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vinnyvamppp · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! I remembered this trend on TikTok where gfs would pick their bfs up and sit them on the counter. I was wondering how Mark and his variants would react to their normal civilian gf doing that to them (or attempting to—). It doesn’t have to be anything long! It can just be short descriptions (if you end up taking this request). 🙏

“Sit. Stay. Counter.”

Note: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. This is the cutest, thirstiest, most deranged and adorable request you could’ve given me after the symphony of smut I've published.

Warnings: Possible, but minor war crime... Oh, and some sexual tension. (Everybody's a freak-bob cause I couldn't resist.) Special request at the end.

Synopsis: In which you, a mere civilian with either questionable upper body strength or pure audacity, attempt to lift various overpowered Viltrumite men and sit them on the kitchen counter like they’re your pretty little trophy husbands.

Mainstream Mark/Variants x Fem!Reader (could be GN, “she” is only mentioned in monologue moments.) WC: 2,585

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Mainstream Mark You try to play it cool and act like you’re just walking into the kitchen to kiss him, but your hands suddenly slide to his hips. Mark’s mid-sentence when he freezes, eyes narrowing with mild confusion and a flush creeping up his neck. He chokes on air. Like, actually makes a startled noise because he doesn’t expect it—you lifting him?! “Wait—woah—are you trying to lift me right now?? Babe??” He ends up doing a little hop to help you, laughing nervously, and then sitting there grinning while you kiss his nose like you just won a prize. And you do it! You actually manage to get him up there with a grunt and a full-body lift. That’s enough to make him freeze in awe, stammer a protest, and then immediately try to take over. He's bashful but secretly really into it. His legs swinging like a kicked puppy who just found out he’s got a hot girlfriend with strong arms and intentions. He keeps glancing down at you, smiling like he’s trying not to make it a Thing™… but he’s definitely thinking about it during sex later. Internal Monologue: She’s… trying to lift me? She’s actually—wait, she’s serious. Okay. Okay, don’t make a sound. Don’t ruin it. Act casual. Act like this isn’t the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you. Is it weird if I help? No, don’t help, she might stop. Holy shit—she’s strong. I’m marrying her. We’re already married. Is it weird if I say thank you? I’m gonna say thank you. Oh my god, I’m hard—how am I already hard?! FOCUS.

If You Can’t Pick Him Up:

Mark immediately tries to help you. Like, sweet-boy trying to do a little hop into your arms. When it doesn’t work, he laughs, wraps his arms around you, and says, “You trying to carry me or climb me?” And then he picks YOU up, kisses you stupid, and places you on the counter instead like the princess you are. You’re upset, but this is less embarrassing than the way your knees knocked when you tried.

You two doom-scroll until you’re caught up on the latest trends, his camera roll is FILLED with videos.

｡𖦹°‧ No Goggles Mark You don’t even get a chance to lift him. The moment your hands settle at his hips and you square your stance, his head tilts slowly, lips curled into a "what the fuck are you doing?" grin. He stands there like a little shit, just barely helping, making himself heavy on purpose so you struggle. When you get him halfway and grunt in frustration, he’s already giggling. “Oh no, my weak little arms, I’m too precious to be carried—” BUT he lets you do it ABSOLUTELY. And sits up there all relaxed, legs dangling, eyes wide like you’ve just unlocked a new level of hotness he wasn’t prepared for. He’s biting his lip, watching you like you just grew a second head. “Dude… that was so hot, I think my dick twitched. No, wait, it definitely twitched.

”You finally get him up there and he melts. Full on spreads his thighs, hands braced behind him, eyes half-lidded like he’s beckoning you to challenge him. He leans in all cocky, asks if you’re manhandling can be a daily occurrence, he strives to irritate and entice. Internal Monologue: Oh my god. Oh my god, she’s doing it. She’s gonna lift me. This is it. This is the moment I fall in love again. God, I love this woman. Look at her face—so determined. So serious. She’s feral. She’s hot. I should say something gross. No, worse. Feral. Say something feral. Should I ask her to grip me while she’s at it? No, wait—what if I fake being heavier so she gets mad? Yeah. Yeah, this is peak romance.

If You Can’t Pick Him Up:

He laughs, obnoxiously loud, and then says, “Okay, wait, no no—do it again. I swear I’ll behave. Kind of.” When you give up through bated breaths, he leans down, “You know what happens now, right?” Then he just drops to his knees, palms on your hips, mouth already moving toward your inner thigh. Failure means nothing. He's thriving.

凸( •̀_•́ )凸 Mohawk Mark You don’t ask or warn, more or less appearing like an apparition to try. The second you do, he plants his feet and makes it difficult on purpose. “The hell are you doing?” he mutters, brow arched, not moving an inch. He’s gonna make you work for it. Full smirk, arms crossed, with an amused gleam in his eyes. He wants to see if you’re serious. “You think you can move me? C’mon, then. Show me.” If you get him even halfway up? He’s shocked—but laughs.

The second you groan, he grins and not in a mocking way, but like he’s daring you to earn it. Eventually, you throw your full weight into it and manage to boost him up, and he lets out a sharp exhale like he wasn’t ready to be dominated like that. But now? His eyes are locked.

“You trying to flip the script on me, babe?” he mutters, grinning. “That’s cute.” He doesn’t move. Just pulls you between his legs, forearms on your shoulders, already hard from the show of strength. He loves when you challenge him. His chin nuzzles within the splayed hairs of your mohawk, utterly plotting. Internal Monologue: Ain’t no way she’s trying this. There’s no way. She knows I weigh like 180, right? All muscle? What is she—wait, is she gritting her teeth? Oh shit, she’s serious. Okay, hold on—do I let her? Nah, make her work for it. Just a little. Play it cool. Act smug. Maybe flex a little. She likes the fight. And when she gets me up there? Game on. She’s gonna regret this—in the best possible way.

If You Can’t Pick Him Up:

He stares down at you with an amused smirk and doesn’t budge. “Oh, babe. You're adorable.” Then he scoops you up like you’re nothing, walks you over to the counter, and spanks your ass as he sets you down. A genuine cackle crawls from his throat as he watches you squirm. Somehow in that amount of time you produced a bucket of sweat.

This is now free rein for you two to begin mischievous plots together. ദ്ദി/ᐠ｡‸｡ᐟ\ Omni Mark

He blinks… slowly, then squints. He knows what you’re doing the second you square your stance. And he lets you try with a silent but palpable curiosity, his expression unreadable. “Are you lifting me?”

Your hands slide to his hips. You push and grunt once before he finally eases up just enough for you to get him seated. He lets you do it, but there’s a heavy pause—like he’s trying to figure out why it’s affecting him so much. He’s used to being the strongest, but this? This little moment of tenderness?

He ends up gripping your waist. Staring at you for a few long seconds with that haunted, love-struck look. Then says, very softly: “Again. Do it again.” He almost uses this as a form of training, his quiet ego making him believe you shouldn’t be able to lift him even an inch, but you’ve made him grow soft… so much so, that he’s willing to give into you. Internal Monologue: Is this a power play? She's reaching for my hips—intentionally. No hesitation. That’s bold. I like bold. Is she trying to prove something to me? Or to herself? It doesn’t matter. She's close now. She's warm. Her heartbeat’s fast—excited. Not afraid. That’s… rare. God, she doesn’t know what this is doing to me. I haven’t felt this way in decades. Don’t moan. Don’t grab her. Don’t break the counter. If You Can’t Pick Him Up:

He watches you try and fail with an unreadable expression. Then he slowly smiles. “You tried,” he murmurs, brushing hair from your face. Just what did you expect? He's almost pure muscle and you quiet after a few seconds. “Let me show you what that earns you.” And then he lifts you onto the counter as if you weigh nothing but touches you like you’re everything.

