other variants created. he bridal style carries you through the clouds and profusely apologizes when you're shaking in his arms from being too cold and being held so tight in his arms. he even apologizes for not even being your mark grayson, you're not his but he can't help but touch you like you really are his.

when the two of you are settled on the city's outskirts, and safe from the death and screams. he cups your face in his gloved hands, staring at you from his goggles. he's missed you. he's missed the two most important women in his life. he just needs to get his mom now and take all three of you home. his body is ragged and high-strung under the pads of your fingers, and he halfway chokes on a sob when you don't hold any malice in your pretty gaze when you look at him.

he's always been such a tender lover, sweet on the lips and heavenly in the bedroom; a true fallen angel that never chose a side on the day of reckoning in heaven.

the third time he apologizes is for the way he kisses you when he tugs the mask halfway over his nose and smashes your mouths together just because he can't stand the silence between you two. he tastes like desperation and yearning. Perhaps the tiniest bit of sin when his teeth latch on your bottom lip and suck it into his mouth so he can hear you sigh openly.

However, you don't mind. his sorries escalate from his half-chubbed boner rubbing against your hip to saying sorry for how you writhe and tense on soft patchy grass when his thick dick stretches you out in ways that feel like you're being torn in two. He isn't sorry for cumming too quickly, because he makes up for it in his pussy eating skills later on.

[oddlylovingaddiction]

“Reader died in every other universe,” “reader doesn’t exist in any other universe,” I RAISE YOU;

Reader only doesn’t exist in the mainstream universe

reader exists in every universe and is vastly different in each one

Reader exists in each universe and is the exact same (my personal fave)

I like the one where there are more of reader the exact same because that would be so interesting, like imagine you and your alternates dress the exact same, so when each alternate mark comes to get you… THEY ALL HAVE NO CLUE. in fact imagining the marks trying to figure it out would be HILARIOUS.

Mainstream!reader (whispering): “so who’s your mark?”

Nogoggles!reader (whispering back): “No goggles mark!”

All the marks are standing in front of the crowd of readers trying to guess which ones their’s, all of them are increasingly getting more panicked

[weponxwrites]

Ok I've seen quite a bit of Mark variant costumes but I haven't seen a Incredible costume, I mean come on

Invincible?

Incredible?

Tell me it's not a good costume idea

[tokoyamisstuff]

Invincible Variants x Pregnant! Reader

Request from Ao3: I would love to seriously see how the evil Marks would react to getting reader pregnant. There has to happen at least at one point! I can totally see them all collectively freaking out! I seriously hope there is one that goes "Our baby needs a bed fit for a Princess/Prince...you know what, let's just build them their very own castle! Fill it full of toys! Make it a castle playroom!"

...you don't really think this was an accident, do you?

Omni-Mark has been planning to babytrap you since day one. He's prepared every detail of this kid's life way before you were even expecting, from the place you'll give birth until the day their powers kick in everything is carefully thought through.

That doesn't mean he'll completely disregard your wishes, though the crucial decisions are set by himself. But he'd love to prepare the nursery according to your taste and wouldn't mind picking out names together either.

Just because he's overly composed on the outside doesn't mean he isn't secretly overjoyed, he's just bad at showing it.

After the initial shock Mohawk Mark is absolutely delighted. Never thought about the possibility before, but if it's with you, he's so ready to be a dad!

One might think his erratic and almost childish nature indicates he's not cut out to be a father, but he pulls himself together the second he hears the news. Gets advice from the few people he trusts on how to parent in general, but will mostly just wait and see.

Maybe that's a good thing, he'll keep you from overthinking too much with his silly behavior, but he also reminds you that you're in this together and you'll figure it out no matter what.

Buys all the toys. Seriously, this guy will be the greatest playmate for your kid, it'll be incredibly heartwarming to see him tend to his little buddy. He's really trying, give him credit.

Sinister Mark is utterly appaled. This is a literal nightmare scenario to him.

He is insane, but self-aware - and honestly, he's sure the last person who should have children. Not to mention, what if it turns out like him?!

His reluctance mostly stems from his antisocial personality. It was hard enough for him to accept this weakness that is his love for you, but letting another person into his rotten heart seems like an impossible task.

Can't bring himself to leave you, but throughout the whole ordeal he'll nag that this is a horrible idea and you both will have to suffer the consequences (when in reality he is just anxious to fuck everything up). Refuses to look at ultrasounds or involve himself in any planning, but is always vigilant about your well-being and makes sure you got everything you need.

As soon as he is persuaded unto holding it for the first time though, he's completely changed. "I only knew them for a day but if anything happens to them I'll kill anyone here and then myself" kinda way.

Hopefully they take after you, since you're the only person he could ever tolerate.

...of course you are? That's what you're supposed to do: give Target Invincible an heir.

Orders his subordinates into providing the literally best care in the entire universe for you and the unborn, and fulfills your every wish throughout your circumstance.

He's very thoughtful to the point of being controlling. You'll have a strict schedule, excercise and meal plan to stick to if you want to grant him peace of mind.

During this whole time he'll be unusual compliant and gentle, not once raising his voice or criticize you to spare you two any stress. Instead he showers you in praise for granting him this greatest wish of starting a family with someone he deemed worthy to carry his children.

Thats the first time you see No-Goggles Invincible serious. No laughter, no snarky remark, he just stares at you like a deer in the headlights.

Starting a family was never really on his mind, after all it was already out of character for him to stay in a - more or less - serious relationship with you. But hey, as random as he can be, he quickly grows fond of to the idea and adapts surprisingly well.

Keeps his cool for the most part and doesn't really seem to take this seriously. Finds it absolutely hilarious if you yell at him in your hormonal state and may even let you use him as a punching bag before shutting you up with a kiss.

He also really enjoys putting an ear on your belly to talk with his little one, and this continues even after birth. Poor baby never has a moment of quiet.

Due to his mission to repopulate his kind, having children with you has always been on Viltrumite Mark's To-Do list. It's a little early, but he ain't complaining.

From the very moment that he finds out about the pregnancy, you're not allowed to lift a single finger. Prepare to get coddled relentlessly.

Get's super clingy during the process, his hands are on your belly 24/7 even long before you start showing. In general his mood shifted, barely noticeable through his stoic nature but you know him well enough to know he is definetly excited.

This certainly won't stay your only child.

Viltrumite Mark is not surprised. This guy has the biggest breeding kink ever, and he always knew you were the one for him, so...no use for protection.

He's got a huge community of loyal followers who got experience and are willing to help out with anything, but otherwise he's more the easygoing kinda guy. Is convinced a loving environment is all a baby needs and anything else you'd just take as it comes.

Literally worships you even more than usual. Indulges you by getting you any craving from earth, gives you as many back and foot rubs you want, carries your belly if it gets too heavy...

Just can't wait to meet his mini me and take them out on adventures!

To Unmasked Mark you're all that matters, so he will go with whatever choice you make.

It's already hard enough to see you - his heart - walk outside of his body, but another person he will most likely love to death, so small and even more vulnerable? A frightening thought.

Being a man with countless enemies, he feels like good things only happen to him so they can be taken away again as punishment for his sins. Really, he doesn't think he deserves such a blessing after all the evil he's committed in the past.

In the end this is only one more reason for him to keep living and strive to become a better man - and hopefully a father your child deserves.

Fully Masked Mark seriously doesn't know whether to be thrilled or terrified.

After all, pregnancy can be a great burden on your health and in some cases even lethal! He'll frequently spiral into absolute horror scenarios of how this could end up, so you need to help him focus on positive anticipation instead.

But aside from his usual worries this is a dream come true! Being reunited with the love of his life was already a miracle itself, and now he even gets to start a family with you?! He's just so unbelievably thankful that you're doing this with him, and constantly reminds you how he would do anything for the two of you.

Begs you to name it after his mom shall it become a girl.

It takes two to achieve this, but you'll never hear the end of it with Veiled Invincible.

Won't stop nagging about not being cut out to change diapers or missing the patience to endure a screaming kid day and night. He's got a point, dude barely can take care of himself, all he knows is fighting and having a good time.

Reality only sets in when he hears the child's heartbeat for the first time, and damn this guy cries like a kicked dog. You've seriously never seen him like this before. Hard shell soft core or so they say...

Childbirth really shifted his whole perception of how much you mean to him, he absolutely panicked seeing you suffer like this and not being bale to do anything about it.

Will thank you eternally for for convincing him to the best decision of his life and swear that despite of his many shortcomings, he will always keep you two safe and happy.

[asaarii]

ft: mainstream!mark and variants (mohawk, viltrum, omni, sheisty, sinister) (invincible) reader: fem wc: 2604 summary: hey siri is it gay to want to crack the female version of my dead best friend? cw: canon typical violence, foul language, and the variants are kinda sorta freaky in this requested by: @sophsthebest

this was so fun to write lowk and I would've been done faster if not for the blood moon event in dbd so err yeah I'm going to go die in a hole now

Life is strange, really. 

One moment, you’re helping refold shirts because some people don’t even have the decency to put stuff back to where they found it, and the next, an international warning tells you to stay inside because there are evil variants of your boyfriend now roaming the Earth with unclear intentions.

You share a look with your coworker, who looks just as off-put by the information, her fingers curling around her phone as her brow dips. Just as her lips part to speak, the first building falls. It’s only a few blocks away, and the ground beneath your feet trembles at its sudden collapse.

You hear the screams of those out on the street, internally debating whether or not to follow suit until a notification from Mark lights up your screen, the ridiculous nickname you’d set when you were twelve a small comfort to your racing heart.

MarkyWarky: please tell me you’re okay

You: i’m fine

You: i’m just scared mark 

You: why are there so many versions of you anyway…

MarkyWarky: i wish i could tell you

MarkyWarky: just stay put alright im otw

The message does little to soothe, and you can’t help but stare at your screen with nothing but apprehension. Your coworker is quick to seize you by the arm when the sound of collapsing buildings and wailing cars draws closer, ushering you into the break room with the floor manager as though the small, unwindowed room would protect you from the raw strength of a Viltrumite.

“Holy shit, we’re gonna die…We’re actually going to die…” The floor manager, Kasandra, curls into herself with tears already welled in her eyes as she chokes back a sob. No one says anything, unable to face the grim reality at steak when debris begins to crumble around you. You all huddle into the furthest corner as your hope in Mark begins to wane.

Small pieces of rubble hit your head as you tuck your head tightly into Kasandra’s shaking shoulder, the lights overhead flickering violently when the ceiling begins to cave in on itself. There’s no use holding back the tears now and you can’t hide your anguished cries, unheard over the collapsing infrastructure.

This is it, you think, mentally saying your goodbyes to everyone you’ve grown to love. Amber. Eve. William. Mark—oh, Mark. The annoying boy next door who grew to be your first love. 

Sparks flare as the light above you finally collapses, but you don’t feel a throbbing pain in your head or death’s cold embrace, instead, you find yourself wrapped in a familiar pair of arms, still clinging to an almost catatonic Kasandra while your coworker grips the forearm wrapped around the three of you.

“I’ve got you,” a voice in your ear says, and you can feel the tears begin to well once more, though, this time out of relief. Mark is quick to shoot from the rubble, hold unwavering before he sets the three of you down and urges you to run to safety.

Your two coworkers are quick to flee, but you stupidly linger, worry etched onto your features at the sight of Mark’s beaten face and tattered suit. In the distance, you can see Eve facing valiantly against a variant, the odd cloth mask adorned on his face his most defining trait. She pants, her palms facing outward to just barely raise a shield against his erratic punches.

Mark pulls your attention back to him, face pinched as his thumb traces your lower lip in an attempt to ground both you and himself. His lips are soft against your forehead for a brief moment before he pulls back, staring at you through his cracked goggles with an emotion you can’t quite place. 

“I love you,” you whisper, stroking his bruised cheek softly.

“I love you too. But, you need to go. Now. I’ll check on you soon, promise.”

So, you run as fast as your legs can carry you, doing your best to ignore the ruins and corpses that seem to block every turn.

You don’t get far.

A shadow overhead blocks the sun—its presence so oppressive and commandeering that it freezes you in place.

“Another survivor?” 

You can’t bring yourself to turn despite the way your heart lurches at the familiarity of the voice. Your breath hitches when the shadow lowers—whatever twisted version of Mark this is drawing ever closer like a lion to its prey.

“I thought those other two were the last of them, but what’s one more?” The voice is cold, almost clinical, very unlike the warmth that radiated off of your Mark. A glove is quick to find purchase on your throat, and you glance down to see the red rubber shining beneath the sun.

Blood coats the hand, tinting the glove an even darker shade of red than what you’d first surmised. You try not to think about the warmth of it as his grip grows tighter, making it harder to breathe, but not enough to kill, like he’s messing with you in some cruel, twisted way.

“You’re this dimension’s girlfriend, aren’t you?” His lips press against the shell of your ear, jerking your body to face the fight between Mark and the clothed one from before alongside Eve, who reaches out to you weakly before eventually crashing against the side of one of the buildings. Your Mark wheezes, clutching at his chest when the cloth-masked variant throws him into a nearby building by the hair. “Pathetic.”

The sound barrier tears as another Mark enters the fray, his mohawk wild and unkempt in the wind as he grins at the sight of battle, though there’s no amusement behind his smile. “Who the hell do you think you are running off like that?” For a moment, his wild eyes slip to where you and your captor reside, a flicker of…something flashing through his before it fizzles away. “Keeping hostages alive? Didn’t peg you for the cruel type.”

You barely register the click of the Invincible’s tongue over the roaring beat of your heart, his thumb remaining stationary over your pulse point; a warning. He could snap your neck at any given moment, and you don’t know what’s stopping him, but you’re grateful for whatever’s causing him to hesitate.

“Come on, just put her out of her misery already,” the mohawked Mark goads with a small shrug as he pulls his fist back to punch your Mark into the concrete when the cloth-masked variant throws him in his direction. Cracks split beneath your feet at the sheer force, the ground almost giving way, but all you can do is watch as your Mark slowly gets up from the crater his body had formed. 

He locks eyes with you, something snapping inside of him at the sight of the variant clad in a suit nearly identical to Omni-Man’s wrapping his hand around your throat.

“[Name]!” He calls out, bursting free from the grasp of the two other Marks with a renewed sense of vigor. 

Time seems to freeze the moment your name leaves his bloodied lips, the Mark holding you hostage too stunned to react when your Mark’s fist collides with his jaw hard enough to send him three blocks away. It isn’t long until you’re swept into Mark’s arms, the hold both protective and possessive as he glares at the other two, his chest heaving with each labored breath he struggles to take.

“No fuckin’ way.” The mohawked variant blinks slowly, his lips pulling into a mix of a grimace and a smirk. “That’s unfair on so many levels.” He turns to the Mark in a cloth mask who seems to share the same sentiment, mumbling under his breath about how unfair it is that this version of him gets the hot babe.

Omni-Man Mark merely scoffs when he floats back, his suit still pristine as though he’d never been thrown at all while he crosses his arms over his chest, scrutinizing the way you tremble in this version of him’s hold. You aren’t the best friend he’d killed mercilessly back in his dimension. Here, you were a woman—his woman. And he’d be damned if he couldn’t kill two birds with one stone.

A best friend and a wife. Who would’ve thought?

While he’d never seen the other, male, version of you in a romantic light, his heart stirs at the thought of taking this version of you for himself. It’s not like it’ll take much to kill this Mark; he’s already as good as dead anyway—

“Is everything alright here?” Clad in white and silver, yet another version of Mark descends from the sky like some sort of disgraced angel. 

“Ugh, why are you here?” Mohawk Mark rolls his eyes obnoxiously, his gaze only briefly flickering to the new variant.

“Angstrom sent me to see if you all were sticking to the plan, which clearly you aren’t.”

“Aww, the lil’Viltrum baby can’t do anything without a mission? How sad!” He bats his lashes dramatically before sneering. “What are you gonna do next, bark? Who gives a shit about the plan? You’re acting as if you weren’t gonna kill him after anyway!” 

The Mark in the Viltrum uniform chooses not to dignify him with a response.

Unbothered by his counterpart’s nonchalance, the mohawked Mark sets his sights back on you, spreading his arms wide as if to welcome you in with a hug. “Hey, [Name], it’s just me. Just Mark. Your best friend, remember? We used to play CoD and shit when your parents were out.”

Viltrum Mark’s brows furrow at the familiar name, steady gaze finally paying you mind as you try to sink further into the Mark of this dimension’s arms. You’re a lot…softer than he recalls you being, your form far less filled out; almost feminine. But, that couldn’t be right, right? How cruel would it be for this version of him to have the perfect mate whilst he, while grateful for your prior companionship, was stuck with nothing more than a best friend? One that he’d ultimately killed for resisting.

Surely, his brain is playing tricks on him.

Then he hears it—they all hear it.

The small terrified whimper you let out, the sound almost heavenly as you try to curl into Mark like your life depends on it. Which you suppose it does at this very moment.

A collective groan settles across all the present variations of Mark, all differing levels of arousal. They can practically taste the fear emanating off of you, stalking closer like a pack of deranged wolves.

Disgust pulls at Mark’s lips at the look in their eyes, his arms trembling around you as the last line of defense between you and these monstrous versions of him. “What the hell are you guys on about?” He seethes, only to be met by a suffocating silence.

Viltrum Mark appears in front of you before you and Mark can process his presence, tearing you out of your boyfriend’s arms despite your screaming protests. His grip is firm, but it’s the underlying softness in it that has you trembling with both fear and confusion. One of his hands finds your chin, stroking the contour of your jaw while his thumb gently presses down on your lower lip in a similar fashion that your Mark had done earlier.

“You’re [Name].” His face twists with perplexion as he speaks. “But, you’re so soft.” You feel his other hand fall from your arm, settling on your hip as if to prove a point. He squeezes and prods the fat, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the soft skin underneath, his fingers splaying against your stomach while his nose buries itself in your neck. “You’d be a great mother.”

No.

No.

No.

This can’t be happening—

You’re pulled into another set of arms. These ones leaner yet more possessive than the Viltrum Mark’s. But not yours.

“Jesus what the fuck is wrong with you.” Mohawk Mark’s voice rasps mockingly above you, his arm curling around you and dangerously close to your breasts. You know he feels your heart stop, snorting cruelly as he pulls you flush against him. His gloved hand tilts your chin up to him cruelly, relishing in the way tears well in your eyes.

“P-Please…” You weakly claw at his wrist despite knowing how useless it is in comparison to his innate strength.

Holy fuck, he could get used to the sound of that.

Man, why couldn’t you be a girl in his world too? Oh, the things he would do to you. How he would ruin you. He wonders if you’re similar to his [Name], the [Name] who trusted him to do the right thing only to die trying to stop what’s already been done. Do you play the same sport as your male counterpart? Enjoy the same food? Ah, whatever, you’re still his, no matter his relation to you. Best friend or otherwise.

“Get away from her you fucking freak!” Your Mark’s garbled voice reaches your ears, his fist colliding with the side of the mohawked variant’s head, sending him careening into the white-clad Viltrumite. Mark doesn’t even get the chance to look over you before he shoots into the air with you in his hold, tucking your head into his shoulder as he whispers calming words into the crown of your head. “I’ve got you, baby,” he echoes his prior sentiment, flying as fast as he can with the cloth-mask and Omni-Man wannabe hot on his tail.

A familiar red glove catches Mark’s leg, snapping it easily. Mark screams, his teeth grinding as he pivots his other leg directly into the variant’s face, no doubt breaking his nose before he crashes into the cloth-masked Mark, who yells obscenities as the two of them crash into the city below.

Finally, silence settles between the two of you. Heavy with confusion. Heavy with fear.

“What the hell was that…” You cling to him, trembling like a newborn fawn in his hold.

“I—I don’t know.” He buries his nose in your neck as he lowers into a desolate field miles away from any civilization, breathing in your comforting scent beneath the smell of iron and ash that seem to cling to your skin while he settles against a tree. The field is peaceful; untouched by the destruction that plagues the rest of the world.

“...What about Eve and the others?” You hesitate, palms hovering over his broken leg to do your best to put the limb back together. The bone melds back together grotesquely, it's disgusting snap a sound you think you’ll never get used to.

“Eve slipped away before things got ugly. I’m not too sure about the others…” He lets out a low hiss, his fingers digging into the ground when his skin gets pulled tautly back into place. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I won’t let them get to you, not as long as I’m still breathing, alright?”

“Okay,” you breathe out, collapsing into his chest as you try not to think about everything you’ve lost in such a short amount of time. He kisses your forehead gently, leaning back against the tree for only a moment of respite.

