#invincible reader insert

[omniphilic]

⠀⠀⠀⭒󠀠󠀠󠀠 ( ´ཀ` ) YOU LOOK HUNGRY ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀mark actually makes it in time for dinner, but he thinks missing it would’ve been less embarrassing than getting bricked up at your table.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀a.k.a ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Amber’s Mom Has Got It Going On

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀> all characters involved are 18 and older. the following fic contains ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀mark grayson thirsting over someone at least 20 years his senior. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

warnings & tags | i guess it is implied the reader is poc. but idk if u are white just imagine amber is biracial (or imagine the one from the comics ig) 🤷🏾‍♀️ inconvenient boners, the perverse mind of a sweet suburban boy (he's thirsty), mishandling of an embarrassing situation, male masturbation, scent kink, misuse of cow print panties. mark thinks of cheating on amber (spiritually?), you're not in on it <3 you are a baddie minding your business. reader is a good mom (serious). reader is said to have fat/pudge/curves at least once. mark is uncircumcised. the reader is referred to using titles that align with she/her/hers, you are considered Amber's 'mom'. PORN WITH PLOT i take the premise extremely seriously lol. 7.3k words.

yapper notes | i went to a music lounge and a young woman (very beautiful alt girl) sang a song dedicated to her ex called 'you look hungry' and i immediately got the idea for this fic . shout out to the big homie @on-hit for helping me every step of the way with it they are an AWESOME beta reader, and to my inspirations @sophsthebest @slutla @batsovergotham @nana-au @arieswritez who have been making me go CWAZY with their mark content. first fic is dedicated to yall <33 taglist | @zomqiez

“—k hungry.” His glass clinks off the wood of the table when you set it down, the sound snapping Mark back to reality.

Mark blinks out of his stupor, memories of the time and place rushing back to him. “I’m sorry Mrs. Bennett—what’d you say?” Smiling awkwardly, Mark realized then and there he should not have agreed to this. He should have found some way to tell Amber he couldn’t make it.  He should have bailed and asked mom to make some shit up so he didn’t have to be seated across from you at this dinner table. The flu excuse was a classic—although, he hadn’t seemed sick earlier that week. Scratch that, couldn’t work. Food poisoning, though? He was sure that could’ve worked well enough to have kept him the fuck home. 

He knows that Mom probably wouldn’t have done it, though. She’d have gone on and on about honesty—sincerity. The things that make or break a relationship. He would’ve had to tell Amber himself anyway.

He secretly hoped Cecil changed his mind about having reassigned him, but dashed the thought as quickly as he had it. Mark Grayson would never hope to be that lucky.

“You look hungry.” Your emphasis. It draws out the grit in your voice; that saccharine drawl lances through his thoughts and spears him right in the chest. His heart pounds with the roar of a war drum, disconcertingly loud in his ears and you’re standing so close—just to pour his water—that he worries for a moment you can hear it too. He prays to God you don’t notice how tense he is or how red his face has gotten since you’ve stepped into his vicinity. 

What is he so flustered by, anyway? Is it the smell of your perfume that’s got him short circuiting? The faint tickle of your breath on his ear? The mere thought of you being anywhere near him?

The answer is D: all of the above. 

Having come to this conclusion, it sets the facts in stone--

He really is fucked. 

He’d be surprised if he still had a girlfriend by the end of the night cause his eyes have been glued to you since you opened the door, caught on your every word. Amber was over the moon about it at first. He’d been housebroken in five minutes tops; yes and ma’am his two favorite words.

“Hungry?”

It's hardly anything but you light up anyway, your shock giving way to a restrained excitement and in an instant your demeanor entirely made over. Your eyes became alive and bright, smile lines gentle crescents on your face as your grin spans ear to ear. 

You have been doing most of the talking. He can’t get his thoughts in a straight line when you look him in the eyes so instead of being tongue-tied, second guessing and editing every genuine reaction, he made himself set dressing; he was your coat rack in the corner, the ottoman that held your drinks, your plaid couch cushion. He observed the banter between you and Amber and acted like some stranger, or her shadow as opposed to ‘her little friend.’ You had tried to coax him out of his shell.

Nudged his shoulder. A quick What do you think, Mark? just to see if he’ll bite. He only nodded politely. Kept eye-contact but hardly emoted; you don’t think this kid has blinked for the past five minutes. I think it’s just fine, ma’am. No dice. Cool and calm, but it feels too curated. Contained.

You think he doesn’t like you at first and that is entirely on him. The bit of sadness in your eyes and the odd glance from Amber fills him with dread, but ultimately he decides it’s worth it. It was far better than you getting too close and finding out he actually likes you—a lot more than he should. He feels the rage of his hormones itching at his hind brain; a stirring in his pants just because you brushed his shoulder.

During all your pleasantries he was preoccupied. Busy exercising dwindling self-restraint, jaw tightened and fingers dug into his palms so hard he’s sure he bled a bit.

Behind his eyes is his rational mind resisting the urge to ogle. Eye contact is the bane of him but so is your body, each curve and sharp edge unfortunately (mournfully, even) hidden beneath the threshold of your neck. He dared not look any lower. 

He’d done more than enough staring when Amber first showed him your picture. She brought up the whole dinner idea and flashed a pic of you offhandedly, said it was from your birthday.

He should’ve called it there. He should’ve wisened up and cut his losses, because this was a bad fucking idea. 

He was staring for wayyy too long; being rendered slack-jawed in front of your girl for any amount of time by anyone who’s not her is immediately and unignorably suspect. However, you are the girl’s mother, and Mark is praying Amber thinks he is in his right mind and does not jump to the conclusion that, briefly, he wondered what your tits looked like sans top. 

“She’s…” Hot. “Beautiful. I see where you get your good looks from, babe.” Amber laughed at that, missing the single drip of sweat that had to have been sliding down his temple. She elbowed him, paltry laughter coloring her speech. “Okay good, cuz’ that was a test.” Mark squints at her, hands closing in at her waist and gently pinching her fat, teasing. “Testing me? What are you vetting for? What—” He had laughed from the nerves, picked at a loose thread on his jeans to diffuse his inner tension. “Do people say crazy shit about your mom to your face?”

He’d been peering at the picture from beneath her thumb when she shook her head. “You’d be surprised! Some people booold as fuck.”

Mark was busy looking, didn’t respond right away. “Yeah… that’s, that’s wild.” 

Did you get knocked up fresh out of highschool? There are some natural lines of age that accentuate your smile and reach your eyes, but none of that even matters; it’s like your aura is timeless, your confidence striking, he could feel your joy, and he smiles back at you like a dumbass.

“You good?” She’s noticed it, the shift in the energy. 

SOUND THE ALARMS! He’s been caught. It’s over. Amber hates his guts thinks he’s disgusting and is never going to speak to him again—

“Yeah! I’m just super excited to meet her. She seems like a lovely woman.” When she smiles back, the flood sirens stop, hazard lights go out. “She is! Mom of year material, swear to god.” 

“...yeah.”

Good grief, what the hell would his mother say? Catching him drooling over a woman twice his age—he hoped she’d at least laugh before she smacked him upside the head.

But he feels as blameless as he does shameful.

Because look at you. As far as he’s concerned, dinner’s already been served.

His mouth is dry by the time it catches up to his mind. 

“Yeah, I know that look man. You’re starving.” You step back from around him and walk towards the oven, and he justifies his staring by convincing himself he was already looking over before you walked there. He gulps.

Your pants cup your ass so perfectly; two beautiful cheeks, teasing him from under thin denim— “Uh.. yeah, I guess I am. Thirsty, too. Thanks for the water,” he cheers at you and you shake your head, putting on cow print oven mitts. They match your apron, your drink coasters, and utensil grips. There’s a joke there somewhere: something something, mommies and milkies.

“Don’t mention it! But sorry for the wait; dinner doesn’t usually take this long to start—I have no idea what that girl is doing up there.” You open the oven. “Oh! Before I forget: if you want anything other than water, or if you want seconds, just let me know sweetheart.”

He eats you up with his eyes, you don’t know he’s already on his third plate.

Your voice—suave, smooth—soothes and excites him. You speak with the cadence of a song, your expressive lilt or husky croons tickle his brain in just the right way. You are genuine, cordial, have been since he’s stepped foot into your home. Amber is always coming over with little lunches, post-it notes with squiggly hearts attached. You sign everything in the same flowy script, for my beautiful daughter; since you have learned of his existence, you’ve tacked on and her little friend in parenthesis, packing the snacks Amber told you he liked. 

You’re attentive. Thoughtful. You’d even gotten him a gift for his birthday before you even met in person. He refused to accept the present at first, but Amber said it’d be a bigger hassle to try and get you to give it back, from one of those shows Amber said you liked written on the card attached. 

A limited edition shiny, which he can’t fathom you found for any price cheaper than an arm and a leg. Amber said you had a friend and just thought he might like it.

It was really… sweet. How much you wanted them to work out. He senses that same sincerity in your every action. In every smile or wave, in the time you took to prepare him a beautiful dinner—and you’re right, he actually is hungry—all in an effort to get to know him better. You’re not some cougar, or some hyper-nymphomaniac slut who’d try to seduce her daughter’s boyfriend. Which was unfortunate, for him.

You are just a good mom. A great one even, and a better host besides. Mark is just some fucking pervert.

While you’re pulling the trays out of the oven, he is glued to your every movement, tilting his head to get your best angles. Your spread is immaculate.

The gentle swing of your hips, and fuck—he swears he can see the outline of it. The subtle flare of your pussy lips, shrink wrapped in your jeans. Either he’s imagining things, or your cunt’s just as fat as he thought it’d be.

Fuck dinner, he desperately wants to skip straight to dessert, peach juice dribbling down his chin. He’d lick you up quick—you’re liquid gold, too precious to waste a drop. “...she’s probably getting cute for her little friend…” You mutter to yourself, which cuts through the fog of perversion, and he takes a sip of his water in a futile attempt to cool off.

His final shame would be getting hard at your dinner table. It’s not like you’re doing it on purpose, it’s just out of your control just like it’s out of his, in a way. You can’t help looking good in your clothes!  That’s why you buy them, for the way they cuddle your supple curves, snuggle between your folds, caressing your fat so well they had to have been tailor-made for you. 

You’d look good in his clothes, too.

His dick twitches at the thought, grip around his glass tightening.

“I should’ve asked Amber what you like to eat but,” You start, still taking trays out the oven.”I guess the invitation was super last minute, so apologies if our meager dinner doesn’t suit your highfalutin’ tastes.” He can hear the smile on the tip of your tongue, your jibes easing his wariness. ”Don’t even worry about that,” he reassures, thinking too hard about what to say next. “It smells way too good in here for the food to not hit, ya’know?” He facepalms internally.

“Well, aren’t you a flatterer? Why thank you, Mark. It’s nice to feel appreciated.” You’re dramatic, palm to chest and flourishing with the flair of a broadway star, and it catches him so off guard he laughs. You’re emboldened by his energy, moving around with an ineffable pep, almost like you’re dancing. It’s silly frankly, watching you butter bread buns as you jam to an invisible concert.

Mark should have been laughing. Should have been prancing around the kitchen alongside you, playing The Good Boyfriend, collecting his brownie points by helping his girlfriend’s mother around the house. Just be a normal fucking person.

But he’s caught. Fish-on-the-hook, rat-in-a-trap, caught. On the swell of your hips, the twist of your spine, the expanse of your neck, the dimples on your back whenever your shirt rides up. The way your ass sticks out when you get on your tippy toes to grab something from a high shelf. Your body is intoxicating and Mark isn’t the drinking type, but since time immemorial have there been exceptions. He’s been making a lot, tonight, so what’s another?

Everything about this is lovely. There’s fresh baked bread, rice and beans on the stove, baked mac and cheese set aside on a cooling rack, and the chicken… he sniffs. 

“Is that cumin?” He asks, in an attempt to distract himself. You make a noise that sounds like surprise and glance back at him. “Yeah! It is. Some nose you got on ya, Mark! You cook a lot or something? Or maybe…just have an uncanny sense of smell.” You tap your nose, smirking, and Mark just shrugs. “I watch my Mom, she shows me how to cook some stuff from time to time. Or when I ask. But I’m not exactly the greatest student, so I don’t wanna waste her time you know.” He laughs. It makes an odd wheeze coming out, and on impulse he scratches the back of his neck as you sample a sauce. “No worries about that, here. I’m an excellent teacher.” Your smugness palpable, you crook your finger at him. “C’mere, I’ll show you a little something-something.”

And he can’t just say no.

So, there he stands next to you, half-chubbed, in front of the stove. You two are hip-to-hip at your insistence—you can’t learn standing all the way back there—the steam in his face not nearly as hot as he is under the collar. “Veggies with lotsa water are a bitch to cook so I don’t even bother. We’re doing cauliflower tonight. Something simple, sumn’ light. Now, the trick is to be loose with it, don’t worry about whether or not you’re gonna fuck it up. Just let it rock,” You look over at him and he is stiff, like he has half a mind to let your hard work burn to a blackened crisp. You grab his hand to try help him stir and he starts to turn pink. You didn’t think the kitchen was that hot.  “Try and relax. Breathe in, breathe out. You got this baby.” You’re fucking with him. You just have to be. 

Are you really that sultry-toned, bedroom-eyed? Or is he seeing things, steam fogging up his thoughts. He begins, trying not to sound so nervous, “Mrs. Bennett—”

“You can just call me by my name, Mark.” You snort. He swallows. “Okay, ma’a- Uhhh,” He stutters and you chuckle. “If that’s too familiar for you, you can always just call me Mom.” You wink and his heart flutters in his chest. “Okay, mom.” He has to keep himself from shivering as the word rolls off his tongue. 

He’s out of place next to you, a milk jug in the candy aisle, clown shoes paired with a cocktail dress. Your softness contrasts his on-edge, he’s surprised he hasn’t cut you yet. 

“Take a deep breath Mark, you don’t need to overthink it. We’re not doing rocket science.” You guide him. In and then out. Your hand crooks his wrist and he forces himself to relax. “Grab the handle of the pan.” It’s easy to do whatever you ask of him. He’s only waiting for you to say jump. 

“Now stir in a slow continuous motion, loosen your wrists but keep your grip on the spoon tight.” 

You’re training wheels falling away as the cogs in his brain start to turn again. He rotates his wrist and keeps going, stirring in time with your humming. The pale cauliflower change color from white to gold. He takes a peek out of his periphery to gauge how he’s doing, and the wry grin splitting your face makes him smile, too. 

“See? You’re a natural when you put your mind to it. Or maybe you just needed a more hands-on kind of teacher?” you hum. 

He short circuits a second. He doesn’t even notice you snatching a simmering cauliflower out of the pan; you have a mother’s immunity to this kind of heat. “Sample your work always. Never serve someone something you haven’t tried yourself.” You blow gently on the piece you plucked and offer it to him.

“My hands are sort of preoccupied, mom.” Saying that feels much better than it should. “I don’t think I can—” Heat at his lips silences him.

“Open.” 

Housebroken was right. He doesn’t have to think about it, he’s blinked and the cauliflower is already grinding under his teeth. The tastes of garlic and onion bloom beautifully on his palette, not overbearing, just delicious.

“Oh shit yeah,” He groans a little, then remembers himself, drawing back in. “Sorry, pardon my language.” Try as he might to dissuade himself, a snake of a smile slithers onto his face. “It’s great.” Mark smacks his lips together gently as you look at him, expectant. He licks the residue of seasonings off his lip and tries not to imagine what you taste like. “I’m wondering if your tongue’s as sensitive as your nose. So what’s the verdict? Give me a run down.”

He sucks his teeth. “Garlic. Onions. Or maybe shallots? Is there a difference? I just assumed they were just kind of smaller onions.”  He can smell the difference but he likes the way you light up when he asks. “Yeah, there is! Shallots are like… a distant cousin. They’re from a whole different family, Allum- something or other.” You reach in front of him to turn down the heat on the stove and you get far too close for comfort.

“Go on.” He thinks for a moment. “I thought I tasted,” You hold out your hand and he instinctively hands you the spoon. “Hm. I don’t know, I thought I tasted something spicy, a little sweet, maybe.” You nod. “That’s what you call the spice of life: Paprika.” Que jazz hands.

“Two outta three isn’t too bad. I’ll make a chef out of you yet Grayson.” You beam and it is blinding, he has to look away. “You’re shaping up to be an excellent pupil.”  He full body perks up at your praise. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. “Do me a favor Mark?” His dog ears perk up. “Get a cup from the cabinet above you. Then take the pitcher,” You gesture as you slide your oven mitts on. “And put it in the middle of the table.”

“Okay!” He nods so giddily at you that you can’t help your laughter, rich as it flows from you. You’re opening the oven when you say it. You don’t even have the courtesy of facing him as you completely and utterly ruin his life.

“You’re a real good boy, aren’t you Mark?”  

Everything is quiet then—

—SMASH!

The pitcher makes your teeth rattle when it shatters, your head darting to the side so quick it’s a miracle you don’t snap your neck. Mark is standing there a few feet away from you, turned around, water and glass shards pooled at his feet.

“Are you okay?” The urgency in your voice pulls him out of his stupor. “Um. Yeah!” He chirps back, too fast. He is frozen in place. 

“Just! Hold on—” You drop the flan on the counter and chuck your mitts. 

Mark does not move.

His system is shot. All the blood has been evacuated from his brain, he can hardly focus on regulating his breathing—nevermind the words coming out your mouth. “Sweetheart..?” You try, brow arching. “What happened? Are you hurt?” 

“No! I’m fine.” He is on fire. Every muscle in his body coils tight as his fight or flight malfunctions. He freezes.

He’s completely crashed.

Over two fucking words.

Mark is stock still for a second, rock hard dick trapped between his thigh and pants far too tight.

You’re taken aback by his abruptness and quiet for a moment. “Okaaay. Well. Are you going to move over, at least?” You have something like a laugh lodged in between your words, riding closely behind irritation as your eyes follow the rolling stream of water beneath his feet.

“Yes! Yeah, of course, sorry.” 

He doesn’t mean to whimper like a kicked puppy, adorned with shame and all, and Mark hates the way you fold for him. The way you reassure him. It’s fine, crooned in that same saccharine tone because you wholeheartedly give a shit about him. Which is the worst, because he does not deserve your concern. He does not deserve your daughter. He does not deserve you. Least of all your damn dinner.

He was right. He only wished he could’ve been happy about that. 

Mark feels your laser eyes biting into his back, scoring over his skin as he moves out of the mess he’s made.

“Thank you. Now, can you pass me the broom? It’s in front of you.” 

He presses his palm to his mouth and eats his sigh. “Of course,” The throbbing in his pants is growing more insistent by the second but he can’t look down. Can’t acknowledge it or it’ll become uncomfortably real. But it’s not like he can stand still forever. He walks forward and grabs the broom, quick as he turns and hands it to you. You’re not even looking at him, too busy making sure you’re not tracking water underfoot. “I’m so, so sorry.” He starts, but you wave him off, leaning the broom against the fridge as you kneel to sop up the water.