ूाीू Sinister Mark There’s two possibilities: He sits himself up there the second you try, smirking the whole time and watching you like prey. Or… your lucky latter where you catch him off guard. You make your move when he’s lounging, of course. And of course, he lets you. Because Sinister Mark? He wants to be put on the counter. Not because he’s submissive, but because it means he gets to lean back, legs spread, hands behind him, smirking down at you like you just set a trap for yourself. “Go on, then,” his expression says. “You touched me first. Let’s see how far you take it.” “Make it worth it,” He says with a cocky drawl. He’s already hard before he sits. And the moment your fingers wrap around his waist, the moment your breath hitches, he’s watching you unravel with strain and loving every second.

And once he’s up there? He stares at you like you just became his favorite obsession all over again. He taps his thigh like it’s an invitation. Come kneel, sweetheart. You started this. Internal Monologue: Ohhh. Look who wants to play alpha. That’s adorable. She really thinks she can lift me? She doesn’t even know what this is gonna awaken in me. Look at her go. Little grunts. All that effort. Shit, it’s hot. Alright, I’ll help her just enough. Give her the win. Let her think she’s got the power for a minute. And then? I’ll spread my legs and watch her come undone trying to handle it.

If You Can’t Pick Him Up: He’s smirking the whole time. He won’t help AT ALL. Just watches you strain with a low, lazy look like “You’re adorable when you try.” Your teeth grind together and just as you’re about to blow the lid, your hands droop to your sides.

And when you give up? He instantly grabs your neck, walks you back three steps, and lifts you to the counter with one smooth motion. “See? That’s how you take control.” Then he spreads your legs. Your plan just backfired beautifully.

♛ Viltrum Mark You’re subtle about it... or so you think.

But before your fingers even graze his hips, Viltrum Mark’s gaze locks on you. He doesn’t move, not even the quirk of his facial expression. Just tilts his head like he’s already dissected your plan six moves ahead. It's usually unnerving, but somehow endearing during displays of affection. He lets you try, but every motion is being filed away with every tug.

You lift, push, and egregiously strain. And finally, he helps, just barely, so you can get him onto the counter. He sits there, legs open, gaze cool, and an imperceptive smirk. Like he’s letting you play at control while deciding how long he’ll indulge you.

But there’s something in the way his knees tighten around your hips… the way his fingers graze your wrist just a little too slow. He’s not mocking you, he’s considering you… and that's somehow scarier. You walked in thinking this was a game. Now you’re between his thighs while he decides whether to devour you or play the long game. Internal Monologue: ...She’s making contact. Hands on my hips. Interesting. Is this an attempt at dominance? Or flirtation? Or both? She knows she’s mine, right? She knows touching me like that wont work, right? And she’s still doing it. God, I want to ruin her. She’s lifting me. She’s lifting me? I should snap her in half. I should worship her. I should bend her over the counter instead. No—I’ll let her have this. It’s killing me.

If You Can’t Pick Him Up:

He watches you strain and your muscles flex as your arms tremble with visible veins. And when you fail, he just steps closer—silent—gripping your jaw like a warning, leaning in until his lips barely brush yours. “Try again,” he’d whisper if he ever needed to speak. But he doesn’t, he’ll wait and let you squirm. Then push you back against the nearest surface and remind you who the apex predator is.

He’ll indulge in these silly trends just to see your reactions.

ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ Shiesty / Hooded Mark

Lets you with a raised brow, hands relaxed at his sides, like he’s judging your form but not stopping you. He wants to see how worthy you are, after all, you’re dating him. The second your hands touch his hips, he knows. He doesn’t help you either, just stares, obviously amused. His eyes showing faintly beneath that veil, teeth flashing beneath the smirk he’s not bothering to hide.

Once you do it, he leans forward, forearms on his knees, staring right into your eyes. “You always this bold?” He rasps, “Mmh. You wanna show off, huh?” he’d say if he were feeling generous. But instead, he just stares until you squirm under the weight of his limp body.

You get him up there—eventually, with him purposefully being deadweight. And now he’s fully manspread, head tilted, fingers tugging on the hem of your shirt with teasing violence. “You wanna be in charge?” his body language says. “Then do it. Impress me.” Internal Monologue: Is this foreplay? It feels like foreplay. It feels like she’s trying to do something reckless and pretend it’s casual. Mm. She’s touching me like she thinks I’ll just let her. Should I let her? Nah. Not yet. Gotta make her work for it. Look at her muscles flex. Look at her face. God, she’s hot like this. If she gets me up there? I’m flipping this whole kitchen upside down. She wants dangerous? I’ll show her dangerous.

If You Can’t Pick Him Up:

You’re frowning before you know it, staring up at him as if this is his fault for instigating. He absolutely lets you fail. Then he chuckles before grabbing the back of your neck and dragging you flush against him, whispering against your jaw like a threat and a promise. “What a shame. You started this, too.” He loves that you think you have control. He’s about to take it back too.

He totally endorses testing out strength related trends, this starts a series of public embarrassment of him carrying you.

(╥‸╥) Masked Mark

He lets you and he actually melts. He tries not to show it, but the moment your arms wrap around him and you lift, even just a little— His cheeks flush. You don’t even make it to his hips before he starts getting nervous. Not scared, just flustered, like his brain short-circuited the moment he realized what you were trying to do.

He says nothing but sits there, blushing, fists clenched on the counter beside his thighs. Like if he says one word, he’ll start whimpering. He’s obsessed with being handled like that, or even, the idea that you want him, even like this? It wrecks him in the softest way possible. His fingers grip the edge of the counter as he stares down at you with a pleased and light chuckle. He watches you like you’ve become something dangerous and perfect.

Internal Monologue: She’s… she’s touching me? Oh my god. She’s trying to lift me. That’s—it’s cute. It’s hot. I don’t know what to do. Should I help? Should I just melt? I don’t want to mess it up. Her hands are so warm. She’s so confident. She’s going to break me. This is embarrassing... I think I’m in love again. I want her to ruin me. I want her to carry me into the sun. Oh god—I’m gonna lose my mind if she grips me again.

If You Can’t Pick Him Up:

He sees you try and panics—“Wait, no no, don’t hurt yourself—” He laughs. He looks down, ashamed. But when you kiss him? Tell him it’s okay? He drops to his knees, hands shaky, mouth open, ready to serve. “I can’t be lifted,” his body says, “but I can worship you just fine.”

A/N: let's be real... everyone's a freakzoid with how much Mark and Eve get it on in the show.

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ SCRIPT FLIP - What if the reader doesn't struggle at all?

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Mainstream Mark

You wait until he’s brushing his teeth, humming some tune, and mumbling to you. You're mid-convo while he's rambling about something innocent, maybe a new spare costume from Art, maybe breakfast—and you just… scoop him. You sidle up behind him, say nothing, and just lift him, legs tucked under your arm, shift your hips, shoulder to his waist, like a perfect Olympic carry. Before he knows it, you’ve hoisted him over your shoulder like a sack of sex-starved potatoes.

“Wha—babe?? I—I can fly???” He’s flailing a little, holding onto your shoulder like “why is this working???” He can’t believe this is happening. He doesn’t resist. He doesn’t know how. “You can’t just—! I mean, you can, obviously, but—holy shit."

You set him on the counter like you just bought him for sale at a warehouse, and his jaw drops. His face is beet red. His muscular thighs press together instinctively; shocked, SOMEHOW fully hard and ashamed but proud. His fingers run over his eyes, sighing to himself before staring at you through his lashes.