“Aww, what a cute sight.” A patronizing voice overhead has both of you snapping your heads to the sound. Clad in yellow and black with a billowing cape behind him, this version of Mark sneers, his gaze looking between you and Mark. His brows raise beneath his mask, lips forming something akin to a sadistic grin. “Well, well, well. You’re looking a bit different here, aren’t you, [Name]?”

Shit.

©asarii 2025 — do not copy, steal, repost, or translate any of my works on tumblr or any other site or run my works through ai

[invoncible]

BLUFF ✰ mark grayson & mohawk mark w/ childhood bsf! fem! reader cw. canon compliant themes (ex. distress)

SUMMARY. when mohawk mark doesn't find debbie at his childhood home, he goes after the next best thing: you. he thinks you're together in this world too, and when he realizes you're not... well, how could he possibly give up such a perfect opportunity? / wc. 6k oops

— i started this to train my writing skills but it got out of hand T-T anyways enjoy <3

You didn't even notice your phone ringing. It must've been the third time it buzzed on your kitchen counter but for the life of you, you could not look away from the news. Invincible was laying waste to all the major cities of the globe, seemingly unprovoked.

Your breath caught when the news broke to process new information, senses finally tuning into the whirring behind you. You swiped your phone, barely glancing at the caller ID before answering.

"Hel—"

"Y/N, thank goodness." Debbie gasped on the other end.

You stood rigid. You've known Debbie your whole life. You and Mark were inseparable growing up—it was a rare occurrence to hear her so unnerved. Her unease was contagious, zapping through the wireless connection and taking root in your conscience.

"Are—" You cleared your throat, clutching the phone tighter. You walked over to the window, dragging down the blinds with two fingers and peeking outside. "Are you okay? You sound—"

"Fine, I'm fine." A shaky exhale was what you were met with, along with the sounds of a car starting up. "Honey, have you seen the news? You need to stay safe." A pause followed, too long to be natural. "Do you have anywhere else to go?"

You scrunched your brows in confusion. "Um... no, I don't. But from what they're saying on the news, the Invincibles are only targeting big cities."

"Listen. If you stay there—" Debbie's line crackled as you assumed she was driving away, far away from the neighborhood and fast. “—‘ll come for you.”

“No, you don’t have to do that. I've got my car if something goes wrong.” You pulled away from your phone, glancing at the call screen when you got no response. "Hello?"

"In light of new footage, we have information that—"

The TV fizzled out next, the low drone of cable replacing rowdy chatter of the newsroom. A low-pixel message of NO SIGNAL floated around the screen, bouncing off the edges.

You stared at yourself in the black reflection, wishing it would flip on again so you weren't alone with your thoughts. The paranoia was setting in... you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Mark is—”

beeeeeep.

"Hello?" You whispered over the phone, desperate for Debbie's familiar comfort. “...Debbie? Mark is what?”

A rhythmic beeeep beep met your ears instead. You glanced at your phone once again—CALL FAILED.

"Ohhhkay." You muttered under your breath. This is fine, you soothed yourself.

The electricity in your house died out, gently setting you into darkness. With the TV signal lost and your phone disconnected, the cell towers and power grid were probably down.

This is fine. As long as you stayed inside, you'd be fine.

You pulled down the blinds once more, letting a shred of the sunset glow into your home. Your gaze travelled to Mark's house; across the street, a couple houses down. So easily accessible yet so distant at the same time.

You and Mark were attached at the hip for seventeen years—your entire lives. Separation should have felt strange. But just two years since growing apart, his absence almost felt... normal.

Almost like he was never there to begin with.

You went off to university. You assumed he did, too, but got more reliable intel when you connected with William. He shared that they both got into Upstate, as well as his girlfriend, Amber.

Girlfriend?

You remember the pause you took to process that information—the moment you realized he was moving forward while you remained where he left you. Facing the reality that you were no longer a part of his life.

"Stop fidgeting," You whispered with a little chuckle. "It's high school, not the end of the world."

"High school is where things start to happen." Mark whined as he pulled down the hem of his sweater. "Grades matter, who you hang out with matters, girls matter."

"Uh-huh."

"You think I would make a good jock?"

"You've got the look for it."

"Dumb?"

"Yes."

Mark rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips as you both walked up the steps to the next phase of your life. "That's not very nice."

"You can be anything you want, Mark." You groaned, deciding to be encouraging. "Literally. You're good at everything. You'll fit in wherever you want to."

"Okay. Too nice." He huffed and bumped into your side. "But thanks. I just..."

Your brows furrowed in concern when his head dipped, distress sneaking its way through his cheerful disposition.

"Stuff's supposed to happen this year. Big stuff." He was mumbling, unfocused like he regretted taking the conversation this direction to begin with. "I don't want to mess this up."

You wanted to tell him high school wasn't that deep. There were complete losers that all turned out just fine. Something about his expression, though... it was heavy.

You weren't sure what he was talking about, but you knew what he needed. You always did. "Whatever stuff you're talking about... it's gonna work out. You'll take it one step at a time just like you always have, and you have your parents at your side.... William, me."

He offered you a little smile. "We'll do this together?" He held out his pinky finger.

You giggle and interlocked yours with his. "Together."

He broke that promise pretty quickly. Different classes were the first step apart. From there, it only got harder to see each other.

Family stuff was Mark's favorite excuse—vaguely explaining family stuff had become 90% of your conversations. You figured he didn't want to tell you whatever he was really going through, which was fine. It hurt, but it was fine.

Before you knew it, you stopped talking altogether. You didn't think much of it at first—you were approaching adulthood, obviously you were going to get busy. You just thought you'd get busy together. You didn't even know what he was up to these days.

You drew back from the blinds with a long sigh, hoping that Debbie and Mark were safe. Wherever they were.

You trudged down into the basement to turn the generator on. The wooden stairs of the unfinished space crrrrrreaked under your feet. You waved away the dust, pounding your chest to cough the particles that snuck their way into your airway.

It was cooler down here, much darker without the ambient lighting of the sunset above. With your trusty phone flashlight, you managed to maneuver your way through the storage buckets and old boxes to the backup generator.

You grunted trying to pull the lever down. "Shit..." you cursed in disgust, feeling the grime and dust underneath your palm. i want electricity i want electricity, you repeated over and over to block out the icky sensation.

"Need some help?"

"Ah—!" you shrieked, spinning around in a panic. Your flashlight illuminated the figure in front of you, shadowed by the soft light of open door upstairs. "What—" who—?!

"Damn. Relax."

Vaulting over your initial dread, you grabbed something—a wrench or a hammer, you didn’t know, you didn't care—and swung it with all your might.

They caught it in their fist. Your breath shriveled up in your throat at how stiff they were, intercepting your attack without even budging. Their fingers curled tight around the tool and yanked you close.

"tsk, tsk," Their low voice chuckled. "Thought you'd be happy to see me, pretty girl."

You shone your light into the intruder's face, the tension in your body dissipating when you recognized—

"...Mark?" You squinted in the darkness, the flashlight just barely illuminating his face in a ghastly glow. "Wha... what are you doing here?" You huffed.

Blood was pumping through your system, telling you to get ready to run. Your nerves wouldn't calm their tingle even though you realized it was just Mark. Cuz it was Mark, right?

"Checking on you."

"Where's your mom?"

"Smart enough to leave home."

"Oh, yeah. She called. I thought you'd be with her..." You trailed off, frowning when you heard him laughing. "What?"

"Nothing." He hummed. "You're just so..."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Okay..." You gave him a weird look. Then your brain caught up to you: Pretty girl? "Aren't you dating Amber?"

He took a moment to think, tossing the wrench aside and grabbing your wrist in his hand instead. "Am I?"

You pursed your lips, eyes narrowing. "I'm... asking you?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"What—" You exhaled, brows knitted in confusion. You tried to pull away but he held firm; for every step back, he followed. "Mark, wait—"

Your phone clattered to the ground, the ray of light spinning chaotically through the darkness before it fell on its back.

"I missed you." He murmured lowly, almost reverent in the way he boxed you against the cold generator. "Shhh..." He calmed your trembling frame with his strong arms (when'd he get so strong?) wrapped around your shoulders.

He burrowed his nose in your hair. "It's me, bunny. Why're you so scared?"

This isn't Mark. Your heart pounded at your chest, eyes frozen and piercing into the darkness over his shoulder—Wake up, dumbass. This isn't Mark.

When your tremors refused to quiet, he pulled back with what you hoped was concern. That's when you saw his hair...

"Is that..." You whispered. The soft light from the main floor was fading, but reflected off the shiny sides of Mark's head. "Are you bald?"

What was he doing in the two years since you saw each other?

"Aw..." He laughed heartily, leaning further towards you and flattening his palms over the top of the generator. "Not quite."

He leaned to your side, breath fanning over the shell of your ear as he continued to snicker to himself softly. He grabbed the lever of the generator and shoved it down.

Your body jostled into his firm chest as it sprung to life. It went clank-clank-clank-clank, pumping electricity back into your home. You heard the melodic trills from upstairs as devices booted up again.

The light in the basement flipped back on. It didn't reach you. Mark towered over you and kept you in shadow. But you could see him—rather, who he wasn't.

"What?" Mohawk Mark grinned down at you, sadistic and teasing. "Not who you were expecting?"

No, not who you were expecting. He looked like Mark, sounded like Mark, felt like Mark... But your Mark had a kind face.

"You're not..."

"Nope."

You felt the heat drain from your body as you simply stared up at him, wide-eyed. Run. Where? Why the fuck was he dressed like ... Invincible...

A connection snapped together in your head, synapses clicking together like legos. Oh. Invincible. Everything made sense now, and you felt a little stupid for not figuring it out sooner.

And now one of those murderous variants you saw on the news was in your home.

"You're really out of it, huh?" He frowned, waving a gloved hand in front of your face. He sighed and looked away, "I thought you'd—"

You had the itch to burst into a sprint. You snatched your phone off the floor and ducked under his arm, skipping stairs to the main floor. Car. Keys? Where the fuck did you put them?

A shuddered whimper tumbled off your lips. You felt helpless, mind racing with too many things at once to pick one task and get out of there. You snatched your purse from the sofa, rifling through it to make sure your keys were inside before going outside.

"Come on, come on," You whispered, out of breath.

"Don't run from me, Y/N," Mohawk Mark sang teasingly, drawing out the last syllable of your name. "Hey, I'm just playing with you."

You screamed anyway, the sound harsh and high-pitched. He pouted, hand firmly around your arm to prevent you from breaking away.

"C'mon, baby. You're hurting my feelings. We're just having fun, yeah? A little roleplay?"

First off, you wished he'd stop calling you things like that. It felt wrong, but... good. With every pet name, he let butterflies loose in your tummy. Your heart pulsed, sending heat to your cheeks. Your brain reminded you, this isn't Mark... this isn't Mark... this isn't the real Mark...

Second, what kinda freaky ass fuck did he turn into?

You rolled out of his grip, barely making it a step away before his arm circled around your stomach, pulling you back into his chest.

"Get the fuck off me—" You squirmed uselessly, your phone and bag tumbling onto the floor. You yelped when he threw you over his shoulder, patting the small of your back affectionately as if securing cargo. "Mark!"

He just laughed, taking off through the door at a abnormal speed. Your nose smushed into his back under the acceleration, stomach somersaulted twenty times over as you soared up into the clouds.

He stopped in the air. With a hoarse shriek you clung to him as if he was your lifeline. He was, in this moment, despite everything. Your legs immediately latched around his waist, and he supported you with hands under your thighs.

"Oh, come on, now." He chuckled with a shake of his head. He easily held you and brought a hand to wipe your cheeks. "I'm just playing around. If I'd known you were this sensitive, I would've taken it a little bit easier on you..."

You hadn't even realized you started crying.

He stared at you, eyes trailing over your face. He laughed softly to himself. "Who am I kidding. No, I wouldn't have. You know how cute you are when you cry?"

You glared at him but his grin only grew wider. "What? M'not gonna hurt you! Haven't I shown you that?"

You stared at him incredulously, finally finding your voice and blowing up at him. Your fists curled, pounding at his chest and jabbing a finger in his face. "You broke into my home and have me hanging 100ft in the air?!"

"So? I'm not dropping you, am I?" You felt his fingers tap against your thigh.

"That—" Your cheeks burned. but from being embarrassed or flustered, you couldn't quite place.

"This world's Mark is the biggest piece of shit for leaving girlfriend all alone."

You blinked, "Girlfriend?"

"Yeah, you're..." Mark's head tilted, sharp eyes acutely aware of your confusion. "Ohhh. Don't tell me that fucker didn't lock you down."

You didn't even know what to say. Things were being thrown at you left and right and you were still on the fact that Mark was Invincible. Your mind rifled through all the headlines that had his name... all that pain, death, and destruction... and how you weren't there for him.

He clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Well. I'm a better version, anyway."

[]

The sun finally set on day 2 the war with no hope in sight. Mark just admitted Eve into the hospital—she stubbornly decided to help him with two of his variants and paid the price. Her broken leg was under construction, and she was unconscious.

Mark sighed as he closed the door behind him, looking up to see Cecil waiting for him in the hallway.

"You can't be here, kid."

Mark scowled. "The other Invincibles know about this place. They could kill her to get at me. I... can't lose another friend. I won't."

After Amber, Mark wanted to be with Eve. It was the next logical step, right? Both superheroes, went through a lot together, understood each other... But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not even under Future Eve's advice.

Not when he still held space for you in his heart.

He was an asshole for it, he knew that. He couldn't put a date to the last time you spoke and he selfishly held onto your memory. Were you pining for him like he was pining for you?

His time with Amber taught him a lot. He wasn't going to make you suffer like she did. He wasn't going to ruin the friendship he had with you just because he selfishly wanted your love.

"We're losing this, Mark." Cecil sighed, snapping Mark out of his thoughts. The bruise on his face throbbed with every word. "The world needs you."

"You got every superhero on the planet fighting for you right now." Mark shot back angrily, shutting his eyes only to see you behind his lids.

"Mark. Oliver's out there. Your mother's out there." Cecil pressed, pulling out his phone. "Which reminds me. She left a voicemail."

With his interest successfully piqued, Mark listened as his mother's panicked voice played over Cecil's device.

"I can't reach Mark—if you see him, tell him I'm at Paul's. Oliver insisted on going out there, and I let him on the condition he finds his big brother."

Mark's gaze dropped down to the floor guiltily, a war of emotions swirling inside him.

"I couldn't stop him if I tried. He was going to sneak out anyway, but..." A sharp inhale. "I'm worried. I know they're strong, I know that. But these other versions... they're nothing like Mark." Seconds of silence passed as she collected her thoughts. "Can you check on someone for me? If all these Marks grew up the same, there's a childhood friend on our street that he was never without. I tried to reach her but service went down. Please."

Cecil pulled back his phone. "I already sent agents to her home—"

Mark's head snapped up, gritting his teeth in annoyance. "What did I say about going near my family?"

"I wasn't aware she was family." Cecil raised an eyebrow, pocketing his device and pulling down his cuffs.

"They're my responsibility. She's my responsibility." Mark retorted, running a anxious hand through his hair.

"A thank you would be nice." Cecil mumbled, unperturbed by the boy's argument. "Seeing as you are currently shirking said responsibility."

"Don't—" Mark lurched forward, a threat on his tongue. Cecil flinched backwards, his hand firmly in his pocket finding his controller.

Mark pulled back, dropping his fist. "...Just shut the fuck up, Cecil." He blasted off through the halls.

Cecil watched him leave with bated breath, exhaling slowly when he got the intel that Mark was off the grounds. At least he was out there.

[]

"I killed the Guardians, yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah. No big deal."

You raised your eyes in surprise but the notion wasn't as gruesome as you thought it would be. Blinded by love, maybe? Or were you just happy to be talking to Mark again, regardless of the version?

Hours ago, you couldn't imagine sitting in your bedroom with the man who invaded your home. But, genuinely, what were you supposed to do? Pick a fight and lose? Worse, die? You weren't so stupid to waste the goodwill he held for you.

"What happened to me in your world?" You asked, your voice quieter now.

Mark tilted his head, exhaling through his nose. His jaw flexed, like the memory alone was an irritation.

"The resistance killed you to get at me," he muttered, his voice dark, laced with something sharp and unhinged. The crazed gleam in his eye flickered under the dim lighting, like a fire burning just beneath the surface. Then, with an almost amused sigh, he shifted his weight, offering you a small, self-satisfied smile. "Don't worry. I made them pay for it."

You didn’t bother asking how.

Mark’s arm stretched behind you, draping lazily across the back of the pillows, his fingers idly toying with the fabric of your sleeve. Every casual brush of his fingertips sent a ripple of goosebumps across your skin.

"We were a good thing, you know," he mused, voice lower now, softer. gentle. "You didn’t fight me. You didn’t run. You loved me." There was a teasing lilt in his voice that you recognized.

That’s not so different here, you swallowed the thought, masking it with a roll of your eyes. "Did you love me?"

That made him pause. His gaze flicked to yours, brows furrowing slightly, like the question had caught him off guard. Then a slow smirk tugged at his lips, amusement flashing in his expression before he let out a low chuckle.

He leaned in so close you could feel his breath ghost over your lips. "Let me show you," he murmured, voice dark and filled with intent.

The air between you tightened as his hand trailed from your sleeve, fingers dragging along the bare skin of your arm, slow and deliberate. His touch was light, teasing, like he was waiting for you to react—to pull away or lean in.

You offered him nothing but a careful stare and the slow rise and fall of your chest.

His eyes narrowed, delighting in the challenge. His nose brushed against yours, his lips lingering just shy of touching.

Pull away, your brain screamed at you, ringing every warning bell it had in the book. This isn't right.

But his other hand came up, grazing along your jaw... and his fingers slid beneath your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes... all of it felt so familiar, like something out of a dream. And it'd been so long since you saw his brown wells, you couldn't tear your gaze away.

Your daze was broken when you heard him laugh again. He adored the way you frowned in confusion, the moonlight twinkling in the reflection of your eyes.

“Aww,” he cooed, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “look at you. So easy. This world’s Mark has left you all alone, hasn’t he?”

Your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as he tilted his head, watching you squirm.

“S'like you’ve been waiting for this," he hummed. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes darkened at whatever he saw.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours—you could feel him smiling. “Since he won’t.”

Stop, stop, stop. You wanted Mark, wanted him desperately, but not like this. Not with him.

You released the breath you were holding when he paused his fixation on your lips, head turning minutely to the side as if he was hearing something.

"For fuck's sake..." Mark scoffed, a low chuckle passing through his lips. "Speak of the devil."

What?

Mohawk Mark heard the whistle of air before you did, only clueing in when it grew louder. It reached a peak when a projectile CRASHED through your window—

You scrambled backwards on your mattress as splinters flew everywhere. Mark caught you before you tumbled off the bed, shielding you from the broken glass and wood.

"What's—" You began to ask, but over Mark's shoulder you saw him—the real Mark.

You just stared at each other for a moment, though you couldn't see much past his tinted goggles. But the slow scowl growing on his lips communicated all you needed to know.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Mark—the real one—growled. "Get off her."

Mohawk Mark laughed into your shoulder, turning to face him. "Why? She's not yours, is she?"

Mark's eyes twitched behind his goggles, abandoning his inhibitions and diving at him, grabbing his variant's hair and yanking him off of you—

"Mark..." you warned, fear bubbling in your gut.

—your caution fell on deaf ears; Mark threw him up and drove him through the floor.

"Mark!" you yelled behind him, feeling the air whip past your face, following him as he crashed into the living room below. "Shit—"

Squeaking as you fought against the slope of the cavity, your feet, only clad in socks, provided the worst possible grip and you began slipping down the gap. Your breath caught in your chest as you felt yourself plummeting—

"Hey." His voice was urgent yet comforting, his arms tightening around your body in seconds, pulling you back from the edge. "I got you."

Your hand instinctively gripped his shoulder, grounding yourself as you realized you were suspended in his embrace. As he gently descended to the floor, your eyes moved quickly, scanning the outline of his goggles.

"You... I guess you know now, then." His voice was low, heavier than usual, like a weight he’d been carrying finally released.

The moment your feet met the ground, you stepped back, your heart pounding. Across the room, Mohawk Mark was sprawled on the floor, blood leaking from his nose, unconscious for now. Your gaze flicked back to your Mark, heart still racing.

"Yeah, I know." You snapped, the anger rushing through you, the frustration and confusion bubbling up.

His expression faltered, something unreadable flashing across his face before he sighed, almost too quietly, as if he were disappointed in himself.

"You’re angry," he observed, his voice tinged with regret.