”I didn’t think you were the jumpy type.” You jibe, spritely even as you weave around glass splinter and shards, trying not to scrape your hardwood floor. “But it’s fine—it happens to me too. Sometimes shit breaks,” you shrug. “Pardon my french, but no point bitching about it! ” You chuckle. “I am definitely gonna bully you about it, though.” You really, really shouldn’t; he likes this pair of pants.

His shoulders loosen hesitantly, only to be agitated as he gauges the urgency of his real problem. He is tenting.

His jeans are more heavy duty than the suggestion you call clothing but it’s obvious if you know what to look for. The tautness in the material as his dick fills it out, darkening brought on by the precum crowning his tip.

“Yeah, sorry. I guess I just—got worked up.” That’s certainly a way of putting it. “I was worried about messing this whole thing up, but then I went and made a fool of myself anyway.  Real classy, me.”  He laughs as he scolds himself, scratching the back of his head. You don’t see him while you’re bent over, cleaning, but he’s sure as hell seeing you. His conscience hits him with quick onset shame, but there’s not enough blood circulating to his brain for it to keep up with his reservations; he ogles shamelessly.

He has to catch himself everytime he leans too far forward, but it can’t be helped. He has a premium seat at the theatre and the main feature is your panty line, the poor excuse for a thong that creeps down the cleft of your ass, dipping below the horizon of your cheeks.  He envies it.

“I had a feeling you might’ve been a little nervous,” Your voice snaps him out of his perv’s reverie.  “But don’t worry, I like you plenty Mark. ‘M not expecting you to roll over or jump through hoops to impress me. You’re not a dog.” you say, laughing, but you don’t know. 

You rise from where you were crouched on the floor and turn quicker than he was expecting, but it’s easy to play off his staring and meets you with a smile. It is returned. ”You’re good, right? Not wet or anything?” You give him a quick once over and he stops breathing. 

You don’t seem to find what you’re looking for, meeting his eyes once more. “Yeah,” he says when he finds his voice, “Not anything, I’m fine.” You nod, exhaling short through your nose as if to say okay. 

“Great.” You sigh, arms akimbo, as you look at the shattered glass, at the broom, then at Mark. “Come here.” 

Then you’re on top of him. Hugging him. Ruffling the hair on the back of his head, tits pushed up against his chest, hard nipples poking through your bra, hugging him. “Uh, Mrs. Bennett—”

“What’d I say about calling me that?” You pull back, holding his shoulders while he stands with all the confidence of a wet cat, looking bewildered, then bashful. “At least say Miss, it makes me feel younger.” You joke.

“Miss,” He can’t help but comply. “What uh, what are you doing?” You squeeze his arms. 

“...have you never been hugged before, Mark Grayson?” You tease, while he attempts to position his hips as far away from your anything as he can. “I’m doing the Mom thing, you know? Comforting you.” You can hardly keep your laughter in one second, and then the next you’re decadently soothing, voice barely above a whisper. 

“You didn’t embarrass yourself, okay? Mistakes happen. You’ll give yourself an aneurysm if you keep stressing about making a good impression. As far as I’m concerned, you’re already part of the family.” You snuggle into him, rubbing comforting circles on his back. He shudders at your touch. 

You’re just as soft as he imagined, just as plush and warm, but he can’t hug you back, not in his state. You won't let him go.

“I can feel it, you know?”

His heart sinks. “Uh? What’re you talking about?

“Your tension. You’re stiff as all hell, man. You were sorta makin’ me nervous, cause you wanna look like you’re being held hostage.” He briefly looks at the arms girding him, then back to your babydoll face.

Wow. You’re breathtaking. Pillowy lips, spiderwicked lashes, vibrant eyes. You smell softly of coconut, cocoa butter, vanilla, a hint of sweet almonds. 

“Just relax man. Deep breath in, deep breath out.” He complies as his compulsion demands of him, and he, regretfully, relaxes in your arms. He relaxes to the feel, sight, and smell of you.

You made him too comfortable. He let out a sigh, eyes closed as he draped himself over your shoulder.

“That’s it, big guy, just calm down.” You pat him gently. He returns the hug.

Mark knows when you feel it. He knows because it sends a nasty jolt through his entire body when you rub up against it. His body locks up and his eyes widen, mortified. He feels hot, the room almost set to spinning as his mind is overwhelmed; he startles himself, the tiniest groan escaping him, but that is not when you notice, no.

He doesn’t say anything. He just leaves it be, cock throbbing as he tries to wade through the bog of his thoughts, trying not to rock himself against you.

It’s only when you pull back that you see it. You had this half-smile on your face, hand propped on your hip, mouth open like you were about to speak and then,

you looked down.

On reflex. It was quick. Not even a half-a-second long. But then you double, triple take.

He wondered if you thought he was big, naturally, though the state of your face summed up everything you’d never say. The wide-eyed shock, inhale of breath, supple lips softly parted. Then confusion, a furrow in your brow, uncertainty as your eyes flick back to his burning face. A twinge of disgust, but it’s brief as you are quick to school your expression. 

He’s bigger than your husband, maybe, or you’re wondering if this dick has fucked your daughter.

(He’s wondering if you’d take it better.)

If there’s hunger in your eyes, he couldn’t read it. Hell, he honestly can’t look you in the eye long enough to try.

In reality, you’re only surprised his face is so red; you’d have thought all the blood went, well…

“Oh.” You step away from him and tuck your hands behind your back. Neither of you speak for a moment, his wide eyes blinking at your indecipherable expression. 

Then, you attempt to diffuse the tension. “Well.  I'm... sure it happens to the best of us, Mark. It’s no hard feelings, I mean!--” You seem to remember the broken glass then, the thing you should've looked at in the first place, and busy yourself begin cleaning it up.

He doesn't try to speak. The silence resumes.

Until eventually, you try again. “When I met my husband, he had an issue with getting ‘excited’ too, you know?” Around you? Color Mark unsurprised.  “It’s only natural, especially for young men your age! Don’t worry.”

 His face burns with shame, or is it irritation? If old boy’s not in the picture, then maybe he could…?

No, no, he’s getting ahead of himself again.

He eats up your sweetness, and his teeth rot alongside his dignity. “Amber’s not ready, so you can head up to the bathroom while I clean up in here and we never have to talk about it again.  It can be our little secret.” You didn’t have to whisper the last part. He swears you’re just mocking him now. 

“Really?” He heaves sighs like mountains, eyes wily as they connect with yours. “You won’t tell Amber?”

“Really really, Mark. I’m sure she can live without knowing…this,” You gesture to him with your palm and all five fingers. “Ever happened. Especially after last time, she’s probaby--” You touch on something you clearly didn’t mean to, cutting yourself off before heaping refuse into a cow-print pail. “Nevermind. Bathroom’s upstairs, second door on the left, sweetheart. There are some towels too, if you need to, um…?” You trail off. “Uh. Under the cabinet.”

“Okay—I’m gonna go now, if you don’t mind, thank you so much ma’am—” He stands and for some reason you’re not looking him in the eyes anymore. 

“It’s no problem Mark, none at all.” You smile, quickly turning to dump the glass in the trash as he heads out. You catch the back of his head out of the corner of your eye, and let go of the chuckle you were holding onto as soon as you think he’s gone. “...just make sure you don’t poke someone’s eye out with that thing.” 

He doesn’t know where his mind goes after that. He’s hardly walked down the hall and he’s already played it over in his head five times. He’s deluded, mind a broken record, cock trying to jump out his pants and it only gets worse the more your words play over in his head. He walks with great urgency, gait awkward as he skids to the far end of the hall and reaches the base of the staircase.

In the blink of an eye he’s at the top of the stairs and yet, he is not fast enough to miss your rose of a daughter. Amber looks surprised to see him. “You came up to find me?” She was just touching up her makeup by the looks of it, blush renewed, baby blue eyeshadow reapplied, that artificial cherry gloss he likes. He could smell it from a mile off.

“Yeah,” He lies reflexively, “You were kind of taking forever…we thought you got lost on the way back or somethin’.”  Amber sounds so carefree when she laughs. He notices now how her face crinkles a lot like yours does, those same dimples and smile lines feeling intimately familiar now that he’s basked in your presence. She does a little flourish for him, stepping between him and the washroom and posing a little. “So! How am I looking?” She pauses after she takes him in, his cheeks bleeding red, eyes flittering elsewhere.

“Mark, you feeling alright? You’re looking really… hot?” Mark blanks for a second thinking of what he ought to say before she glances down. Amber expression dwells somewhere between humored and pleasant as she stares, openly.

He is going to die.

“Uhh, I’m flattered Mark, but right now isn’t really the best time,” she laughs. He sees now where she gets her humor from. “I’ll make a mental note: deep necklines and low rise jeans got you whipped.” 

He has absolutely no rebuttal to that. You wear it better, though.

God that’s so fucked—

“I, uh-- I can explain,” He starts, but Amber holds her hand up, fingers curling around his outstretched hand. “No need.” He sighs in relief. “The bathroom’s behind me. I’ll be with Mom. I’ve been gone for way too long, she’ll start thinking I died or something.” She smiles and heads towards the stairs.

“Just—give me a few minutes. Don’t wait up.” Amber says something that’s muffled by the click of the bathroom door.

Finally.

He relaxes at the door, the roar in his mind quieted by the change in scenery.

Even the inside of your bathroom is cute. There is more bovine based decor bathed in warm yellow light. Everything from the soap dispenser to the rugs to the curtains are brown, beige, sand, pink or peach, and it smells utterly divine.

It’s that perfume you’re wearing. Mark should be concerned he has already committed that scent to memory but he’s all bloodhound, thrown caution to the wind, sense on overdrive as he follows the trail to its end, X tucked behind the curtain of your bathtub. 

…

It’s your underwear. He knows it’s yours on account of the cow spots. Not like he could imagine Amber in a number this racy anyway; the crotch is missing, blue frills lining the slit down the center and what he assumed were the leg holes. Modesty was certainly not something she inherited from you, he thinks, as he plucks this choice piece off the rack.

He has to hold it in both hands, feel the cotton under his thumb pad to believe it’s real. The fabric is soft to the touch. He can catch a whiff of the soap you used, the scent of your skin lingering just behind that. He’s not even holding you close and you’re still so potent it makes his eye twitch and head hurt.

He imagines you in them. The smooth plane of your ass filling it out, the squish of your skin under the tension of the elastic. 

He shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought, and yet…

…

Soon he’s slumped over your toilet seat, arm laid up on the tank as his hand darts down to his pants and undoes the clasp. “Fuuuuck me,“ He groans, some of the pressure relieved as his tent pitches up, freed and now angrily demanding his attention. With your panties in his left hand, he pulls his boxers down with the other, his cock smacking against his stomach with a dull smack. 

He knows he’s big but you must’ve done something to him, spiked his water, casted a spell, something, cause his tip is so red--so leaky, drooling and needy--and he’s soo fucking hard. His cock stands ramrod, twitching as he rubs the tip with a tentative index finger. He makes himself whimper, replaces index with his thumb, smearing his pre-cum in circles until he’s bold enough to curl his hand around the shaft. The slightest touch makes him buck, hips swinging upward as his balls clap against the back of his hand, his expression breaking off into a half dazed smile as his spine decompresses and his body begins to truly relax.

He goes slow, breath catching as he gets used to the feeling of doing this, relieving himself among your things, in your space, your fucking panties folded in his hand, but he can’t care. He can’t care when he feels this wired; can’t care when the feeling of his foreskin dragging back and forth, up and down, and it feels mind-numbing, a match to his skin. He happily burns.

Propriety is dead; all he can think about is you. The way you sung his name and praises. The way your ass looked so perky in jeans. The way your tits bounce with your gait.  “God,” he could cum just thinking about it. He’s already moaning, arm sliding up his shirt to cup his pec, the shlick, schlick of him hammering his fist filling the bathroom; he’s got a steady rhythm up and down his cock, his sensitivity feeling heightened from your affections. He’s still thinking about the way you looked at it.

The way your jaw dropped, mouth hung open like a proposition. If you’d get on your knees to clean up the mess he made, what else could he make you kneel for?

“fuck—”

You called him a good boy. 

Good boy? 

Mark Grayson was everything, anything, but.

He certainly did feel like a dog, though. Panting, half bent over himself and jerking his dick so hard his toes are curling. 

Mark gets himself worked up easily. When it smells like you, it’s easy to get lost in the fantasy, your precious hands wrapped around his fat dick and sucking it for all its worth. He wonders what kind of noise you make—if you suck just as sloppily as Amber. 

You seem like you’d have a tight throat. Tight pussy, too. Maybe he has to give it to you easy, treat you gentle and feed it in slow til’ you’re squeezing on his dick like a vicegrip and mewling for him.  Or maybe—

—maybe, he can just sliiiiiide right in. Fill you out all nice-like, leave you with a real good first impression. You would fit him like a glove, wet cunt soaking him to the bone.

And exactly how would he have you? There’s no shortage of options, just not enough time. You’d live your whole life and never know a moment of peace again, if he got his hands on you.

Then there’s your panties. He doesn’t even know what to do with them, having left them limply dangling between his hand and his thigh as he’s beside himself, because you linger in his bones like bad cold, all ice and teeth and biting. He breathes heat into the air as he lets his head fall back, pretending the tightness of his fist is as good as the inside of your pussy. He imagines the way your ass would squish against his hips when he pounds you from the back. His balls would slap against your clit so good, have your eyes rolling back, ecstasy running a live wire through you, set your system to shock.

He’d probably fold you in half, first, give it to you standing. Thinks about how easy it would be, to pull your hair, flip you around, bend you over. 

He wants to Fuck. You. Up.

You look like a moaner too. He can picture it, your tits smushed up against his chest as he gets your legs slung over his shoulders and breaks your back in.

He can hear the way you whimper out his name, stitched together from the bytes of you he’s stored in his memory. Mark has you wailing, whining, scratching your nails blunt on the flat of his back. 

You whisper his name in prayer. 

Mark. 

Mark. 

Mark.

MARK!—

He feels his balls tighten, just as a fist hammers against the door.

“Maaark!” 

He cums to the sound of Amber’s voice; you two sound so, so similar. Like your voice, too, it snaps him back to reality. He was wholly unprepared for this moment. He can’t stop cumming.

It shoots on to his tummy, thick white ropes of cum sticking to his abdomen before he can think to stop it, and Amber is still hammering on the door, could’ve been for the past five minutes and Mark could not have known. He can’t speak for a moment, throat dry and gummed together at the same time.

“...Mark?” The knocking softens. “Are you okay?”

His cock throbs in his hand as it pumps another load and his mind is stuff chock full of fuzz, vision spacey as he comes down from seeing stars. He can’t bask in the afterglow long, not to the sound of Amber knocking.  Mark’s eyes go wide as saucers, and his mind runs on instinct.

He reflexively wipes the cum off his stomach with your thong. His pupils dilate. Uh…

Guess he can’t take it back now. He cleans himself off, catching the rest of his mess in the sponge of fabric. 

The panties are properly soiled by the time he’s done.

Voice broken like he’d been crying (because he had shed a few tears), he calls back. “I’ll be out in a second.” The knocking stops and the voice on the other end sighs. “We thought you slipped and cracked your head dude; you’ve been gone for a cool 15. Unless you’re taking a-”

Mark opens the door. 

He’s looking pristine; zen, subtle smile breaking his nonchalant demeanor. He looks down at her, expectantly. “You gonna move over, or do I have to make you?” He jokes with a tilt of his head.

Amber quirks her lips at him, then backs up to give him space. He spills out of the bathroom and quickly closes the door behind him. 

“It always take you that long to freshen up?” Mark sucks his teeth as they begin to walk down the stairs. “You can’t talk. How long were you gone for again? Like thirty minutes? Just to put on blush?” She elbows him, giggling.

“It’s my house you dolt, I’ll go missing in it as long as I want.” They can laugh together, finally, and it surprises Amber, the first time she’s seen him unwound the whole night. “What kind of peptalk did you give yourself to make your little problem go away, huh?” She asks at the last second; he uses them crossing the threshold of your kitchen as an excuse to keep mum.

“Found him, ma!” Amber presents him as he takes a seat at this godforsaken table.

Dinner is just fine. Perfect, you could say. There’s a light in Mark’s eyes you haven’t seen all night, his conversation lively and engaging. No more yes ma’am, no ma’am; no ma’am at all for the rest of the night. 

That’s not to mention the food itself. It’s immaculate, meat fall-off-the-bone tender, beans seasoned and flavorful, garlic buttered bread so good it’s got his thighs squeezing together.

But he still can’t help but think:

You’d taste so much better.

FIN

Later…

Home.

At home, he can lock himself in his room and no nosy girlfriend will come knocking. 

At home he can kick his feet up, play with his balls and beat off to the thought of you without interruption. 

But it’s odd. He smells himself, the room around him. It smells like you still, somehow. Mark thinks he’s just caught on you, olfactory giving him false signals, but before he brushes it off as a red herring, he catches another whiff of you.

Then another.

And another,

Until he’s tearing up his room looking for the source of it. Until he finds himself staring at the pair of khakis he wore. Until he’s picking them up, and realizes the outside of the pocket looks greasy—or damp.

He slowly reaches in, revealing a sad, sad pair of panties, surely missing the ass that filled them out. At first he has the sensibility to be horrified, but while holding them, cum smeared and all, he sniffs. He stifles the little groan that slips from his lips. 

Yup, that’s you alright.

He looks around like he’s being judged by the shadows, the light filtering in through the curtains. 

He closes them.

The world shouldn’t have to bear witness to his depravity.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀all writtens are penned by ©️omniphilic !

thank you so much for reading! drink some water (cause ik you thirsty), remember to reblog, & stay tuned for more writing. comments, questions or thirsts? send it to my inbox or leave a note below!

[vinnyvamppp]

we need more mark grayson co-parenting please PLEASE IM GOING TK CRY PLEAAAE

Our Son, Apparently

Note: DON'T CRY, LMFAO. I've made this installment longer, why? Because it hopefully wont bring the request of a third part, but honestly so much could be done with this, I wouldn't be surprised if someone did. This only scratches the surface.

Synopsis: Mark Grayson never meant to be a single dad. You never meant to become a co-parent by proximity. But when Oliver enters your life, everything changes. From grocery store breakdowns to baby-proofing the world from Viltrumite tantrums, you and Mark find yourselves building a family you didn’t plan for… and falling in love right in the middle of the mess.

Warnings: Mild Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Flirting, Canon-Level Superhero Violence, Themes of Single Parenthood, Accidental Family, Identity Pressure, Interrupted Intimancy, Baby... Fluids? EXHAUSTION, etc. (Two and a Half Graysons PART 2: Previous Part: Here.)