“...Okay. That was kind of hot. Are we gonna talk about it, or…?”

He’s not okay, no, he’s better. You’ve just revealed a strength kink he didn’t know he had. You lean in, hands on the counter beside his hips, and smirk. He’s speechless, eyes wide, trying not to let you see how turned on he is. He fails as his head turns at lightning speed to rinse his mouth in the sink, he returns to his place on the counter like a good boy before his hands roughly reel you in, his minty fresh tongue prodding your lips without hesitation.

His Inner Monologue: Okay, okay, don’t panic. She’s strong. She’s insanely strong. I didn’t know that was possible. I mean, I guess I always suspected but like—DAMN. Is it weird that I’m into this? No? It’s fine. Totally normal. Don’t get a boner. Don’t—oh god. Okay. Smile. Play it cool. Act like you didn’t just get bench pressed like a cheerleader. CONTROL YOURSELF. Everything about her is so… Sweet boy is on his phone the second it’s over, scrolling TikTok with you, stammering the entire time. “I mean, I guess… I didn’t know that was a thing? But yeah, yeah—it’s kinda cool. Cool-cute. Cute-cool. Shut up.” He’s red in the face. Can’t stop thinking about it. Absolutely let's you do it again. He now peers over your shoulder whenever you scroll social media. He isn’t sure whether he should prepare himself mentally or physically…or even at all for the charades you might pull. He’s playfully terrified, but oh so enthralled.

｡𖦹°‧ No Goggles Mark

He clocks it instantly, and his head tilts, mouth quirking into a suspicious grin—like a cat who knows he’s pretty. Of course, he would. It's lensless Mark, and let's be honest… he's definitely pulled pranks and made memes out of your reaction to send you during arguments.

You just walk up like you’re on a mission. He doesn’t move when you grab him, in fact, he makes it harder—just to be a shit with no assistance. Just a dry, "this oughta be good" look on his face. But then… his grin falters. “Wait—what are you—Dude. Babe. Babe. You’re not gonna—OH MY GOD—”

You lift him like ITS NOTHING, one arm under his knees, one across his back, like some twisted bridal carry—but halfway through, you grab him by the waist and shoulder, and in one powerful motion, you toss him over your shoulder instead. You sling him easily like you’re about to carry a sack of bricks to hell. He loses his mind. “Oh my god. Okay. This is real now. You’re actually carrying me. I—I think this is working??? I might be in love.” “THIS IS A CORE MEMORY.” “Dude. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I need you to do that again. Take me.”

He’s laughing and moaning and definitely trying to grind against your back simultaneously. Even spitting out things he KNOWS will irritate you. It's like he’s short-circuiting, fighting the urge to beg you to spar with him and wanting to grind himself into a puddle. You drop him on the counter, and he just stares at you—eyes wide, hair tousled, pupils blown.

Inner Monologue: Holy shit. Dude. DUDE. I’m being carried, like, full hoist. I should be fighting this. Or saying something hot. But I’m close to whimpering. Is this what being prey feels like? I like it. I hate it. No, I love it. This is love. This is lust. This is spiritual. Am I about to propose? God, I’m so gone. She’s gonna use this against me forever. ...I hope she does.

You give him a smug once-over, hands on your hips like you just completed a flawless routine. He’s already panting, fingers twitching against the counter, legs spread instinctively. You lean forward, close enough to feel his breath hitch. “Still think I’m too soft to handle you?”

He groans really loud “Okay, wow. That was weirdly hot. That’s it. You’re coming home with me.” He goes full gremlin, and I mean more than usual. He teases you relentlessly about it for a week and starts fake-limping like you injured him. But secretly? He’s watching his back. “Dude, next time just say you wanna dom me. I’ll throw myself into your arms, easy.” He’ll search “dominant girlfriend lifting boyfriend trope” on Tumblr at 2am.

凸( •̀_•́ )凸 Mohawk Mark

He’s posturing, arms crossed, smirk heavy. You wait until he’s talking shit. He’s leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, mouth mid-rant about something some other variant did wrong. Probably threatening violence or about to call you a smartass.

Something about how you couldn’t handle him and about your “cute little arms,” and how he’d break you before you got the chance to try anything bold. That’s when you step in close, hands sliding around his waist, a dangerous little smirk on your lips.

“You gonna try to lift me again?” he asks, almost with an amused gleam but something that encourages you regardless.

You don’t give him time to finish. You grab him by the thighs, shoulder into his stomach, and he’s airborne before he can blink. He hits your shoulder with a grunt, eyes wide, palms on your back. He was hauled as if you’d done this a dozen times before.

“The fuck—HEY—what the hell?!”

He yelps, yes, Mohawk Mark yelps. The way his hands grab at your back says he hates how much he likes it. You walk him across the room and drop him on the kitchen counter like he’s not 180+ pounds of alien muscle and attitude. His ass hits the granite with a thud, and he stares at you with a raised brow.

And then he grins, obviously impressed. You were always his favorite version of you. “You really gonna manhandle me like that?” He snorts, licking his lips. “You better fuck me after this, or I swear—”

Inner Monologue: No way. No fucking way she just did that. You let one woman pick you up and suddenly your dick’s got a mind of its own. Nah. Hell no. That’s hot though. Shit. Look at her face—like she didn’t even break a sweat. Damn. Okay. This is happening. Don’t get soft. You are not the prey. You’re the damn predator. You’re just letting her win. For now.

You stared down at him as if granting yourself a tribute. You lean forward, slide your fingers under his chin, and tilt his face toward you. His pupils blow wide. His smirk twitches, more like slants, very obviously. “And if you don’t… I’m gonna rail the shit outta you for that,” he mutters, already half-hard. “...And I’m still gonna let you do it again.” Acts like he’s over it, but you catch him doing push-ups in the middle of the night. He keeps testing you: “Bet you can’t do it again.” Immediately gets hard when you can. He doesn’t need to search trends when he already knows you unlocked something for both of you.

♛ Viltrum Mark

He’s mid-mission debrief, completely in control, arms crossed, expression unreadable, per usual. You step into his space like you’re going to kiss him. He’s used to your usual distractions, you’ve grown awfully bold recently. As much as he decline to admit, intimate gestures made by you have grown more meaningful.

And then you hoist his royal Viltrumite ass over your shoulder. He freezes and you can feel every muscle in his body go tense. The carry was truly your best efforts. Your hands locked, body braced, hefted over your shoulder before he realizes what’s happening. He’s fully rigid against you.

He doesn’t say a word, but his cock twitches with a jolt . Its sudden, so much that he’s internally disappointed in himself. His hands tighten on your back, his jaw tensing in silence. You’ve just short-circuited centuries of dominant, imperial Viltrumite wiring in one motion.

You sit him down, but still, he stays silent. Watching you and almost… burning? She lifted me. She LIFTED me? You set him on the counter, slow and casual, and step back like it was nothing.

Oh, man. You don’t know what you’ve just awakened in him. “You touched me. You lifted me,” his stare says. “And now I’m going to touch you back—and not gently.”

He says nothing. But he’s hard. Breathing slower. Eyes darker. You’ve just violated the natural order and he wants more.

Inner Monologue: This is impossible. This is unacceptable. This is the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to me. She has no idea what she’s done. She touched me like I was hers. She moved me like I didn’t weigh more than her car. I should punish her. I should worship her. I should bend her over the counter she dropped me on and rut until I forget my name.

You lean in to speak—but he grabs your throat, lips hovering just an inch away. He hust stares, his eyebrow jumping slightly as he scrutinizes you under his gaze. His lips suction to yours as his strong hand keep you tucked away against his chest. And claims you an hour later. He doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t acknowledge it. But from now on, anytime you walk behind him he tenses. Like you might strike again. He lets it happen once… maybe twice. By the third time, you’re the one on the counter.