"No shit, I’m angry!" Your hand shot out, slapping against his chest before it balled into a fist at your side. Every inch of you was yelling at him, every question, every unspoken feeling, everything that had been left unsaid for the past two years. "The first time I've seen you in two years and it's—it's not even you?"

"I know, I know," Mark’s hands moved to his mask, tearing it off with an impatience that only grew when it caught on his nose. He grimaced as he yanked it free, tossing it to the side. The dim light of the room revealed the exhaustion etched into his face, but even through that, you could see him—the real him, just... different. Worn down, tired.

"I can explain."

"You better fuckin start."

"Be mad at me all you want, but look at this." His arms gestured wildly around your place. "I was right to not tell you! It could've been way worse, way sooner if you knew anything about what I was really up to. Why didn't you leave when Mom called you?!"

"The phone cut off, asshole, I didn't hear everything she said, and I certainly wasn't aware that you were the one behind Invincible—"

He shook his head, dismissing the topic. He stepped into your space and held onto your arms. "Did he touch you?"

"Get off me."

"Did he touch you?" He pressed, shaking you slightly as his grip tightened around your biceps.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the urgent crack in his voice. "Yes, but I let him."

He pulled away from you as if burnt. A heavy silence hung in the air, nothing but the clattering of broken floorboards crashing down from above.

"...He's a murderer, Y/N." He whispered, eyes narrowed.

You knew that. You knew he was right. "I was... vulnerable."

"He killed people—"

"Shut up," You snapped, cutting him off. "Don't lecture me; this is a nonissue. What was I supposed to do? Hm? Want me to pick up my fists and come out swinging like you did—"

"I thought he was hurting you!"

"My hero." You rolled your eyes, the words dripping with bitter sarcasm. You knew you were being unfair, maybe a little cruel, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You were exhausted from the many near death experiences you've somehow survived in the last few hours. Strung so tight you felt like you might snap.

Every inch of you was begging to cry and let him hug you like you both so clearly wanted... but the fact that it took something this bad to get him to show up? That hurt more than anything.

Mark stared at you, his face an amalgamation of emotions, like he couldn’t decide on one.

Should he be angry at you for being difficult, for making him work for this moment when all he wanted was to explain? Should he feel pain, the sharp ache in his chest that another Mark got to hold you before he did? Or was it jealousy, searing heat into his face, that another version of himself had been the one to touch you, to be close to you before he had the chance? Maybe... maybe it was the bittersweet happiness, the relief that he was finally standing here in front of you.

He didn’t even care that you were glaring daggers at him—he missed staring into your eyes, albeit hardened and displeased, making his heart race; the way you’d furrow your brow when you were frustrated, the way your voice would call out to him.

Mark’s hand twitched at his side, wanting to reach out, but he held himself back. Would you even allow it? The distance between you was far more than physical. He had a thousand things to say but in that moment, words felt hollow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he finally muttered, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than he intended.

Childish.

You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes again. "All that time and that's all you have to—"

Before you could finish, your world spun. The floor tilted beneath you as Mohawk Mark launched himself into you, sweeping you off your feet and through the door.

[]

"Y/N!" Mark yelled after you, breathing heavy in a panic. "No, no, no, no—" He launched himself from your home, bursting through the roof after you.

You barely heard him over the rushing wind. You clawed at Mohawk Mark's back, the height siphoning the air from your lungs. "Stop..." You ordered weakly.

"Changed your mind already?" He laughed, cradling you in his arms. Your head lolled against his chest. "Don't tell me you buy his bullshit."

"Mm..." The sharp ascent from ground level to the clouds made your head spin, vision darkening as you grew dizzier.

"You're fucking dead!" Your Mark came out of nowhere, shooting up beside Mohawk Mark and bashing his nose in. With a pained groan, he dropped you. "Shit—"

"Look what you made me do, dipshit!" Mohawk Mark snarled, shoving Invincible away and bolting after you.

"Don't—" Mark growled in frustration, racing against time. He watched as your limp body dropped helplessly against gravity.

It never changed. Whether he told you or not, you would end up in these perilous situations regardless. He cursed under his breath, catching Mohawk Mark's ankle and catapulting him into the night sky before pushing forward.

He collected you in his arms before it was too late, wasting no time as he shifted his direction and carried you off to GDA's hospital.

[]

The steady beep... beep... beep of your heart monitor was the first thing you tuned into upon waking up.

"Oh, good."

Your eyes fluttered open, slowly drifting towards Mark. He was bent over your cot, his hand on your forehead while staring down at you with stars in his eyes.

"You just passed out. Nothing serious, but I wanted to make sure." He mumbled, pulling back.

Your eyes drifted back to the ceiling, unfocused and hollow. There was too much—too much to process, too much to feel, too much weighing down on your chest all at once. It pressed against your ribs, thick and suffocating, a tidal wave crashing over you before you could even take a breath. Every nerve in your body screamed with something—fear, exhaustion, embarrassment, confusion—but it all blended together into one overwhelming, crushing force. Your mind was shutting down for its own sake.

The sounds around you dulled into distant echoes, the weight of your own limbs barely registering. Your chest rose and fell, but it felt mechanical.

"Y/N?" Mark whispered, brows furrowing in concern. "Hey." he poked your shoulder.

You shook your head, turning away from him as tears pooled in your eyes. God, you felt so embarrassed.

Mark frowned when you shifted away from him, any comfort he planned to offer dying in his throat. "I'm... sorry." was all he could say.

Nothing.

His leg bounced nervously, chewing at his lip as he fought with his own emotions. "I want to kill him for putting hands on you."

Your brows tightened. Not what you wanted to hear either.

He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair. "M'sorry for blowing up at you. It's not your fault—"

"It is." You sniffled. "I missed you... so much, that I pretended that he was you..." you choked on the words, turning your back to him and burying your face into the pillow. "How pathetic is that?"

Mark's heart squeezed, kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the bed next to you. "Stop. Not your fault." He reiterated.

You scoffed and shook your head, laughing wryly. He frowned, and pulled you to face him. He saw your tears and felt his own pile up behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I told my.... uh, last relationship that I was Invincible. It didn't end well for her, and I didn't want to put you in that same position. Always unsure, always in danger, always waiting..."

"I'm not her, Mark." You muttered.

"I know." He pursed his lips. "I was gone for months at a time—"

"I waited two years for you, didn't I?" You pushed away from him and sunk back into the cot. "You didn't even give me a chance."

Childish. That’s how you sounded. Because in the end, that’s all you two were—two kids who once grew up side by side finding each other once more, with all the petulant hurt coming through the surface.

A beat of silence passed between you, with nothing but your heart monitor to keep the time.

"You said he touched you." He started.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "...don't bring that up."

"No, I want to know." He shifted his weight, hovering over you. His face was painted with something foreign, green-eyed and greedy. "Show me."

Heat blossomed on your face as you lay in his shadow. "Mark..." You laughed nervously. "It was barely anything."

"You missed me so much you had to settle for that." Mark didn't look away from you for a second. "I want to give you the real thing."

You screwed your face up. Again, the thought passed through your mind: you wanted Mark, but not like this. "I don't want this to be a pity thing."

"No," Mark shook his head firmly. "not pity. Everything I feel for you has been there since... since I can remember. And it fucking boils my blood that a different version of me got to you before I had the balls to do it myself. Please," he whispered. "I need this."

"Need what?"

"You." He answered, like the answer was obvious. To him, it was. "I'm done waiting around."

You blinked at him before a soft smile spread across your face. "Me too."

Mark's lips brushed against yours with a gentleness that made your heart ache. He cupped your face in his hands, and you melted into him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

You let out a soft sigh when his lips parted slightly, allowing you both to breathe. You pressed forward, kissing him harder, feeling the intensity of everything that had been building between you over the years—years of longing, of waiting, of wanting something more.

Mark responded with equal hunger, his hands sliding down your back, pulling you closer. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart pounding against yours.

Where had he touched you? Mark didn't care anymore. By the time he was done with you, you'd know his touch and his alone, and he'd know every inch of you like the back of his hand. He wasn't leaving this room without it. He was allowing himself to be selfish for once; for you, it was worth it.

He sat back on his haunches, tugging his gloves off by his teeth before diving back into you, sliding his bare fingers underneath your shirt, sighing into your mouth as he squeezed your skin in his palm.

"You'll never need anyone ever again," He nosed your cheek, trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck. "Promise."

This time, you believed him.

— wayyy too self indulgent lmk if it was boring at places :)

© invoncible

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

Fallout leaves you scrambling for who really has your back and who doesn't. The Empire reaches the western sect and lays down the law. You're given one hell of an apology. 

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

"Tch, that many times that fast isn't possible." Clearly you've never had lesbian sex. NSFW

[Part one] [Ao3] [24] [Chapter Index]

25 * Alliances [15.3k]

        Behind Mohawk's boots, the stars passed by. Unknowing, uncaring of your plight, spasming on the floor, drooling at the mouth. You tried to imagine there was something out in the universe that would save you. Something righteous that wouldn't let this happen. But no God comes bashing trough the window, you were left to fend for yourself like you had in prison, under Machine Head, in the desert. It was never-ending.

        You didn't see him as you were facing the window, but Gray was at the top of the stairs, fists clenched. You didn't hear him, were too scared to move and set off another spasm fit. But he heard everything, wanted to step in when he heard you scream, saw you drop to your knees. Heard your heart hammering in terror- but that was it, you were still alive- weren't you? He knew Mohawk would take some sort of disciplinary action. Viltrumites were not a forgiving people. If Gray's version of you had acted like that, a higher up would have killed her before he even got a say. The fact you were alive after that clear disrespect was paramount to Mohawk's care for you. Still, he hadn't told Gray about this... collar, he'd called it. Supposed it could corral you, but did he really have to go to such barbaric measures? Gray would have started by taking away more simple pleasures and amenities like his mother had done when he disobeyed as a child. You were a human from an Earth unclaimed by the Empire, you didn't know what you were up against.

        Mohawk didn't look at Gray. The man was an afterthought that Mohawk knew wouldn't step in. Gray was already proving to be a good lap dog, you could learn a thing or two from him.

       Mohawk spoke, "Oh, don't pout." You weren't pouting, you were in acute shock. "You knew I'd have to curb your bullshit eventually. This is really your fault for acting out." Now that you were subdued, hurting, his voice took a smooth, balmy tone. "I still care about you. I wish things didn't have to be this way." Only your eyes moved, rolling in their sockets towards his voice, set reddened on him like a sick dog. Your mouth moved but no sounds come out, throat pulsing with pain. "Don't look at me like that, I mean it. I'll take it off once you learn to behave, but until then." Mohawk knelt down and got a better look at your face, pressed to the floor and stupid. He reached toward your neck, sleeve dragging in your pool of spit, and tugged on the metal heart in the collar's middle. "I've gotta keep a better handle on you is all. Doesn't mean I love you any less."

        Kregg's voice buzzed in his ear.

        "I have to go. Duty calls, you know?" The only response he got was the malice twinkling in your teary eyes. He patted your cheek. "I won't take you along. You can go wherever you like, except you know, the stuff I've restricted because it's too dangerous for a human. Just be back in bed by one o'clock. If you're not well..." Another tug at the collar, but there's no humor in his voice like there normally was. "It's got a tracker, I'll find ya." 

        You couldn't roll out of the way as he leaned forward to place a kiss on your tear-slicked cheek. Mohawk paused as he pulled away. "Shit, right we don't have clocks you could read." Kregg said something else in his ear. Ever since he got back, it was all work, no play. "I'll just have someone get you if I'm busy."

        He rose to his feet and finally caught Gray's eye. "I told you to leave, didn't I?"

        Behind Gray's back, his hands were fists. "You did, sir. But.." His eyes flickered to you, just as much a weakness to him as you were to Mohawk.

        "Well-" At that moment, Markus burst into the room. He heard the scream from nearby and rushed over to find this- you twitching on the ground. He went to grab for you but Mohawk blocked him with his legs. "She's fine. Just a little disciplinary action."

        Markus thought you'd get a talking to. Thought maybe the Emperor would be more like himself, fuck you and not let you cum as punishment but this was certainly not that. "She doesn't look fine."

        Markus looked around Mohawk. Saw you shivering and crying. Saw the collar locked around your neck and was transported back in time. You'd been a collared submissive in his dimension, nothing as flashy as what Mohawk had you in, but it was the symbolism that mattered. You'd wanted it, asked for it even when he was hesitant. He came around to it, loved pulling you around but with consensual preamble. This was beyond that. You hadn't wanted this. You resisted. You were scared, he could hear your heart's stuttering beats. He was reminded of your face right before he snapped your neck. 

        "Might be touchy for a few minutes but my sensors say she's completely fine." Mohawk replied. You still hadn't turned to look at them, he could barely make out your face in the glass. 

        He wanted to rip the Emperor's head from his flared collared shoulder. But he couldn't. There was too much at stake, your safety for one. All Markus could do was feel a deep mourning in his chest. He'd find a way to dig you out of the grave you dug yourself. He'd pull you out kicking and screaming if he had to, as long as he could get that horrible thing off you. 

        He had to at least try saying, "Are you sure about that? She doesn't respond well to-"

        "Who's the Emperor?" 

        Markus shut his mouth. Mohawk smirked, "Good. Now, I want you both with me, there's something we have to attend to down in medical." Where Markus had just been. 

        "We're taking her there?" Gray asked, voice hopeful.

        "No. She needs time alone to think." Mohawk said.

        "Then I'm not going." Markus said.

        "Neither am I."

        Mohawk's eyes narrowed on them. "An' here I was thinking you two were shapin' up to be real ass lickers. Look at you, standin' up to me. Should kill you for that." He didn't sound it, but Mohawk was mildly impressed. Everyone in the empire bent a knee to his will, but not these other versions of him despite being so thoroughly outnumbered and outclassed.

        "You know you can't." Markus said, stepping closer to you. "Do what you need to do but I'm not-"

        "Go." Talking burned like bile coming up a raw throat. They all turned to you. Still in the same spot on the ground. 

        Markus's brow pinched, "I'm not leaving you."

        If he wanted his stupid plan to work, he had to. If you ever wanted to free again, he had to. You didn't think about that in the moment though, you could only think about the humiliation of them seeing you like this. Scorned them for not being faster, for not stopping this before it happened. Angry at everyone and everything. "Just go." 

        "Mm. Look at you agreeing with me already." Mohawk went for the stairs. "Should'a done this sooner."

        The duo was hesitant behind Mohawk, throwing concerned glances over their shoulders but if they wanted to rise the ranks, get enough intel to navigate this place and bide time until Angstrom was usable? They had to go, so they did. 

        Again, you were alone. 

        Scared, angry, and hurting. Knowing the only way to thrive was to act the same way you had under Machine Head. Never reacting to his jabs, doing whatever he said. You had made it work sometimes content with things, but this was worse. Not only because of the mixed feelings involved but the fact that you had gotten a taste of freedom with Machine Head's death. In the desert there was danger, but you heeled to no master. It was nice not holding your tongue, being happy, yourself- while it lasted. You should've known it would end like this.

        Except this wasn't the end. You weren't dead. After some time you peeled your spit-stuck cheek off the floor and sat up. The first place you went was the kitchenette, looking for scissors. There was a tiny pair, good for cutting ends off plastic wrapping. It didn't make a dent in the flexible material wrapped around your neck.

        You left the observation deck entirely. The whole place tainted. This whole ship tainted because wherever you went, Mohawk would know where to catch you. You meandered aimlessly, looking for a place to curl up to hide and cry. There was Mohawk's room but there way no way you'd go there voluntarily. There was the lab, but you couldn't get in without Mohawk, weren't even supposed to be in there without supervision. Maybe Mark's cell if you could find it. Wouldn't it be so satisfying for him to see you like this? He'd say you deserved it, should've seen it coming. The thought makes you want to hurt him but you can't anymore, you'd been thoroughly declawed.

        You wandered aimlessly. Ended up a few levels higher than where you'd been. When you saw him down the long hall wearing grays and having that face, it didn't register that he doesn't have a mohawk. You turned, head down, and looked for a door to disappear in but go corpse still when he calls out, "Oh shit, hey (Y/n)!"

        You were coming up with things to say, biting, but not enough to warrant another round when he swings around your front. So clearly not Mohawk you almost sighed with relief. 

        Seb took one look at you and said, "Whoa, you look like shit."

        You scowled, "Don't act stupid. You knew this was coming." Your voice came out raspy. You immediately regretted it, thinking he could have a remote control too. You flinched, expecting a shock. 

        Seb blinked. "What?" He was too busy checking you out to notice the collar until you lifted your chin. "Whoa? Is that new? Emperor dude get it for you, huh? Kinda cute." He reached out to tug on it teasingly, "Didn't think you for someone who'd be into-" but paused when you flinched away.

        "Don't play dumb." Except you didn't think he was, you're fishing for answers. Wondering if Markus's horrified face had been genuine, if Seb's was, if Gray's hesitation had been knowing.

        "Look dude, I'm plenty dumb but I can't be dumb if I dunno what we're talkin' 'bout." 

        You pulled on the collar as you told him what it was. By the end of it, you were about to keel over crying but you held it in, barely. 

        "Uh oh..." Seb scratched the back of his neck just for something to do with his hands, "No. No, I didn't know about that. Do you uh, want some help?" You silently nodded, lips sucked in trying not to cry. Seb reached out but didn't touch before he asked, "This isn't gonna kill you right?"

        "I don't think so." Your laugh was humorless. "The last time it shocked me so hard I almost pissed myself." You had to try. Mohawk said only he could take it off, maybe it extended to the variants. "Do it."

        "Please don't piss yourself." His hands came to either side of the collar, gently curling under the material. You braced for impact that didn't come- not until he started to pull.

        Your body was melting everywhere, all at once. The tears came loose, your knees turned to jelly. Seb caught you before you fall, kneeling down and letting you go limp against him. He stopped as soon as he felt a tickle in his fingers that was much, much worse for you.

        "Holy shit. Holy fucking shit." He believed you but thought you were exaggerating. Rex always had. Mohawk really was crazy.

        Across the ship, Mohawk felt a vibration in his wrist cuff,  lifting his arm to look at it. 1 shock administered. Followed by a pull up of the nearest camera, snug into the corner of a hall. He saw your heaving back, Seb holding you upright on the ground. He knew at least one of them would be sympathetic to your plight, try and help when they shouldn't. Not that he'd told Seb not to but come on, man, bro code.

        Gray peaked over his arm but didn't catch a glimpse, looking away when Mohawk glared. Markus got a peak while he was distracted. At least you were alive enough to cry. He could tell by the shake of your back.

        You were conscious but couldn't get your legs back under you. Everytime you tried, something would twitch or go too loose or tight and you'd fall. Seb kept you upright, head hooked over his shoulder.

        "Dude, stop, you gotta lie down." He floated slow, scared he'd somehow give you shaken baby syndrome moving too fast. The journey wasn't far. In the end, you realized he was a few flights and a hall away from Mohawk's room. 

        You were in a haze. Uncontrollably dripping tears onto Seb's shoulder until he laid you down onto his mattress. You looked up at an empty white ceiling and didn't look away for some time. 

        Seb hovered over you, constantly scared you'd die or seize out. He'd been with Rex through plenty of bad trips and a few overdoses. Sometimes he thought Rex wasn't going to make it, that he was going to be totally alone in the world because nobody got him, not like Rex did. But he always found a way to pull through. Rex survived Dad's suggestion of killing  him for being a 'bad influence', survived the takeover of Earth because he cooperated. Rex didn't survive the rebellion, Eve got revenge for what Rex had helped Seb do to those Guardians losers. He'd been so alone for so long, just coasting by while Dad or other Viltrumites bossed him around. Then he met you and Oliver, but guessed he wasn't allowed to have nice things because Oliver was dead and you were just a human stuck in an impossible situation. He couldn't lose another friend. 

        Somehow he played it cool. Casual when your neck stopped randomly tensing and your hand stopped curling into a fist. "So uh, why would he do that?"

        Your eyes moved to him. Stood by the open hole in the wall that was his dresser, hung with four duplicates of the same outfit he was wearing. The room was jail-cell tiny and just as unfurnished. A bed and a dresser and probably a bathroom hidden in the walls. The sheet you were laid on was blue. You wanted to get up, get away from the color like it'd done this to you but you knew it was a bad idea. 

        "He made me a dog." You said.

        Seb cringed and turned away. You thought he was feeling the sting of second hand embarrassment at your crying, he hadn't handled it well before. In reality, Seb was digging out a hidden bottle from his closet. "Uh. One'a those alien guys showed me where they kept some'a the meds. Think he thought I was the Emperor at first or soemthin' cuz he let me take this whole thing." He presented a white bottle, stamped with Viltrum's logo. Alien language labeling its contents in tiny text. "All I know is, I drank a whole bottle and I got pretty drunk the first night back. So for a human I wouldn't take more than a cup full but..." He held it out to you, "Want some?" He wasn't good with comforting words, but he was good to get drunk with.