Mark Grayson x GN!Reader

WC: 1.9k

It starts with a crack. Not just a crack, an explosion of glass, a shriek of wind, and the sharp twang of something small and plastic ricocheting off the opposite wall. You freeze in the kitchen, work uniform half-smeared with banana mush, its watered down taste and betrayal.

Across the room, the window is obliterated. Shattered glass glitters on the floor like a warning. And at the epicenter—with his fists balled and cheeks flushed purple—is Oliver, practically vibrating with frustration. The pacifier lies in the corner like the murder weapon it is. A stubby, rubber-tipped missile of infant rage.

“Okay,” you say slowly, voice high-pitched and tight. “So we’re entering our supervillain phase early. That’s cool.” Before you can even take a step, there’s a sonic thud and Mark crashes through the hallway barefoot, hoodie half-zipped and clinging to one arm, hair soaking wet and sticking up in every direction like he lost a fight with a showerhead and a towel.

He’s holding one of Oliver’s tiny socks in one hand and nothing in the other. No shirt, no shoes, just sweatpants and alarm. “What happened? Are you okay? Did someone break in—?” He pauses and sees the window, then Oliver. Then you, standing frozen with a spoonful of rejected mashed banana still in your hand.

Mark’s chest rises and falls with the kind of slow, controlled inhale you recognize immediately: do not freak out in front of the baby, do not freak out in front of the baby, do not—

He exhales and rubs his face. “What did I miss?” You gesture broadly at the destruction. “He didn’t like the unmashed banana.” Mark squints. “So he shattered the window?” You hold up the spoon. “I didn’t chew it first. Apparently that’s a crime now.”

There’s a long pause as Oliver lets out a little grunt, his chubby fingers clawing at the legs of your trousers, his face formed into the most pitiful pout. Mark presses his knuckles to his temple. “Cecil’s going to want to classify him as a WMD.” You snort. “I mean. Technically… he already is.”

Mark walks over, still barefoot, and carefully lowers Oliver back into the bouncer with gentle, practiced hands. Oliver lets out one last indignant coo before settling, hands clasping around his finger. Mark looks back at you. “I’ll fix the glass,” you murmur. “You just… survive until nap time.” You glance at him—hoodie half-hanging off one shoulder, sleep lines on his face, eyes soft and tired and still glowing faintly from adrenaline. And yeah, you think, maybe this is a disaster. It’s almost midnight when it’s finally quiet again.

The pacifier incident has been cleaned. The window is now repaired thanks to Cecil’s intervention (and Mark, who partially caved and followed a tutorial and swore under his breath the entire time). Oliver is tucked in, finally knocked out cold after Mark flew circles around the home until the kid passed out mid-air.

You’re standing in the kitchen, stirring a lukewarm cup of tea and staring into the nothingness that lives inside every sleep-deprived parent’s soul.

Behind you, a familiar heat. That slight change in air pressure when Mark enters the room. When he leans against the fridge with that look that always gets you into trouble. A lopsided grin, a raised brow, and a T-shirt long abandoned in the laundry apocalypse. What’s left of his khaki’s slung low, one hand casually holding a bowl of food he’s absolutely not eating. 

"You good?" he asks, voice low. "You look like you're about to throw the tea at the wall."

You glance over your shoulder. “If I don’t have a breakdown soon, it’s gonna get stuck in my chest. Gotta let the crazy out somehow.” You pause, finally catching his innuendo. “Are you trying to seduce me with that logic or your cereal breath?”

Mark steps behind you, hands finding your hips. His warmth sinks into your back, and you lean into him instinctively. His nose brushes your neck. “Both. Let it out later. We’ve got ten whole minutes of peace. Maybe twenty.”

You feel his hand drift, slide under the hem of your hoodie, fingers skimming over the expanse of flesh. Your breath catches in your throat. Your whole body hums and you can feel the tension shift—sharp, sweet, starved. His lips graze just behind your ear. “You smell like puff dust,” he murmurs. “It’s weirdly hot.”

You laugh, breathless, turning to face him. He lifts you onto the counter without hesitation, standing between your knees. He’s kissing you—slow, deep, one hand curling around your waist like he’s remembering your shape. Your fingers tangle within his curls, his fingers traveling lower unsure of their destination. You let him press you back against the fridge, and god, it’s been weeks. You can feel the tension unraveling between you both, fingertips digging, breathing uneven—

WAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH. You both freeze, eyes wide.

Mark groans, head dropping to your shoulder. “I jinxed it.”

“I knew he was waiting to ruin this. He has a sixth sense for foreplay.” It was the next morning, and you both were awoken by the print of small feet against your lower back and the soft padded knocks at the front door. Cecil had sent a nanny. You weren't consulted, nor was Mark.

She arrives at 7 a.m. sharp in a shimmering suit, floating half an inch off the floor. Thressa, from the Glorvax system. Glowing skin, elegant limbs, eyes like a lava lamp. She walks into the home like she's visited a dozen times in past lives and scoops Oliver up like she’s been waiting years.

He giggles and reaches for her face before nuzzling her like a puppy.

You and Mark stare in utter, sleep-deprived bewilderment. Both looking like abandoned houseplants as she explains his development and gently feeds Oliver a new formula. Mark leans in, whispering, “Do you think she’s actually a nanny or just here to steal him from us?” You narrow your eyes. “She called him ‘my sweet hatchling.’ That’s not childcare. That’s a claim.”

Thressa turns and smiles warmly. “You two look stressed. Would you like time to yourselves? Perhaps a long shower together?”

You silently stare at her. Mark begins coughing violently, clearly flustered. And Oliver’s gleeful giggles ring out. “She knows Viltrumite development inside and out,” Cecil says, appearing via teleportation, money soon to be wasted as you hastily usher him away. “We need to start assessments. He’s already got strength enhancements and advanced development. She’ll help you prepare.”

“Did you hire her?” you ask flatly.

“No,” Cecil says. “I deployed her.”

And that’s when you snap.

You’re pacing Mark’s bedroom, hair mussed and voice sharp. “She shows up, picks up our kid, and suddenly he’s just—hers? She calls him her hatchling, Mark. Who says that? Who just decides they’re a better parent without even talking to us?”

Mark sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, watching you. Quiet. “I’m trying,” you say, and your voice breaks just a little. “I’m not his real parent. I know that. I’m not even—whatever we are, I just—but I love him. I choose him every single day. And I—”

You cut yourself off, chest heaving. Mark’s looking at you like you’ve just lit up the whole room.

“What?” you ask, flustered beyond comparison. “You said ‘our kid,’” he says quietly. “Like it’s just true. No hesitation.” You blink. “I—yeah. Because it is.” There was no in your words hesitation this time. He crosses the room in three steps and pulls you into a hug that feels like a home. "You're walking this with me. Every step. You didn't have to. But you are." And for a moment, you just breathe together, hearts dancing amongst one another as the night crickets sing.

Later that night, you’re curled up on the couch. Oliver’s asleep on your chest, tiny fingers fisted in your shirt. Mark’s beside you, legs tangled with yours, quiet. Soft. “I’ve been thinking,” he says, voice rough with something raw. “About all of this. You. Him. Us.” You glance over. His hand is fidgeting in his hoodie pocket. You feel your heart catch.

Mark doesn’t look at you. “It’s not the life I pictured. But it’s the only one I want. I don’t need perfect. I just need you.” You lean in and start placing soft kisses—one to his forehead. One to his closed eyelid. One to his cheek. Your lips brush his jaw last, and you whisper, “I already said yes.”

He looks at you, blinking, smile blooming like sunlight. He starts to move—to speak, maybe reach for something, and then— BLLAAAHHRGGHHH. A full-force stream of baby puke explodes all over your chest.

Oliver sits up mid-sleep and lets out a happy screech. Mark stares, frozen and yu stare down at your shirt. Silence…

You sigh. “So. Romantic.” Mark laughs, helpless, but relieved. “I was so close.” You press your forehead to his. “You still are. Just—Just give me a moment.” The apartment is quiet for once—no screeching, no flying objects, no sudden diaper blowouts or random alien agency visits. The air hums with that tired kind of stillness you only get after surviving a war made entirely of juice spills and broken windows.

You’re both on the couch, half-curled into each other like always—your legs over his lap, his hand absently stroking up and down your shin. There’s a half-empty bottle of formula abandoned on the coffee table, and Mark’s hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows as he stares at your joined limbs like he’s seeing something new.

He’s not shirtless, shockingly, but the gray tee he is wearing is soft and thin and rides up when he shifts. You’re trying not to think about that. Or about how stupid in love you feel. And then he does it—says the thing that makes everything tilt slightly sideways.

“I really wanted to do this earlier.”

You glance over at him, brow raised. “Do what?” You knew, but you always loved watching him stammer. Mark’s eyes flick toward the hallway—where the baby’s sleeping like a tiny purple demon—and then back to you. “The real version. Not the puke-soaked one.”

Your chest tightens. That thing in your stomach flips over once. He shifts under your legs, suddenly looking very much like the guy who once flew through asteroids but is now panicking because emotions are harder than world threatening catastrophes.

“I didn’t get to say it the way I wanted to,” he says. “Didn’t even get the sentence out. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot. About you. About Oliver. About how you’ve been in it with me. Even when it’s been hell. And I just—” He stops and scratches the back of his neck, blotches of blush creeping up his skin.

“I’m not great at this,” he mutters. “The talking thing. Or the… ring thing.” Your breath catches as he pulls something out of his pocket. It’s small a small, silver band at first glance. No grand box, no sparkle, but honest. The kind of ring someone keeps in their hoodie for weeks because they never know when life will let them have five minutes to use it.

He looks up at you. His eyes are soft and unsteady, but open. “I don’t need a ceremony or a perfect moment. I just want to make this official. Me and you. And him. Because you’re already it for me. You’ve been it since you didn’t flinch when I showed up with a purple alien baby and said, ‘Hey, I kind of need you.’”

You stare at him for a second, heart full to the point of bursting, brain trying to keep up with the wave of affection suddenly choking you. You lean in slowly. Your lips brush along his jaw as you whisper, “You never had to ask.” He exhales like you just took all the weight out of his chest.

You take the ring from his fingers and slide it onto your own without ceremony, just solid, quiet finality. The ring is smooth and silver-toned, with a thin, engraved pattern around the band—a repeating geometric design that, at first glance, looks abstract. But you recognize it immediately: a minimalist recreation of the pattern around Science Dog’s communicator. On the inside, there’s a small engraving: “For the one who made it all mean something. (Issue#47)”

“Wait, is this… Science Dog’s communicator symbol?”

“You noticed that?” Mark mumbles, stumbling slightly over his words. “Yeah. I mean, he always picks love over logic, even when it gets him hurt. Felt fitting.” It was fitting. He left you in a stunned silence, a grin etching across your lips as his panic set in.

“Look, I saw it on a fan site and the engraving said, ‘Intergalactic loyalty since Issue #1’ and I just—it felt right, okay? Don’t make fun of me.” He laughs—small and a little dazed—and pulls you into his lap, burying his face in your neck. “God, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Mark,” you murmur, smiling. “I’ve been stuck since the first time you showed up at my job holding a diaper bag and looking like a confused golden retriever.” He snorts. “Sexy golden retriever,” he corrects, smitten against your collarbone. “Yeah. Covered in formula and baby wipes. Total heartthrob.”

He pulls back to look at you, the grin soft but teasing. “I love you.” The words are quiet. Uncomplicated and true.

The only sound left in the room is your breathing—and his. Your fingers brush his jaw, just enough to tilt his face toward yours. His eyes are tired but warm—lit from within by something more than adrenaline or duty or even affection. It’s love, and it’s undeniable.

His hands curl around your waist, pulling you closer like he’s making sure this is real. Your thighs bracket his, your knees brushing, and your fingers slide into his hair with a practiced ease that makes him shudder. “We could…” he whispers, his breath catching as your lips brush the curve of his neck. “Maybe… actually finish something tonight?”

You grin against his skin. “Finish or start something. We don’t have to be ambitious.” He laughs, low and warm, and leans into the kiss again, deeper this time. It builds—slow but certain. A quiet dam that’s been waiting to break.

Your hips shift against his. His hand trails beneath the hem of your shirt, and you feel it in your stomach first—the pull of wanting, of comfort, of home. But you pause. Just long enough to breathe together, forehead pressed to his.

Mark’s ring glinting softly on his finger where it presses against your clothed skin. The family photo Eve took on your fridge: slightly blurry, your hair a mess, Mark looking exhausted, Oliver mid-sneeze—and all of you smiling like you didn’t know the moment was going to matter.

Because it does.

Mark didn’t plan for any of this. Not fatherhood. Not an engagement. Not this future. But right now, watching you lean into him like you were always meant to be there, he wouldn’t trade a second of it. Because this is his family. And you?

You’ve been his world since the day he showed up in your doorway with panic in his eyes and a baby in his arms.

You kiss him again, slow this time—no interruptions, no crying, no urgency. Just warmth. His hands around your waist. Your fingers gliding across his scalp. Mouths meeting gently, like you’ve got all the time in the world.

And for once… you do. A/N: I'm contractually obligated to end every fic with a sappy one liner. CONGRATS READER, YOU'RE OFFICIALLY A GRAYSON. (If anyone requests a part three, I promise you I will go full chaos with the nest one, had to keep this one adjacent to comic timing, though.)

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[masamasan]

[Hard Reset | Mark x You]

Summary: It’s one thing to get killed by a classmate you barely knew.

It’s another to wake up in a parallel universe where you’re dating said killer.

Now you had to figure out how to fake your way through this relationship long enough to ghost your homicidal superhero boyfriend for good.

A/N: Pictures by @/henzuu

Prologue

You were neither the childhood best friend turned love interest nor the villain with the tragic back story. There was just nothing remarkable nor distinctive about you. You were, what you’d like to call yourself, a background character. The one who showed up in a few scenes when the writers needed to fill space. Maybe the one who gets a speaking line or two, but no more than that. And you were fine with that. No messy love triangles, no world that relies on you to be saved, and most importantly, no near death situations.

Your dream was to finish high school, get into a decent college, meet a cute guy, and get married — the all-American fantasy, you could say.

What set you apart was your sharp mind. That’s what you were known for. You noticed things. You survived high school that way. But no matter how many times you replayed that day in your head, nothing could have prepared you for the explosion that tore through the roof of your classroom. Nothing could have prepared you to lie crushed beneath the rubble, paralyzed by pain and fear.

But the real anomaly came after — seeing someone painfully familiar hovering above the broken bodies of you and your classmates just before he delivered the final blow.

In the seconds between the blast and your death, you noticed everything: the black hair spilling from the edge of a yellow mask, the straight bridge of the nose, the upturned tip, the sharp jaw clench. The image hit you fast — and just before everything went dark, all you could think about was Mark Grayson.

That name echoed in your head, even as you jolted awake, yelping in pain. Your mind was foggy, your skin damp with sweat, and once your breathing slowed to something close to steady, the scene replayed. Again and again.

A dream? No. It felt too real. You remembered the crushing weight of the rubble pinning down your lower half, the way your limbs wouldn’t move no matter how much you tried. It wasn’t like a memory, it was like it had happened seconds ago.

But as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you started noticing the first fractures in reality. The duvet cover. Stripes. But you were sure you had just changed it to a floral one three nights ago. Then the carpet — grey, nothing like the soft beige rug you’d begged your mom to get. You sat up and looked down at yourself: a mismatched pajama set, green and pink, unfamiliar and ugly in the dim light. You’d never worn them before.

And then came the final sign: your mom bursted into the room, asking what was wrong — the same concerned tone, the same warmth in her eyes. But her hair. It was a completely different color, a completely different cut. Shorter. Darker.

That’s when it hit you.

You weren’t dead. But you hadn’t just dreamed, either. You’d pinched yourself more times than you could count. The sounds, the light, the weight of the blankets… all real. But whatever this was, it wasn’t your life. It wasn’t your world. It was close enough to feel familiar, but far enough to keep you on your toes.

You should’ve panicked. But after what you saw, what you experienced in that demolished classroom all you could think about was survival. You didn’t know how or why, but something or someone had given you another shot at life.

And you sure as hell weren’t going to die at the hands of Mark Grayson again.

Read more on AO3.

[toxicrelief]

Crawling Back to You

Chapter twenty-one

Synopsis: A Viltrumite is headed towards earth

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 6.8k

Chapter: 21/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: Depictions of Violence, Short Graphic Memory

Note: I love Invincible, the whole show is so :3 but there are so many inconsistencies with things, like why Cecil was able to monitor that Allen was coming, but was blind sighted by Anissa, and the differences in speeds, like mark turning off the light while practically phasing through Amber’s arm in one episode. So I’m having fun trying to utilize/fix those plot holes a little.

Also very show dialogue heavy this chapter.

Cecil is debriefing you, at least you think he is. He’s talking quickly, gesturing at the sizable screen against the wall of the surveillance room. As much as your whole attention should be on whatever Earth’s newest threat is, your mind is only replaying what just happened between you and Rex. That happened, right? It wasn’t another embarrassing dream, that was real. You looked down at your arm and considered whether you should pinch it or not. Does that actually work? You never thought to do that when you’re actually in a dream, so you must be awake.

Fiddling absentmindedly with the teleportation wristband you glanced up at Cecil. The device dug lightly into your skin, leaving grooves when you pushed it to the side. What does this mean going forward? Would you really just be able to talk about it like adults? Seemed unlikely somehow.

“Sir, it just passed by close enough to get footage.”

“Then pull it up, Donald. Christ, what are you waiting for?” Cecil was more agitated than usual, leaning forward on his hands that were pressed against the desk in front of him.

A section of the screen was taken over by a large pop-up; slowed footage of the oncoming Viltrumite. It was a woman, wearing a grey and white suit. She had short dark hair and a steady sneer on her face.

“That’s not Omniman.” An obvious statement, said more to yourself than anyone in the room. You begrudgingly set Rex aside in your mind, finally focusing fully on the situation.

“Astute observation as always, Killdeer.” Cecil didn’t turn to look at you, his eyes closely analyzing the screen.

You shot him a sidelong look. “Shouldn’t you alert the Guardians, Invincible-” You tried to think of anyone else but drew only blanks, “Or…I don’t know, anyone else?”

“We need to see what she wants. If we respond to her appearance with every hero, guns blazing, that might only agitate the whole situation.”

“So, you’re going to wait and see if she decides to level a whole city? Like Chicago?”

“We don’t have much of a choice. This is how it is. You need all the facts before acting.”

You didn’t respond, turning your gaze back to the screen. You didn’t like it. It was leaving too much up to chance.

“Don’t worry, kid. We’ve got you.” Cecil gave you a small nod, it almost felt like he was trying to make you feel better. The statement only made your stomach twist harder, you felt that you had connected to Mark, you’d worked tirelessly with that godforsaken blood bag. But Mark was partially human, even if the Viltrumite DNA had worked meticulously to cleanse him in regards to any trace of genetic humanity. This person was likely full blooded. The pressure felt enormous. Digging into you, ripping at your skin. What if you couldn’t do it? What if you could, but it knocked you out in the process? That would leave everyone with a huge problem, and you, most likely, without a head.