Don’t push the boy too far, okay?

ദ്ദി/ᐠ｡‸｡ᐟ\ Omni Mark

You lift him without warning. Not because he didn’t expect it, but because you did it so easily. One moment he was standing, the next he was over your shoulder, dead silent. He doesn’t resist, but rather watches you as if anticipating your shenanigans. You approach and grab his hips. You lift him over your shoulder, and his eyes flicker, barely, before going wide behind you.

You carry him like a queen dragging her knight back to the throne. Set him on the counter, legs spread, hands braced behind him.

“...Impressive.” “You know that wasn’t necessary.” His voice drops an octave. Something seductive, maybe even dangerous. “...Do it again.”

It’s not just desire, it's a curiosity, like he’s testing what else you’ll do. More like, what else he’ll let you do. What it means to let go. He killed his father, he continued his mission, and yet you test his patience daily with the full confidence he won't harm you. And he knows… he could never bring himself to. Every day you prove another reason to be useful, even in smaller ways like now. You set him down, and he doesn’t speak. His face simply quirks into something more lighthearted, an amused huff leaving his nose as his arms cross over his broad chest. Rather, he just stares for a long moment.

Inner Monologue: She lifted me. Effortless. Like I wasn’t the most dangerous thing on this planet. I’ve never allowed this. Never wanted this. But with her… I crave it. Her hands on me. Her strength. Her boldness. It makes me feel something primal and unfamiliar. Something terrifying. Something I don’t want to end.

You don’t say anything. You just rest your hands on his thighs causing his muscles to twitch and his breathing to stutter. His voice drops an octave and his eyes are blown wide. He’s calm, so calm its scary. And the way his hand settles on your hip as you walk away? He’s basically obsessed.

He reaches for your wrist and pulls you in. And finally lets go of his inhibitions. He now sits in chairs you can’t reach from behind. He’s not afraid, but every so often, he says—dead serious— “You’re going to do it again. Aren’t you?”

ूाीू Sinister Mark

He knows, you haven’t even touched him yet and he’s knows. That twitch in your fingers, the way your eyes narrow with a plan, or the barely-concealed grin trying to ruin your face.

“You’re thinking about something dangerous,” he hums, not even looking up as he leans back against the counter. “That little face you make when you’re frustrated? Precious. I love that look.” Your funny prank suddenly became something to prove. His eyes followed the line of your jaw, watching as it tensed. “Look at you. All attitude and no plan. It’s honestly impressive how consistent you are.” You don’t answer. You just step forward, plant your hands on his thighs, and hoist him up—full shoulder carry, deliberate, not asking for permission. He doesn’t flinch when you grab him and doesn’t blink when you lift him like a plaything. He lets you as his arms relax, cock already hard against your shoulder.

He doesn’t struggle, albeit he’s surprised, but his all-masking smile is like a customer service blanket from him raging internally. And when you drop him onto the counter like you’re mounting a prize, he stays still for a second. Just looking at you. Grinning slow. “Ohh… oh, sweetheart. That’s dangerous.”

He chuckles in your ear. Voice low. Teeth sharp. “I hope you know what you’ve just done.”

“You lift me. I break you. That’s the new arrangement.” His eyes read, are you trying to start something or finish it? You don’t respond, only smirking, which is worse.

His hands slide behind him on the countertop. Legs part, slow and lazy, welcoming but a trap nontheless. He tilts his head, studying you like you’re a riddle he already solved—but wants to hear you tell it wrong.

“C’mon then. You had all that confidence when you picked me up—let’s see what you do with me now,” he murmurs, gaze growing heavier. Then, smiling, “I like my toys begging and breathless.” You really thought he’d let you get away without consequences? You start, and he finishes; that’s usually how this goes. You were so pretty when you pouted at his light jeers. He was afraid you’d grown boring, yet every interaction pulled something new, something worth taking. He finds this all adorable, but is honestly... kind of a chatty brat during the whole ordeal. Not for long anyway.

Inner Monologue: Oh, she’s bold today. I like it. She wants to flip the script? Let her. Let her think she’s got control. I wanna see how far she takes it before she starts shaking. God, her hands feel good. Confident. Dangerous. Maybe I’ll let her think she won. She didn’t… did she? No. ...Then I’ll pin her down and make her beg to lose again. He lets you lift him again. Why? Because he knows where it ends. If you ever approach him with another trend, expect it to end covered in sweat and tears. It seems you’ve gotten the roles confused on who’s dominant... or did you? (PEG THAT MAN)

ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ Hooded Mark

You wait for the exact moment when he’s halfway into a smug line, something like “You always act brave before you break”—and then you grab him mid-smirk. You two are constantly at odds over who’s stronger without the use of powers. The obvious answer is him, sure, but your ego doesn’t allow you to submit. He doesn’t flinch, but you can feel the slight hitch in his breath as you hoist him over your shoulder, one arm under his thighs, the other bracing his back.

“You’re not—” whoop “Shit—okay.”

He lands on your shoulder upside down and utterly speechless. He respects and resents you currently. Yet, he’s amused. “Oh, this is new. You better start prayin’ once you put me down.”

You drop him onto the counter, and he stays seated, head tilting, smirk twitching. “Fuckin’ hell. You strong now, huh? Pick me up once and suddenly you run shit?” His hand proceeds to keep down your lower back. You nod in response, proud of yourself. “Yeah? That supposed to scare me, babe? ‘Cause all it did was make my dick twitch.”

He doesn’t stop you, nor does he stop the raunchy gestures. Just grinds against you the entire time with lazy amusement. Your perseverance is something he never shies away from, even in the bedroom when you’re determined to match him. Something about it awakens something feral within him.

When you set him down and he was already scheming. Already licking his lips. There’s a glint behind the lenses of his mask—something hot, wild, and very aware. “Alright. You win this round.”

He leans in, lips brushing your jaw.

“But just wait ��til I’m on top next time.”

Inner Monologue: Okay. Interesting play. Sudden. Clean form. Surprising core strength. I respect it. She's trying to flip the power dynamic? Bold. Noted. But how far will she go? Is this a one-time power move or a recurring kink? …Is it mine now? I might make it mine. She doesn’t know what she’s started. She’s so hot when she doesn’t ask for permission. He’s acting normal, cocky and unbothered. But the next day, he’s straight petty. He’s watching his back… but he’ll never admit he kinda liked it. (He absolutely jerked off thinking about it.) After a while he accidentally conditioned this as a form of foreplay. Your bedframe is in danger.

(╥‸╥) Masked Mark

He’s mumbling something under his breath. Sitting on the edge of the bed, unarmored, quiet, vulnerable. Which makes it the perfect time to strike. You lift him without warning. You bend down, arms around his thighs, and hoist upwards. His breath catches, and he yelps, a soft and shocked sound, arms flailing for a second like he forgot what stability was. His body locks. “Wait—wait—you’re not really—oh my god.”

He melts physically, emotional… maybe even spiritually. You shoulder him effortlessly and strut toward the counter. He says nothing else. Just goes completely limp in your hold, like a captured princess with bloodlust.

You set him down gently. His fists clench against his thighs, his chest rises and falls like he’s panicking, but also… vibrating. You’re not even halfway done teasing, but he’s almost certain he’s pitching a tent. Sure, he loves you and all the qualities that come with but his body and mind can’t seem to communicate properly. He sighs, this isn't something to be hard about.

He looks up at you like you just saved his life before dropping his head in his hands. “No one’s ever done that before,” he whispers in his head. “Please do it again. Please do anything. I’ll let you. It doesn’t just have to be because of a trend. Deal?”