        You took the bottle and shimmied up onto your elbows. Seb sat himself at the foot of the bed, watching as you poured the milky liquid into a bottle cap and threw it back. It burned going down, hit your stomach like a bomb, you had to keep yourself from puking it back up.

        Mohawk watched your vitals on his wrist screen when he should have been paying attention to the Martian bio-engineer. Your heart rate and blood pressure were a given to monitor but he'd also had an atmospheric breathalyzer installed and somewhere near you, something fatally alcoholic had been introduced to the environment. He lowered his wrist, knowing you'd be fine. The old you had kept a bottle of that same toxic poison hidden for emergencies awhile ago. Almost drank yourself to death before he found it and got rid of the thing. Killed a decent number of medical wing staff to get the point across to never give you random drugs. Hopefully, you didn't develop a taste for it. Synthetic Eskewnian blood was hard to synthesize and too useful to run out of.

        You leaned over the bed, holding your head as light-headedness washed over you faster than with codeine. Seb took the bottle and drank deeply. He lowered it, sheer white liquid rolling down his chin.

        "Man, that tastes like ass." You didn't respond. He glanced at you, face grave. So he took a breath, and as though he was the head of a bomb squad, asked quietly and carefully, "Do you wanna talk about what happened?"

        "No." You snapped. "Literally anything else. Please."

        Seb had stories, stupid ones but he drew blank after blank. The Empire had infected his mind. Made him remember what he'd rather forget. It came out, hot and bitter like puke, "You know, I was part of the Empire in my universe too." You gave him a withering look. "What? It's not about your..." Calling Mohawk your boyfriend right now felt mean, "That dickhead." He corrected. You looked away and he took it as a go-ahead. "All this shit's crazy new to me too. Like, I knew they'd be uptight and all but geez man these uniforms? Go right up your ass if you're not careful." He waited for you to laugh, you didn't. "I mostly stayed on Earth as a like, enforcer for the rebellion you know? I didn't care about it though, it was all my Dad's idea. I just kinda coasted by, did enough stuff they wouldn't be mad at me." Even if he had gone above and beyond, Dad would still have found a way to be disappointed. Just the nature of their relationship.

        You were swaying slightly in your seat now. "Soooo, what's coasting on Viltrum, committing only partial genocides?" You recalled what Omni Man said on TV. What the media openly speculated he had planned.

        Seb sighed and leaned forward on his knees, "Yeah, but like, I stalled a lot. Not cuz I'm a pussy or whatever but cuz these guy's are always on your ass to work. It's like can a guy please take a month to find a rebel planet but mostly smoke Saturn's seventy-fourth moon gas station weed?"

        "When I said I didn't wanna talk about it I meant all of this shit. Even that stupid planet." You slurred.

        "Ah, shit my bad."

        "No," you waved him off, changing your mind on a dime, your brain a soup from both the alcohol and repeated shocks, "It's fine. I should know more about this stupid shit anyway, cuz guess whose gonna be forced to be empress one day!?" You looked around, faux searching before pointing at your chest, "Me!" 

        "Jesus. That's gotta be heavy. And you can't say no if he's got you in a shock collar like a freakin' dog." Seb kicked out his feet. "Man, Oliver would hate it here. He was smarter than me, he'd probably have figured out how to piss off by now. Wouldn't wanna be around all these scary ass old heads with sticks rammed up their asses."

       "You're smart." You said only because you were drunk, "You can figure stuff out."

        "You can too." Seb said, "You're in a better position than I am to do shit. I just get told to guard empty hallways and write down the temperatures. You got way more opportunities to like, spy."

        "Oh." Seb said stupidly. "Just don't get caught then?"

        "Plan's already blown before it started dude." You pulled at the collar, your terror of messing with it delayed from the alcohol, but a shock didn't come. You go on, "This thing's got a tracker. Probably knows I'm drunk. He knows everything I'm doing all the time, dude."

        Seb went pale. "Shit. Uhm." He scooted closer, lowered his head to be in line with your neck. "You know I'm just jokin' right bro? Lil bit'a drunk thoughts from a dumbass. I love this place actually, way better than my last apartment. Good beds, no roaches." He had no idea if there was a microphone and camera or not, but he was taking zero chances.

        You laughed at him. "You're a shitty liar."  A flash of your earlier encounter with Mohawk made you cringe. You couldn't believe you let him finger you like that. Then the meeting, maybe you did want to talk about it, "Can you believe that shit at the meeting?"

        Seb rolled back onto his palms, "Pretty crazy dude. I thought that old lady's head was gonna explode." He paused to take a drink. Continuing when his lips weren't wrapped around the bottle rim. "Soon as you left, she was like 'lets murder (Y/n)' and everyone was like 'uhhhhh no you decrepit, weirdly sexy old lady, stop.'"

        You decided to ignore most of what he'd said. The fear that should have come with that knowledge was dulled in your inebriation. "Is she the oldest bitch here?"

        "Uhhh, she looks old so that's a bad sign for how far she is up the empire's ass. Lucan, the bald guy, he's like three thousand and looks thirty so she's like... seven, eight thousand? I dunno."

        You blinked, not even really comprehending what that meant. Omni man had implied they lived a long time, but eight thousand years? Your head dipped as you looked down at him, "How fucking long do you guys even live?"

        "Uhhhh." Seb rubbed at his temples that now throbbed with subtle drunkenness. "Think Dad told me one time uhhh... Man, I think I was like fifteen and really high so lets say... Forever? But hey, Viltumites are always going to war and killing eachother, so they still die a lot."

        You groaned and pulled at your face. "God. All this alien bullshit makes my head hurt."

        He laughed and patted your thigh as he said, "That's just cuz you're drunk off mystery juice."

        True. "Ok yeah, but you know what I don't get then? If he's going to live forever and I'm here," your arms felt light and floaty as you held them overhead, "wearing this," you pointed down to your neck, "when I'll live max eighty years. Why couldn't he be obsessed over some immortal bitch instead of me?"

        "I mean, our medicines probably will hella extend your life but like. He loved you before he knew about most of the alien shit, so there's that. Also, no offense, you can't fight back like a Viltrumite could." The longer Seb talked the more he realized, "This is so fucked up, dude." You sat up, head bobbing. "Whoa bro, don't move so fast."

        "I'm just..." You wanted to get up walk around, try and forget. Your legs still feel weak and you could barely sit upright. You ended up flopping to the side, head falling limply on his shoulder. "This sucks."

        Seb went tense but didn't push you off. It was nice having someone who actually wanted him around. "Should you be doin' that? He's probably watchin' us right now."

        "He doesn't care what happens to me." You slurred and when he was still stiff under you, you added, "I'm not gonna fuck you by the way."

        "Didn't say that."

        "Sorry I just-" You ached all over, head light and stupid. "-Feel like everyone wants something from me all the time."

        "Look bro, you're hot and all but I'm not gonna fuck around when you're all sad n' shit." He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, "Boner killer and like... I think you just like need a buddy right now, ya'know?" He knew, because he needed one too. He'd prefer if the companionship came with some sex but that could be later, when things weren't so messed up. 

        You leaned harder into him, cheek squishing on his shoulder. "Thanks."

        ***

        "So you can do it?" The Emperor asked.

        He'd kept a running tab of who did what in the desert. Phantom worked with GDA tech, had it all over his suit. If anyone could turn that awful ringer into an implant, it'd be Phantom.

        "It'd take time to fix it. Then convert it from Earth tech to Viltrum tech." Phantom was sat back in the same room you'd found him in. The alien doctor finishing up the last of the calibrations after his own limbs had sent thousands of volts into his muscles. Mohawk stood framed in the door, his two newest sentries stood on their side of him, forcing their faces blank. 

        Phantom had run into the debilitating frequency before. After his Dad was imprisoned, Phantom was summoned to Atlantis to atone for his father's slaying of King Aquarus. The GDA thought they wanted him to marry the queen but he was actually tried by combat. He fought a monster that screeched so loud his eardrums burst and rendered him nearly useless. Mohawk nodded along to the story, because he had received the same summoning, but just killed everyone living in Atlantis. Killed the monster so fast he didn't get a chance to hear it. The first time he heard it was fighting the Reanimen in your reality. 

        Before Angstrom came to Grayson, Cecil had been threatening to put a chip in his head, to control him. After everything Dad did he'd gotten rougher with criminals, killed them when he hadn't before. Cecil thought he was just lashing out, that he'd heal but on the inside Phantom had rotted entirely. There was no sweet hero left in him, only a mourning, murderous thing that wanted you back by any means necessary.

        The Empire didn't have the tech to replicate the hyper-specific frequency just yet, but something needed to be done about Scars and Lensless. Thula and Lucan were strong, fast, and wise beyond their years but they were needed on the battle front when they get closer to the rebel planets. They couldn't be babysitting those assholes the whole time. The solution, a chip implanted in their brain that screeched at them anytime they got out of line, just like Grayson had been threatened with. 

        "Our scientists can help speed that along." Mohawk's words weren't generous. He needed as many eyes as possible on Phantom to keep him honest. He knew the little freak was a planner, if he worked alone he'd try to put something in the code. And of course, the Emperor was always right, he was already thinking of ways to use this opportunity to his advantage. 

        "Thank you." Phantom said robotically. "For that and," his mechanical limbs moved, not as smoothly as he'd like, but it was better than before, "these. I know that must've been costly on your part." He was thankful but he still had concerns, "But..." Mohawk's lips thinned, Phantom knew he should show submission, especially after he swore loyalty not two minutes ago but he had to ask, "Why keep them alive in the first place? I know you need soldiers but can't we find people from other planets who would fight for us? Those two are an unnecessary risk."

        Markus and Gray agreed though they didn't show it.

        Mohawk surprised Phantom by saying, "Look, I don't want them around either but we need all the Viltrumites we can get. They're already causing problems." On the way here, a servant came running to Mohawk, frantic about the murdered pilot in the cockpit. Viltrum ships didn't technically need to be steered, for the most part it was self sufficient, powered by algorithms they'd been improving for centuries, the pilot was there in case those systems broke down- which they never did. Pilot was a position for idiots, that was why an alien with half a brain was stationed as one.

        Scars had killed the thing before poking and prodding around the cockpit. Hunting for secrets, a way to take full control of the ship. Thula had let him, knowing the pilot was useless and the tech was near infallible. It was a blatant show of disrespect for Mohawk's belongings and she had sent him a message that was ignored as he was busy with you, before sending a servant to intercept him.

        Then there was Lensless who was always trying to get Lucan to fight him. Lunging at him whenever and wherever he could. The two ended up bashing through a few walls that the servants were still trying to repair. Mind you, this is all before meal time. They needed to be put on a tighter leash. 

        "I can't dispose of them yet, it'd be easier for everyone if they could do stuff without taking up my lead officers' days." Mohawk said.

        There was an added bonus of letting them roam the ship without babysitters. If you ran into them alone, they'd nip at your heels, chase you around like a bunch of rabid school boys. Without the assumed protection of Thula and Lucan to stop them, you'd be so scared you'd run right back into Mohawk's arms, his protection. You'd come to see there were scarier and worse versions of him to hate. You'd come to forgive him to know you were wrong. 

       Phantom could almost see this thought on Mohawk's face, because he'd have done the same thing. In fact, if he played his cards right, you'd run into his arms instead. "Understood. Show me the lab and I'll get right to work."

        ***

        For awhile, you sat drunk, leaning on Seb. Wetting the collar of his uniform so close to what his supersuit had been but in gray with Viltrum's logo on the chest. Even though you'd taken a third of a shot, your head still swam a half hour later. You should-

        Something in Seb's uniform vibrated. He lifted his forearm. A rectangle in the fabric glowed to life, displaying blue text. Mealtime available until 37:30. "Do you wanna go get lunch?"

        "You read my mind."

        "Actually this little fuckass iPod read your mind." 

        "That is not an iPod."

        "Tomato tah-mato."

        Seb led you down the halls and downstairs. Explaining the whole way while you both stumbled over your feet. Soldiers had strict time schedules they had to adhere to. You caught Seb between tasks. He was supposed to take a whole hour to check oil reserves that the ship did for itself anyway. He half-assed the job and went to take a nap when he ran into you.  

        If he missed his time slot, the door to the mess hall simply wouldn't open for him. It was now or wait thirty hours till his next designated meal time. He'd survive, he'd gone a lot longer without eating in the desert, but he preferred to eat. They helped him almost forget the smoked and dried taste of his own flesh.

        Oh, that was another fun fact you'd somehow missed in your misery, the whole ship ran on Viltrum time where days weren't twenty-four hours but fifty. When Mohawk said be back by one, he meant tomorrow morning. Twenty-something hours from now, while he worked all the way through that time like it was nothing. Jesus. 

        The door opened just fine, even with you in tow. Unlike other rooms, the furniture was out without the probing of a floor button. A handful of thick tables waited all with a single chair pulled up. Surfaces metal and shining under harsh white light. There was no kitchen staff milling about or window to order food from. Seb trotted to the closest table and borrowed a chair from an adjoining table. 

         He flopped down on the chair, tall high-back and white, and patted the one next to him. You slid into it, asking, "Do Viltrumites like... Photosynthesize or?"

        Seb snorted as he touched a finger to the table. A screen flashed. Ah. Of course, another hidden screen. It was a menu, showing off today's options from the kitchen without photos and all the descriptions were vague. Meat dish with fiber. Gluten, that's it, just the description gluten.

        "Whadd'ya want?" Seb asked. "This one's my favorite." He tapped on hydrating meat dish adding it to his order. You stared at the screen, too drunk for this. "I know it's a lil weird at first, but everything I've had here isn't actually bad, better than those bugs." 

          After what Mohawk did, you weren't very hungry but you knew you should eat, couldn't remember the last time you had. It'd also help with how drunk you were, keep the buzz but not the stumbling. So you pointed to the thing that seems the most normal within your tastes. Seb added it to the order and sent it to the kitchen, no payment required. Viltrum erased all need for currency exchange. They did things for each other to keep the empire running without the corrupting force of money. If only Argall could see his empire was a corrupting force to the rest of the universe.

        Seb told you the kitchen was under your feet, you remembered vaguely Mohawk telling you it took up a whole level. When they were ready the dishes would be sent up through the thick table support which was actually a chute. You killed time trying to joke but everything fell flat. You still couldn't believe the collar was there, though the longer you wore it, the less you felt the weight.

        The door slid open, bringing a familiar huffy voice with it.

        "Okay, okay- I'm going inside." You saw a Mark step inside, one-eyed and skirtless, followed closely by Lucan. Lensless dragged his heels, uncaring that Lucan was pushing him into the mess hall. "Look, we made it, will you fight me now?"

        "No sir." Lucan sounded exasperated, adding flatly, "Perhaps once you've eaten."

        "You said that last time." Lensless countered.

        "Eat." Lucan said.

        "What if I don't?" Lensless spun on him, grinning and cracking his knuckles, "You gonna try n' make me? Gonna fight me?" 

        "No." 

        "Uggggggghhh. Everyone here is soooo lame." His head rolled on his shoulders. His working eye became a disc when he spotted you, slumped over a table with Seb who looked just as surprised to see him. "Oh! (Y/n)! Thank God I was getting so bored with this loser." He floated over and pulled up a chair that he slammed down next to yours. 

        Seb leaned down just to be fully visible past your frame. "Uh, she's already sittin' with me dude." Was the best defense he had.

        Seb hadn't seen Lensless or Scars anywhere besides the meetings. He liked to keep it that way, with how things ended in the desert. Everytime he thought about Scars he got so angry the blood rushed in his ears and he couldn't feel his fingers, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was weak. Needed to use all the free time his slacking gained him to get stronger. Avenge Oliver. Protect you.

        "Do you know how friends work? Did you know you can have multiple at a time? Crazy, right?" Lensless scooted his chair so close it scraped against your own. His shoulder brushed yours as he tapped at the order screen and snagged himself a protein dish (living). He turned over his shoulder, "Hey Lulu, what do you w- Why are you sitting over there?" He pouted at the man, sat three tables back. Relieved to have two seconds without the man glued onto his boot. 

        "Watching you." Lucan replied dryly. If he was being honest, Lucan was happy for the partial break in Lensless's constant steam of violence-seeking attention. Lucan was stronger, better than the boy, but any retaliation or reaction only riled the boy up more. He could only passively deal with this annoyance for so long. 

        Lensless huffed but made no more arguments as he sent his order through.

        "Sour puss." His attention snapped back to you, "That meeting was crazy, right? You've missed the last few. Where have you been?" He sounded like a long-term gal pal. Even shuffling closer like you wanted him there. You held your tongue, it wasn't like you could make him move away.

        You didn't reply. Seb voiced your discomfort, saying, "She doesn't wanna talk to you, bro."

        "Aww! You're letting me do the talking for both of us! You're so considerate (Y/n)." Lensless half hugged you, pulling you hard to his side by your waist, nuzzling his face into your neck. The way you went stiff at the contact was expected, but the feeling something that wasn't skin against his face was not.

        He pulled back a bit, ignoring your clear discomfort.

        "Hey," he unwound his arm from your side and reached for the collar, "What's this?"

        The way you jerked back and slapped his hand told him it wasn't, "Nothing," like you said.

        "It's obviously a necklace." Seb added.

        "Yeah." You scooted away, bumping your chair into Seb's. "A necklace."

        Lensless took that moment of silence to properly observe you, he saw telltale burst blood vessels in your eyes, irritated by recent sobbing.

        "You sound nervous." Lensless said casually. "Don't lie to me." Yet there was an underlying threat in his tone. If Lucan didn't reign him in, you and Seb were on your own.

        "I'm not, I just don't like being around you." You lied. 

        Lensless leaned forward, scrutinizing you with a single, mischief gleaming eye. Two trays of food rose up in the center of the table and he shot out of your personal space. Reaching for the gray tray holding a fleshy head with eyes still rolling in its sockets. Brains purple and glistening, tiny useless arms trying and failing to get it off Lensless's dinner tray. You and Seb watched in mild horror as he pulled out one of the things' eyes and popped it into his mouth. Shuddering with satisfaction as he bit down and raw eye juice splashed over his tongue. 

        "Look, we match." He said when he swallowed. His food was screaming.

        "Oh man." Seb sounded sick. "I wish I wasn't so hungry." He pulled your shared tray closer. His food was some sort of alien appendage, luckily very dead and without any eyes. It was purple with suction cups doused in a sauce that smelled of hot honey. He got to eating right away, slurping disgustingly with no use of the provided utensils. You picked at your food, trying not to think about the collar pressing on your throat every time you swallowed or how Lensless's food was still alive but could no longer scream.

        Lensless yammered on about everything. His new schedule- full- his work- mega boring- how Scars was doing- always training or trying to lose Thula.

         "I thought we'd have the same meal block together but I guess they knew that'd be a bad idea." He said, stirring the alien's open brains with a fork. "Which is true but kinda boring for me, so I'm so glad I get to sit with you. But I wanna hear about that guy he killed today. I had to make a servant tell me, but I wanna hear it from the actual guy himself. You know, he's really cool if you get past the edgy thing. He's great, really, you should hang out with us sometime (Y/n)." 

        Seb wiped slippery grease from his lips with the back of his hand. "Nobody wants to be your bro, bro."

        "I wasn't talking to you." Lensless chirped. "You're weak and that's suuuper boring but you," his eyes landed on the collar, oh no, "you haven't used your powers on me yet to make me shut up or go away. I think this is longest you've ever let me talk. Why is that?"

        "I'm practicing ignoring you." You said.

        "Mmm. No, that's not your style. You're always veryyy," he rolled his wrist, thinking, "forward even when it's like, really stupid to be. Just kinda weird. Are you feeling okay?" He laid a palm across your forehead. 

        "I'm drunk so I'm great, thanks." You tilted your head back but his touch didn't leave. No matter how you moved, he kept a hand on you. "Get off."

        "Mmmm, nah. Not unless you make me."

        Seb reached around you, grabbing Lensless by the wrist. "She said stop." 

        Lensless didn't move but he smiled. "What? Are you gonna fight me? That'd be kinda fun."

        They both know Seb would lose. Lensless would have a grand ole time painting the room with his blood. Lucan wouldn't do shit about it until Seb was near death. Then and only then would he take him to the medbay because he was needed for the Empire. 