“Coffee?” Donald’s standing next to you now, holding out an already assembled coffee.

“I feel like this is a little below your pay grade.” You gave him a small lopsided smile, but took it, regardless of whether you liked coffee or not, you weren’t about to leave him hanging.

“This isn’t one of my duties, I’m doing it because I can.” He gave you a small nod before turning to one of the agents in the room with you who had walked up to him with a tablet.

From the consistent feed flowing in on the screen, the furious typing coming from the different desks in the room, and the look on Cecil’s face, it was going to be a long night.

--

The minutes passed painfully slow. The GDA had immense access to just about every type of surveillance they could need, which meant, the first glimpse they had of the oncoming Viltrumite was at least a planet away. A countdown was clicking by, running off to the side of the visual display. Really adding to the feeling of impending doom.

You looked down at your second cup of bad coffee, running your thumb over the paper ridges that were starting to unfurl at the rim. Donald had brought your suit in for you to change into rather than your nightwear, which you appreciated. But changing made it all feel much more real. More serious. The adrenaline was dying away steadily now though, and your mind was starting to drift away again. A few times you opened your phone to message Rex, but you didn’t know what you’d say.

‘Hey, about the fact we made out an hour ago, what’s that about?’ putting your phone down with a sigh you tried to focus again on Cecil debriefing yet another group of people. In the time you had been here, it seemed like Cecil had spoken directly to upwards of forty people. That or you were awful at committing anyone to memory, and the same groups were coming through. Maybe a bit of both.

‘I’ve been really into you for a few weeks now, and I feel really stupid about it because you’ve been a complete and utter ass.’

Worse.

‘I want to do that again. Please.’

Delete his number at this point.

‘Hi.’

You typed it out, tapping the desk in front of you with your other hand. It was beyond late. He should be sleeping by now. Your body ached from an evening of fraternizing in heels, and everything in you wished you were in that bed right now rather than sitting in this office chair. Which had no lumbar support, by the way. The GDA can manufacture a whole hand for Rex but not afford semi-quality chairs?

Even if nothing had happened, and the two of you slept with that stupid pillow between you the whole night. You would be happy just to be near him. Hear his breathing slow as he drifted off to sleep. Maybe it was foolish to think that somehow, he would have had a more restful sleep near you, but you really wondered…

Hey.

Staring down at the screen your incessant tapping paused. He was still awake. You’re straightening up in your chair, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Shit, now what?

You weren’t sure what to say, how to say it. But somehow just his response seemed to relieve some sort of tension within you.

“Goddamn it-”

You looked up, dropping your phone on the desk. The overhead screen moments ago holding live footage of the oncoming threat, was now black. The foreboding countdown stopped at five minutes out.

“What happened?” You stood up swiftly, sending your chair a good foot away.

“She flew straight through our satellite.” Cecil was standing over the shoulder of a GDA agent, monitoring their screen.

“And what? Destroying one satellite makes her disappear?” You’re at his side in an instant trying to learn anything you can from the screen he’s looking at.

“It doesn’t make her disappear, no. But it causes a second delay in the relay with our other satellites. With the speed she was moving at it’s nearly impossible to catch up unless we know where she’s going.”

You look back up at the black screen, the large red timer to the side still frozen with minutes and seconds left over.

“She wouldn’t come here, would she?” Your mouth felt dry.

Cecil is quiet for a moment.

“Cecil, how likely is it she’ll come crashing through that wall?” You gesture with a harsh whisper towards the dark screen, your pulse quickening.

“I don’t know.” It’s surprisingly calm. “You know as much as me as to why she’s here. I don’t know the chances.”

--

“Because I really want to kiss you…”

It rings out over and over in Rex’s mind. He groans, pulling his hands up to cover his face. He had wanted to kiss her, that was one of the more honest things he had ever said to her. But it hadn’t truly displayed what he was feeling in that exact moment. It was thoughtless. Almost tasteless. After feuding for the better part of the evening he just, kissed her? Weeks of debating what to say, or if even to say anything and he just…didn’t.

Before he might have thought it was enough, he was never good at depicting how he felt. Several memories of evenings with Eve were resurfacing to further cement it.

“Why can’t you just be straight with me, Rex? Just this once.”

“I am being straight with you, what are you even talking about?”

“You knew him for years and you don’t want to go to his funeral? Fine, whatever, but at least talk to me about it. It’s obviously bothering you.”

He had shaken his head and laughed at her, eventually convincing her to let it go and move on to other things. That time in particular being the feeling of his hands trailing up under her shirt.

Sure, he had real conversations with Eve. He trusted her, and by now he had known her longer than anyone else in his life. But he avoided it like the plague, never gave anything up without a fight, or at least trying to shirk around the topic entirely. It was the cause of more than one disagreement, and something he hadn’t thought was a problem. Until this very moment, lying in bed, clutching one of the overly embroidered pillows to his chest.

He wanted to tell Killdeer. He didn’t want to just kiss her, he wanted to let her in.

How do you do that though? Let someone in, show them the ugliness?

Right about now she’d probably say, “I think I’ve already seen the ugliness, Rex.” And laugh. The same fucking laugh he had been forced to hear in the distance all night long. Talking to some phony, uppity, prat no doubt. Every time he caught the sound of it, he’d lose his train of thought and have to ask whatever phony, uppity, prat he was talking to, what they had been discussing. It was torture.

And that wasn’t even entailing how he had felt seeing her walk down the aisle of the plane, silk flowing tastefully down from her collar. His fingers suddenly felt numb, useless as he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. With less than agile accuracy he ran through the remaining buttons and moved to put back his shoe box. She had laughed at him then as well, chastising him over the haphazard fashion in which he had made his way through dressing.

He wanted to tell her that it was her fault. Explain that he couldn’t think half the time when she was around, but it was even worse now with her in that dress. He wanted to tell her he thought she looked beautiful, not just beautiful though, something more. Ethereal, maybe. Tell her he was sorry, again, but better this time. He wanted to ask her about the books on her shelf in her apartment, more specifically the tattered chapter book. He wanted to ask her if she regretted not going to the man’s funeral who she learned how to tie a tie for. He wanted to tell her that he wasn’t sure if he regretted not going to the director’s funeral. He wanted her to ask about his past, and then in turn tell her. Explain why he struggled to talk about the director, everything.

And then, the overhead speaker announced there were only five minutes until arrival. Far too short to say any of that. At least that’s what he told himself.

--

The seconds turned into minutes, and still none of Cecil’s methods seemed to locate her again. Instead of your dread lessening like before, it only got worse. The longer no one could find her the more you felt your panic rising. Even if you could stop her, it wouldn’t matter if she flew straight through you before you even saw her.

“Mark?” Cecil’s voice shattered the tense silence in the room, his hand raising to the comm in his ear. “Mark- calm down, what is it?”

The tension inside you was stretching to a breaking point, you needed to do something. You hadn’t felt this exact feeling since you had practiced with Rex. An acute awareness of everyone around you. Your innate connection to them, the ease with which you could overpower every single one of them, even if not for long.

What an odd thought.

“Okay- yes, I hear you, just- Mark.” Cecil’s tone is overly controlled; he’s already gesturing to the worker in front of him. The former dark screen flashes to life, cycling through different satellites and security cameras, slowly honing in.

Didn’t you hear me? I said I only wished to speak.

That hasn’t been my experience with Viltrumites so far.

The angle finally centers, audio crackling to life for the whole room to hear. The woman is floating ahead of Mark, her back to him, arms clasped behind her. They are above a city, lights shining through the night sky.

“Where are they?”

Cecil doesn’t respond.

“Cecil, where are they? Send me in!”

“They’re in the fucking sky, how are you going to be able to reach them, hm?” Cecil snaps, his gaze not leaving the screen.

This was fucking torture, you needed to be of use. Scared or not, this was your duty.

The woman scoffed, turning fully away from Mark.

How little you know of your own people.

They’re not my people.

“We cannot let this become another Chicago, people. Get me everything that you can on her.” A silly notion, she was an alien from outer-fucking-space. They didn’t have anything on her and you knew it. Or else you wouldn’t have been waiting for over an hour watching her.

Oh, we are your people. You simply do not accept it yet.

“We’re doing everything we can in case this turns ugly, Mark, but we don’t have a lot of good options.” He glances over at you, his hand pressed up to the comm again. “Keep her talking as long as you can.”

What do you want?

Mark says without a single missed beat.

We’ve studied this planet.

Good for you.

You stared numbly at the screen. Mark was instigating. Now is not the time to fucking instigate.

Human civilization has less than an eighteen percent chance of surviving the next two centuries without the loss of billions of lives.

Is that a threat?

Goddamn it, Mark.

“Goddamn it, Mark.” Cecil hissed out your internal monologue, turning to Donald. “What do we have?”

“We’re gathering all of our resources but it’s not looking good. Hail Mary had Omniman on the ropes but-” Donald shook his head, creasing his brows, “unfortunately Mark helped kill her, so she’s no longer an option.”

“Christ.” Cecil turned his gaze back to the screen, his knuckles white from clenching the back of a seat.

That is the truth. The powerful of this world destroy their own home. Strip resources for themselves. Large areas of this planet will soon be uninhabitable due to human greed.

Yeah, I know.

Yet here you are, hands in fists, worried about stopping me instead of stopping them.

It’s complicated.

No, it isn’t. We have the technology to repair their climate. Feed their hungry, punish their criminals. We will save more of their lives in a single year than you could in a hundred. You are failing this planet and its people.

At least I don’t kill.

Is this how people saw you when you stumbled over trying to lie about the extent of your powers? If so you needed to get better quickly, this was borderline painful.

Yet, you let thousands die every day you resist Viltrumite rule. Or do those human lives not matter to you?

“Based on bone and muscle density scans, the simulations give Mark a less than eighteen-percent chance of surviving a combat encounter with her.” Donald’s hands are clasped on the edges of the keyboard in front of him. You suppose there was a way he could gather more information on her then.

“Ah. Well, isn’t that poetic?” Cecil pulls up live footage on a small screen in front of him. A man you don’t recognize is dressed in a lab coat, a ReAniman is sprawled out on a metal table behind him.

Cecil, I’m in the middle of-

“How many of my new ReAnimen are ready for the field, right now?”

The field? I-I don’t-

“Answer the goddamn question, Sinclair.”

None! None are ready for the field. We agreed on a schedule, and it-

Cecil pressed his hand to the screen, effectively hanging up.

“I don’t see how you could get any of those any higher in the air than you could get me.” You breathed it out, intentional snark, but you hadn’t fully intended for Cecil to hear you.

He shot you a glare, opening his mouth-

“Sir,”

“What?”

“Satellites are picking up a behemoth-class kaiju. South Pacific. Closing fast on a passenger cruise liner.”

“Shit.” He drawled out.

Viltrumites do not kill for pleasure, even if they sometimes take pleasure in killing. Dead humans do not benefit us in any way.

“Let’s see if she means that. There’s a cruise ship about to get eaten a few thousand miles southwest from you. Tell her you need to save those humans she loves so much.” Cecil lowers his hand with a sigh. “What are our other options, Donald, come on.”

“Sir…”

“There are no other options, Cecil, I don’t understand.” You take a few steps away, running a hand through your hair. “You brought me here as backup, but the time for backup is now, why aren’t you using me?”

“There’s a delicate balance to this all kid. Sending you in means you’re not a secret anymore.”

“Who cares?” You exclaimed; it was a bit louder than you intended. “People could die; Mark could die! There’s no reason for me to be the last thing between Mark and the potential of following his father’s legacy, if there’s no Mark left to be on guard against!” You gesture in a futile fashion at the screen. It now portrayed the two of them battling a giant sea monster. “And what’s the point of not encouraging the fact that as of right now he is good? How are we nurturing that side of him by valuing a secret more than his fucking life?”

Cecil once again opened his mouth to respond, but was distracted by the screen. Anissa had practically phased through the creature’s head, taking it out instantly. Gallons upon gallons of blood turned the water surrounding the cruise scarlet.

“Well, that’s one way to do it.” Cecil sighed into the comm.

“Hail Mary wouldn’t have done us much good anyway, it seems.” Donald commented.

The ship slanted and began to sink, most likely from the damage the behemoth had left behind. Cecil looked over one of the GDA agents’ screens again and instructed Mark where the closest landmass was. Once the ship was safely on land, Mark and Anissa stood on a beach. Level with the ground for the first time since they’d seen her coming.

“Send me in. Now Cecil.” You clenched your fists, stepping up to him.

“Did you not see what I just saw?” He held his hand outstretched to the screen. “She ran through that thing’s brains in a fuckin’ millisecond. I can’t just put you out there without a thought, we need to be careful-”

“I only need a millisecond, Cecil!”

“Kid.” He said in a warning tone, his eyes narrowing.

I think you should go now.

You both turned back to the screen, Mark was in a defensive stance, which contrasted strongly with the tight upright position Anissa had been in since her arrival.

“Careful, Mark. She’s a lot stronger than you.”

Remember that we started with reason.

In an instant she’s on him, sending him flying upwards, both of them in the air again.

Goddamn it. If Cecil had just sent you in, you could have stopped this. Your fingers clenched tight against the wristband, as if you could will the object to transport you at this moment. A brief period passes where the two are moving so fast that the cameras couldn’t locate either of them. Empty images of the sky and sea flash by. It’s eerily quiet besides the sounds of Mark’s injured groans over the comms. You can hear the wind rushing by him, and the sound of her punches making impact. It’s all cut off by the rush of water, the camera’s finally catch up to reveal Anissa, floating stagnantly over the water, looking out.

 You can see the water ripple softly before Mark surges out of it, heading towards Anissa’s back, only for her to send him flying again. This time, through the side of the cruise boat.

“The Guardians could be on their way but regardless of when we inform them, their ETA would still be twenty-two minutes later. Backup hero teams are standing by, but…”

“It’d be like feeding them to wolves. What else?” Cecil directs his attention to Donald, seemingly ignoring you.

“One carrier group with a boomer and twenty fighters, three orbital gravity weapons, two long-range Q-bombers, but she moves too fast.” Donald glances over at you. “Quicker than Nolan even. They could be a thousand miles away before we even get there.”

“One goddamn Viltrumite all by her lonesome and we’re fucking useless.”

“Sir, there’s… another option.”

Yeah, there’s another fucking option, put me in!

Anissa is back on land again, standing near Invincible. It would be easy, well, it’d be easy maybe. But you had to try, or what was the point of these months of training?

“Mark, listen to me. Say you’ll do it.” What? You felt your face settling into a scowl as Cecil spoke through his earpiece. “Say, ‘fine, I’ll take over the planet.’ You can’t beat her, kid. Say it. Get her to leave, and we’ll get ready for these assholes together.”

 No.

It’s rasped out, his voice coming out crackly over the speakers.

“Kid…” Cecil furrows his brow, and you’re stepping forward, grabbing his arm.

“Now, Cecil! Goddamn it, why are you waiting?” You feel helpless, trapped within this conference room. The smallest of voices in your head speaks to you. Tells you something you know but you don’t want to acknowledge. You could make Cecil put you in. How easy would it be? A headache for an hour? Breached trust for a lifetime? Your lips curl into a frown as you consider it, but a loud crash from the audio output tells you they aren’t on the ground anymore.

They’re flying through the air once again, you would say they were fighting, but that would require Mark to actually be doing anything. Anissa wasn’t letting him get a single hit in, every single one of her jabs was meeting its mark. Next, they’re diving so fast that the camera once again can hardly keep up until-

A crack sounds over the speakers, loud enough to make everyone cringe. A few workers put their hands up to their ears, hoping to rub away the assault. The dust displayed on the monitors steadily clears to reveal a huge crater. Anissa and Mark are both at the dead center of it.

This is your last chance to show me you can learn.

She’s crushing Mark’s throat beneath her foot, shoving him deeper into the ground. The earth is crackling around him, accepting him easily. A grave.

“Just say the goddam words, Mark.” Your eyes are on the screen, hand still clenched around Cecil’s wrist as he speaks into the mic again. It’s a horrifying sight, the way she dug her sole into his throat. The choked gurgles.

You’d spent so long idolizing him, believing in him. And he was about to die before your eyes.

His hands that had been gripping at her ankle loosened, dropping back against the ground, a surrendering gesture.

Do it.

“Cecil…” You felt like a broken record, all the anger dropping from your tone and replaced with begging.

Either you need me, or you don’t. Make up your mind.

She grunts, shoving him further down. The earth groans around his head, extremely audible over his comm.

“Cecil, please-” You can see even from how far away the visual is the way that Mark’s hand is twitching. In a few seconds he’ll be gone-

And then- Anissa steps off of him. He gasps for breath, coughs rattling through his body.

“Fine. You’re going in, but I’m not putting you right there. You need to come from the side, make sure she doesn’t fucking see you.” Cecil’s eyes are drilling into you, his expression stone-cold serious. “Don’t be stupid about this.”

“I won’t.” You nod furiously, glancing over at the screen. Anissa is saying something, but you aren’t paying attention, your eyes are glued to Cecil’s. Your grip on his arm loosens and he’s gone.

You knew they had crossed time zones, gone somewhere it was daytime, but god if it didn’t hurt. Cecil was barking directional orders at you, which you followed blindly. Sprinting as hard as you could while trying to will your eyes to adjust, your lungs felt like they might burst by the time you finally saw the edges of the crater.

A blur of white shot out overhead, sending a burst of air towards you, knocking you back. With a groan you force yourself to move forwards again, padding lightly over the ground. You could have been sound asleep right now. The thought settled bitter in your mind as you reached the edge and looked down.

Mark was sprawled out on his back trying to catch his breath. If Anissa was gone, should you even go down? It would surely be suspicious you were there, right? And with how deep the sides were, you weren’t entirely sure how you’d even get down. While you’re debating a familiar electrical crackling settles over your ears, and in the same breath, you’re only a few feet away from Mark, Cecil by your side.

“You really rolled the dice on that one, Mark. All over a few words.”

“It’s more than just words.” Mark looks defeated. Nursing a black eye and a bloodied nose, he’s hunched over his knees.

Cecil glances over at you, considering, before he steps forward to offer Mark a hand up.

“She was strong.” Mark grunts out while raising up to a standing position. “I’m not sure I could stop her if she started killing people.” He notices you now, his gaze tightens almost unnoticeably, but he doesn’t comment on it. At least not yet.

“Well, we’re gonna figure out a way to change that. But those nights off you wanted? I’m afraid that’s a thing of the past.”

“Yeah…” Mark looks off in the distance, deep in thought.

“You took a hell of a beating. Killdeer can help patch you up, if you want.”