He doesn’t look up. But if you do, you’ll see the most pathetically hard, desperate expression he’s ever worn.

Inner Monologue: She touched me. She lifted me. I was off the ground. I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. She just manhandled me like I wasn’t dangerous. Like I was safe to touch. Like I was hers. Holy shit I’m gonna cry. I’m gonna cry AND cum. Can you do both? What if I sob into her shirt? Is that hot? Please do it again. Please do worse. Please never leave.

You lean forward, kiss the corner of his mouth, and feel him shiver like a wire about to snap. “You liked that?” He nods, tense and oddly quiet and still hard, but he hasn’t said a word. He’s never forgetting this. And he’s never forgetting the horrors your phone allows you to exploit from his sensitivity. He starts flinching every time you get too close from behind. “Wait—are you gonna do it again?” But lowkey? He wants you to. He wants to be your strong little passenger princess on the low. Googles “can strength be sexy” like 6 times. Starts sleeping with one leg over you like he’s afraid you’ll float away or pick him up again.

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clairewritesfanfics · 1 month ago

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hey! I have a tiny request

What would you think the Invincible!Variants would react if they see an Invincible!Reader?

Like, on their universes (Y/N) would be dead but it just happens that in one of the few universe where they are alive is one where she is invincible and now she is fighting in the invincible wars with them :D

(it’s my first request so I’m kinda confused on how it works 😔)

a/n: I went for a sillier approach with this one so it’s different from my usual narrative style (and by extension, sloppier than I would’ve wanted) but it was so much fun to write. I also took a few liberties with how Reader is able to fight because I only write Y/N as an OP baddie or an Everyman. There are no in-betweens in my delusions. Basically, she uses technology to fight, but she wears the Invincible colors in honor of her dead Mark. Happy reading.

Angstrom Levy watched as the mirror images of his sworn enemy gathered together.

“I think we have all the Mark Graysons that we need.”

“Great.” The one whose cowl lacked any lenses cupped his fist. “Time to spill some blood.”

“Not so fast.”

“What?”

One last portal shimmered to life next to Angstrom and from it stepped out someone who was most definitely not Mark Grayson.

Angstrom motioned towards you. “Invincibles, meet Invincible.”

You wore a pair of goggles over your yellow cowl and there was a utility belt around your waist. You looked more like a cosplayer than a genuine Invincible.

You were you but you were not you. Not the one they knew and loved and lost. The person they adored would have never donned such an outfit.

You raised a weak hand in salutation. A wry smile offered. “Hi there.”

Every single version of the man tensed with emotion, their fists clenching beside them. Some of them stared at you, frozen. Others wanted to slam the teleporting freak to the wall.

“What’s the meaning of this, Angstrom!?”

“You said you only needed Mark Graysons, so–”

“–why is my dead wife here?”

Angstrom motioned for them to cool themselves. “I needed Invincibles. This one isn’t like any of you, but she took up the mantle when he died.”

Silence fell over the room.

Then, the one with a Mohawk protested, “She doesn’t belong here. She’s still just a human, isn’t she? Wearing a colorful costume won’t change that.”

You stood motionless despite his harsh words.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge if I were you,” Angstrom said. “She destroyed her Earth in the span of an afternoon.”

Their eyes flickered over to you, but again, you showed no emotion.

“She’s here as… back up, in case you all fail.”

Five Marks flew towards him but stopped when you stood between them. Even with these many Viltrumites, you stood firm. Without your goggles, they could see you clearly. Gaunt, nose a little different, cheeks more sunken than what they were used to. Tired.

Angstrom smiled.

Even if these fools knew that the person they loved was gone, they couldn’t bring themselves to raise a hand against your ghost, so they backed off.

Head Cap

Oliver slammed himself against the man’s back, but the Invincible copycat merely rotated his shoulders. “Thanks, I think you fixed it,” he let out a sound of pleasure. “Now, let’s fix you.”

The boy raised his arms to guard.

Several pros came to intercept, hitting this Mark with everything they got.

Before Oliver could move to help them, pure white beams struck his saviors. He could see through the gaping holes in their torsos before they fell over. Only he and Invincible were left standing.

His brother’s lookalike lifted his head, grinning as he raised both his thumbs in approval. “Thanks for the assist, babe!”

Oliver followed his gaze up.

It was… it wasn’t his brother, but the woman hovering above them wore the trademark yellow, blue and black Mark used to wear. The same bug-eyed goggles covered your eyes. Your lips were in a straight line.

You landed between the two guys.

“You don’t have to stay and help me kill this one, I got it all under control.”

You threw a disc at Oliver, and it formed a blue, transparent cube around him. Despite his efforts, he could not punch through the walls.

“Do you know who this child is?”

Mark cocked his head.

“He’s your half-brother.”

“Ah.” He let out a low chuckle, his sadistic smile turned resentful. “Dad’s other project, huh?”

“Mark couldn’t do it. He hated his brother, but even for him killing an infant was uncharted territory.”

“And he asked you to do it? What an asshole.” He sounded almost protective.

You laughed. “He didn’t ask me to do anything, I just didn’t want him to be sad anymore.”

He stared at Oliver, still hitting the cube, even ramming his shoulder at the wall.

“...How did it feel?”

“I can’t remember to be honest, all I remember is Mark thanking me.” You recalled him holding you in his arms and kissing you all night. “Nothing else matters to me but him.”

He snuck a glimpse of you from the corner of his eye.

You returned to the air. “The kinetic field around the kid will expire in a minute. So if you're going to kill him, be prepared."

Mark watched you fly away, fists clenching beside him as he thought about the other you, the one who was so soft she couldn’t bring herself to kill the mice in the kitchen. Gentle until the day she died.

Flaxan Mark

One good electromagnetic pulse was all you needed to disarm the GDA. Concentrated antimatter bullets would ensure that their undead army won’t be returning.

You decapitated Donald and Cecil in one swift motion. You didn’t have any strong feelings for either of them so there was no need for a painful death.

You watched Mark sit up, rubbing his head.

“Are you all right?” You asked, walking over to him.

He met your gaze, quiet as he examined you.

This Mark seemed more composed than the others, more mature, too.

“I watched the footage.” You gestured around you. “You must really hate this place to gut it so mercilessly.”

He looked at you and said, “They killed you.” He raised his hands, looking at something visible only to him. “While I was gone, they took you. Wanted to see if they could use our baby to make someone better, someone more loyal to the humans.”

He closed his fists. “They deserve to burn, all of them.”

You folded your hands behind your back. There was nothing you could say to that.

No Goggles

Mark laughed maniacally as he struck down monster after monster. “Come on! You can do better than that, can't you? Come on, this is amazing! Kill me!”

A finger snapped from a distance and a bright light pierced the darkness, scaring the creatures away. “Hey, come back!”

“Mark,” called out an exasperated voice.

He gasped when you walked towards him, looking disappointed.

He flew over to wrap his arms around you. “Shit, I wanted to talk to you earlier but there was never the right time, plus we had to destroy the whole world and all that, but God, you really are a babe wherever, or maybe whenever is the correct word–”

You pinched his lips. “We should leave first. Try to talk less, okay?”

He nodded obediently and you let go.

A portal cut open the white void, revealing a blue sky.

Before you could leave, the faintest whispers called out to you, “Mo…ther…”

Mark blinked and glanced at the corners where the darkness lingered. “Am I crazy or did those things just call you mother?”

“Yes and yes.”

You grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the Shadow-Verse and onto the sky above Chicago.

“Whoa…” Mark looked down at his feet. “Am I walking on air? Not flying but walking?”

“Yeah.” You sat down and watched him do cartwheels.