        Seb wasn't used to being the weaker person. He was literally Invincible. He killed heroes and villains alike. Aliens and humans. He wasn't weak but Lensless was just... better. He wasn't used to being nervous. He could take a beating, but a fight here meant you in the crossfire and he couldn't lose another friend. "You're not gonna fight me on the ship, dude. We'd break a bunch of shit."

        "He might." Lucan deadpanned between bites of some glutinous jelly.

        "I think I will." Lensless dropped his fork, letting the prongs slip into the congealed brains. He pulled his fist back, angling it to swing around your neck and knock Seb's already notched nose more to the right. "If you don't want me to hit him, you better stop me (Y/n)."

        With their arms caged around you like locked bull horns, with Seb's life suddenly in your hands, you were scared. 

        "I..."

        "I can handle it." Seb barked. "This time I'll fuckin' kill you, shithead." Despite his words, he didn't swing first. 

        "Oh yeah?" Lensless's grin grew impossibly wider. 

        It'd been a few (Earth) days since they last fought. There was no way Seb had gotten any stronger since then. He was going to get fucked up for you. The only person you wanted hurt right now was Mohawk. "Stop it."

        "Hm. I don't feel the urge to stop? Are you really using your powers?" 

        "Don't." Seb urged. 

        "I can't, asshole." Your confession made everything go still. In that moment, Lensless's food mercifully died. 

        Lensless pulled his arm easily out of Seb's grip. Reaching around your flailing hand, pulled at the collar, jerking you closer by the neck. "I thought that's what it was. Lemme see." He pressed his thumb to the collar's middle, gently flipping the inside toward him. Surly enough, a small metal disc was inlaid to the alien leather. "Shock collar, nice! I mean kinda sucks you can't use your powers on me. Honestly, I wish I had a shock collar and you didn't and you also had the controls but-"

        "Dude." Seb said warningly, "Let her go."

        "God, you are so annoying. Do you ever shut up?" Lensless muttered, running a thumb over the disc. Imagining you shocking him with twenty-million volts. What a dream.

        "Seb, it's fine." You said. You could deal with Mohawk shocking you to near-incontinence. You could deal with an overly persistent, one-eyed Mark. Seb knew it wasn't fine, felt the salt burn of a bruised ego that you were protecting him. He let it slide because he thought you needed a win.

        "So why's this on you anyways. It's sooooooo cute on you but like, doesn't he want to expand the empire? Your powers could literally help. What is he, stupid?" He let the collar go, snap back into place around your neck before he idly felt along the metal heart on its outside. 

        Lucan didn't say anything despite him insulting the Emperor.

        "Some people don't get boners when I tell them to break their own legs."

        "Stop it!" Lensless playfully smacked your arm, not wanting you to stop. "You're embarrassing me! But ugh, I can not believe he doesn't like you using your powers. What a loser. Oh man, Marky's gonna be so mad when I tell him."        

        "Who?" You asked.

        "Shit. Don't tell him I called him Marky it makes him really mad." At your furrowed brow, he said, "You called him Scars."

        All at once, your guts were liquid. Mohawk was bad enough on his own. If Scars caught wind of the collar, it'd be over.

        "If you tell him I'll kill you." You spat. 

        Lensless can hear the fearful skip of your heart, can't keep the smile off his face at your reaction. "Look at you trying to threaten me right now. You're precious. What are you gonna do to stop me, use your powers?" 

        "I'll tell the Emperor you did some creepy shit to me." You said.

        "He's super mad at you right now, isn't he? I bet he'd be happy something bad happened to you. Plus, he'd check the cameras and whatever monitors are in that thing." He was right and it hurt.

        You had no other choice, grimacing as you said it. "Fine. What do you want in exchange for you not telling him?"

        "Dude-" Seb started, that was a bad fucking idea.

        Lensless didn't have to think. He said, "Hold my hand." He held out his palm facing up, "Just till we finish eating."

        You blinked at him. "Are you serious?"

        Lensless did a fake little pout, "Pleaaaassseeee?"

        You did it. Threaded your fingers between his, which wrapped warmly around yours. Oddly moisturized and soft. He occasionally squeezed your hand for assurance whenever you were quiet too long. You couldn't believe how easy it was, holding his hand, slotted perfectly into yours. Just like Mark's had.

        Lucan eyed your joined hands. Thinking it was pathetic, how weak he seemed to your forced affection. Surely the Emperor wasn't the same?

        Lensless continued chattering on and as promised, when mealtime was over (Lucan told him his time was up), he reluctantly let you go. You stacked the trays and watched as the center of the table descended, taking the dishes down to the kitchen.

        "By the way, next time you see me, I expect a kiss on the cheek when you say hello." Lensless said.

        "What? No. I already did what you asked." You hissed.

        "Sweetie, you were a gangster, you should know how extortion works." He clapped you affectionately on the back. "Oh and, I prommy I won't tell Marky, but if he sees that?" Lensless hissed through his teeth, "Yeaaaah, that's gonna go so bad."

        He left with Lucan, going down the hall with a happy wave and advised you to, "Wear a turtle neck or something!" 

        "God," Seb watched him go with a sneer, "I hate that guy."

        ***

        You ended up shadowing Seb for the next few hours. Following behind him like a ghost. Standing outside the room of whatever task he was set to do if the door decided to slam in your face. Mohawk had already set limits on where you could and couldn't go. Though the ship was massive, you felt the walls pressing in.

        You wanted to stay away from the room. From Mohawk. But time kept marching forward and your legs were getting tired. You found your way back to the room alone before one. He'd be pleased, much to your distaste but you weren't back early for him. 

        Mohawk found you in the closet, wearing her old clothes, asleep on the stool. You were still, peaceful, with the bodysuit you'd borrowed from him thrown on the floor. The clothes you were wearing were wrinkled and frumpy, dug from the depths of her wardrobe. He hadn't seen that hoodie and sweatpants combo in years, only worn on lazy days when you wouldn't leave the house back on Earth. You'd stolen it away, a little piece of Earth you wouldn't let him corrupt.

        He took you back to the bed. Preferring you'd wear the pajamas but knowing if he woke you up, you wouldn't be so pliant in his arms. He took solace in how you snuggled up to your pillow, contentedly humming. Again, seeing it as proof you wanted this deep down. 

        Mohawk knew you were hurt, emotionally, physically. But after the day of work all he wanted to do was hold you. So he did, after changing into his pajamas. He wasn't sorry, not at all. The collar was deeply sexual to him and he didn't intend to take it off. In the moment, he was soft and vulnerable. Hoping one day you'd come to understand why he had to collar you. Hoping one day you'd accept that you liked it.

        When you woke up, you were alone, but you could smell his cologne in the air. Found a black hair on his pillow. You left the room and a pattern was set. You found Seb if you could, wandered the ship if you couldn't. Avoided the others, only wore loose high necks. Felt time and boredom chipping away at you in this smooth empty ship, devoid of human touch. All hard edges and shiny walls. 

        You ate very little. You'd gone far longer in the desert, grown almost used to the hunger pangs. You slept twice a day by Viltrum standards. Every morning and night when you were in the room there was a tray waiting by the bed full of Earth foods Mohawk knew you'd like. You brought most of it to Seb, who'd complained about his eating time table. 

        You never slept in the bed if you could help it. Always falling asleep in the closet only to occasionally wake up on the bed. Mohawk was busy nearly all the time, quietly bent over his desk mulling over reports or on a video call with a distant alien ruler, cementing their loyalty to the empire. 

        Today was another day, except it wasn't. Your few hours of sleep were actually during the middle of Viltrum's day. Again, you fell asleep on the stool and Mohawk, again, brought you to the bed. You woke up, saw him at the desk and decided you didn't want to pretend to sleep. You ignored the tray of food and Mohawk sat at his desk and headed for the door.

        "Wait." It was the first thing he'd said to you in days. Whenever he was in the room, you pretended to be asleep. He knew you weren't but he still gave you space, as long as you didn't disrespect him. The collar had certainly worked in making you more respectful, but he couldn't quite count your silence as a victory.

        You went rigid at once. Suddenly angry and afraid, you shouldn't have gotten brave. Should've stayed in bed. 

        "We're gonna be stopping the ship in a few minutes." He said, not looking up from his papers. "Dunno how much you remember of that meeting, but we're almost where we need to be." You didn't respond. Not trusting yourself to not say something rude, you knew he'd shock you if you did. "I want you to stay in here while it's happening. My room is the safest place on the ship in case anything happens. Which I doubt will. The planets we're going to won't stand a chance." He turned to you then, offput by your silence. Only when he sees you does he realize, "I'm not gonna hurt you for talkin' you know?"

        "Are you sure?" It was a jab despite your best efforts. 

        He smiled, missing your voice even if it came with barbs. "I don't mind you being snarky, babe." He considered getting up, he wanted to touch you. This part of his plan was mostly for you, for her. You wouldn't fully understand, but he didn't want you to, not yet. "There's going to be ships from the Coalition there. I'm going to destroy them myself. Then the planets they asked for help? I'm going to kill every last worthless being on them, because they took you from me with their pathetic ideology. I won't let them do the same to you."

        You still had no idea what the Coalition was, why she had worked with them or what had even happened that led to him finding out. It felt like he wanted reassurance, to know if you were grateful or angry or something else. You were indifferent.

        "I don't care that you're killing people. I don't know why you're so fixated on me betraying you, I don't think it'd even work, there's no point." You bet she'd say something different, that she'd cry to hear his plans. The other you was brave for going against him, knew more about space politics than you ever would. She had the bandwidth to care, when all the care for other people's lives had been sucked out of you so young. You were nothing compared to her, a shell, a shadow, but here you were, Mohawk's pet all the same. Projecting that image of her onto you when you didn't even know where Viltrum was. 

        Mohawk was quiet for a moment, he made a mental note to see if there were any human safe depression medications on the planets that were set to be culled. "You've only been sleeping a few hours. You should get some more rest." Was his nice way of saying you weren't leaving the room till he deemed it safe. 

        You looked to the door, wondered if he'd shock you for disobeying. He definitely would. The thought makes all the fight leak out of you. You crawled back into bed, knowing he'd drag you back if you went to the bench. You didn't mind the comfort Martian silk brought.

        When he left to take his revenge, you were asleep. On your temple, he plants a kiss.

        ***

        The warship was stationed at the solar system's edge. Nowhere near as close as Kregg would've liked, but Mohawk wouldn't risk the ship being blasted- even if their artillery would only maybe scratch the ship's shell. He wouldn't have you fearing for your life.

        He, the council, and the Marks left the ship. System defenses set high if anything foreign got too close. The plan was one person per planet, hit hard, fast. Leave nobody alive, and when it was done, record a message featuring the heads of multiple planetary leaders. An official universe-wide announcement that the Empire was back and not to be trifled with. 

        Of course, the Coalition had ships monitoring the planets. The nosy assholes had numbers on their side. All a bunch of useless bleeding hearts from hundreds of planets with some sob story. Boohoo, the Empire killed my whole family! What a bunch of idiots. Being spared was a gift. A gift Mohawk and his men would take back.

        The Coalition ships stood no chance. All it took was a body shooting through their hulls like a bullet to make them implode. Then they scattered from planet to planet, wearing the stark Viltrum grays and whites that meant death to anyone who saw it. 

        It was carnage. The council worked through their planets methodically. Ensuring through hours they leveled every city and tore the heads off every man, woman, and child they saw.

        The Marks were messier. Gray was the closest to the council members. He ended lives quickly, leveled buildings by the square mile, going section by section, the way Conquest had taught him. Lensless who had worked with the empire and done this sort of thing many times, let people go on purpose just to hunt them down later. He rejoiced in being free from his babysitter like Scars also had for the mission. Killed lovers in front of lovers. He was the fastest but he made sure they all died slowly. 

         Phantom tried to kill fast but he was still unused to his new limbs. He heard purple-skinned people cry for mercy in a language he didn't understand and killed them anyways, unable to make himself care. He used the haze of strikes and arcs of blood as a meditation of sorts. He hadn't been in control in so long. It cleared his mind, gave him some time to plan his next move.

        Seb had killed so called rebels before, wasn't afraid of doing so, but on this scale he felt like a huge dick. He didn't have strict instructions like he usually did in his home dimension, he just had to kill all of them. But it was them or him so he did it, not happily, but as mercifully as he could.

        Mohawk and Scars had something in common. They both went hard on the aliens they found, left no room for mercy or running. Just a death that was long enough to feel some fear, then it was over. Letting out steam at their respective situations, thinking about you, always thinking about you.

        Markus being one of the physically largest of the Marks, was given the planet with the most advanced defenses, the planet most of the Coalition members were said to be staying on. Kregg wanted to test his mettle, see if he was strong as he looked. He was. The planet's population had dropped to zero in under four hours. It wasn't an easy job, he had to fight downright disgusting, and he definitely should've taken his time like the others, but he had to be the first one back to the ship.

        And he was. Flying so fast the layer of blood coating his body dried and burned off of him. He didn't bother to change, to lift the ozone stench of alien blood off his person. He went right to Mohawk's room where he knew you'd be. 

     The door slid open, DNA sensors thinking he was the Emperor, revealing you asleep in Mohawk's bed. The light from the hall slid across you in the dimmed room. You stirred, groaning and dreading talking to Mohawk. You knew any kind of violence riled him up, were dreading whatever he had planned. You sat up, rubbed your eyes to the sound of bootsteps coming closer. The door slid shut. It was Markus's silhouette you found outlined faintly in the light of a distant sun.

        He didn't wait for you to get out of bed to tell you what'd happened. Hundreds of thousands dead at his hands. The solar system would be completely dead in a few hours. You just blinked up at him, you knew you should cry for the loss of life. Should weep at the empire's cruelty but you just felt numb, glad it wasn't Mohawk. You didn't care who was dead or how, it felt a little hypocritical to start caring about murder now after all the times you'd done it. 

        You wondered how much the other you would hurt for these people. You could never be a good enough person to care. 

        All you could say was, "That fast?" Because sometimes it took you a long time to kill even one person if they were stupid and stubborn enough. A whole planet of people was gone like that.

        "I haven't had any free time to see you, so I made some." He replied, arms unfolding from the Viltrum solider standard behind his back, he'd adapted in only a few days.

        Your laugh was humorless. You could've gone to see him if you wanted to. You'd been getting a better sense of the ship's layout. A decent sense of Mohawk's schedule. If you asked a servant, they would've pulled the right strings, but you hadn't. In truth you hadn't wanted to see him for all his talk of playing along to stay safe then letting the collaring happen.

        He knew you were angry. Were receding into yourself.

        Especially when you said, "All I've got is free time." Just to rub it in his nose that you could've seen him but chose not to.

        Though he'd planned this meeting he was still nervous. Always thrown a little off-kilter by your mean streak, she had never talked to him like this. Would have already been draped over his shoulders after coming back from a mission, never asking what he had done, only how he was. 

        "I'm sure if you asked for a schedule they'd make one for you." He said stiffer than he wanted. He hadn't wanted the conversation to be about work, but he didn't want to play the rude implication of your statement. He sat on the corner of the bed to be more casual even though he didn't feel it. 

        You retreated from the bed as soon as he sat down, meandering over to the desk. Looking out the window at the line of planets that got more distant the closer they got to the sun. One of them had chunks floating off it, the planet's glowing core exposed and cooling rapidly in the ice of space. You wondered who was tearing that world apart. Why they'd go so far. It was Mohawk after finding out the head Coalition officer overseeing this solar system was from that planet. So he tore it apart more savagely than he had planned to. Just helping the guy out in the afterlife, sending his whole family and planet down to hell with him.

        "I don't want to do anything for the empire." You looked down to the organized stacks of paper. One pile was stamped with the empire's sigil, the other didn't, unread. All of it was too complicated for you to understand. "Plus It'd just be follow the Emperor around and give him head every five hours."

        "I see your concern." Markus couldn't find an argument he'd win, because you were right. Mark wasn't very subtle, had pushed you further than he meant to, "I hope you've been taking care of yourself. It's no easy task keeping Mark from crowding you."

        You turned, leaning your ass on the desk, partly sitting. "And how are you doing that?"

        "Gray and I have advised him to give you some space and have offered an ear when he walks to talk." Markus had meal times in the same block as the Emperor most of the time. Had nodded along to whatever he said. Offering advice where needed but never crossing the line.

        "He's not just busy, you know, being the Emperor?" He understood your skepticism, he hadn't been there for you. He should have come sooner, stood up to Mark more than he had.

        "He is, but he wants to keep you at his side at all times. But I know that's not who you need around you." Markus said.

        You weren't surprised. Again he was insisting he knew what was best. It annoyed you. "Oh? And who do I need?"

        "Somebody who wouldn't hurt you." 

        He said it so genuinely you had to break eye contact.

        "You won't hurt me?" Your voice was a mix between caution and disbelief. Markus only caught the glint of hope because he knew you so long.

        "Never." He planned to never hurt this version of you, had been painfully honest with you from the start. When she had found out who he really was he had no choice but to snap her neck. That would never happen with you, he wouldn't lose control like that, would be honest about what he was from the beginning. 

        When you glanced up you could see it in his eyes, he was thinking about her. You felt no pity for the corpses floating in space, but you felt a shred for her, someone who'd lost her life the way you'd lost your autonomy, "I don't know what you want from me, Markus. I'm not the same person. I can't give you what she gave you, I can't give any of you what the dead me gave you."

        Markus wanted to touch your cheek but he doesn't want you to get squirrely and move away. He stayed in place on the bed, hands folded on his knee. "The important things are still there, I love you the same." He let the words sink in a moment before adding, "I want to do what I can to make this place better for you." He means it fully and it helped you'd been married since you were eighteen. Even if you were different, he knew all the right things to say. 

        You felt a flutter of butterflies at the statement and sucked your lips in to any expression off your face. You tried to bite at him but it came out softer than you had wanted, "You care so much about me but you let another guy electrocute me." 

        "I didn't know about the collar (Y/n), he didn't tell any of us. I came as soon as I heard you yell, I was terrified for you."

        "You didn't do shit." You had told him to leave you alone, had insisted it. You don't think it would have helped if he had stayed, but you were still mad. Still felt powerless and lied to despite his insistence. 

        "I know." He took the attitude on the chin, "That's why I'm here now, to try and make up for it." 

        "How are you going to do that? Gonna take me on a fuckin' date? Gonna pick flowers from some dead alien's garden to give to me?" 

        He would if he could. Thought of the flower thing actually but thought it tactless. You didn't need a big gesture right now. You needed someone steady and loving. Someone who cared unlike Mark. Mark 'cared' but was clearly a selfish partner, couldn't admit when he was wrong. Not fit for you. You needed delicate handling while Mark was rough, always shoving the blame for his own actions onto you as he complained when Markus and Gray were shadowing him. As they so often did now.

        "I don't trust you. I don't trust anybody on this ship but Seb because he's the only one not licking Mark's ass." You said. It stung to call Mohawk, Mark. Stung because of the two other people you truly associated with the name, but everyone was calling him that now. Everytime you heard it from Seb or the muttering servants, you thought of someone else.

        "I don't care about him at all." Markus said, but it wasn't harsh. "I'm only doing this so one day I can protect you. He has to trust me to listen. I want you to be safe and happy, and I can't do that if he hates me." He wished you knew how much he meant it. Mark ran a good empire, a great one really, but he was obnoxious when he didn't have to be. Loud. Flashy. Markus still couldn't believe they were the same person, that he had to suck up like he had to his Father, just to protect you. It was humiliating, but it had to be done. 

        You couldn't believe it took you so long to realize, you had just woken up but the thought made a trill of fear squeeze your stomach. He came to the Emperor's bedroom. He was less than a few feet away, casually sitting on his bed. There were implications in the action, an underlying loyalty that wasn't to Mark or his Empire. You looked at him now and saw what he had been trying to tell you the whole time. When you fought back, you were only shut down harder than before, you weren't the only one who had to put their head down to survive. The good little Viltrumite soldier was a show, probably one he had put on for years before coming here, the real Markus was the one sitting in front of you. Uncaring of the rules when no one was around, only willing to play along to a point, and that point was you not trusting him. The trill of fear for him morphed into something yearning within you, this was seditious. An act of rebellion that would get you both in trouble. You could both get something out of this, a revenge of your own. 

        "The last time I needed you in the desert, you wimped out." You said slowly, still staring at him. You watched his brows furrow at the implication, watched the mole under his mouth move as he frowned slightly. Markus was left reeling, unbelieving you were actually coming onto him at a time like this. "You gonna pussy out this time if I ask you to prove it? Prove you don't care about him." You went on, doubled down. Markus remembered the desert sun, you practically begging for him, him leaving to let you cool down, only to come back to the sound of you fucking Seb.