You nodded absentmindedly, only partially listening to the conversation. Now that the immediate threat was gone your mind was swirling. You felt useless. This one time you could have helped, the only person who could have. And Cecil hadn’t put you in. Anissa was gone now, but what if she hadn’t decided to let Mark go? He’d be dead, and they’d be standing around his body now.

No one trusted your competence. Not Rex. Not even Cecil. It was like acid on your tongue, resentment starting to build off of you. You were a glorified fucking nurse.

--

The darkness of the room enveloped you. Besides the constant ticking of a timepiece on the mantle, it was dead silent. After standing for a bit, letting your eyes adjust to the pitch black, you were able to make out another sound. Soft inhales, gentle exhales, shallow breathing. The minuscule light from over the curtains illuminated the room just enough that you could get around without tripping over the furniture. Making your way to the bathroom, you settled down the new bag Donald had sent you with that contained clothes for the brunch. If you are lucky, you could get a good five hours of sleep in before the final leg of your mission.

Slipping out of your suit and back into your nightwear you exited the bathroom. For the briefest of moments, you considered sleeping on one of the couches. Getting into bed could wake Rex. Trailing your hand over the upholstery, his words from earlier echo through your mind.

“Do I really repulse you that badly?”

With a sigh, you approached the bed. He was on his side, facing inwards. One of his hands rested over your side, while his other arm underneath him clutched the pillow you had put between you earlier. Not exactly the Great Wall of China in barrier terms. It made you smile. With as sour as you were feeling, it was nice to see him peaceful. At ease. His brow was relaxed. Even when he was sleeping, he somehow maintained the smallest semblance of that familiar asshole smirk.

You pulled your side of the blanket down, smoothing out the sheet beneath it with your fingertips. Your hand brushed against his as you gently pushed it closer to him so you could lie down. His hand twitched subtly but he didn’t stir. Settling into the bed, you stared at the ceiling for a moment, replaying over and over how you had begged Cecil to let you help. You ran through scenario after scenario, asking yourself how you could have reworded it to make him listen. But even in the freedom of your imagination it all ended the same, nothing you could have said would have changed anything. In the end, there was always one consistent factor; you. And nothing you said could change that truth.

Rex shifted in his sleep beside you, his hand that was originally settled where you were supposed to be, stretching out again, catching softly on your arm. He didn’t grab you, nor did he pull it back. His digits just rested against your skin, not at all registering that you were there.

Even without him knowing or intending it. You managed to turn your mind to the gentle touch, close your eyes, and drift to sleep.

--

It had been almost two weeks since you relived your museum mission in your dreams. Somehow knowing what had happened, and that it was real, seemed to put you at ease. You still felt immense guilt, and before going to your shifts at the hospital you would stop by his memorial to make sure there were fresh flowers. Donald’s explanation about self-preservation had somewhat put you at ease too, after all, you were shot and going down. If he had posed a real threat, you wouldn’t have thought twice about taking him down. But killing him?

It had been almost two weeks. Now you were waking up with a cold sweat, gasping out breaths, as tears pricked at the edges of your vision. Every time you had it you seemed to notice more details. The way his face turned purple, bruising beneath the skin as all of his blood rushed forwards. How in seconds, droplets started to leak from the very pores of his face. The feeling of impatience and pulling the remainder out through his chest. The way it scored over the painting, a Jackson Pollock of your own design.

Soft daylight spread through the room, illuminating it in columns. You tried to focus on anything else to shake off the adrenaline left over from the nightmare. The clock quietly ticks away on the mantle. The golden etches on the ceiling. The red furnishing on the couches- The empty space next to you on the bed.

Where’s Rex?

Creaking grabs your attention as the door cracks open, revealing a familiar face from the night before.

“Ah, good. You’re awake. Director Stedman alerted Madam Mune of your night excursion, so she instructed me to let you sleep in. The brunch has just started. Mr. Sloane and Mr. Randalph are already downstairs. Please get dressed and I will walk you down.” Gareth’s head disappeared behind the door again before you could respond.

Right. The brunch.

--

Today, what you were wearing was much less elegant, but still formal. Most of all, you were glad to have pants. As beautiful as that dress had been, you missed pockets. After forcing yourself out of bed and into your current clothes, you leave the room, letting Gareth lead you downstairs. A part of you expected to end up back in the ballroom, but instead, he led you outside into the garden.

The cocktail tables that littered the stone patio the previous night had disappeared. A bar had been put together near the glass doors of the ballroom, decorated with soft pastels. Why anyone needed to drink at noon you couldn’t say. But you figured it most likely was a way for Mune to talk people out of their money more easily. Wooden tables were sprawled out in rows on the grass, surrounded by matching wooden chairs. The tables were all set with dishware, and alternating colored napkins. From the looks of everyone’s plates, the event had started at least an hour ago. Some people were sitting, others were standing and talking, while the remainder strolled around the different branches of the gardens. You caught the eye of Mune who had gathered a large crowd around her, she didn’t wave, or smile, but gave the slightest, tilted, bow in your direction.

A man in a dark crimson coat stood next to her, Lance, you realized. He blended in surprisingly well. If you didn’t know his position you’d think he was just another guest. Gareth tapped your arm sharply, and when you looked over, he pushed a small object into your hand. You nodded, and with that he was gone, mingling in with the crowd. Turning your head, you pretended to adjust your hair, slipping the earpiece in. Back to work.

This event was much more lax than the dance, people were talking to you in passing, mentioning how they remembered seeing you, or your dress, or asking you how you knew Mune. A few asked which oil companies your family had been involved with, which had you saying you saw someone waving you over- oh you didn’t see them? They were just over- and then walking away. You should probably be taking this all much more seriously, but with the level of exhaustion you were trying to function with you could hardly be bothered. What were the odds that someone would try something less than twenty-four hours after the last attempt?

“You look like you slept like shit.” Zandale slid in next to you as you stood at the bar. Your previous sentiments about not needing to drink this early in the day was long forgotten after the last person asked you to explain in heavy detail how oil was really collected.

“I did.” You muttered, sipping on a mimosa that tasted suspiciously like plain old orange juice.

“Damn, I figured Rex would get more palatable after getting some, but I guess not-”

You choked at that, a burning sensation traveling up your throat as you coughed. “What?” You huffed it out between coughs, waving off the bartender who approached to check on you.

“Rex. He’s somehow more insufferable than usual. Well at least for the new and improved Rex.” He made air quotes as he spoke.

“Oh god, Zandale. Are you joking?” You sputtered out a few extra coughs, squinting at him.

“You just said-”

“I said I slept like shit. Nothing else.” You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t even get to sleep there most of the night.”

“Why?” Confusion is shown clear in his tone if nothing else.

“Cecil needed me for a patient at the hospital.” You paused for a moment. Mark had seen you, and he worked closely with the Guardians. If you weren’t careful, you’d be eating your words, and eating them soon. “There was a situation with Invincible, I was brought in to heal him. Didn’t get back until sometime around four or five this morning.” Vague enough that details could be explained away, but direct enough that he wouldn’t want to inquire further.

“Are you kidding me?” Zandale sighed heavily, gesturing for the bartender to come back and give him a drink.

“What?”

“I just lost another fucking twenty to Rae.” He responded bitterly.

“What?” You scoffed. “First of all, you never seem to win in bets with her why do you keep making them? Second, what was it?”

He grumbled nondescriptly.

“You brought it up, man.”

“Fine. God. I bet that you guys would get together last night. But judging from Rex’s sour mood, and you not even being on the premises, I was wrong.” His lips curled downwards at the realization that Rae was once again going to laugh in his face.

“Why on earth are you both so interested in this? Don’t you have literally anything better to do?”

“Eh, don’t take it personally, we’ve been betting on shit for ages. My last big win was that Shapesmith was an alien.”

“How much did you win that time?”

He hummed softly, a small smile crossing his face. “Next question.”

“Five bucks, huh?” You laughed, finishing off your glass.

“Well, something like that.”

The brunch was passing without a hitch. Boring conversations shrouded by constantly looking out for one, particular, face. But as the afternoon passed you didn’t even see him in the passing crowds. Once or twice, you thought you had, just for the person to turn around, revealing a total stranger. You rejoined with Zandale a few times, making comments about guests who you suspected were cheating on their spouses with other guests. One of you even caught two of them trying to sneak off and were offered a bribe. Which you ended up declining and then wondered why on earth you just declined that large a sum of money.

The receivers were dead silent up until the end when Lance announced to his crew that it would be time to start herding the guests out in half an hour. Conversations were lulling, Mune had already left the event entirely a few minutes ago, declaring that everyone must come again in a few months. It was peaceful almost.

A soft breeze was licking at your arms, shifting your hair faintly. It kept you cool underneath harsh unforgiving rays. Lance had tasked you with circling the perimeter of the garden, acting as a sheepdog, and pulling the remaining guests to the center. At one point you end up taking off your shoes. Heels weren’t the most efficient choice for grassy terrain. It’s soft and lush beneath you. The travelling wind sets off a few chimes that are hanging loosely from trees nearby. For the briefest of moments, you’re there.

That secret place you’ve always dreamt of. A countryside home. Every gentle breeze sends a tingle down your spine. A tin roof, windchimes, wildflowers, a fireplace. Maybe there is a little gazebo behind the house. You aren’t alone.

Stepping out of the gardens, you take a final look behind you, anyone you had passed you’d informed that the event was coming to a close, but a few stragglers were still following behind. A dull buzzing pulled your attention away. You had to be sure to send Donald your thanks to whoever chose your outfit for the brunch. It really was nice to have pockets again. Pulling it out, you shift your attention from the people passing you and heading towards the center of the open plain. Cecil must have found something more out, messaged you the new plan-

Hi.

You bit the inside of your cheek and looked up. Quickly, you scanned through the crowd of people, pastels and atrocious hats, until your gaze caught on a familiar ginger hue. Rex was standing with his elbow propped on the edge of the bar, a person was talking to him, but his eyes were on you. He was a little far off but you could still make out an almost boyish grin that was spread across his features, it only widened as you finally met his line of sight.

‘Hey.’ You texted back, looking up again to give him a small wave, which he returned gently, with a slight tilt of his head.

Author's note: Dreams normally only last 5-45 minutes, so Killdeer didn’t have a nightmare until after Rex left the bed 😛 Which could mean nothing!!

Also yes, I do giggle to myself when I make references to insignificant details from other chapters, why do you ask?? I LOVE CALL BACKS

divider credit: @/ saradika

taglist: @kittymeowmrow @sketchlove @jewelwayne101 @0ut0fsweets @cheeyan @spidernuggets @sweet-cuddlebug @ohmysoultakemysoul @lapisbwub @velovicy @liquideyes @insirecrate @isnotraven @thatonegayloser616 @viovya @miss-ivy-kyle request to be tagged for new parts!

Chapter twenty-two

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Okay but hear me out….

I’ve been reading some invincible x reader x the boys and I gotta say I kinda dig them?

To add to the lore maybe at some point during her early 20’s (after she first breaks up with butcher and after soldier boy’s “death”) she dates aged up!mark grayson but of course HL has a hair up his ass about it. Doesn’t like that some punk can actually square up to him in a fight was intimidating. And this version of mark is slightly unhinged lol

I also like the idea that HL and OmniMan have got beef thanks to maybe something SB did years ago that OmniMan may have perceived as a threat. He associates all of Vought to be an utterly pathetic display of fame mongering executives. And he merely views you and your brother as Vought’s puppets. But at the same time you guys kinda make OmniMan feel cautious since together, you and HL could possibly defeat him.

And maybe OmniMan also had a hand in working with Stand Edgar and the Russians (and the Guardians of the Globe) to get rid of Soldier Boy. He hated how cocky he was. A big conspiracy basically.

Same shit you dealt with when you were with Butcher 🙄🙄

With Mark you’re more defiant against your brother. SB is dead and isn’t there to back up HL on this. And Mark ain’t human like Butcher or even like you and HL . He’s not scared of your brother.

And even now in Mark still probably holds a flame for you. You ended things bc realized you still love Billy 🥺

Did I mention mark also hates HL’s guts? Cuz he does 😂 and vice versa lol

[readingbunny44]

You're Dead Everywhere But Here │Invincible Variants x Female! Reader x Original Invincible │#1

I don't know how to describe this lol

#1, #2

CW: Slight freakiness?

WC: 3,1k

"This is complete bullshit." You spat, gritting your teeth as you tugged at the tight metal collar that the assholes from the G.D.A had forcibly attached to you. It was blinking a green hue, and each time you went to go and grasp at it with the intention of ripping it apart, it would change to red, sending shockwaves of electricity that hurt like hell.

Putting your arms to your side, you raised a brow at the complete destruction that surrounded you. Blood splatter, broken buildings, and pieces of human remains that laid around only served to fuel your bad mood. Screams of civilians could be heard from the distance and instead of worry and concern flooding your senses, it was only annoyance.

You had been captured and locked away after another fight with Invincible—and you couldn't believe you had been a fool to have been caught off guard. That stupid superhero, Invincible, got into your head and messed with you.

Each time you thought back to the moment back in that cell, a bitter taste flooded your mouth, and you couldn't help but bite your tongue.

"There's no way you've always been like... this." His voice—God, every time he would confront you he'd use this aggravating soft tone as if he was talking to a scared cat—called out to you, trying to reason with you.

"The fuck you know about that, pretty boy?" You scoffed, "How many times are you going to give me these pep talks? This is a fight, not a book club."

"How ever long it takes. You don't hurt people."

"Tell that to the people I sent to the hospital."

"Fine—I misspoke—you don't kill people. Even then, you're different from the other villains." He stepped towards you, pushing past the debris that you caused. "It's not too late to turn a new leaf. Change your ways."

"What makes you so confident in that, hm? Did you take one psychology course and suddenly you know exactly what I'm thinking?" You cackled, an amused smile gracing your lips.

"Maybe." He couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head. "But we've fought long enough for me to know that you pull your punches. You drag out the fight just a few minutes more..." Invincible hesitated, something at the edge of his tongue that he wanted to say.

He cleared his throat, changing his mind. "... and I think you do that 'cause you like the company I give you. And I like giving it to you."

Your breath hitched, a small squeal itching at the back of your throat as you took a step back. What on Earth was he saying? "The fuck you getting at?" You snarled, but the stutter of your words were as clear as day. "I'm going to kill you for this sappy shit your saying."

Invincible's lips quirked into a smug grin, tilting his head to the right just slightly. "I don't think you will. I also think we can be... good friends, you know."

... Friends? Is he delusional?

Invincible eyes flickered behind his goggles, and his shoulders stiffened as he saw an agent had snuck up behind you while he was talking to you--a gun in hand. "Wait, fuck, look out!" He screamed.

You immediately tense, turning on your heel to see what was behind you. Though it was too late, the gun set off and a painful electric bolt stabbed into you. Your body immediately went limp, falling to the ground as you were being subjected to millions of bolts running through your body relentlessly.

"What the hell! I had all this under control, why did you do that?" You could hear Invincible's voice screech out, and a quick whoosh sound approached you. The superhero crouched next to you, cradling your head as he watched you spazz out uncontrollably.

This little shit is acting like he didn't plan this from the beginning. Caught you off guard with that fake friendship shit and have a goon take you out from behind? You should've fucking known.

"Fuck! Your going to be okay, I'm, I'm so sorry." He sounded so apologetic as he continued to cradle your head as if you were a delicate flower. Invincible then shifted his eyes to the G.D.A agent who had shot at you, glaring daggers. "How do I make this stop! Tell me!"

The pain and how tired your body quickly got overwhelmed you, your vision turning black as Invincibe's shouts faded into the distance.

You couldn't believe you fell for the—ugh—friendship talk. You should've known he was just saying that crap to distract you, but with that superhero it was confusing!

Every other super would immediately get straight to business, throwing punches or whatever special power they had when they came on scene and see the absolute destruction you caused. Putting the safety of civilians above 'talking it out.'

Yet with Invincible it was the opposite; he seemed more concerned about you than the wreckage and terror you spread.

Destroying downtown with a maniac laugh escaping your throat? He'd just sigh and shake his head, calling out to you as if he had just caught you in an embarrassing act.

Throwing a civilian in the air at full speed? Oh, Invincible will just catch the dude and go, "Come on, (Y/N)!" In a playful way as if you had gone a little too far with playing around.

"Weirdo." You shivered as you recalled his weird behavior. The next time you see him, you will for sure kill Invincible—or erm, the Invincible of this dimension? You've been dragged out of your cell and been briefed about some evil alternate Invincibles wreaking havoc all over the world. They needed every available resource they got out there to fend off the evil variants.

Well, at least you can practice the best way to kill your Invincible with the knock offs.

You jumped in the air, pushing yourself high so that you could see down below. Squinting, you scanned the area. The destruction stretched for miles, blaring cars and screams filled the air. You saw injured civilians using each other as support as they tried to run to safety.

You averted your gaze—all those governments assholes told you is to fight off variants, not save lives.

"No! Please! Aarrghh!" You heard a blood curling scream screech up ahead and you tilted your head in curiosity as you made your way towards it. Jumping off the destroyed structures like a frog jumping off lily pads.

Peering down, you saw a tall figure standing before a freshly dead body. The skull crushed and the brain spilled out slightly from the cracks. You raised a brow, an unimpressed look on your face as you observed the supposed variant.

He had no mask, his face was fully visible and the mohawk haircut out in full display. His suit was torn on the shoulder, dust sticking to the costume. He had a large shit eating grin on his face, a visible smile line accompanying it.

Is that what Invincible actually looks like without the mask? Huh, I guess he is actually a pretty boy.

Clicking your tongue, you put a hand on your hip as you watched Mohawk Invincible cackle to himself as he turned his head, his back facing you. A sly smirk creeps at the edge of your lips, your eyes dilating like a cat watching its prey unaware of what is behind them.

Without a second to hesitate, you leapt off the structure you were on, raising a fist. Clenching it tightly, you landed a solid hit on the upper part of his back—sending him flying to brick wall. "Score!" You whistled, his legs up the air as his head shoved into a patch of dirt.

Cracking your shoulder, you slowly began to approach Mohawk Invincible, "Those G.D.A suckers kept me in their basement for way too long, my body is all tense. Happy to be out, but sucks I got a shock collar on me." You hummed, talking to yourself as you used the back of your foot to leap from the floor—sending yourself flying to the variant.

"W—"

You sent a harsh kick, sending him flying once more. Though this time, Mohawk Invincible caught himself, digging his hand into the ground. Whipping his head up, he swatted at the dirt dust that accumulated in the air from his body being dragged.

A tight fist met his jaw, sending his head backwards. Clenching his teeth, he whirled his head back, extending his arms and harshly tackling the person who had just attacked him. The variant put his whole-body weight on you and he was quick to grip a hand on your neck, squeezing as his eyes darting to your face as he raised his free hand to beat the hell out whoever ambushed him.