“How long can I keep doing this?”

“For as long as I let you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Reaaaally?”

“You can run, jump and do all the cartwheels you want until you drop dead and you still won’t fall, not unless I let you, but I’m getting tempted so you better start flying now.”

He chuckled and sat next to you, pulling his knees to his chest. “You’re dead in my reality.”

“I know.”

“You killed yourself.”

“Is that so?”

“It really fucked me up, in the brain and stuff.” He made a swooshing motion, pointing at his temple.

“I can imagine.”

He fell silent and watched you watch the world get destroyed below you.

He then asked, “Why did those things call you mother?”

“Honestly, I don’t know why they would. In my world, it makes sense. I created them, then I carved out a piece of time and space where I could discard them when they proved useless to me.”

He blinked. “Wow. You created the Shadow-Verse?”

“Well, the one in my world, yes. As for the ones here?” You shrugged. “My hypothesis is that there was a window between the pocket dimensions, causing them to mix.”

“That’s so cool!”

“I know. And Angstrom thinks he’s all that.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“You’ve been asking a lot.”

“If you can do all this, why didn’t you just hop worlds? Get yourself a new Mark? I’d be happy to be kidnapped.”

You chuckled and then looked up at the sky. “Who knows.”

Omni-Mark and Shiesty

The two of them were ganging up on this timeline’s Mark Grayson when Eve pushed them away with a giant pink wall.

You grabbed her cape and then dragged her away from the three. “You’re dead weight to him. Stay here if you want to live,” you ordered.

When you turned around, a heavy shackle enveloped your arm, chaining you to herself with a thick fuchsia rope.

You sighed. “Truly an idiot in every reality.”

“I saw you–you’re with those guys. I don’t know why you saved me but I know that you’re bad news.”

You gave her a look that reminded Eve of an unforgiving winter. Her heart pounded violently as she struggled to breathe. She's faced death before, faced villains as strong as Mark himself, but nothing made her buckle the way you did at this moment.

She swallowed her fear despite her shaking hands. “Surrender now.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll have to take you by force.”

“Oh?” For the first time since you’ve arrived in this damned universe, you smirked, turning your whole body to face hers directly. “You’re welcome to try.”

You tapped the pink construct, shattering it into a thousand fragments. In a split second, you were pinning her down the ground. "Is that it?"

You grabbed her chin and forced her eyes to look directly into yours. “I am unimpressed.” Your goggles shone red and Eve screamed.

She rolled around the dirt, cradling her head and gasping in pain.

“Eve!”

Your suit’s electromagnetic force field flashed blue as the Invincible of this world tried to hit you. “What did you do to her?!”

“No need to look so angry,” you said, face blank. “This is a mercy compared to what I did to the other one.” That Eve died brutally, but so quickly you didn’t even get the chance to laugh.

You then vanished from the ground, reappearing between the two hovering Marks. “Let’s go.”

Shiesty turned to you. “Why?”

“There’s no point in fighting him now, he’s going to choose her, probably hide away for a few hours.”

“What makes you think that?”

Omni-Mark answered instead, looking straight at you, "Because we would've chosen you if we were in his place."

Aftermath

All of the Marks kept their eyes on you while they waited for Angstrom. Some of them had the decency to be subtle. Others, like the adorable little freak who got stuck in the Shadow-Verse, looked just about ready to hump you.

Bored, you turned your attention to the Mark without a mask, suit tainted with blood. “You look at me differently than the others do.”

His hands twitched but he kept them close together in front of him as he answered, “It’s just… you weren’t a woman where I come from.”

“How fascinating. Not outside the realm of probability though. If anything, me being a girl in these guys' universes is odd.”

He tilted his head. How cute.

“Contrary to popular belief, a child’s biological sex is not a 50/50 chance. It’s slightly more likely to be a boy than a girl.” You leaned towards him. “Tell me, was I any handsome?”

Taken aback, he blinked. Then he closed his eyes, smiling before he faced you again. “You’re always breathtaking.”

Your brow twitched and you looked away, crossing your arms.

The others watched, unhappy. Various emotions layered onto each other, growing heavier with the silence.

“What’s taking him so long?”

Tired of waiting, you folded one leg over the other. A whole tea set manifested before you, turning the tense silence into awkward awe.

Shiesty floated closer to you while you dropped a sugar cube into your teacup. “Hey, uh, I didn't get to ask earlier, but what the Hell did you do to Eve?”

The teacups dispersed, delivering themselves to the different variants. Too confused to do anything else, they accepted their shares. The little jar containing sugar cubes bounced between them, a parade of silver teaspoons right behind it. A three tier platter stayed in the middle of the circle they formed.

Shiesty took a mini quiche and gave it a taste.

The veil fluttered, revealing a slither of his jaw.

Unconsciously, you reached over to trace the corner of his face.

He flinched and you pulled back. “Sorry. It’s been a while since I last saw Mark this close. Anyway,” you started, gently blowing on the tea, “I took away her powers.”

“I see.” He plopped a sugar cube into his cup before he realized what you just said. “What? You can do that? All you did was flash a red light at her!”

Omni-Mark stared at his tea for a while. He then said, “You lobotomized her.”

“I did.”

The other Marks turned to you. “What?”

Shiesty gave them a brief explanation of what happened. “You should’ve seen it, it was hella hilarious–and hot. The other guy couldn’t even land a punch.”

“Whoa, backup.” It was Mohawk this time. “Lobotomized her? As in brain surgery? In the field?”

You shrugged. “It wasn’t that complicated.” You watched a superhero do it before–granted, it was a cartoon but it gave you the idea for a powerful skill.

You opened your palm, showing a holographic display of the human brain. “Superhumans are just mutated humans, and for someone like Eve whose mutation is psionic-based, all I needed to do was find the abnormal gyri in her brain that differentiate hers from that of ordinary people.” Several portions of the brain glowed. “My goggles can let me see through things, like human skulls, and they’re built with a precision laser perfect for neurosurgery.”

“I don’t get it,” Omni-Mark said. “Why didn’t you just kill her?”

You traced the rim of your teacup. “Eve, like many heroes, ties her self-worth and identity to her powers. I already killed her before. I didn’t feel anything…”

You smiled at them, it was a sweet and innocent smile that took them back to nicer times. “Rather than murder, forcing her to live a life where she is no longer special feels more satisfying. For someone like her, losing her gift must feel like the sky is falling.” You do regret not being there to see her face when she realizes what happened. Will she cry? Scream some more? Fall into despair?

You covered your curling mouth. “Ah, what a shame.”

a/n: I'm sorry, I couldn't include all the Marks, and I'm really sorry for the sloppy writing. I was going to write more scenes, specifically for Retro/Gogglesinvincible/the one who Rex killed, but I wrote this between breaks and I really wanted to post it immediately.

Dear Readers, if you have any questions or further requests, feel free to send them now because i will be closing my ask box this upcoming Sunday. MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

Disclaimer: The images above are not mine but are screenshots from the Invincible TV series.

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chocokano · 3 months ago

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i'm coping

ft a timeskip spinel design i've been playing around with

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pvtpunsart · 1 month ago

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The way id bark like a fucking dog for ur Donnie is not funny of my god

Flattering. Consider not.

#rottmnt #rise tmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt donnie #future donnie #my art #asks #incredibly funny of you anon and honestly it's so fun drawing future donnie #is that because i designed him with a bunch of traits i enjoy drawing and looking at? yeah. a LITTLE.#reason why i don't draw him with goggles is bc i imagine in the future he's streamlined it to implants #and ninpo for overlays and viewfinders if he really needs it. bc headphones can be knocked off. implant much harder to knock off.#if you saw the version of this without markings no you didn't.#igbau

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gomzdrawfr · 8 months ago

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I now can't stop thinking of Bear!Price and Chipmunk/Quokka!Price. He's like a Digimon. Shifts between forms for battle. (Did I just show my age? Maybe. I'm stylin' it out.)