        Markus crossed the room in a single fluid motion. Leaned back on the desk, he towered over you, his boots kissing your socked feet. "If you want proof that I love you, that I would always choose you, I can give that to you."

        But he stayed back, not quite touching you yet. He hadn't come with devious intentions. He'd come to be a friend, a chivalrous husband, not a full-blown rebel. Yet here he was, unable to resist your pull. 

        He knew he shouldn't. You were still vulnerable. Throat bruised from Mark's initial grab and collaring. You hadn't slept with him since then, he would've heard Mohawk bragging about it. You weren't endeared to him but Markus could easily get back in your good graces.

        His hesitation melted when you brought a hand tentatively to his chest, tracing down his body with light fingers. The way his body reacted to the barely there touch was a reminder he hadn't had you since the desert. And before that, in months, since before your death at his own hands. It'd been a long time. You were still unstable, hurt, but you were looking up at him like you needed this to be okay. He just wanted you to be okay, that's why he came for a second chance in the first place. He'd dreamed of your body beneath his night after night until he went near mad in his own dimension, in your shared home, shared bed. Here you were, offering yourself to him to fix it, to stabilize the both of you. 

        He couldn't resist. Closed the distance with a hand gently cupping your cheek. The kiss was closed-lipped, slow. He was all softness and caressing, careful touches to your waist where as you were unmoving, the hand on his curled in on itself. Like you were still unsure, trying to discern from his kiss if he was telling the truth. He wanted to prove it and started by hitching you up onto desk by the bottoms of your thighs. 

        That made you move, kicked something into the right gear because the hand on his chest moved up to his neck, touching the skin where his suit ended. Steadying yourself with the contact. It was a nothing gesture to you, but everything to him. Now that you were here, wanting, under him, it was hard to control himself. But he knew you needed to be properly unwrapped like the gift you were. He settled for darting his tongue along your lower lip. Waiting for entry that was granted after a moment's hesitation.

        In the desert, he'd tasted like stale spit and the jerky you hated so much. Here, he tasted like the peppermint mouthwashing tablets when his tongue lathed over yours. It wasn't long until your breath started to hitch and your body stared to grow warm. He knew just how to twist his tongue, knew how much you liked the press of his hand into your back so your bodies were flush. Your thighs splitting around his hips.

        You were caged into a Mark, but this time of your own free will. Your defenses melted alarmingly fast. You needed this and he knew it. His caress over your frumpy clothes broke you down, You had asked for this but it was still a shock when he touched you over the sweats. Pressed his fingers into the cloth, rubbing up and down your slowly heating entrance. You gasped and shuddered as he expected, remembering how he first had you in those caves so many months ago. Back then he ran out of time, was worried the others would find you both and punish you for something he had done. Now he knew he had time.

        Time to tease. Time to pull your hoodie up your body and let it fall to the ground. To again hold your breasts in his hands, massage your peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You felt just like her but you shuddered more violently, unused to the touch in the way she was. You dug your heels into his back and tried to immediately start grinding on his rising dick like a rabbit.

        "Slow down." He said, pulling away from the kiss to see your face. He found your eyes glassy with need. 

        "Speed up." You retorted.

        Instead of replying, he bent down and captured a nipple between his lips. Looking up at you under raised brows as he sucked, tongue working over the sensitive skin. You moaned, tried to hold the eye contact but it was too embarrassing and it felt too good not to roll your eyes back. He hummed contently, going from one breast to another. Sucking, watching you, rubbing your twitching pussy through your sweats. 

        It wasn't enough, didn't fully convey his devotion. He hiked your hips up and pulled down your pants. Leaving you fully exposed, splayed open on the Emperor's desk. So ethereal in the distant space light. Glistening for him so soon after he started, just like he knew you would be. 

        "You're beautiful." He rasped, capturing you again in a kiss. Fingerpad going to your clit. Circling, pressing with the perfect amount of pressure to make your hips jump. You moaned openly into his mouth. Pressed your bare chest to him, wrapping your arms around his back trying to pull him ever closer. It was all he'd wanted for so long.

        One finger pleasuring your clit became two. You were bucking into his hand now, struggling to keep the kiss going with how well he was working you. But you did for the closeness, the human contact you'd been missing, surrounded by all these people, you'd never felt so alone. Markus took the opportunity to slide down to your entrance, easily pushing in two fingers. Listened to that song of, "oh fuck," that fell from your lips.

        He pumped into you unhurried, thumb rolling over your clit. You hips brought you down fast onto him, you were trying to chase a quick release. Markus allowed it this time, zeroed in on your g-spot until you came. Hard and squeezing. He didn't stop as the roll of muscles slowed, he kept you moaning, kept your head in the clouds. 

        He took your nipple into his mouth as he added a third finger, a tight fit but you groaned and quickly adjusted. Pumping with his whole arm, filling you thick then pulling out to the fingertips. Over and over. He switched between breasts, coming up for air to kiss you methodically where your kisses had gone sloppy already. He knew you were close when you tensed around him, so he sped up for only a moment, but it was just enough to make you squeal and cum. Again he sees the orgasm through, but doesn't stop the roll of his fingers. Your hips snapped into him desperately, but he didn't pick up the pace, had already conceded to your impatient nature.

        "Easy." He just smiled, kissing your forehead and lowering to his knees. 

        After months of waiting, he was finally eye level with the only thing he'd ever pray to. Markus kissed down a wellworn path, bouncing from thigh to thigh, took your supple skin between his lips and sucked. Enjoyed the hitched breaths he pulled out of you. Finally, he was close enough to your apex to smell the sweat, the want that made you so silken and pretty. He looked up, legs hooked over his shoulders, fingers idly filling your cunt. You looked down at him, hunched over, heaving, starting to shine with sweat. He couldn't help it as he said, "You're perfect."

       Down he went, going right for the kill that made your heels kick into his back. He drooled as he lapped at your clit, tasting that flavor he knew so well. It was a shame that the taste faded as more of his spit coated your cunt but the bane was evened out by the boon of you cumming on his face. He didn't slow, tongue far from tired as your hips rocked against his face. He moaned, caught your eye as his tongue went from flat to lethal sharp. Watched as your face went from wanting to cumming again.

        Your hand shot down, twisted into his salt-pepper hair and pulled. It didn't hurt, but it make his cock jump in the tightness of his suit made him moan again into you. A stream of swears fell past your lips, your body was hot and heaving, the pleasure coming in waves, each more intense than the last, leaving you breathless. You were starting to struggle to keep yourself upright, to not thrash and throw all the papers to the ground. You nearly fell back when his fingers left you all at once.

        Markus muttered to himself, "Need more." Before he dragged you forward by the back of your ass until you were practically sat on his collarbones. You didn't expect it, but his tongue shoved into your entrance was a welcome change. It was soft, didn't go very deep, but it wasn't about depth for Markus it was to taste more of you, to lap up your cum.

        One of his hands busied itself rubbing at your clit. The other pinched and rolled your nipple. You didn't think you'd cum but you did, squeezing around his tongue, giving him just want he wanted to the muffled praise, "Good, hahhh, so good for me," as his fingers replaced his tongue which again latched onto your clit. 

        You were trapped in hold, gasping, mind being wiped further with every subsequent orgasm. Eight, you think the count was. By then, you'd fallen back onto the desk. Arms thrashed when you weren't holding onto his head, knocking the papers to the floor. 

        Markus rose from between your legs, baptized from the nose down. You tasted yourself in his kiss as his fingers drilled into you. "Markus I- fuck!" You keened, back peeling sticky off the table as another orgasm was forced out of you.

        "Shhh, it's okay." He said against the incoherent babble pouring out of your slick lips. "I've got you."

        Your eyes, shiny with tears opened unfocused, "Markus- fuck me."

        He chuckled, dark eyes honeyed, "What do you think I've been doing?" You throbbed around his fingers, he’d slowed down to let you think a bit, but it was still too much. He knew it, didn't let up, continued to bully your cunt just waiting for you to beg.

        You pulled at his suit, "Take it off, please, I want you inside me.”

        He wasn't one to listen to begging when he steeled himself, but hearing you say please changed things. He pulled out of you, leaving you empty and throbbing. You were carried to the bed, laid down over the sheets, legs hanging over the sides. Looking down your body at him, you could see, "Fuck, you're so hard." 

        How could he not be when you were splayed and desperate for him? Gasping the longer he went without tearing his clothes off and plowing you into the mattress, "Please, Markus, please." He'd already been rock hard, but he felt himself throb every time you pleaded. 

        The suit was gone. Thrown into the same heap as your clothes. He threw himself over you, kissing you harder while the bottom of his bare cock slipped against your dripping folds. You whimpered under him, pulled at his back saying, "Come on, come on."

        "Be patient." He snipped against you, purposefully grinding his length over your clit. Taking great pleasure in your extended suffering without something to fill you up. "You can be patient, can't you?"

        "I can't." You made a good case, bucking against him, whining so sweet when you were never this pliant before. "Please."

        His cockhead barely pressed into you and your eyes rolled back with a gasp.

        "Look at me." He said, steadying your thrashing head with a hand. You leaned into the touch unconsciously, and it took you a moment to unscrew your gaze, to meet his. "Good," he pushed in an inch further, stopping when your eyes fluttered closed, "(Y/n)." There were those pretty eyes again. "I know it's hard but you have to look at me." 

        "W-" you shuddered as he slid in another inch, "Why?"

        "Because," he purred, "this is my favorite part."

        All at once, he was buried to the hilt. Holding you down as you thrashed. Cunt throbbing hard around his thick intrusion. He didn't wait, knew you were very ready for the onslaught. Hips clapping into yours, dragging his cock nearly all the way out then ramming it back in. It only took a handful of strokes for you to cum again. 

        Markus felt his cock twitch inside you but he pushed down the need to fill you. Months ago he wouldn't blink at the feeling, now that his dry spell was over he needed to bring his stamina back up to standard, cumming on only your ninth orgasm was unacceptable. 

        You were only spared the few seconds he needed to bring himself off the edge, then you were right back to being tortured. You tried to keep up, to thrust your hips back into him, but you'd already gone so limp from his earlier use. Markus ended up doing most of the work, not that he minded using you this way. Not that he knew you would either, in time you'd come to realize you liked being fucked like a toy. He'd let that realization simmer for another day.

        Number ten came with a scream. Your nails clawing at his back, your teeth on his shoulder. He kept his pace but was rutting inside you, barely pulling out when you felt so good around him. Eleven followed shortly after.

        It's after twelve you said, hardly coherent. "I can't- I can't anymore." You were fluttering around him, twitching, letting him guide you down onto his cock. Mind completely smashed.

        Markus wanted to be sweet so badly, to coo and slow down to reassure you, but it was hard not to be mean the way he knew you liked when you were this gone.

        "You can." He resolved to be soft but stern.

        "No." You shook your head, pussy clenching around him with thirteen just around the corner. "I c-can't. Please-"

        He didn't stop, didn't even slow down.

        "Don't you want me to cum?" He asked chidingly.

        The thought of him cumming inside you nearly made you sob. "Please- Please I want you to cum in me."

        Markus wasn't expecting that but grinned anyway. "Yeah?"

        "Please," you untangled your fist from the bed to hold his hips rocking into you, your nails digging in like you could make him stop or speed up, you didn't even know what you wanted anymore, "please, fuck, I need it."

         Again he almost does but he controls himself. Makes you go raw-throated with orgasms until all you were tight with them. Crying that you couldn't cum again but you always did. He always goaded you back to sanity by whispering, "Just one more," then after you came, he kept going. 

        You tried to protest, but your words meant nothing. You were back to begging every time you were close which, as time went on, is always seconds after the last orgasm. 

        When you're well past fifteen, he lets the mental blocks float away. Said to you, "One more for me? Just one?"

        You can't even nod but a whine comes from your throat that sounds like another, "C-caaan't."

        "Do it for me, baby." Markus bore down on you, finally letting himself circle the drain. Listening keenly for the telltale hitch of your breath as you were about to cum. You did with a final shudder. Markus lunged to kiss you as his cock throbbed, and he filled you with hot release. He was frozen there, hips stuttering as his orgasm left him almost dizzy. Going soft in the mix of your juices. He wanted to stay there forever, and for a long time he does.

        When he finally rolled you over to lay on his chest, sweaty and stupid with dopamine, his cock slipped out and your combined cum leaked onto his thighs as he rubbed your back telling you how good you'd been. You just breathed wetly into the crook of his neck.

        The first thing you said when you were coherent enough to speak was, "I don't think... I don't think I've ever came that many times."

        "Really?" He was surprised to hear it. You had dated him hadn't you? What was that other Mark doing? 

        "Yeah. That was like, a lot."

        "Mmm, it's about average. Maybe a little under if we take a break." He said. 

        "I can't tell if you're joking, my brain's not working."

        "I'm not." Markus ran his fingers down the curve of your back, smiling when you arched into him. Still sensitive and wanting even after he'd pushed you so far. "We'll get you there eventually."

        "You're trying to kill me." But at least he was an ally. Well and truly proved his love and loyalty. You can't think of anyone who'd be stupid enough to fuck the Emperor's girlfriend in his bed. 

        As much as he wanted to stay with you, Markus had to leave, not before cleaning up the room and showering with you, where he made you come undone again. Filled you once more and let it all seep down the drain.

         He left with a lingering goodbye kiss and a promise to make things better. You found it hard not to believe him. When the door shut, you finally picked something off of the food tray and ate.

        There was a long debriefing when everyone returned. Most of them were clean of blood from how fast they flew except for Lensless who went slow to stay gory. Markus was praised highly by Kregg for his efforts, a rare smile accompanying it. Mohawk clapped him on the shoulder, grinning with all his teeth when he promoted Markus and Gray both to official Emperor's guard. When they finished celebrating he thought he'd return to a wanting you who masturbated in his time away, at least according to the vitals monitoring you. Mohawk didn't like the observation staff watching him all the time so he hadn't had cameras installed in his room. None of them tipped him off to anything strange, so he didn't check the cameras to the hall for a Markus-shaped blur. Didn't think to sync the timetable of his entry and exit with your spiked vitals. 

[lazy-ahh]

Hello!! this is just a silly request of a idea that spawned in my head, what about a Sinister Mark (+ variants) with a male or gn Reader, they're in a 'healthy' (as healthy as it can be if they're unhinged/fucked up), like, every variant had a reader that either die or they accidentally kill them, main mark reader is dead and is just that Sinister mark is the only one with a alive reader? (english isn’t my first language so sorry for any errors, i just imagine Sinister all smug that he has a living reader)

THE LAST ONE STANDING

pairing sinister! mark grayson x gender neutral reader (+ variants)

what happens when you're the only one left alive across every dimension? ask the eight broken marks trailing behind you—or better yet, ask your mark, the one who saved you. the one who watches with a smirk as his variants crumble at the sight of you: breathing, laughing, his.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro , @cynvia

you're alive.

that’s the thing that sets him apart from the rest—the other marks, the ones who stagger in from broken dimensions like starving dogs, fists clenched and eyes hollow with grief. they’re here to burn this world down, to carve their pain into something that bleeds, because what else do they have left? some of them killed you by accident—hands too strong, a battle they couldn’t end fast enough, a mistake they’ll spend eternity choking on. others were just too slow, forced to kneel in your blood, useless as your pulse stuttered out under their fingers. and then there are the worst ones—the ones who chose it, who tore into you themselves because their love was always just another kind of violence.

but your mark?

he didn’t just keep you.

he saved you.

and not in some noble, selfless way—no, this was something hungrier, something possessive and brutal and his. he fought for you like a man clawing his way out of a grave, and he’d do it again. he’d do it a thousand times.

and yeah, he’s smug about it. you feel it in the way his fingers press bruises into your hips when another variant stumbles into your path, all ragged breath and shattered composure. his grin is a blade, glinting in the dim light as they freeze, staring at you like you’re a ghost—alive, warm, his.

"look at that," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, voice dripping with something between pity and triumph. "another one who couldn’t hold onto you."

it should hurt you, seeing any version of mark like this—broken, desperate, ruined. and it does, a little. but there’s something else, too, something dark and curling in your chest as you watch their hands tremble at their sides, fighting the urge to reach for you. for a second, you imagine what it’d be like to see your mark like that—kneeling, shattered, yours in a way that’s more surrender than victory.

the thought makes your pulse jump.

(and from the way his grip tightens, he knows.)

it's been one day since the invincible war started.

now, it was your job to round up all the broken, furious, useless versions of mark before angstrom got them killed. you weren’t an idiot—you saw the writing on the wall. angstrom would toss them aside the second they stopped being useful, and you? you weren’t done with them yet. not when every single one of them looked at you like you were the last drop of water in a desert, starving and pathetic and yours to play with.

convincing them to abandon their posts wasn’t hard. all it took was a look, a smirk, the barest hint of come with me if you want to live wrapped in something softer. they followed like strays, hungry for whatever scrap of attention you’d throw their way.

you weren’t stupid enough to think your mark wouldn’t notice, of course. he’d let you wander, let you have your little game—because he knew, in the end, you’d always come back to him. but until then? you were going to enjoy yourself.

so far, you’d collected eight.

there was the mohawk-and-piercings variant, all sharp edges and sharper desperation, playing at indifference while his eyes tracked your every move like you might vanish if he blinked. you later find out that he had a harem of people who looked like you, but he had killed them off because every time they made a mistake (whether they didn't laugh the way you did, didn't stand their ground in situations where you would, didn't look at him the same way you did), it would break the immersion, and the grief would hit him ten times harder. the veiled one—arrogant bastard, vulgar as hell, fingers twitching like he wanted to grab you by the throat or pull you into his lap, never deciding which. pretended not to give a shit until something so much as scratched you or inconvenienced you, then he was the first one ripping throats out. hypocrite. the fully masked one in black and blue—no skin, no tells, just the slight tilt of his head when you spoke, like he was recording your voice to replay later. soft-hearted idiot. still talked about his dead mom like she might walk through the door, still smiled when remembering dumb childhood games. you made sure to keep him close. not because you cared. just because he’d be the first to get himself killed otherwise.

the goggle-less one was a riot—literally. his eyes too wide, too raw, like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. but he adapted quickly. cracked jokes mid-battle, laughed when punches landed, blood in his teeth and excitement in his eyes like pain was just another way to get off. you’d never admit it, but his shitty one-liners sometimes got a smirk out of you. the maskless variant didn’t joke. didn’t smile much either. just floated there like a kicked dog, staring at you with this hollow look while casually mentioning how he’d torn his father apart piece by piece for killing you. you approved, of course. even combing your fingers through his hair and watch his expression light up, a soft pink hue dusting across his cheeks as he looked at you like you just kissed him. you might've. you might've not. the red-and-white cape bastard was ice personified—monotone voice, cold eyes, the kind of guy who’d call genocide "mildly inconvenient." but his hands shook when you got too close, and that? that was hilarious. "you were the only tolerable thing on this rock," he’d muttered once, like it physically pained him to admit it. or to remember. pathetic. so deliciously pathetic.

and finally—the hardest one to crack. the viltrumite. white uniform, perfect posture, face like carved stone—until you flew in. then his jaw clenched so tight you could hear his teeth grind. called you a liability. a distraction. liar. this one missed you so much it was practically rotting him from the inside out. raised on viltrumite dogma but still clung to that last shred of humanity—you. and when you’d died in his world? that shred had frayed to nothing. now he trailed you like a shadow, silent and watchful, intercepting threats before they even got close. brought you trophies from battles you didn’t even ask him to fight—an old bully’s severed hand, the head of a reporter who had talked shit about you in the news once, even a fucking crown, gently placed on top of your head without a word. his way of saying mine.

(you wore it for a few hours just to watch his pupils blow wide. worth it.)

now, they were all yours. for now. your mark would come eventually—he always did—but until then? you had a whole collection of broken toys to play with.

(and when he did? well. you’d make sure that was fun, too.)

and just like that, the day was over.

playtime was supposed to be over. but since when did you ever follow the rules?

your mark’s face was priceless—confusion flickering across his features as you landed at the agreed spot, trailing eight battered, bruised, and entirely too attached versions of himself behind you like some fucked-up parade. the air shifted the moment you got closer, thick with tension and something dangerously close to jealousy. you could see it in the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his pupils dilated just slightly as you stopped right beside him, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

"had fun?" he asked, voice low, teasing, but with an edge underneath—like he already knew the answer and wasn’t sure if he wanted to punish you for it or praise you.

you grinned, sharp and unrepentant. "oh, you have no idea."

his lips curled, slow and satisfied, and for a second, it was just the two of you—his hand sliding possessively around your waist, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, "good." because he loved this. loved that you came back. loved that you wanted to. loved that even when he let you wander, you always found your way back to him.

the other marks didn’t move. didn’t speak. some stared at you like they were starving, fingers flexing like they wanted to reach out and take. others looked like they were one wrong breath away from snapping, from tearing you apart just so no one else could have you.

your mark’s grip tightened, just enough to bruise.

he wouldn’t let them try.

you weren’t naive. you knew exactly what he was—what this was. his love was teeth against your throat, a hand around your wrist, a promise whispered in the dark that sounded more like a threat. it was obsession, all-consuming and violent, and you? you fucking reveled in it. you never flinched. never backed down.

because you were just as bad as he was.