His eyes were angry, but it quickly faded as the dust settled and he saw who was under him. His clenched fist softened, blinking as there was no doubt in his mind that he was staring at this world's (Y/N). You looked the same, your perfect hair sprawled and the color of your eyes he used to stare lovingly staring daggers at him

"Oh shit, (Y/N)?" The variant called out, the solid grip grasping on your neck loosening. Your eyebrows furrowed, a knot in your stomach twisting as the same exact tone the variant was using sounded exactly the same as your Invincible's.

"That's me." You hissed, watching as his gaze flickered to the collar that was on your neck. With him distracted, you took the opportunity to land a hit on Mohawk—his weight lifting. You rolled both of you over, and you connected your hands to his throat, pushing it down.

"How do you know that name?" You questioned. No one should know your real name.

"Fu—Fuck—(Y/N)," He choked out, staring up at you with something you couldn't recognize. Your Invincible always wore goggles so you never had to look into his eyes. You wondered if he had this look whenever he looked at you, and you grimaced as that made you uncomfortable.

The look wasn't hatred, anger, or fear. It was... some form of desperation. Not desperate to live, but desperate for something else. Or someone else.

"It's—It's you. Shit, it's—it's really you." He heaved out, his hands grasping at your arms. He was holding them, not making an effort to tear them away. Hell, he was actually using his thumb to caress you instead of pulling you away.

He sat his neck up, bringing it closer to the chokehold you had on him, looking up at you with half lidded eyes. Your hands that were perfectly molded to touch him, the familiar weight of your body on top of him—Fuuckk, he even got a small whiff of your scent.

He wasn't expecting to find this world's (Y/N) so soon. He held hope that this world's (Y/N) was still alive, planning to go looking for you after he wrecked some shit, but instead you found him.

He didn't expect you to jump him like this with this incredible strength. Are you a super in this dimension? God, right now he doesn't care, this is pretty fucking hot.

Mohawk slid his hands to your waist, squeezing the familiar curve that he used to grab so much. You were sitting on his stomach, but if you just moved your sweet ass a little lower you'd be at a perfect spot. He could just nudge you a few inches down—

You gasped, quickly pulling your hands from squeezing his throat as jumped backwards away from the man. The ghost touch of where his hands used to be on your body lingered, and you shivered as you scowled.

"What kind of perverted freak are you?" You growled, taking a defensive stance.

The variant merely coughed, cackles escaping his throat as he stood up from the ground. He brushed a hand over to his throat, his neck feeling empty without your hands squeezing them.

"What's wrong, babe? Figured your Mark liked being choked with how comfortable you were doing it with me." He laughed, his arms outstretched. "Can't blame a guy for enjoying a sample. You know—I'm kind of itching for another one, round 2?"

You looked at him like he was crazy. "Who the hell is Mark?"

"Your boyfriend, duh."

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"He doesn't bag you?—Ah whatever, friend or something." He rolled his eyes, bringing a finger to rub the inside of his ear.

You continued to stare at him like he was crazy. "I don't know anyone with that name." You hissed, irritated at this odd situation. The fact that he called you babe was driving you further up the wall of irritation.

That seemed to surprise him, his eyes wide. Every single variant had some sort of relationship with you, it was either dating or one-sided love. "Your a super then, right? You gotta know Invincible." He raised a brow, trying to gauge what the hell this universe's Mark was up to for you to not know his civilian identity.

You snorted. "Super? Don't fucking play with me. I'm not fighting you out of a 'heroic duty, I didn't have a choice,'" you rolled your eyes, tugging at the collar that was still beeping around your neck. "But Invincible? Yeah, I know that pretty boy, he's the reason I got thrown into G.D.A's little dungeon and have this zappy collar on me."

Not a super. Huh.

That left him a little dumbfounded, hell, your whole attitude left him dumbfounded. Not that he didn't like it, but more so it was so different. You were soft in his dimension and all the other dimensions according to the other variants about the stories they'd share about you, so this was certainly not what he was expecting.

"... You were captured by the G.D.A? You're not a good guy? Wow. That’s new."

You groaned; you were done hearing the nonsense this Invincible variant was spitting at you. It made you confused and annoyed. Not answering his question, you lunged forward.

He blocked your attacks, dodging your leg kicks and jabs. "So, you’re naughty? I'm getting excited." He jested, biting his lips as his eyes bore into you. God, is he going to talk the entire time? "You're going to definitely like me then. I’m naughty myself, especially in bed.”

"Shut the fuck up.”

“Fine, we can continue this foreplay. Fun!”

“You’re more annoying than my Invincible.” You took a step back as you watched Mohawk Invincible lunge towards you with full speed. You steadied yourself, preparing to lunge towards him as well before a blur of black intercepted.

You dug your feet into the ground, whipping your hand around to see that another variant was here. They wore the same blue and black palette that the Mohawk variant wore, but their face was fully covered by a black mask.

"Ya dick!" Mohawk screeched, pushing off the fully masked variant. "I'm in the middle of something here, go somewhere else!"

The fully masked variant merely slapped the other variant's face to the ground, standing up hurriedly to look at you. He had heard the commotion, and your recognizable voice made his ears perk up.

It's been so long since he heard you speak, heard you breathe. His body started moving before his mind could process that you were alive in this universe.

"(Y/N)..." He breathed out, feeling his whole body go light as he took a step towards you. "Your—Your alive in this universe. Alive and healthy..." His eyes trailed to your figure, and you tensed. "... and strong. That's good."

"What am I supposed to be? Dead?"

"In my universe you died. You were sick." His voice broke, taking more steps towards you. This masked Invincible seemed different from the one with the Mohawk. Sad, but still held that same desperation. "I've missed you; I've missed mom—both of you were my world."

"What is with this sentimental bullshit?" You cut him off, shaking your head. You felt like you were intruding in some sort of sad romcom scene that wasn't supposed to be directed at you. This was really killing your appetite to kill Invincible. "Did we know each other?"

'I' knew that pervert and now this guy too.

He flinched, seemingly hurt from the fact that you didn't know how deep your two's relationship was. "Yeah, in my dimension we knew a lot of each other—"

"—Well I'm not whatever lame ass version you think I am." You cut him off. You eyes darted to the two variants, wondering what to do next. If it was just, you and Mohawk, you could've had the shot to kill him. But two of them? Maybe it's best to sneak off. It'll be even worse if more Invincibles showed up.

Worse in a fighting aspect as well as worse in... whatever you call this strange phenomenon that was happening with these variants. Some alternate versions of you apparently had relations with these mentally unwell men, and you didn't want to find out how many more Invincibles had the googly eyes for you.

"That's okay. As soon as we find mom you can get to know me, and I can get to know more of you when we go home."

"Hey! I found her first, I get dibs, dipshit!" Mohawk sprang to action, his face contorting at the assumption that the masked asshole would be the one to take you home. He jabbed finger into the masked variant, shaking his head. "Go cry to your mommy! I was here first, fair and square."

"Don't talk to her as if she's an object!"

"Waaa! Waaa! That's what you sound like!"

You sweat dropped at the scene, they were acting like two children fighting over a toy. Though it worked great in your favor to escape from this situation. Turning on your heel, you were ready to make a break for it.

"You're both immature." A cold voice called out. You looked up, seeing two Invincibles hovering in the air.

One adorned the signature colors of Omniman, a red cape attached to his shoulders, while the other was wearing a white uniform. The Omni-Invincible had his arms crossed as he looked down, his head tilted at you.

"Let me guess, you two know ‘me’ too?"

"Yes." They both answered. The red one looked over to the two variants that were squabbling with each other a few seconds before, but the white one kept his eyes on you. Unmoving.

I'm getting out of here.

You jumped into the air, bolting through the sky. Though you could hear something whirling a few feet behind you. Guess you weren't going to escape so easily.

Maayybee I’ll do a part 2 since I didn’t get to write Sinister Mark and barely did interactions of Omni Mark and Viltrum Mark 😈😈 hope you like this blurb thing? Sorry I don’t know the terminology HAHSHA

[scftangl]

Me every time in a fanfic they villainise a female character just so there's unnecessary drama or a stupid love triangle:

[hanasnx]

Mark Grayson cums quickly, but his cock springs back up again just as quickly.

EARLY EJACULATION — m.grayson

“ i want to love you all night / tell me what you love and, baby, say what you like ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | invincible. WARNINGS. fem reader ノ established reader ノ sexual content ノ smut ノ m cumming early ノ teasing n dirty talk ノ m stimulation ノ mentions of unprotected sex ノ creampie.

“Ah—wait, wait!” MARK GRAYSON’s grip tightens on your waist, effortlessly lifting you up and off his cock. The shaft already softening flops onto his taut abdomen, rising and falling with his rapid breath. He throws his head back into the pillow with a loud groan, and you roll your lip between your teeth at the sight of him. Chest flexed and wet with his sweat, glistening in the light while his adam’s apple relaxes low in his throat. With a plop, he sets you down onto his thighs, his cream leaking out of you in heavy drips.

You brush your hair back while you lean forward, keeping that lip pinned in your bite to conceal your stretching smile. “Mark,” you coo, crawling towards him to hover over him. His eyes remain closed, and you landscape your body over his, skin on skin, damp and hot. “I don’t mind,” you soothe, your claws coming to stroke through his sweaty hair. “really. I think it’s flattering.” you assure, propping your elbow on his pec to fix your chin on your palm, puppy-dog-eyeing him knowing your full weight on him feels like nothing. Fucking Invincible has its perks.

His hands come to clutch at your upper arms, and he peers up at you in a faux-frustration. “You’re just too good, baby. You don’t get it.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault.” you flirt, your grin worsening as you twirl a lock of his hair around your index. “I told you I wanted to go slow.”

“Yeah, at first. Then you were riding me like—“ That pink in his cheeks deepen, and he averts his gaze disobediently. His hand lets go of you to gesture vaguely in the air. “like- like that!” he struggles to find the words to describe how you were riding his hips like a bucking stallion.

“Aw, baby…” you purr, surging forward to rub your naked bodies together when you plant a chaste kiss at the corner of his lips. “Thought you could handle it, you were makin’ me feel so good.” your honeyed voice drips all over him, and his breath picks up. “Felt you so deep… right- here.” Your hips circle, massaging him between you two. His grip on you tightens, and you tense. That familiar phallic shape fills out, carving a space for itself while sandwiched between you. You press your lips together and palm your mouth in an attempt to hide your giggle. “Already?”

He meets your eyes again with a frown on his brows. “Shut up.”

“C’mon, Invincible. Ready for round two?”

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[fungifaggot]

NSFW 18+: Sub!Mark Grayson x Male Reader

One overlooked perk of dating Mark Grayson is his exceptional lung capacity. Thanks to his Viltrumite heritage and extensive training, he can hold his breath for days—or even weeks at a time.

You didn’t think much of this trait initially- until you fucked his throat for the first time.

You were absolutely blown away by his ability to suck your cock. Not once did he even think about tapping out or making you slow down. No matter how relentlessly you thrusted your cock into the warm walls of his mouth- he could take it.

You can plug his nose or wrap your hands around his throat while you fuck it, but it wont do anything. Without the need to breath he can suck your cock for as long as you’re willing to go. He hardly gags or chokes, he just holds his breath, opens his mouth wide, and lets you use it as if hes your own personal flesh light.

The best part of it all is getting to see his un swallowed spit pool up and ooze out of the corners of his mouth while you abuse him. The mixture of spit and cum drips down in long viscous strings, forming small puddles on the floor- serving as a reminder of just how long Mark can last.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A/n: BARKVARKBARKVARKBARKVARK BARK.

I’m begging for some mutuals. Whats up with y’all?

[tokoyamisstuff]

Second Chance At Love Pt. 3

Variant! Invincible x gn! Reader

Warnings: angst, blood, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, not proofread A/N: don't worry, this is not over yet! and sorry to all the og Mark fans lmao

[A few minutes earlier, Pentagon Medical Ward]

"So you left my friend alone with this freak the whole time?!"

Cecil's thumb was hesitating on the trigger for the high-frequency device, not wanting to stain his relationship with the original Mark any further - but after witnessing what his variants were capable of, he's certainly not taking any chances.

"Calm. Down." he urges the young Viltrumite while trying to remain amenable at the same time. "We needed to take care of the active threats beforehand, and also...he seemed quite fond of your friend." That last part he regretted immediately after saying it aloud.

"You can't be serious!" Mark now screamed, dramatically throwing his hands in the air, thus making all nearby agents cower in fear. "It was you who told me that one of those psychos tried to lure my mom out to kill her! What else do you think this is? He made my friend believe he's me, to play some sort of wicked game!"

All that had happened those past few days...the death and destruction...Mark blamed himself for all of it, because at the bottom line everything was inevitably caused by his own lack of resolve.

And there he was, hiding away at Eve's sickbed like a stubborn child, cowardly refusing to take responsibility as earth's last hope, while others were risking their lives to correct his errors, hell, while his brother and mom were still out there!

Once again he let everyone down.

But Mark won't let any more people he cares about suffer because of his own shortcomings. This time he won't hold back...

...he'll kill this variant and make him pay for what he's done.

Picking up his mask from the counter, he bids his still comatose girlfriend one last look, very well aware how disappointed she'd be at his latest decisions. She'd want him to go. So he mutters a silent apology before rushing into the hallway, with Cecil following closely behind.

"Teleport me to them. And you better send as many backup reanimen as you can."

[Current time]

"Careful Mark. If our observations are correct, this one is way stronger than the others." The hero huffs in annoyance upon hearing Cecil's voice from his earpiece, watching his other self come out of the debris with not a hair out of place.

Well, most of the variants probably never faced any real threat or even slight disadvantage in their lives. There was simply no reason for them to train properly, since the powergap between Viltrumites and any other species was just so ridiculously high.

This version of Mark however spent his entire life preparing his vengeance on Omni-man for taking the one and only thing he truly cared about...

...and his hard work seemed to bear fruit, since a single counterattack of his was painful enough to temporarily stun the original. He seized the opportunity to pin his opponent down, landing one severe blow after another until both of them were completely covered in the original Mark's blood.

"NO!" you screamed at the top of your lungs, having thrown yourself onto the variant's back as you - brave yet very foolishly - tried to to get those two behemoths away from each other. And in the end, your struggle and pleas actually made the variant stop in his tracks. "Please...don't kill him."

For a split second you see the look of heartbreak and betrayal in the man's face, since seeing you still care so much for the original erased all hope he had started to harbor.

Your world's Mark has everything he ever wanted, and he doesn't even understand how lucky he is.

This is so fucking unfair, it's driving him insane.

The Viltrumite raises his bloodied knuckles to his temples, his jealousy spiraling into a violent, irrational urge to tear the original apart and take his place.

And yet he tries to keep it together for your sake as he couldn't bear to cause you any more sorrow. He glares you down with so much malice "That was self-defense" he scoffed through strained breaths, desperately trying to prevent himself from having a mental breakdown. "I wasn't actually going to-"

Now it was the original Mark's chance to turn the battle around, grabbing the variant by the throat as he crushed him against a mountain not far from the hill you were on.

While your former friend was completely disregarding you, rationality overthrown by his wrath, the other Invincible's eyes were practically glued to you in concern for your safety. At first he was holding back, letting the attacker use him as a punching bag in hopes it'd calm him down...

...but when he recognized the capsules transporting reanimen falling from the sky, he pounced on you with no forethought, shielding you from the impact with his own body.

"Shit, are you oka-" Another time he was torn away from you, with Mark yelling at him to keep his filthy hands off of you. And yet with every move, no matter what, the other Mark did a way better job to prevent any harm than the one who came to 'save' you from that very same man.

"Dude, that's exactly why we cannot fight here!" the variant reprimanded his counterpart while severing the head and limbs from several cyborgs. "Think about your partner's safety! We both only want what's best for them, right?"

"Huh?" The original Mark gave a puzzled look at that statement, the word 'partner' obviously made him think of Eve, but his eyes briefly flickered towards you. "What's that supposed to mea- ah, whatever."

In any other context you would've probably been so embarassed that you wished for the earth to swallow you whole - but this is neither about you, nor was it the time for this kind of talk. And luckily, Mark didn't overthink the variant's words but focused on the truth in them instead, swiftly throwing you over his shoulder to bring you away, so that they could continue their battle without endangering you.

"Let. Me. Go!" You repeatedly punch against Mark's back, horrified to see your newfound friend down below trying to stand his ground against the reanimen. "Tell them to stop! None of this is necessary!"

"Hey, it's me!" Mark tries to soothe you, convinced that you're just overwhelmed by today's events. "The real me, okay? Stop being so irrational!"

"Yeah, I know that, you blockhead!" you blurt out in anger, "And you're one to talk! You let your emotions dictate your actions, as always! I thought Invincible spares the bad guys and tries to talk it out?"

"...not anymore. We all saw today how that way of dealing with villains turns out." Letting you down so far away that you can't even see how the variant is holding up anymore, Mark is about to leave and finish the job when you manage to get a hold of his wrist. "Wait. Listen to me, that Mark is not entirely evil!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" So not only did you know it was a variant, but now you're also defending him?! "The trauma messed with your head or something. Let Cecil's people pick you up and check on you."

"Seriously, Mark." He finally turned around to take a proper look at you, grinding his teeth as he recognized that naive, caring attitude of yours that always had a positive influence on him in the past. It made his heart swell with both admiration and envy...

...because why the hell were you advocating for a malicious version of himself, especially after throwing away your friendship over something he had no control over?!

"You know this guy one fucking day and suddenly you're on his side?" the hurt in his voice was so tremendous, you felt as if the guilt of it swallowed you whole. "You were supposed to be my friend, and he's the one who participated in making mine and many other's lives a living hell! So why?!"

"...it would be a waste to kill off a potential ally of this strenght, would it not?" Your reasoning got accentuated by the sound of metal and flesh clashing in the background, and you secretly hoped the variant was doing okay. "Maybe he can be rehabilitated."

"God, you sound like Cecil...but even he draws a line at some point. This guy is irredeemable!" Mark ran a hand through his hair, pacing around in circles to clear his head - and yet it was like your role in all this was the one drop that made the pot boil over. "He needs to be stopped! You've seen it yourself, he leveled several cities to the ground and killed a great amount of heroes! Shit, he's caused millions of deaths, do you have any idea what that means?!"

There was nothing to add to this. He was right, about absolutely everything. And yet...

"He-he needed to fullfill his part of the bargain, or Angstrom would've-" A loud bang echoed through the air as Mark's fists met the ground in frustration, effectively cutting you off. "Fuck, do you even hear yourself?! He always had a choice to join the fight on the right side instead of wasting his time chasing after yo-" There was a gleam of epiphany in his eyes that made you a little anxious whether he had picked up on the hints.

"Look, I'm not trying to justify his actions." You pry one of Mark's fists open, intertwining your fingers with his. "But we need him..."

"...we, or you?" That question caught you off guard, but when you wanted to stumble away but Mark pulled you right back. "What he talked about earlier...are we a couple in that other dimension?"