Dude I love digimon HAHA so yes I can totally see where this is coming from, Nik having a Digivice and Price going between Chipmunk and Bear

#i smacked some goggles on Nik just for extra flair bcuz his fit is alr fire for digimon au HAHA #Bear!Price is bigger than that its only bcuz he's sitting and totally not bcuz i forgot to make him bigger like evolved digimons #HONESTLY man Patamon and Angemon was my fav #young me had a crush on Matt Ishida (gee i wonder if that was obvious)#Price as Leoman would be so hardcore tbh #ask response #thanks for the ask <3 #gummmyart #doodle #captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #captain price #john price

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starscream-is-my-wife · 5 months ago

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God dam a Sunstorm and Galvatron sparkling would be terrifying unless the concept of two negatives make a positive take effect.

Anon you have given me the most cursed idea

If Rung is Robot Jesus then is Sunstorm Mary??

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casscainmainly · 4 months ago

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is cass closer to tim or duke as a sibling??

As much as I love Duke, it's 1000% Tim.

Cass and Duke is a relatively recent relationship, mostly contained in Batman & The Outsiders (2019). I think in certain instances Cass might like Duke more than Tim because they don't have as much history, but in terms of closeness, Cass and Duke have never had the depth of relationship Cass and Tim have.

We have their interactions in Batgirl (2000) #18:

This issue opens with Cass dreaming that the Batfam turn on her after finding out she's a killer. Tim in this issue serves as proof that they can accept her, which makes Tim pretty important to Cass' feelings of belonging in the family. Cass associating Tim with being in the family is something that continues for most of their relationship.

Then we have the iconic team-up in Robin/Batgirl: Fresh Blood:

There's a lot of tension between Cass + Tim in the wake of Stephanie's death, particularly in their attitudes to Bruce. But there's also a sense of shared grief - here, Cass opens up to Tim about David Cain shooting her, something she talked about with Steph before. She's not exactly secretive about her past, but I don't think she opens up like this to any of her other brothers, even Duke. I think it's important that Cass knows Tim loved Stephanie as much as she did (and possibly more). It's a source of tension, but also a source of connection.

Although he's a little out of place, it's why Tim is there during the adoption scene in Batgirl (2008) #6:

Following from #18, Tim kind of symbolises Cass' acceptance into the Batfam (which makes sense, since other people have talked about Tim essentially creating the idea of 'Batfam' in the first place). In Fresh Blood, Cass' break from Gotham + the Batfam is shown through her and Tim deciding to go separate ways, which is why her induction into the Batfam has Tim there and smiling. Tim also repeatedly defends her in this run, which could mean something if any writer ever referenced this series beyond the adoption.

Their most poignant moment for me though is Red Robin #17:

It's obviously editorial shenanigans that stopped other writers (particularly Bryan Q. Miller on Steph's Batgirl run) from using Cass, but as it stands Tim is the only one who kept in touch with Cass during her stint in HK. We have this really lovely scene where Tim hands her a Bat symbol and says they're still family, no matter what she's called. Black Bat is arguably a big homage to Red Robin, and certainly at this time she was closest to Tim out of literally everyone.

They have more moments Rebirth onwards, but basically Tim is a really really important part of Cass' journey into the Batfam, and sometimes was her strongest (and only) link. Though Cass' relationship to Duke is maybe the smoothest of her brotherly relationships, Tim is undeniably the brother she's closest to, the one who knows her best and who's seen her through the toughest times. So although Cass might say Duke is her favourite brother, her real favourite is probably always going to be Tim.

#cassandra cain #tim drake #ask #my favourite thing about their relationship really is that it's rocky #they're close but that closeness is complicated and sometimes bitter #thinking about how cass is like 'im sad at steph's death but tim... she was his girlfriend...'#and how she's both downplaying her own grief and also slightly jealous of his closeness to stephanie #this is just my stephcass goggles but. i do think stephanie should be a point of contention for them #not in terms of like fighting over her but just how her death affected them (and also bruce's role in her death)#but anyway steph and tim are the two most important batkids to cass always purely because they were in batgirl 2000 #(this is also why i think cass despite punching dick a lot also has a soft spot for him)#it's the first family she ever had. of course she's gonna remember that era most even if the family has expanded since then

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tennessoui · 3 months ago

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14 for obikin pretty please?

here you go!

[from this list of prompts]

[5. 'are you jealous' - 27. 'i'm pregnant' - 32. 'i think i'm in love with you and i'm terrified' (LATEST) 44. 'if you die, i'm gonna kill you' - 41. 'you did all of this for me?' - 46. 'hey, have you seen...? oh']

14. 'hey, i'm with you, okay? always.'

The first time Anakin visits, he's so angry that he cannot speak for the first two hours. Obi-Wan sits against the wall of his cell, on the floor even though the Jedi have provided him a perfectly comfortable bed and chair. The Force collar around his neck looks wrong. His master sitting on the floor, dressed in the dull orange of a prisoner's jumpsuit looks wrong.

Anakin is so angry that he can't speak. He can only look and tremble until he is told he must leave.

Obi-Wan does not speak either. He does not even look at him.

Maybe that's what makes his anger harder to bear. Anakin knows that Obi-Wan has met with countless other Jedi. Visitors, friends, allies, people who are working with him on his defense case. He knows that the other man talks to them, has sliced into security holo footage to see it for himself, though no one will tell him what is said. Everyone always leaves looking frustrated, but at least Obi-Wan talks to them.

But not Anakin. Even though it is Anakin that Obi-Wan has hurt the most. Anakin, who deserves to know why from Obi-Wan's mouth.

After all--

"He was like a father to me," Anakin spits at him on his second visit, only a few days later. Going to see Obi-Wan in the Coruscanti prison cell where he is awaiting trial is like an itch. Scratched once, Anakin finds he cannot help himself from digging his claws in.

Obi-Wan is still against the wall. His beard has grown slightly longer. His head is tilted back against the wall, though when Anakin speaks, his eyes slide down from the ceiling to rest on him.

"I'm starting to think you say that to all the boys," his former master who is a murderer says in that lilting familiar drawl.

"You killed him."

"Yes," Obi-Wan agrees, because apparently part of his defense case is not to plead not guilty to the murder of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. Anakin would say that may be problematic, but then--there are security holos, soundless and slightly blurred, of the event. Of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi taking tea with Chancellor Palpatine. Talking in civil gestures for thirty minutes. Requesting, as far as anyone can tell, for the Chancellor to fetch him a pot of sugar. Lighting his saber and beheading him the moment the old man's back was turned. "Yes, I did."

"Why?" Anakin yells, voice cracking on the word. He doesn't understand. He thinks the not-knowing will drive him to madness. He thinks maybe it already has. It has been two weeks since the Chancellor's murder. Half the Senate is seeking Obi-Wan's execution.

The war, theoretically, has paused, like even the Separatists are holding their breath. Waiting. Wondering.

Obi-Wan looks at him quietly for a moment. For five. His face is stoic, resolved. Beloved, even after this.

Then--for a singular second--the mask cracks, and his master stares at him as if he needs to see him in order to survive. He looks hungry and exhausted and relieved, down to the bones.

"How have your nightmares been lately, padawan?" he asks him, and Anakin is so disgusted by the word--by the title that Obi-Wan doesn't get to say after killing the Chancellor, killing Anakin's friend--that he turns and leaves without another thought.