"missed you," you muttered, just for him, just to watch his eyes darken.

he laughed, soft and dangerous, and pulled you closer. "liar."

(you were. but he loved that about you, too.)

the red-and-white variant scoffed, turning sharply so his cape snapped like a whip behind him. "this is beneath us." his voice was ice, but the leather of his gloves groaned under the pressure of his clenched fists, betraying him.

the mohawk-and-piercings variant barked out a laugh, sharp and jagged. "what in the actual fuck is this?" he sneered, arms crossed so tight over his chest it looked like he was trying to physically restrain himself from reaching for you. "some kinda twisted harem fantasy? fuckin’ disgusting." but his eyes—dark, hungry, jealous—never left where your mark’s hands gripped you.

the maskless one was silent. just staring, his expression hollow, fingers twitching at his sides like he was already imagining the way your mark’s throat would collapse under his grip.

the veiled mark dragged a hand through his hair, laughing—a bitter, broken sound. "oh, this is fucking rich," he spat, voice thick with something between fury and desperation. his fingers jerked toward you before he forced them into fists, knuckles white. "you really dragged us all here just to watch you play house with him?"

viltrumite mark didn’t speak. didn’t move. just watched, his face carved from stone—but you saw it. the way his jaw flexed when your mark’s fingers pressed possessive bruises into your hip. the flicker of pain in his eyes, raw and aching, before he locked it away.

something twisted in your chest. guilt? pity? you couldn't imagine what it was like to lose someone—really lose them—and for a second, you wondered what you’d do if it were your mark gone. if you were the one standing there, hollowed out and desperate.

but then—

the way they looked at you. pathetic. submissive. like they’d fall to their knees if you so much as crooked a finger. and god, the thought of them breaking further—lips trembling, eyes wet, soft whimpers escaping no matter how hard they bit down—sent a thrill down your spine.

your mark smirked against your temple, his kiss burning like a brand. "cute," he purred, voice thick with mock pity as his fingers tangled possessively in your hair. "look at them—really thought they stood a chance." his lips curled into something vicious as he glanced at the broken reflections of himself, his grip on you tightening just enough to make his point. "weak. all of them. couldn’t even keep what was theirs."

you leaned into him, arms locking around his waist like a claim of your own, sighing as his other hand traced down your spine—gentle in a way that would’ve seemed impossible for anyone else. but this was yours. the way his touch lingered, the way his voice dropped into something warm and honeyed when he spoke only to you. "not you, though," he murmured, lips brushing your forehead. "you’re perfect. mine. only one smart enough to stay alive."

his grin sharpened as he looked back at the others, drinking in their rage, their grief, the way their hands shook at their sides. "bet that stings, huh? seeing what you could’ve had if you weren’t such fucking failures?"

you laughed, low and satisfied, pressing closer just to watch their expressions crack—

and something sick twisted in your chest when you saw how they flinched, how their eyes burned with something raw and starving. because that sound—your laugh, bright and fucking alive—it had been years for them. years of silence, of bloodstained hands and empty beds and the ghost of your voice haunting every battle. and now here you were, curled against him, looking at him like he hung the goddamn stars while they rotted in the periphery.

(and oh—the way their faces twisted. like they wanted to scream. like they wanted to beg. like they’d burn the world down just to tear you away from him.)

(they wouldn’t. couldn’t.)

(your mark would make sure of it.)

hey chat!! hope you enjoyed this messy little 2.1k word dump—this fic fought me like a rabid raccoon and had me struggling the entire time not gonna lie 😭 sorry anon if it's not exactly what you pictured, but i tried my best to make it deliciously messy for you! (lowkey viltrum mark kept stealing the spotlight in my drafts like the favourite he is—had to physically restrain myself from writing 5k words of just him sigh. the struggle was REAL y'all) BUT OMG THOSE LAST LINES WITH SINISTER MARK??? even i was kicking my feet and giggling like an idiot while writing that possessive bastard's dialogue heheh

[totallynotpochacco]

˗ˏˋ𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐖𝐚𝐩 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞ˎˊ˗ ᥫ᭡

“𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘢𝘺𝘺! 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘺𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯' 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺, 𝘢𝘺𝘺! 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶!”

Is all you hear three days later after you broke up with mark.

It’s blasting outside your window, and definitely bothering the neighbors.

But it makes you laugh seeing him standing outside on your front lawn looking so desperate to see you again.

The music lowers for a minute, and you hear him yell, “did it work?”

Shaking your head, you smile and respond with, “Come inside and find out.”

After that he’s clingy af and let’s you give him a manicure while you yap about what he’s missed, cause that’s what good boyfriends do.

Feel free to use the pics, it took me 5 minutes to make them! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

[stareiiez]

Main Mark + Mark variants dating a big titty goth gf female reader

I just think it's a funny trope

Golden retriever bf and black cat gf

hurray for finally answering inbox messages!! back to our scheduled entertainment of invincible goodness.

Mark Grayson

lets be honest, your dark look scared him away at first. the dark clothing, the outta the norm makeup. and over all style spooked him, that was until he saw your smile and you genuinely laugh for the first time; he was less intimidated. the man is peak physical strength, and then some, and yet he got shy because of your look. you're beautiful, none the less. he isn't one to oogle big or small breasts, but like any other man. he thinks he won because you've got a ample chest to lay on when he's tired. loves to watch the way you do your makeup, and the way it changes when you dress in more than one gothic subculture.

Sinister Mark

black cat x doberman with rabies. you two are a lethal combo that judges the public with too little shame. sinister LOVES a good rack, and he likes that he's taller than you so he can look down your shirt when you two stand to close to eachother. your outfits match, or coordinate with eachother. dark and ' edgy ' , over sized or tight fitting you both command the room's eyes on you. you both scare others away, his arm slung around your shoulders. possessive and authoritative.

Mohawk Mark

AGAIN, doberman x black cat. HE LOVES LOVES LOVES your boobs. fist pumps when he sees your bra isnt all that's got your chest perky and plump under your black shirt. mocks your ' scary ' attitude that others are off put for a black cat kinda girl. you try so hard to be nonchalant and cold, but he ruins it 90% of the time. he gets under your skin, and you end up smacking him on the head everytime. he finds your hair and style, wicked and crazy. it matches his spiky hair and wicked attitude, and he asks for you to do his 'guy' liner every now and then.

Retro/ Goggle-less Mark.

the way you don't match his energy is truly criminal. he's loud, all over and the place and energetic. you sit in one place, watching over the edge of your book; and he's on the floor whining for you to pay attention to him or else he'll kill something you love. the threats, the sadistic energy he brings to your relationship grows old quickly for you, but you know you shouldn't take it lightly when he has his off days. you're like a wet blanket to a overactive puppy that paws through its cage bars to reach you.

Shiesty Mark.

finds it hot asf. if you get him loyal, he will constantly have boners for you and only you. hard 24/7 with how suave and cool you are. he does only find it annoying you can match his attitude and go into a screaming cussing moment with him. also, your boobs will always be grabbed and squeezed; he wants you in low cut outfit so it's easy access for his hands to cop a feel of your double d's in his large hands. your dark lipstick marks are on his neck and cheeks are a trophy he wants to show off to everyone. even if it's his newest bitch, he goes for someone that looks like you or dresses like you. he's got an addiction to goth bitches, but the only ones he can find are the ones coming outta spencers and hot topic.

Omni-Mark

thinks its weird as fuck, but hey -- he keeps his mouth shut. he sees the way it makes you happy to look the way you look and to act the way you act. he might never understand it, but you love him and he has a fond attachment for you .

[urdreamydoodles]

MARK VARIANTS X FEM!READER

You are his lover in all universes, and in these you have joined him—what is it like to be his queen?

Characters: Sinister Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Prisoner Mark, Sheisty Mark, Bald Mark, Goggles Mark, Viltrum Mark & Omni-Mark

Sinister Mark / Capevincible

- You are his moon in a sky perpetually painted in blood. The only thing he does not destroy. He moves through the world like a blade cutting through flesh, carving out civilizations with the efficiency of a butcher, and yet, when he looks at you, there is something like reverence in his eyes. His love is not gentle; it is a possession, a claiming, a cruel kind of worship. He touches you with the same hands that have torn bodies apart, and the contrast is almost poetic—his violence does not reach you, but it is there, always simmering beneath his skin.

- When he kisses you, it is not an act of love but of conquest. His lips press against yours with the force of a war drum, his teeth scrape, his tongue invades. He wants you breathless, drowning in him, a willing offering on the altar of his dominion. There is no hesitation in his touch, no uncertainty. He owns you, and you do not resist, because resistance is meaningless. He is Capevincible. He could rip apart the cosmos itself if it dared to keep you from him.

- The nights are a battlefield. Sheets twisted like bodies in the aftermath of war, your throat hoarse from gasping his name, from the unbearable weight of his body pressing into yours, pinning you down as if he fears you might vanish into the ether. He does not love with tenderness—he loves with hunger, with ruin. There is no act between you that does not leave its mark, no moment of intimacy that does not feel like surviving something primal. And yet, you cannot imagine belonging to anyone else.

- He whispers terrible things against your skin in the dark, the same way he speaks before executing his enemies. His breath is hot, his voice like the edge of a blade, telling you how beautiful you look when you break, how you are the only thing he will never destroy. And you believe him, because even monsters can have their treasures, their obsessions. You are the one thing he will not lose, and that means he will kill for you, destroy for you, burn entire worlds if you so much as shiver.

- There is a moment, sometimes, when you wonder what you have become. You were once human, once fragile, once bound by mortal morality. But now you sit beside a god of carnage, watching the universe bend to his will. You no longer flinch at the screams, no longer care for the lives snuffed out like candles in a storm. He has made you his Queen, and a Queen does not weep for the conquered. You were beautiful before, but now? Now, you are terrifying.

- And perhaps, that is why he loves you. Because in the end, you are not just his lover—you are his legacy. When the stars finally collapse under the weight of his brutality, when there is nothing left but blood and ruin, he knows you will still be there, standing beside him, unshaken. Because you are his, and there is no fate more absolute than that.

Mohawk Mark / Movincihawk

- He is laughter in the midst of carnage, grinning wide as his fists tear through bodies like they are made of paper. He does not kill with duty, nor with hatred. He kills because it is fun. And you? You are the only thing he keeps intact. His beautiful little trophy, the only thing he does not mock, the only thing he does not break. He calls you gorgeous like it’s an insult, mine like it’s a death sentence. And it is. No one touches what belongs to him and lives.

- He does not worship you—no, that is not his way. But he adores you in his own twisted fashion, in the way he pulls you into his lap as blood pools around his feet, in the way he tilts your chin up to kiss you even as his hands are still warm from crushing a skull. He loves you the way a wildfire loves a forest—devouring, consuming, leaving nothing untouched. You burn under his attention, and you love every second of it.

- The bed is not a sanctuary; it is just another battlefield. He is relentless, insatiable, merciless in his desire for you. His strength is overwhelming, his need all-consuming. He does not ask permission—he takes, he claims, he leaves bruises like war paint on your skin. And you let him, because there is no greater thrill than surrendering to a force that could end you, yet chooses to keep you instead.

- He talks while he fucks you, taunting, teasing, mocking. What, can’t take it? And here I thought you were my little Queen. Pathetic. But his grip tightens when you moan, his breath stutters when you rake your nails down his back. He wants you, needs you, in a way he will never admit. So instead, he laughs, bites at your throat, leaves marks that scream to the world that you belong to him.

- There is no peace with him, no soft moments of love and tenderness. There is only the thrill, the rush, the violence of passion that never fades. He does not say I love you. He says you’re mine. And it means the same thing.

- One day, when the universe is nothing but dust beneath your feet, he will still be laughing, still be reveling in destruction. And you will be beside him, his Queen, his equal in this glorious, endless reign of chaos. Because love, for Movincihawk, is not a chain—it is a fire. And he will burn for you forever.

No Goggles Mark / Nogogglesible

- He is arrogance incarnate, a god among insects, untouchable, invincible. And yet, you have touched him. You have brought him to his knees, not with force, but with something far more dangerous—desire. He is cruel to everyone, but with you, it is different. He does not kill you. He does not mock you like the others. Instead, he craves you, like a dragon hoarding treasure, like a king unwilling to share his throne.

- He is insufferable, cocky, and childish in his amusement, always grinning, always talking, always taunting. But when he touches you, all that arrogance melts into something sharper, hungrier. He does not like to be denied, does not like to be challenged. And you? You challenge him. You push back. You make him work for your affection, and it drives him insane.

- The way he takes you is almost playful—almost. He grins as he pins you down, as he makes you beg, as he ruins you. Is that all you’ve got? he teases, even as he’s shaking, even as his hands tremble against your skin. He is obsessed with making you fall apart beneath him, with proving that even the Queen of Invincible is his to break.

- But the moment someone else so much as looks at you? That arrogance vanishes, replaced by something much darker. He is a nightmare when jealous, a force of pure annihilation. He will kill without hesitation, will make sure the universe knows that you are his and his alone.

- He likes to watch you after, basking in his victory, stroking your skin like a dragon hoarding gold. He tells you you’re beautiful in the same breath that he tells you how easily he could break you. And yet, he never does. Because he is already broken for you.

- In the end, the universe will crumble, the stars will die, and he will still be here, grinning, mocking, loving you in his own twisted way. Because he is Nogogglesible. And you? You are the only thing he has ever truly wanted.

Prisoner Mark / Prisonincible

- He is not the Mark you once knew. That Mark—the hesitant boy with wide eyes and too much hope—died long ago. What stands before you now is a man sharpened into a blade, honed by violence, stripped of mercy. He is not kind. He does not pretend to be. The world tried to break him, so he broke it first. And yet, despite all his cruelty, all his rage, you are the one thing he cannot hurt. He holds you with hands that have wrung the life from countless enemies, hands that have tortured, ripped, shattered. But when they touch you, they are careful. Reverent. As if you are the last beautiful thing in a world of ruin.

- He doesn’t ask for your love. He takes it. The way he takes everything else. His kisses are bruising, possessive, his grip unrelenting. You feel his strength in every touch, in every whispered threat against your throat—Mine. Mine. Mine. He is not gentle. He is not soft. He does not worship you; he claims you. And you let him, because what else is there? He has remade the world in his image, and you are the only thing that remains untouched. Untouched, but not unmarked. He ensures that.

- The bed is a battlefield, a place where he does not have to hold back, where the rage that simmers beneath his skin finds its release in you. He grips your wrists too tight, drags his teeth along your skin, leaves bruises that bloom like violets against your flesh. He loves the sight of them. Proof of his claim. Proof that even the Queen of Invincible belongs to him.

- He whispers terrible things when he is inside you—promises, threats, dark admissions. If anyone ever touched you, I’d rip their spine out through their mouth. His lips are at your ear, his breath hot, his voice raw. He does not speak of love. He speaks of possession. And you don’t need to hear the words to know what he feels. His love is in the way he would burn the world for you. In the way he already has.

- And when it is over, when the sweat cools on your skin, when the bruises begin to fade, he holds you. Tightly. Desperately. As if letting go would shatter him completely. His lips press against your temple, his breath ragged. There are no apologies. No guilt. There is only the silence, the aftermath, the unspoken truth that neither of you will ever leave. You are bound to him, by blood, by war, by something darker than love.

- And in the end, you do not want to leave. Because if he is a monster, then you are his Queen. And monsters do not weep for the fallen. They stand among the ruins and rule.

Sheisty Mark / Hoodvincible

- He is chaos given form. A force of destruction wrapped in arrogance, in crude words and bloody knuckles. He does not fight for duty, does not conquer for power. He does it because he can. Because he enjoys it. Because he looks at the world and sees something to break. And yet, when he looks at you, it is different. He does not see something to destroy. He sees something to keep.

- His love is reckless, feral, unyielding. He grabs your chin when he kisses you, bites at your lower lip, pulls at your hair like he is daring you to fight back. He wants you to. He wants the challenge, the game. But you never win. You can’t. He is stronger, faster, crueler. He does not let you have the upper hand. Not in the fight. Not in bed. Not ever.

- He fucks like he fights—wild, unpredictable, merciless. He throws you down and drags you back up, leaves scratches down your thighs, bruises on your hips. His voice is raw with laughter, with dark amusement. You’re still breathing? Damn. I must be getting soft. But his hands tell a different story. They shake when they touch you, as if the thought of losing you makes something inside him unravel.

- He hates how much he needs you. Hates the way his body betrays him when you sigh his name, the way his chest tightens when you smile. He is cruel to everyone else, but with you, there is something else beneath the mockery, beneath the swearing and the sneers. Something fragile. And that terrifies him. So he covers it with arrogance, with insults, with violence. But you see through it.

- When the world is quiet, when the battles are over, when his body is slick with sweat and exhaustion, he does not let you leave his arms. He holds you with a grip that is too tight, too desperate. Don’t fucking go anywhere, he mumbles into your skin, voice slurred with sleep. And he will never say it, never admit it, but you know what it means. Stay. Stay. Stay.

- And so you do. Because you are his, and he is yours, and there is no world where you would ever choose anything else.

Bald Mark / Capvincible

- He is a nightmare wearing a smirk. He does not kill out of duty, or necessity. He kills because he enjoys it. Because he loves the way people scream, the way their bones crack beneath his fists. He is the worst kind of monster—the kind that does not believe he is one. And you? You are his one exception. His one indulgence. His one weakness.

- He touches you with the same hands that have torn men apart, but with care. Not because he is gentle, but because he wants to savor it. To take his time. To draw out every moment, every sound, every shudder of your breath. He likes when you squirm beneath him. When you beg, when you break. Not out of cruelty—no, this is love. Love, for him, is the act of unmaking you piece by piece, then putting you back together just to do it all over again.

- He makes you beg. Not because he needs to hear it, but because he wants you to admit the truth. That you need him. That you want him. That you are his. He drags it out, teasing, taunting, watching your resolve crack like fragile glass. Say it, he purrs against your throat, breath hot, hands relentless. Say you belong to me. And you do. Of course, you do.

- He whispers against your skin as he takes you apart—dark promises, wicked threats. You’d look so pretty covered in blood, sweetheart. Maybe next time, I’ll let you have a little fun with me. He means it. You know he does. He would kill for you. He already has.

- When it is over, he watches you. Eyes dark, unreadable. There is something terrifying about the way he looks at you—like a lion watching its mate, possessive, protective, utterly devoted. You own him as much as he owns you, and he knows it.

- And so, when he kisses you again, slow and deep, it is not a claim. It is a vow. No matter what happens, no matter who dares to stand in his way, he will never lose you. And if the universe tries to take you from him, well—he will simply have to burn it all down.

Goggles Mark / Gogglesvincible

- He is stillness—a predator that does not need to snarl, a killer that does not need to raise his voice. Where others rage, he is quiet. Where others lose themselves in the thrill of bloodshed, he remains composed. There is no excess in him, no wasted movement, no unnecessary cruelty. When he kills, it is efficient. When he destroys, it is deliberate. And when he looks at you, it is with that same terrible focus.

- His love is calculated, methodical. He does not indulge in theatrics. He does not waste words on affection. Instead, he watches you, memorizes you, understands every detail—what makes you shiver, what makes you whimper, what makes you beg. When he touches you, it is with the same precision with which he tears the world apart. There is no hesitation, no uncertainty. He knows exactly how to unravel you, and he does. Slowly. Mercilessly.

- He does not speak of love, but he shows it in the way he possesses you. His fingers trace the marks he leaves behind, his lips linger over the bruises, his grip tightens when another dares to look at you too long. They are insignificant, he murmurs, voice calm, deadly. They don’t matter. But I will kill them anyway. And he does.

- In bed, he is merciless. He does not give without taking. He does not allow you to simply exist beneath him—you must surrender, you must earn every touch, every moment, every gasp of air. He denies you what you crave until you are shaking, pleading. Until you forget your own name and can only sob his. He listens to your every breath, your every sound, adjusting, fine-tuning, perfecting the torment he inflicts. And when he finally gives you what you need, it is overwhelming.