Sometimes you tend to forget that he isn't as dull as he comes across. Damn it.

"I-I-I....it's more complicated than that. I...died in his world." You shouldn't even be arguing about something so pointless right now, and you also don't want to burden him any further, but he keeps prying.

"So what, you want to become the moral support of a mass murderer?" Worded like this it does sound pretty awful. "I know you cut me out of your life, but I still care about you. No way I'm gonna let that happen. It's too dangerous."

Those feelings you harbored over the past decade were like a chain weighting heavy around your heart - but instead of communicating like an adult, you dwelled in self-pity and pushed your friend away. And as crazy as it sounds, over time you convinced yourself there's no way out of this, nothing else awaiting you...

...that was until you met the other Mark, however.

No better timing to free yourself than now, you thought, but Mark connected the dots faster than you were able to confess. "...why did you never say anything?"

"Oh c'mon, you've been doting on Eve since highschool." Mark was not the person to back out of a friendship like this, even if though he didn't reciprocate. If you had told him he'd certainly would've found a way to make this work, since he didn't want to lose you. And yet you didn't want to give the two of you the chance to overcome this, rather choosing to hurt him before you get hurt.

What a stupid, selfish teenager you were back then...

"Now it all makes sense" he speaks to himself, shyly glancing over to you again as he covers his blushing cheeks with his hands. "Fuck, I'm such an idiot..."

"Nonsense, I'm the ass for ruining our friendship over a silly crush." That was the understatement of the year - you were head over heels for this man.

He seems almost melancholic thinking back to all the moments he should've noticed what's going on. All this time wasted going no-contact when you could've worked things out instead...but it takes two to do that, and he's certainly not the one to blame.

Turning his head towards the noise of the ongoing fight, he shakes his head in disbelief. "This is so fucked up..."

"Tell me about it" you chuckle, playfully poking his side in an attempt to lighten the mood, and both of you give each other an appreciative smile. "But we shouldn't make rushed decisions in our current state, right?"

Mark lets out a shuddered sigh, realizing just what kind of hole your absence has tore in his life. But you'll manage to get back to how things were between you. This was a ray of hope cutting through the storm he's been caught into, ever since becoming a superhero.

"God, you have no idea how much I've missed you..."

There's no more time to waste, everything else has to wait until much later. Mark brings you back with him, a safe distance away from where the variant was still battling reanimen that just kept coming. Upon seeing Invincible he raises his guard again, but much to his surprise he's not attacked again, quite the opposite.

"Cecil, stop them!" your Mark exclaims into the comm as he jumps in between the crowd of cyborgs, giving a quick nod of acknowledgement to his other self. "He won't resist if we take him prisoner, right?"

"Sure..." the variant murmured, raising a brow in confusion. But indeed, the mechanical soldiers stop and he gets immobilized by Mark without fighting back. He looks up to you as if seeking your approval, and you quickly rush to their side, scolding Mark for being so harsh with his precautions.

"Are you hurt?" you whisper as the GDA agents transport you back to the Pentagon by helicopter, only the real Mark having flown ahead. You however refused to leave the variant's side, even though you've been strongly advised to go home, at least until the situation was less intense.

"This is nothing..." The Viltrumite huffs in amusement that you were worried about him of all people. He looks down to the shackles around his arms and legs that could never actually hold him, daring to crack a smile which you gladly mirrored. "But thanks that you stood up for me...even though I still don't understand why."

"Because I believe in you, so you better not disappoint me!" you chant, whearing a quiet whimper escape his throat when you put a reassuring hand on his knee. "Everything is gonna be alright, I'm sure of it. We're gonna figure it out...together, okay?"

A few hours later and you were still waiting in a hallway of the GDA, the feeling of suspense only worsened by all the pitying and disgusted looks some of the agents were shooting you. It was understandable, of course, since they probably saw you throwing yourself at the enemy live and in HD.

"I couldn't care less about whatever you two got going on" Cecil explains with his usual stoic manner, "but he refuses to talk and we don't have time for this."

You knew the opportunistic geeze was at least partly bluffing - he's most likely already planning on how to utilize Invincible's affection for you to control him.

Upon entering the prison cell you gasped at the gigantic apparatus containing him, all of his limbs encoated by a metal you didn't recognize in order to keep him from making any move. Honestly, it felt like no matter what they tried, he was only here because he wanted to be. If you told him to break out right now he'd most likely wreck this place in one milisecond.

The variant's defeated features brighten as he recognizes who was paying him a visit, but the initial excitement was soon pushed back by his newfound guilty conscience. He didn't expect to ever see you again, let alone you voluntarily entering the lion's den.

"I'll accept whatever punishment you deem necessary" he rasps, greatly worried at the possibility of them using you against your will. "Just leave them out of this."

Cecil nudged the bridge of his nose, groaning exaggeratedly. It sure isn't easy making objective decisions when you're that emotionally involved with the Grayson family - although he'd never admit the soft spot he had for them.

Not to mention, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to get his hands on one of the two literal strongest men on the planet.

"Well for starters you'll help with rescue and rebuidling" he ultimatively decides, talking to the young man like one would scold an unruly child. "Consider this your last chance. And don't you dare taking a break until this whole planet has recovered from the aftermath of your crimes. I don't want to see you eating, sleeping or even breathing without any supervision. Got it?!"

"Yes, Sir..."

A single gesture of his hand enough to make his underlings free the Viltrumite from his confinements. "Give him a new costume so he doesn't scare the survivors...and insert an ultrasonic implant, just to be sure."

Mark rubbed his sore wrists, baffled with this decision. He had expected nothing less than torture, that they'd experiment until they'd find a way to execute him...but this? Ridiculous. Hardly a punishment.

Not that he's complaining, though.

At long last, you were facing each other again, those brief hours of separation feeling like an eternity apart. Crazy to think you barely even know this man - well, the fact that he was so much like the original Mark may have messed with your perception of time...

...or you were simply going crazy as well, who knows. Anyways, it did not feel wrong. If anything you've never been this happy in years.

The Viltrumite seems conflicted, his muscles occasionally twitching out of the desire to be close to you, to touch and hold you and never let go again. But then he detects the tears of relief in your eyes, misinterpreting them negatively and backing off even further.

Right...he doesn't deserve to be anywhere near you.

"You didn't need to...you shouldn't be here." He faces the ground in shame, blinking back tears of his own as he speaks. "Not after what I did."

"Damn it, Mark..." you half-yell, half-whine as you run straight towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso as if to press all of his broken parts back together. "Just...shut up. I'm capable of making my own decisions, whether you like them or not."

What a strange one you were. He wasn't even sure if his dimension's version of you had been that amazing of a person.

"Can't argue with that..." His hands tentatively finding purchase on your sides, and you instantly feel him melt at the feel of your body against his. "But it seems like we won't be able to meet each other for a while..."

"I can wait..." you shrug, beaming up at him with an almost playful tone. "...as long as you promise to take me on another date, would you? Without robots and death-matching yourself next time, if possible."

Mark smiled.

He did so many times ever since you met of course, but it always seemed like he was mimicking genuine human interaction, as if he was forcing himself to put on a facade in order to make you comfortable.

But this one, right here, right now...it was real, and so, so beautiful.

Hopefully you see more of it in the future.

"Oh, I think after you've seen how far I'd go for you, it's safe to say I can't deny you any wish..."

[Next Part]

[mirai-lunar]

Invincible Variants x Fem! Reader Pt.1

Includes: Sinister Mark, No Goggles Invincible, Goggles Invincible, Mohawk Invincible, Omni Invincible

(I love these names sm lol)

Word Count: ~3.5k

Part 2

Warnings: Dark Content, Violence, Yandere Behavior

Sinister Mark 

“Oh, you’re pretty tough.” 

He was terrifying.

You made the horrible mistake of attempting to trade blows with this variant clad in yellow and black. You were strong, but nowhere near his level. A single hit to your gut gave you visions of the afterlife. 

It took all your strength to stay conscious. 

You fell harshly to the ground, and within an instant he was on top of you.

You tried to fight him off, but his hands pinned your arms to your sides.

Blood trickled down your forehead as you breathed heavily, your eyes staring back into his black goggles.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said, almost too casually. “Scream if you want, it’ll be music to my ears.”

You couldn’t beat him, but you could endure. 

Your body relaxed, your eyes unwavering. He raised a brow.

“Not going to plead for your pathetic life?”

“There’s no point,” you said. Those words felt like daggers to your throat. “Either way I die.” 

His gaze flickered up to the cut on your head, noticing the wound was closing ever so slowly. A healing factor? 

He then looked back at you and lifted a hand, before harshly jabbing it into your side, just below your ribcage. His fingers opened your skin easily. You gritted your teeth at the newfound pain, him examining the bloody tips of his fingers and your newly opened wound.

Was he going to torture you? Why couldn’t he just rip your head off and be done?

Every fiber of your being wanted to scream out. But you couldn’t give him the satisfaction. 

He noticed that your body was already attempting to close the wound, and you shut your eyes to collect yourself. You didn’t know how long they were shut, but once you opened your eyes you were still under his gaze. A smile graced his features. 

He… waited for you to collect yourself? 

He then leaned in, and for the first time you were afraid of him. His tongue dragged against your forehead, licking off the blood there. His chest was dangerously close to yours, and you could feel the warmth emanating from his body.

Strange. You were certain he was a cold blooded monster. 

“I don’t recall ever seeing you in my world,” he said. You felt a hand on your neck and your blood went cold. The pressure was terrifying, but he wasn’t choking you. He tilted your head up. “...Then again, I lost track after killing so many.” 

His lips then locked with yours. As you tried to resist he squeezed your neck, causing you to gasp. He then shoved his tongue into your mouth, the metallic aftertaste of your blood leaving you queasy.

In the heat of the moment, you noticed that he now only had one of your arms pinned down.

You needed to stop this. 

A punch was hurled at him and he easily caught it, pulling away from your lips. A cold smile graced his features.

“Feisty~” His hand rested on your shoulder and you felt something crack. You immediately lost feeling in your arm, it plopping back down to the ground beside you. 

Oh God. Oh God.

Your head shifted to look at your arm. Thankfully, thankfully it was still attached. 

“Now should I do your other arm?” He mused. “Or will you be good for me?” 

No Goggles Invincible

“This is so much fun!!” 

This variant was wild. You didn’t even know you had even encountered him. All you saw was a destructive blur.

Tremors caused you to lose your footing and you fell flat on your face, colliding onto a nearby rock. As you pulled yourself up, you heard a distant cheerful voice and noticed something, no, someone approaching fast.

You threw your hands out in front of you, fear now overtaking your splitting headache. Your last line of defense were your words.

“Stop!!!” 

That seemed to have worked because whatever was approaching suddenly halted, you feeling a strong rush of wind in the process. The force was enough to knock you over yet again, but this time someone had caught your hand, preventing your fall.

“Stop? Why?” A voice asked. 

It took some time for your vision to clear, but once it did you came face to face with a person clad in blue and yellow. He was smiling at you, and a look of curiosity was in his eyes.

“Invincible…?” You asked. But he was missing his goggles. “Is that you?”

“Yep! That’s me!” He happily said. You had a terrible headache, but was glad a hero was here to help. 

“I think someone’s attacking this place,” you told him. Since he was still holding your hand, you squeezed his. Concern was in your voice as you spoke to him. “Stay safe out there okay? I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

His smile widened.

“Aww! My heart! Don’t worry about me, cutie! I’m-”

[TITLE CARD]

You laughed, enjoying his enthusiasm. 

“I’m well aware,” you said. He was now beaming. He let go of your hand and floated around you in circles, a smile never leaving his face.

As you wiped the small trickle of blood from your nose, he then stopped behind you, before speaking. 

“But I’m actually not the Invincible you know,” he said. You froze at his words, confusion setting in.

“You’re…not?” 

“Nope! Do you see all this destruction across the city? That was all me! And oh, it was so much fun!!”

Your heart dropped at the newfound knowledge.

“You did this…” you whispered. 

“That’s right!” 

He hoisted you into the air and spun you around, vertigo now added onto your headache. He continued to speak.

“And it was awesome! The screams, the destruction, Oh ho! I enjoyed every second of it!”

…How could someone be so sadistic? Why was he telling you this?

Only one morbid reason came to mind.

“Oh God,” you said. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” 

“I mean, I definitely considered it!” He admitted. The fear on your face made his smile widen in response. “...But, you’re so sweet. I’d much rather not.”

He then pressed a kiss against your cheek and you froze, hearing the “Mwah!” sound from him as he pulled away.

“I’ll just make you my girlfriend instead, okay? How’s that sound?”

Sounded like a nightmare. You were panicking now.

“What’s your name?” He asked you.

“Let me go!” You exclaimed. He laughed.

“That’s a weird name-”

“No! I said let me go!!”

“Oh, okay! You’re the boss!”

He then dropped you, the sudden fall causing you to scream. You had completely forgotten you were hundreds of feet in the air. He watched your descent in good humor, before frowning. 

“Why isn’t she flying?” He asked. It immediately dawned on him. “Oh shit, she can’t fly.”

He then flew down and caught you, laughing at your terrified expression. You were mere moments away from death. 

“Why’d you tell me to let go when you don’t have powers?” He asked, still laughing at you. “I thought you did! You’re hilarious~” 

You were at a loss for words. As you tried to calm yourself, he smooched your face, only adding to your fear.

“Don’t worry!” He assured you. “I’ll be sure to hold onto you much tighter from now on!”

Goggles Invincible

“Let. Me. Go.”

This variant was condescending. Mostly towards others, but occasionally towards you. He had grabbed you in the midst of the turmoil and taken you into the sky. He now just casually floated in the air, with you in his arms.

“Now why would I do that?” He asked you. “I worked so hard to find you. It would be nice if you reciprocated my feelings.”

Buildings burned in the background, and it was all his doing. You couldn’t even push him away, his grip was too strong. 

“You can’t expect me to love you. I don’t even know you,” you said.

“But I know you, Y/n.” He brushed through your hair, removing some stray rubble. “And I know that you’ll love me. Eventually.”

You were sure you never met him before, but somehow he knew you by name?

He then abruptly turned, holding you closer as a stray bullet hit his back. He looked down, and you craned your neck, seeing a few police officers in the distance, guns outstretched.

“Surrender! Now!!” 

He sighed, before returning to the ground, setting you down gently. You barely blinked and he had already closed the gap, violently slicing through every person that opposed him. 

You watched in horror as he held one last person by their throat, lifting them off the ground. Blood seeped from that officer’s mouth as they gasped for air.

“You almost shot my girlfriend,” he told the officer. His voice was calm, but his tone was terrifying. “Maybe I should sever your spine for that.” 

He squeezed their throat harder.

“Or just rip you in two-”

“Don’t!!” 

He paused, turning to you, the officer still in his vice grip.

“Please,” you pleaded. “Don’t hurt them.”

You looked at him with so much desperation in your eyes. He smiled, thoroughly enjoying your expression.

“You don’t want me to hurt them, sweetheart? Well, unfortunately I already have-”

“Anymore.” You quickly corrected yourself. “Don’t hurt them anymore. Please…”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could hear your heart violently beating in your chest, awaiting his response. 

He then turned his attention back to the officer.

“Consider yourself lucky.” 

He released the officer from his hold, much to your surprise (and relief). The now freed officer collapsed to the ground and gasped for air.

You had saved that officer, but unfortunately not the others. It was a horrifying realization. 

“Shh, it’s okay…”

As he hovered towards you, you instinctively took a step back, before his hands reached out to grab you. He held you in place, leaning in so only you could hear. 

“I did that for you, Y/n. Can’t you see how much I love you? …And I think I deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Your startled look was adorable to him. He leaned in, pushing his lips against yours. 

He was gentle. And you had to reciprocate, or he’d kill that last officer, you just knew he would.

So you swallowed your fear and pushed your lips against his. He smiled into the kiss before capturing your lips again, holding you as close as humanly possible this time.

Once you both pulled apart you were breathless, and a knowing smile was on his face.

“See? I told you you’ll love me.”

Mohawk Invincible

This variant was maniacal. The second the prison was attacked you cursed under your breath, gathering your files in hand before making your way down the now crumbling hallways. 

You were the head nurse of the psychiatric ward in this prison, and to say you were desensitized to all situations was an understatement.

“I quit,” you grumbled, hearing the sounds of what seemed to be mass destruction outside. “Once I file these reports, I’m getting a new job-”

You stopped when someone slammed through the roof of the prison right in front of you and into the hallway, landing harshly in a pile of cinder blocks.

That person then quickly pulled himself up, wiping the blood from his nose.

“Fuck,” he spat. He was wearing black and blue, and had a mohawk.

Judging by how he looked more pissed than hurt, you decided your best course of action was to remain silent. 

He then crouched low, you assuming he was going to take off, but he paused midway when he saw something in his peripheral vision.

You stood there, clad in high heels, a ruffled blouse, and a pencil skirt. Notes were in one hand, and your other hand was on your hip. Although you were frowning, his eyes lit up, his attention now solely on you.

“Hey baby~” Those words rolled off his tongue too smoothly. “How’d you end up in a hellhole like this? I’d be breaking in just to see you.”

“I’m assuming you’re the cause of all this chaos?” You asked him. He made his way over to you, a smile on his face. 

“Yea, you’d be right.” 

Just your luck to meet the person behind all this. Fire was slowly beginning to spread, and your way out was now obscured by smoke. 

“You know…” he said. “I thought this world sucked, but you just might change my mind.”

He seemed completely unfazed by the now raging fire farther down the corridor. You on the other hand had internally panicked, your way out now engulfed in flames.

“Can’t change anything if I’m dead. I don’t suppose you’ll get me out of here?” You asked him. He laughed.

“I mean I could get you out, but I’d want something in return.”

“I see. I’m on my own then,” you said.

You then spun around and raced off, heading back the way you came. Much to your surprise, a few seconds later, he flew right beside you, continuing the conversation.

“You’re going to fucking die at this pace,” he casually said, his tone somewhat amused. Although annoying, he was right. Your high heels were slowing you down significantly. So you pulled them off and ditched them. “Aw, that was my third favorite thing about you.”

Third? "What’s the first thing?” 

“Your ass."

Classic.

You stopped when faced with a wall of fire, your new route now also engulfed in flames. 

You were trapped. 

Sweat dripped down your face as you took a cautious step away from the fire, your back bumping right into his chest. His arms then wrapped around your waist, keeping you still as he leaned in over your shoulder.

“So, are you gonna die here? Or do you want my help?” He taunted you. You were already feeling lightheaded, it wouldn’t be long now. 

You kept quiet for a bit, your body becoming heavy. 

“...Guess I’ll…” you choked out. “Just die…”

Your legs then gave out, and everything went black.

~

As you regained consciousness, you noticed two things. The first was that you were laying on your back, a ways away from the prison. The second was that someone had pulled their lips away from your lips, their body on top of yours.