He is back a day later. He has never known how to keep his distance from things that can hurt him, that's what his mother always said. Too curious by half. Too sure of his own invincibility. That's what his master always said.

Anakin isn't sure of anything anymore.

"Why did you kill him?" Anakin asks. Obi-Wan's beard is longer. He is still on the floor. It rankles, the sight of him brought so low. "Did someone tell you to?"

Obi-Wan lets his head fall forward, a puppet with its strings cut. "Do you think me so biddable, Anakin?"

Anakin today. Not padawan. As if Obi-Wan has learned his lesson. As if he is as desperate for Anakin to linger in his presence as Anakin is hopelessly addicted to returning.

Padmé had tried to stop him this morning. Had tried to tell him it would do no good to see him, that the justice system would do its work, that Anakin was only hurting himself by returning over and over again. She pointed out that he had nightmares last night, for the first time since the news of the Chancellor's death reached them.

He hadn't had the heart to tell her that his nightmares were not about the Chancellor dying, but about Obi-Wan facing down an execution squad. About Anakin, standing on the deck of the Invisible Hand, Palpatine's voice in his ear, telling him to do it, do it. Cut off the traitor's head, only to look down and find that the two sabers he is holding are familiar to him, and person on his knees before him is his master.

Anakin had woken with a yell around one in the morning, sweat soaked and shaking. He hadn't been able to sleep again.

Maybe that's why he feels so alive now, slightly manic and still trembling as he paces in front of the Force barrier of Obi-Wan's cell. Did someone tell Obi-Wan to cut him down? he'd had the thought somewhere around five in the morning. Had it been someone Obi-Wan trusted? Someone he loved?

Who stood to gain from the death of the Chancellor? Who had the Chancellor ever hurt or threatened?

Anakin walks as close as he dares to get to the cell. "Master," he says, coaxes really, pushing forward until he can hear the hum of the force field.

Obi-Wan's head thumps back against the wall and he watches him from under his eyelashes.

"Master, I'm with you, alright? Hey, I'm with you, always, alright, always, so if someone told you, manipulated you, just tell me please. I'll find them. I'll get them to turn themselves in, master. Just tell me. Why did you kill him?"

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. He looks for all the world as if he is meditating, save for that collar around his neck. The prison garb. He doesn't look like a murderer, but he is. He is. He killed the Chancellor. He is going to face execution. Anakin is going to have to watch him die too and all he can think is that he knows that Obi-Wan doesn't even kriffing like sugar in his karking tea.

"Answer me!" Anakin yells, lifting his fist and forgetting himself for just long enough that he slams it against the barrier. He pulls it back with a curse as the force field short-circuits his mech arm and the prison alarm blares out a warning siren.

This time, he is led away from the cell by a Coruscanti guard. He is advised to not return for a standard week. The entire time he is exiled from the prison, the only thing he can think about is the expression on Obi-Wan's face as he watches him leave: eyes wide open and forehead wrinkled with concern, as if worried that Anakin had hurt himself.

The day after he is allowed to return, he does. He does not want to seem too eager or desperate, so he waits until it's early in the evening before pointing his speeder towards the prison unit.

"It had to have been someone you loved," Anakin announces as he stops in front of Obi-Wan's cell. He's in his bed this time, lying on his back and looking at the ceiling. He does not twitch at Anakin's voice, though Anakin can tell that he's not asleep, though his eyes are closed. He can tell just from the minute lines of tension he's holding in his shoulders, his neck.

How can Anakin know him so well and not know that he is capable of this? Of murder on this scale?

"Hm?" Obi-Wan finally says, when the silence drags on and it becomes clear that Anakin will not say more until he has engaged. Anakin watches this war play out in the subtle movements of Obi-Wan's facial muscles as well. He knows him so well. He knows him better than he knows anyone else in the galaxy.

"The person you killed him for. You had to have loved him more than anything else in the entire galaxy to kill a man the way you did. Defenseless. Over sugar. You don't--you don't even take sugar in your tea! It was a coward's way of killing--and it doesn't--you would never. Not unless it was for someone you loved."

Obi-Wan's eyes blink open, but he doesn't look away from the ceiling. He doesn't look at Anakin.

"I don't--I don't know what harm you think Sheev Palpatine could cause to anyone, but that has to be it. Nothing else makes sense. You loved someone enough to kill for them, and you killed the Chancellor."

The words come out easily. Anakin has practiced them for a week now; it is the only thing that makes sense. Nothing else makes sense. Nothing else but love could make a man like Obi-Wan do what he did. He must have loved someone a lot. He must love them more than the Republic. More than his own freedom.

The first time Anakin had told Padmé his theory, she'd looked at him for ages, until he'd grown angry and defensive. She'd touched his arm, as if that could hold back this hurricane brewing inside his chest, and said, "I don't know if you're right, Ani. I don't know if I think you're wrong either. It's just...you sound so...jealous."

At least Obi-Wan doesn't say the same thing. But what he does say may be even worse. Because he doesn't deny it. He doesn't protest. All he says is, "And who is it that you think I love more than anything else in the galaxy, padawan?"

Anakin has thought about this, too. "Bail Organa," he makes himself say, even though the name curls his lips up into a sneer. Bail Organa, the man who has been voted the interim Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. The man who has gotten everything from this assassination, while Anakin has had his everything taken away.

On his cot, Obi-Wan's eyes slide closed. His mouth quirks up. "Ah," he says, as if he has had something he has long expected to confirmed to him. He says nothing else.

It makes Anakin want to hit the barrier again. It makes him want to scream. It makes him want to be petty, hurt Obi-Wan back in the same way that Anakin feels hurt even though it doesn't make sense, none of this makes sense. But it feels as if Obi-Wan has kept half of himself secret from Anakin, a whole love, his entire capacity to love, and Anakin wants to prove that he has as well.

So he says, voice mean and sharp, "Padmé is pregnant. The med-droid says it is twins."

Everything else remains unspoken, but surely audible. That they are his. That he never stopped seeing Padmé. Perhaps even that she is his wife.

On the cot, behind the Force barrier, in his chains, Obi-Wan opens his eyes and blinks at the ceiling. His lips form a small smile, as he says, still not looking at Anakin, still not looking at Anakin, "I know, dear one. Why do you think the Chancellor had to die?"

#asks #obikin #i mean again theyre not kissing but theyre in love #anakin doesn't realize it but its true #obi-wan realizes it #and literally committed murder about it #and is ready to take the whole blame and go down for it without involving the jedi or anakin #to protect anakin (because he's concerned that the jedi would be wary of anakin if they found sidious' plans for him?#because the jedi order may kick anakin out for having a wife and soon kids? idk obi-wan is just determined to be silent about the whole thn #just to make sure anakin is the safest and happiest lil snap pea #meanwhile anakin is having un-gifted by sidious nightmares about obi-wan dying #and padmé is like baby i think you're forgetting that whoever you think obi-wan is in love with isnt in trouble #like being loved by obi-wan wouldn't be a crime #killing the chancellor - that's a crime #allegedly kissing your master is not a crime #and anakin is like i see NO difference. the interloper must die #(which is at least 10% how obi-wan felt when he killed sidious after #a.figuring out all the weird grooming stuff sidious did with anakin #b. figuring out palpatine is sidious via idk some sort of force vision on the invisible hand or smth #c. reading the intricate plans sidious has for anakin once he becomes his master)#lol so far this is the only ficlet where im like #yeah i could probably write a whole 12k one shot on this #kenobi's trial #that ends the day before the verdict reading because anakin is that worried he'll be executed #so he breaks him out and forces him on the run #completely forgetting about his new family #because he has his Master Obi-Wan goggles on

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