- He does not rest after. He remains awake, watching, waiting. He traces patterns over your skin, his expression unreadable. You ask him what he’s thinking, and he only tilts his head, gaze unwavering. Nothing. A lie. Everything.

- And when you sleep, he remains at your side, a silent sentinel, guarding the only thing in the universe he has ever allowed himself to keep.

Viltrum Mark / Viltrumincible

- He was raised with purpose. Raised to be strong, to be ruthless. To conquer, to rule, to win. There is no hesitation in him, no doubt. He knows what must be done, and he does it. Earth belongs to the Viltrum Empire. You belong to him. There is no question, no argument, no alternative. You are his Queen, his consort, his everything.

- And yet… there are moments. Small, quiet moments. A flicker of something behind his eyes when you say his name softly. A hesitation in his grip when his hands are rough against your skin. A sigh, barely audible, when he allows himself to rest against you. A part of him still remembers the boy he was before he chose power over love. Before he became this. He does not speak of it. He will not speak of it. But you see it all the same.

- When he takes you, it is with the force of a conqueror. His hands do not ask—they demand. His kisses are not gentle—they are devouring. He does not let you hide from him, does not let you breathe without his permission. You are mine, he growls against your throat, his body pressed against yours, unyielding, overwhelming. He does not need to hear you say it. He already knows.

- He does not tolerate weakness. Not in himself, not in you. If you dare to challenge him, if you dare to push, he meets you with force—pinning you down, forcing obedience from your lips, making you submit with teeth and tongue and hands that refuse to let go. And yet, there is a thrill in it. In the way he wants you to fight, to resist, just so he can remind you who you belong to.

- When it is over, he does not move. His arms remain around you, his breath warm against your shoulder. He does not speak, does not soften. But his grip tightens, just for a moment. As if he is afraid. As if he knows that, despite everything, you are still the only thing he cannot afford to lose.

- And so, he does not lose you. He will not. If the Viltrum Empire demanded it, if his father ordered it, if the entire universe conspired against him—he would burn it all before he let you go.

Omni-Mark / Omnivincible

- He is cold. Detached. The world means nothing to him. His past means nothing to him. Even his own name is an afterthought. He does not care for nostalgia, does not waste time on regret. He has seen too much, lost too much. Love is a weakness, attachment a liability. And yet—you.

- You are the one thing he cannot ignore. The one thing he cannot abandon. He tells himself it is not love. He tells himself it is possession, a claim, a consequence of habit. But even he is not so deluded. He needs you. And that terrifies him.

- He does not speak of his feelings. He does not tell you he loves you. Instead, he shows it in the way he keeps you close. In the way he stands at your side, unwavering, even when it would be easier to let you fall. In the way he touches you—not with passion, not with desperation, but with certainty. As if you are the only thing in existence that he will allow himself to have.

- When he fucks you, it is methodical. Efficient. Every movement is controlled, every touch calculated. And yet, there are moments—brief, fleeting, almost imperceptible—where the control slips. A sharp breath, a tremor in his hands, a growl that is just a little too raw. He buries them quickly, forces them down, but you notice. And it is in those moments that you understand—he is afraid of how much he feels.

- After, he does not speak. He does not hold you. He does not linger. He watches. As if waiting for something. As if expecting you to vanish. And when you do not, when you remain at his side, when you reach for him with hands that are too warm, too soft, too human—he exhales. A slow, quiet thing. As if he has been holding his breath for years.

- He will never say it. He will never admit it. But you know. You are the only thing in the universe that he has not abandoned. The only thing he will never let go. And if the world burns because of that—so be it.

[oystermark]

Mohawk Mark x M!Reader (Suggestive)

synopsis: you're the only man version of yourself across all mark universes, still, he seems to recognize you just fine.

A/N: i wanted to make this longer with sinister and no goggles mark but it has been almost a year since i wrote anything and i got really tired.. but i can take requests. having said that im sorry if this is shit, its been a while.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

You sigh wearily as you drag your feet out of your bathroom, a towel wrapped around your hips as you use another one to dry your hair. It has been… a long week to say the least. Your boss decided that you’re the guy to pawn off every little responsibility to, you’ve been sitting on your office desk like a shrimp for weeks, you arch and crack your back with a satisfied moan.

You pick up your phone and toss the towel on your hand to your couch as your eyes drift to the news blaring on your TV.

“Multiple versions of Invincible have been spotted around the city—”

You feel your heart rate pick up as you look through your window without getting up from your seat, your instincts kicking in, though if one decides to come after you…

“Stay in your homes, stay hidden and stay safe, these dangerous vers–”

You turn off the TV with a sigh.

This… “Invincible” guy happens to be your childhood friend, also your first kiss at 13 when you were both nervous and he wanted to feel how it felt to kiss a guy and then high school happened and–

No. Stop. 

Shit happens, life happens, people break off contact without meaning to all the time. Though, it does hurt when that person has been your friend since 3 years old, the person that shared his first kiss with you.

You can’t– don’t know what to call him now though, the last time you talked was… a year ago. For your birthday. He remembered that, surprisingly. Does he even still… look at guys that way, does he even remember–

This isn’t the time for this.

All this to say, in your professional opinion, none of the Mark’s would give a shit about you so you should be safe and sound. You don’t have anything to worry about.

You put your phone down and get up.

You hear the glass of your windows shatter before the sight registers in your mind. Your eyes shut, your arms defend your face as instincts kick in but you never feel the incoming cuts of the broken glass. Instead, the air is knocked out of your body as Mark slams you down on the floor with his body.

“What the fuck– You– hold up,” he sputtered as your gazes locked, yours is terrified while his turns from glee to…confusion?

He yanks you closer to his face by your chin with an iron grip as he looks you over,

“Well… it is you, huh. Just a dude now, though,” just as you finally think to say something he yanks you up from the floor and sits you down on the kitchen table –when did you even get here– and he saunters closer. 

“Look at that, all ready for me too?” he coos, his eyes drifting to your —almost undone by now— towel, he steps closer, his hands planted on either side of your thighs, “did you know I was coming?” he snickered at his own immature joke.

“What– what the fuck are you doing here?”

You finally spoke and it felt like torture through your dry and constricted throat, your hoarse voice evidence of your nervousness. He cackles as his hand moves from where it was planted, to your ass and giving it a squeeze, his smirk widening when you let out a surprised gasp.

“Nice ass”

You don’t know what to do, you feel frozen, you could try to fight, punch, run, do something. 

You’re frozen, either because of fear or because of how frayed your nervous system is from overworking for years that your body just gave up when being confronted with a fight or flight response and just deciding to freeze.

He pouts and squeezes your ass even tighter, making you groan in pain, “Come on babe, say something, I missed you– well, you weren’t a dude but, I know it’s you,” his other hand deciding to pinch and grope your thigh as he goes on, “I know you aren’t so boring, so c’mon, this is foreplay isn’t it? I bet you’re used to doing this shit all the time with your mark–”

He feels the impact of your punch on his throat, letting out a surprised but satisfied groan he looks you in the eyes, opening his mouth before you interrupt him with a glare, “I don’t know which version you are or whatever but me and ‘my’ mark don’t have anything to do with each other. Not...not for a long time,” finally hearing your voice, although hoarse, plus your glare and fuck that punch has him so fucking turned on already. He can feel the uncomfortable constriction of the suit becoming more and more prominent as you speak.

“Which means I’m not a leverage or a hostage to be used, I– I won’t give you any kind of advantage so just– please just—” your rambling gets interrupted by his lips latching onto your neck, you let out a whimper involuntarily as you try to push him off of you. Grabbing his hair –as much as you can anyway– you pull his head back with as much force as you can muster and headbutt him. Which goes as well as you’d expect. Your vision blurs and your ears ring, you can feel blood seeping from your nose as your ears finally register the exhilarated laugh. 

“Yes, fuck! That’s it baby, give it to me, I can take it,” he cups your face with one hand as the other brings your bodies closer by his other hand on your ass, “let me show you what that little bitch boy could only dream of doing to you, what you’ve been missing out on,” you groan in pain as he plants a rough kiss on your lips, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip with very clear intention to draw blood.

[meowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowme0w]

I’m not the one you want babe, I’m not what you need.

Imagine you’re in the main universe of invincible and even after being by marks side practically since birth you were always his second choice.

Eve and William before you, always. So when the invincible invasion happened you were shocked to see 5 of them surrounding you fighting for you only to realize the only reason they are fighting is cause you’re just a copy of their own version of you.

It’s when you realize that you’ll always be the second choice even if the first choice is you in a different universe

I literally just word vomit sorry if it’s like all over the place I’ve just had Mark Grayson stuck in my head 24/7 and that one tiktok audio lmao

[asaarii]

more fanart for @lespepsippr because ALLLL marks are yearners deep down and i love coming up with different hairstyles and hcs for their personalities with each of the readers.

i like to think mohawk mc learned which variant she was dealing with and said fuck that and dedicated her time in the invincible universe becoming an academic weapon instead (he noticed her anyway rest in peace)

[awstrck]

Mark and Reader's Cable!Son tries to get his mom back safe from the Wasteland dimension but does not give a single FUCK about his dad's variants... walk with me here

Their son is like Cable from X-Men who was sent to the future by Scott and Madelyn because only the virus he was infected with could be cured with their technology and Angstrom injected the virus in Reader's bloodstream while she was pregnant without them knowing till after his "death" and their son's birth

Poor boy just wants to make sure his mom gets home safe and away from those twisted versions of his father and mind you, the son has Mark's whole face and is taller (the Viltrumite genes are STRONG) quite literally looking down on them while telling them to "fuck off and leave my mom alone"

Oh also for this fic idea, the reader only exists in Main!Mark's dimension and no where else so imagine the variants reacting to a version of themself who has a loving girlfriend, is a good person and has a son... valid crashouts are happening (specifically Mohawk, Lensless, Masked and Shiesty)

This may seem all over the place but i do not have the brain power to to properly structure this I fear 😔

[invoncible]

I’d love to see Invincible!variants meeting OG reader with powers/super strong because in their world, their reader is normal. I’d like to see their reaction when they’re expecting someone weak and then they suddenly fly off or get decked in the face!

INVINCIBLE VARIANTS & reader who can put them in their place ✧˚. ft. nogoggles!mark, mohawk!mark, viltrumite!mark, the surviving 8 cw. canon typical violence

— this is so funny ily nonnie but uhh rereading this i feel like i lost the plot, hope u enjoy nonetheless lol <3 ! — reader is with MAIN!mark & has scarlet witch type powers

when multiple versions of your boyfriend were zipping around the planet causing indescribable amounts of destruction, you were a little confused. all of these guys... were mark? what mark could've been if things went a little different?

you held back a little when fighting them because they had the face of the boy you loved so much, but after seeing them in action... they had to go.

you were flying beside your mark, the only good one apparently, when cecil barked in your ear.

"y/n, i need you." your comm buzzed to life with cecil's instructions.

"kinda busy, cecil." you muttered under your breath.

"please, i know you're done with me. i know both of you are. but don't turn your back on the people who're in danger."

"what does he want?" your mark snapped, the distaste evident on his face.

"help." you answered him with a sigh, your moral compass guilting you into seeing where you were needed. you promised mark you'd be back soon.

"just tell me where the problem is." you shot back at cecil.

NOGOGGLES!MARK

"i need you at guardians' HQ."

you narrowed your eyes in concern. "the guardians are down?"

"it's a batshit crazy version of mark, what do you think?"

you rolled your eyes and rerouted your flight path to guardians' base. within minutes you warped right in the middle of the action.

"what the fuck..." you whispered in horror. kate and her duplicates were out, shapesmith was ripped in half—immortal was the only one still going and even he was struggling.

"nice, they sent someone else!" mark stopped immortal's punch nonchalantly with one hand, grinning down at you from where he hovered in the air. he squinted then gasped, throwing immortal to the ground.

"y/n? why would they send you?" he floated down to you, approaching you like a wild animal.

"you know me?" you stalled, eyes darting around your periphery to make sure that the others were at least alive.

"do i know you?" he laughed, figuring that was a good enough answer to your question. he circled around you with an approving hum. "aww, you playing dress up? i like this color on you—"

activating your power, your tendrils of chaos magic snaked around his body, picking him up and throwing him across the room. you flew to where he landed, lifting the debris of his prior battle telekinetically and sending the slabs of concrete crashing into his body.

your feet touched down on the ground as you walked calmly towards his fallen body squirming under the projectiles. he shot up and out of the pile of rocks with a feral grin on his face.

"holy shit. you're nothing like my y/n." he set his fists and accelerated towards you.

you stopped him with the raise of your hand. his punch stuttered in time and space as he tried his hardest to push past your power and land a good one. you ducked under him, yanking at his ankle and slamming him to the ground so hard he bounced.

"yes," he chuckled lowly, wiping the blood dripping on his chin. "yes. can i take you home with me?"

"no."

"i'll fight you for it," he stood up, rolling his neck. you cringed when you heard the cacophony of cracks that followed. "wanna fight me for it?"

"s'not gonna be much of a fight." you smiled, shifting your weight before taking off again, gaining altitude and using your power as a jet engine to collide your leg with his face.

to your shock and horror, he just stood there and took it with a smile, his body skipping across the floor like a rock over a lake .

"oh..." he grinned, sliding to a stop and licking the blood off his teeth. "oh. i love you."

you blinked in confusion, tilting your head. your body warmed as you channeled your power again, a ball of energy accumulating over your palm. "i'm... going to kill you."

"i know!" he laughed, punching his fist into his palm as he got hyped up again. "that's the best part."

"you're actually enjoying this." you meant it as a question, but there was no room for debate. this mark was 100% delighted by the fact you were trying to kill him.

mark swayed on his feet, blood dribbling from his split lip. his breathing was uneven—you couldn't tell if it was from exertion or excitement—and of course that fucking grin was still there.

"you’re so fun," he groaned, licking his teeth. "i love my y/n, but i bet they could learned a thing or two from you—"

you didn’t let him finish. with a flick of your wrist, your energy surged forward, wrapping around his throat. his words choked off into a strangled gasp as you lifted him into the air.

"i'm not them," you said, voice steady even as you watched him gasp for air.

then, with a sharp twist—you snapped his neck. his body dropped to the floor, limp. you stared for a second, waiting for any signs of movement. nothing. finally, you let out a breath and turned away.

"ugh..."

you froze and spun around. his voice was wet, choked with laughter.

"you're not making it easy to stay away from you."

MOHAWK!MARK

"the penitentiary. prison's getting ransacked."

you were at the scene within the minute, zapping into existence just to see mark with a fuckass mohawk fighting off some heroes tasked with taking him in. they were unsuccessful of course, as when you arrived they were in piles of limbs and blood on the concrete.

his eyes flickered to you, widening in recognition. "y/n..?"

you raised your eyebrow. guess he knew you, or a version of you in his world. it didn't matter to you.

he lit up and tossed a severed hand to the side. "oh, hey!" he walked towards you. "what're you doing here, babe? i know you love when i go crazy but this is a biiiiit dangerous—"

you restricted his movement, pulling him towards you with your magic. you squeezed and squeezed until you heard his breath hitch. "i'm not your y/n."

"yeah, i can see that." he crooned, feigning an impressed tone. "you got a little power now? if you wanted me close, you don't have to be rough. just ask. i'm happy with any version of you." he failed to hide his little grunt, squirming in your hold.

if your grimace was any indication of your sentiment, he didn't take it to heart. he took it as motivation. he broke through your magic, pummeling through the air towards you. unfazed, you slapped him off course with a bolt of magic. he crashed into the wall with a groan.

mark stood up, the dust and rocks falling off his back. "my y/n was a sweetheart."

"i can be sweet," you mumbled more to yourself, brows furrowing as you strategized how to finish him off quickly.

"just not for me, though." mark grinned. "i see how it is. is it the hair?"

"kinda." your eyes flickered up to his hair and you couldn't stop the little smile on your face. all you could think about was your mark with that style. it worked on him, not that you'd admit it.

you picked him up and slammed him down, picked him up and slammed him down again, over and over until he was hanging limp in the air.

satisfied, you synthesized restraints from imagination and fastened them over him. you barely climbed out of the sunken crater you carved with his body when he coughed up blood, eyes fluttering.

you pressed a finger to your ear. "cecil, send someone else to bring this guy in. i've got to get back."

"you just gonna throw me around and leave?" he scoffed, words slurring together from the beating.

"someone's gonna take you in, and you're gonna tell us everything about how you got here." you sigh and barely spare him a glance over your shoulder.

"i won't talk." he sang teasingly.

"you will."

"i'll do it maybe if you come a little closer." he egged you on, a stupid little smirk on his face. "got something real special to say to you."

"shut up."

he groaned petulantly and started to push against your magical binds.

"stay." you narrowed your eyes.

his eyes darted up to yours, staring for a moment before huffing a short laugh. he leaned back against the caved-in pavement, man-spreading and getting comfy against the slope. "yes, ma'am."

VILTRUMITE!MARK

"he's off fighting spawn. the poor guy's probably already dead."

"got it."

"watch out for this one, y/n, he's..." cecil sucked in a breath. "i dunno. full viltrumite indoctrination?"

"i can handle him." you reassured him before phasing over to the variant's location.

you watched as he ripped the hero apart, flying him into the highway below for good measure. you soared down behind him, saving all the cars that were launched from the road and setting them down at a safe distance.

mark watched as the cars were gently rescued. he turned around like he had all the time in the world and looked pained upon seeing you.

"please no." he sighed softly. "they shouldn't have sent you."

"why not?" you humored him, stepping gracefully over the rubble.

"i won't stop all this. not even for you, my love."

"i'm not your y/n..." you pursed your lips, getting a faint sense of deja vu. you felt like you said this a few times already.

"don't worry, it'll be over soon. why don't you wait all this out—"

you teleport before he can finish, reappearing behind him mid-air. a surge of energy coils around your hands as you slam a concussive blast into his back. he stumbles forward, muscles tensing from the impact.

he spun around in a flash, hand gripping your throat as he shoves you back-first into the nearest building. the collision sent shockwaves rippling through the complex, glass shattering, debris crumbling to the ground.

"cute tricks." he breathed against your ear. "this is new. but don't make me fight you."

you stabbed your fingers into his pressure points, channeling your power through his nerves. his grip faltered for a fraction of a second, enough time for you to flip, plant your feet on his chest, and kick him off you.

mark spiraled back, barely catching himself mid-air. he wipes the blood from his lip from being effectively electrocuted, chest rising and falling.

"join me," he whispered, watching you in awe. "join me. we can rule the universe together."

"the fact that you think you can ask that and get a good answer proves that you don't know me at all."

"i do."

"you don't."

"we could have everything." he floats towards you. "power. control. be reasonable, won't you?"

you phase behind him again, placing one hand on his back and charging up your energy. he tries to turn around, but you're a second faster, releasing the pent-up force directly into him. mark grimaces in pain as the blast sends him spiraling into the air, flipping and tumbling before crashing into the ground below with a deafening thud.

you crashed onto the ground, unwilling to let him have another opportunity to get up. he saves you the trouble and holds a hand up in surrender.

"i won't fight you." he says simply.

you shake your head incredulously. "it's not a choice."

"i'll come find you when this is all over." he dismissed you easily, walking off your attacks.

"what—?"

he took off at supersonic speed, leaving you in the dust.

THE SURVIVORS

"they're all hovering over mark's house."

"what?! is—"

"debbie and oliver are fine. they're safe elsewhere." cecil cut you off.

you groaned and teleported over to mark's house. unfortunately, they were in your usual spot, hovering over the roof. you hung there in the air for a split second before they all pounced on you.

"we can't all have a y/n, can we?" full mask mark exclaimed, being the first to grab you and spin away from the group with you hidden safely behind him. "i'm taking them and mom back with me."

"you lost mom and y/n?" omnimark shook his head, like a father disappointed in a child. "how can you be trusted with this one?"

you narrowed your eyes. "i'm literally right here—"

"shut the fuck up." prison mark snapped at full mask mark, pushing past omnimark and jabbed a finger at the soft one of the bunch. "i'm tired of your bitching and whining. keep mom, i guess, i don't fuckin' care. but give 'em back."

"i hate you guys." sighed omnimark.

"who said you were getting them?" unmasked mark scoffed and crossed his arms.

"no one's getting me." you broke up the fight, momentarily forgetting that they were all mass murderers just cuz they had your pretty boyfriend's face.

"yeah, cuz you'd rather settle for that stupid fucking mark from this world."

"why'd you say his name like it's a slur?" you deadpanned. "aren't you all technically mark?"

"we're getting off topic." omnimark held out a hand to calm the congregation. "for what it's worth, i have my y/n safe and sound back home—"

"oh for fuck's sake."

© invoncible