“Oh shit, that actually worked-” 

“Get! OFF ME!”

You pushed as hard as you could, the person pulling back a bit. It was him. You coughed as you spoke.

“The hell’s wrong with you?! Kissing me while I was unconscious!?”

“I was RESUSCITATING you!” he yelled. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’d rather die than ask for help?!”

“I don’t want your help!”

You tried to move away from him, but his arms locked you in place.

“Oh no you don’t! I saved you, so you owe me.”

“I didn’t want-”

His lips were on yours again, and since you couldn’t push him away, you bit his bottom lip as hard as you could. 

Sadly for you, it seemed to have no effect. 

He laughed into the kiss, before pain then seared through your lip.

“AH! What the hell?!” You exclaimed, blood now dripping from your top lip. He rolled his eyes.

“You started it.”

Omni Invincible

“...”

This variant was calm.

Of all the people he could encounter, of the billions of people on Earth, he had to spot your variant.

He knew you quite personally in his world, so seeing a different version of you here was jarring to say the least. 

He didn’t believe in fate, but this… the probability of seeing you here, at this exact moment? That alone made him question himself.

So he remained silent, and just watched you from the sky.

Amidst the chaos, your car had refused to start. You turned the key as many times as you could, the engine whirring for a few seconds, before coming to a complete halt. 

“Well, there goes my escape plan,” you sighed. 

You then exited the car, shutting the door behind you. People were screaming and running past you, trying to get as far away from the destruction as possible.

“Guess that���s my next course of action,” you mused. You locked your doors, and paused, staring at your reflection in the car window. 

He frowned. 

You should really be focused on getting away from the turmoil, but you were taking time to sort out your thoughts instead? 

You never really had survival instincts. 

“If I die here, then so be it,” you murmured.

You then ran, moving away from the middle of the street, opting to stick more to the sidelines. You had gotten a ways away from the destruction until you heard explosions, noticing a building in the distance was crumbling. Your head whipped to the left, thankful you weren’t in that area. 

In your rush, you failed to notice that you were heading towards a large sinkhole where the ground had crumbled. 

He furrowed his brows, arms crossed.

He shouldn’t interfere. 

You got dangerously close to the edge, more focused on the destruction behind you and not the impending doom directly in front of you.

He shouldn’t interfere.

You then fell over the edge. A gasp of surprise escaped your lips, quickly followed by an ear-piercing scream. 

He was forced to act. 

Your screaming stopped when you realized you were no longer falling. Relief washed over you in waves, before confusion followed, your eyes looking up to meet your savior. He was clad in red and white. You recognized that outfit.

Omni Man? 

Wait no, it wasn’t him… who is this? 

“Hey.” Was all he said, his expression neutral as he looked down at you. You could see your reflection in his goggles. “You should be more careful.”

You didn’t care who it was. He saved you, and that’s all that mattered. 

Tears spilled from your eyes as you thanked him profusely, causing him to frown.

“I thought I was ready to die,” you said in between tears. “But I’m terrified of meeting my end.”

Those words…

It was the exact words his version of you said before she died. 

It was… unpleasant to hear them again. 

He didn’t say anything, and you noticed that you were both ascending. Now out of the large sinkhole, you were greeted with the gentle breeze from the world above. You assumed he was going to set you down here, but instead he veered to the right, leading you far away from the destruction. 

The once large city was now a speck in your peripheral vision.

He landed in an open field of flowers, before setting you down. 

“I need to go back,” he told you. As he turned away from you, you nodded in agreement.

“I understand. You have to help more people, right? And stop the bad guys!”

“. . .”

“Just be safe out there, okay?” you said. 

While he was faced away from you, you noticed how darkly stained his cape was towards the bottom. 

What was that?

Before you could examine any further, he had turned to face you, a small smile on his face. He offered a hand, and you happily accepted, intertwining your hands with his. 

When certain words left his lips, you were taken aback.

“You… want to kiss me?” you whispered, disbelief in your voice. A nod from him confirmed you heard him correctly. “O…o-kay.”

He then leaned in, his lips pressing gently against yours. You returned the gesture, the two of you sharing a kiss. He was so sweet, so gentle. That set your heart ablaze.

You didn’t know who he was, but you knew you loved him. 

As he pulled away you quickly leaned again for a quick peck, kissing his cheek. 

“Thanks for that, you should go now. People need you,” you said. Your eyes held so much adoration for him. He then ascended into the air, pausing to say something else.

“I’ll check in on you later, Y/n.”

And with that, he was gone.

Your heart was still pounding from the kiss. But as you calmed, you furrowed your brows, letting your thoughts sink in.

“...How did he know my name?”

~

I love the invincible variants so much! Also this is my first ever post! Feedback is very much appreciated ♡

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Now I never watched invincible or read the comics but from the clips I’ve seen and what the wiki says about him, but I can tell he’ll be one of those sickly sweet/delusional types of yandere.

(Look, I need me some yandere Mark with male reader or gender neutral, and wouldn’t mind if someone turned this into a fic.)

Like you told him you’re breaking up with him. You get that he’s a hero and the world needs him but you need him as well. You know that he’s strong yet you worry about his safety ever waking hour, messaging him if he’s okay. You’ve always been pushed to the side, barely get any attention or acknowledgement. Mark is confused and tries to play it off with a laugh.

“You don’t mean that right? Don’t say we’re over…”

You reaffirmed that it’s over before taking your leave.

Mark was left distraught. He really, really loves you… he understands that maybe he should’ve showed you more, been there more. Maybe he expected you to wait for him…

He turns to Eve and William and see how they both think. William was more… blunt and honest about it and Eve showed sympathy for him. Mark still pondered… that’s when it clicks: you didn’t stop loving him, he lost you because he didn’t show you love! Surely that’s it.

Mark just needs to remind you about the good times and love.

He starts love bombing you: gifts, showing up everywhere, flowers, calling, and texting. Yet, you ignored them and told him that there’s no chance of it ever working out. Devastated, Mark figures he needs to try harder.

That leads him to taking you. You find Mark in your home, teary eyed and soft spoken. “You were going to leave… I can’t let that happen.” So, he snatches you and flies you to an undisclosed location (or his place but that’s stupid but maybe interesting.)

The room was decorated with everything you liked. It felt like home, smelt like home, but it wasn’t. You were about to freak out but Mark shushes you.

“You said you wanted more time with me… now we have all the time in the world!”

Mark visits you constantly after hero work or studies. He brings you food, games, comics, anything you want. To spend more time with you, he lies to Debbie and Nolan about going to see William or Eve for the night. Cuddling you as he slept but you were wide awake, but you couldn’t do nothing.

He truly believes he’s fixing and healing you both

You tried screaming and fighting back, even escaping but nothing. Mark begins to get annoyed but he never lays his hands on you. He’ll just guilty trip you.

“Why do you do this? After everything I’m doing to make things work… everything I’ve done for us… I’ll always be here for you…”

And if you think Mark is bad… just wait till you encounter his variants from other dimensions

Author’s note: maybe when I stop being a pussy about seeing gore and violence, I’ll watch invincible.

Taglist: @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @raspberryyuuki @maxxioislost @furiousflowercreation @ghostking4m @sluttyhusband @wolf-knights @your-cow-boy @mack-thedork @starboye @boypied @sleep-0-deprived @cronasluvr

Link to new Mark Drabble with some of his variants

[masamasan]

[Brand New Hero | Mark x You]

Summary: As the newest PR intern at the GDA, you’re at the absolute bottom of the food chain. Until you meet him: a clumsy, god-awfully dressed rookie hero with no name, no fame, and no idea what he’s doing.

Your master plan: make him the greatest superhero this world has ever seen.

You’re a teenager. He’s a teenager. Throw in a wild cocktail of hormones, a couple of near-death experiences, and some crippling anxiety. What could possibly go wrong?

Contains: Alternate Universe | Female Reader | Slow Burn | Friends to Lovers

"Describe yourself."

Ah, yes — the most dreaded of questions, probably the most awkward ice breaker there is. Worst thing is that it tells you absolutely nothing about anyone.

It usually goes one of two ways:

You either tell them the most generic, Jane or John Doe kind of response as humanly possible (‘I like music, hanging out with friends, and going to the gym’) or go the special snowflake route and tell them a meaningless, obscure fact about yourself (‘I like this really niche, indie boy band from Iceland that nobody knows except for me’).

Either way, it’s fake, mildly disturbing, and something you’d rather like to skip.

But how would you describe yourself?

You freshly turned eighteen, were an early high school graduate, and had a full-ride scholarship to the University of Virgina. So you weren't completely stupid, no. But you weren't one of those brain-melting Einsteins nor one of those hard-working underdog model students either.

The most special thing about you was not you, but your family: Your parents were both prodigies in their respective fields and got recruited to work for the government right after college graduation.

When you were younger, you thought they were spies, like the ones in that movie with Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. They'd zoom around in their bullet-proof Jeeps, only strut out of the house in their perfectly-ironed black suits, and would feed your classmates the lamest lies about working boring office jobs. When you discovered in fourth grade that they were, in fact, not secret agents, you were mildly devastated, to put it lightly.

In short: You were a nepo baby and had rich parents that sent you to an excessively expensive, really snobby private school that made it ridiculously easy to get into any college you wanted.

What else? You were kind of a (massive, enormous, colossal) people pleaser, and thought the only thing defining your self-worth was if others liked you. Everything you did was done perfectly, and you would rather swallow a thousand needles than let others think you were incompetent in any way. That left you stuck being everyone's go-to person whenever they needed a group project partner — only to end up doing the entire thing by yourself while they could lean back and watch.

You blamed your parents for that cursed trait, because they had such ridiculously high expectations for their only child that you couldn't allow yourself to disappoint them even microscopically. They wanted you to be their perfect mini-clone, destined to follow in their footsteps and become another successful government drone. And then when you found yourself a guy who would fulfill their impossible standards (probably an astronaut, doctor, and lawyer all in one), you'd create a perfect copy of them in the future again, so their legacy could live on forever and ever. Hooray.

That's how you ended up here, as an intern for the Global Defensive Agency inside the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia. Your parents had convinced the director to let you prove yourself, helping you to take your first step into your government career.

“It's going to be hard in the beginning," your dad had said. "If you don't do your tasks well, they will sort you out and you will never get that opportunity again."

Those words stuck with you throughout the first weeks of your internship, when you would run around to get everyone their correct order of coffee, copy and staple their paperwork or reply to angry emails from citizens whose houses got destroyed in the recent Omni-Man vs Lizard Group fight.

Work was hard, especially when you had to juggle that on top of your Political Economy online classes, but somehow you managed. The nightmarish image of your parents' disappointed faces combined with a truly concerning amount of your self-brewed espresso and Red Bull concoction (patent pending) kept you going, alright.

And you did well. You were an amazing errand runner, if you said so yourself. You never spilled a drop of coffee, never stapled the wrong documents, and never lost your cool when citizens called you insults in their angry emails. The best intern ever. That's what you were. Gold star for you.

So when your mother, a scientist, who worked closely with the director of the GDA, had helped you get a promotion, you weren't so sure if you were happy with it. You were great as a coffee girl, so why risk it and start from the bottom again? Hell, maybe you could be a coffee girl manager one day if you kept it up!

"You will never be the best, if you don't even try," your mother had said. “And what’s the point if you’re not the best?”

There wasn’t much you could say to argue — especially when she hit you with one of those ‘if looks could kill’ glares that made you rethink your entire life choice of opening your mouth. So you agreed, like the perfect grateful daughter you were.

Your new role in the PR department was to help raise Teen Team's public image. It sounded a lot more exciting than it actually was. Most days, it meant crafting excuses when they accidentally leveled a neighborhood during a fight, or scrambling to spin damage control after another politically incorrect comment in an interview.

And now you stood in front of young superheroes you were supposed to work with, a group of mismatched teens that had been under GDA's care for some time now. Five pairs of eyes were glued to your awkwardly stiff black suit-clad body, a clipboard with nothing written on it pressed against your chest as they expectantly waited for an introduction.

So… with your mediocre background story in mind, how did you describe yourself?

The most accurate would be: A privileged doormat with an unhealthy caffeine addiction.

But of course you would never say that.

"I like listening to music," you stammered, after giving them your name. "And meeting friends in my spare time," you quickly added.

You went the Jane Doe route, to play it safe. Not cool, but there was nothing cool about you anyway. You also forgot the gym part, but it was too late now.

Instead of introducing themselves back to you, they shrugged your uncomfortable attempt at socializing off. The redhead sent you a crooked smile out of pity. That was nice. Kinda.

"Well, you guys can go back to training," Donald said, clearing his throat, when the silence got too thick. “I think you did a great job."

The older man patted you awkwardly on your shoulder, and you grimaced at yourself as soon as the heroes turned their backs on you. You couldn't think of a better way to completely wreck your reputation on the first day with the people you were supposed to work for... at least it went better than that time when you met Cecil for the first time. That memory had been safely locked away in the 'never ever think about again, not even under torture' part of your brain.

"Don't worry," Donald quickly added, when he saw your panicked face. "It was hard for me, too, in the beginning. But you'll get the hang of it."

You nodded and suppressed the urge to cry tears of pure, undiluted mortification. Donald was probably the only person here who actually treated you like a human being, and not like a coffee-bringing, document-stapling, hate-mail-responding cyborg with a government-approved stamp on its forehead. You were pretty sure it was because you reminded him of himself — another professional doormat for the higher-ups to wipe their feet on.

He was the director's right-hand man... and left-hand man too. If there was anything Cecil didn't want to do, Donald would be stuck doing it. That's how he became your mentor of sorts — Cecil had waved you off like an annoying mosquito and declared he didn't have time for insignificant interns like you, so Donald got forcibly drafted into babysitting duty.

You involuntarily saw yourself in Donald, too, a haunting glimpse of what your future might hold. Your gaze wandered from his aggressively receding hairline to his strangely bland face. Is that how you would end up? Senior assistant manager or whatever Donald's actual title was? You just hoped you would end up with more stylish glasses than his tragic grey frames.

When you were asked to return to your desk and help with other tasks, your mind wandered off again. A life solely dedicated to chasing the approval of others, to being at the bottom of the food chain, to accepting even microscopic scraps of attention as long as you would get noticed... was that really how your life was going to be? Become the human equivalent of a participation certificate?

*

When you were younger, your parents moved around a lot. Government duties and all that. You’d been to San Fransisco, St. Louis, Milwaukee, and a bunch of other big cities you barely remembered. The last time you were in Chicago was when you were five. You think it was when your mom was send there for two months to work on a “super secret mission”. Now you were back in the Windy City as an official GDA intern, which sounded way more impressive than it actually was.

Donald had asked you to deliver "extremely important documents" the director needed urgently. They were supposedly so top secret that they couldn't be sent electronically or by mail and had to be hand-delivered. You were convinced Donald just really pitied seeing you sitting at your desk all day and invented a task to give you something vaguely resembling purpose.

When you arrived at the glass-and-steel monstrosity in downtown Chicago, you endured a security process worse than the TSA: two body scans, multiple ID checks, and an interview that felt more like an interrogation — all so they could dramatically hand you... wait for it... two pages in a manila envelope.

"Close the door when you leave," the secretary droned without looking up from her phone, gnawing on her pen like it was a salami stick.

You nodded and smiled reflexively (your default response), then slipped out and eased the door shut with the careful precision of someone defusing a bomb. Looking down at the thin envelope in your hands, reality sank in. Did you really just take a flight in the middle of the night, went through all this alien like probing, just to be send away after five minutes? You sighed.

The hallway stretched out, empty — pretty sure you just saw a tumbleweed roll by. Security had been tight as a vice at the entrance, but once inside, the guards were seemingly on permanent coffee break. That's when you spotted it: a sign pointing to roof access. If anyone had been around, they might’ve seen the light bulb pop up over your head. If the government was going to waste your time, you might as well make it worthwhile with a nice view of Chicago before heading back.

You glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then slipped through the stairwell door and headed up.

The rooftop greeted you with a gust of wind that nearly snatched the precious two pages from your grasp. Clutching the envelope to your chest, you settled at a respectable distance from the edge. Safety first, exciting views second — you didn’t want to end up in the headlines as the first GDA intern that fell to her death while on duty, after all.

Chicago sprawled before you: all concrete, glass, and ant-sized humans going about their business. It was... fine, you thought. Nice, even. But not exactly the life-altering moment movies had promised. No epiphany, no sudden clarity about your life's purpose, just... buildings. Taller than the ones in Virginia, maybe, but still just… buildings.

Then, just as you were about to shrug and accept your boring fate, a flash of neon caught your eye. You froze mid-turn, eyes squinting.

About three blocks away, someone in a blinding mix of yellow, orange, and turquoise was flailing wildly at what looked like a living chunk of concrete. It was a fight — probably. At least, that’s what it was trying to be.

The hero, assuming that’s what you thought he was (villains usually had better fashion sense), launched himself at Concrete Man. Judging by how he pinballed off the alley walls just trying to reach his target, he was definitely new. Probably not even a properly trained hero.

Vigilantes and hobby heroes weren’t exactly rare these days. More and more people were waking up with powers, and plenty didn’t hesitate to use them, for better or worse. Technically, you were supposed to report your powers to the GDA and get registered before doing anything flashy. But good luck enforcing that on everyone.

Concrete Man responded by seizing the hero by his costume and hurling him sideways into the brick wall of an apartment building. The hero peeled himself off the wall, wobbling visibly even from your distant perch. But instead of retreating, he managed to launch himself forward again and crash directly into his opponent.

The impact sent both combatants tumbling violently against the walls of the alleyway, breaking off a fire escape in the process, and then finally into the street, where they managed to flip over a parked car.

The final crash sent both fighters sprawling. Concrete Man hit the ground hard, chunks of his rocky armor crumbling away to reveal dark skin and the surprisingly ordinary face of a man beneath the rubble. The hero was the first to get up. He didn’t look shaken, just winded, as he stared down at his fallen opponent.

He’d won. Somehow, against all odds and coordination, the rookie had actually taken down the villain.

You stood frozen, documents forgotten in your hand. You’d seen plenty of hero footage during your GDA internship: clean, polished takedowns by legends like Omni-Man or the Immortal. This wasn’t that. This was raw. Messy. Kind of pathetic.

And yet… You were leaning forward now, hands gripping the edge of the parapet, heart ticking faster than you cared to admit. This was probably the closest you'd ever come to being starstruck — and all because you’d just watched a clumsy rookie take down a giant pebble.

Blue and red flickered at the edge of your vision — sirens, no doubt — and the moment the hero noticed them, he bolted. He shot into the air, but clipped the side of a building, and spun wildly mid-air.

You watched, amused… until something about the trajectory felt off.

He was getting bigger.

No, closer.

Wait.

Your mind was still playing catch-up, trying to connect the dots, when your body finally decided to panic. You stumbled back, clutching your very important GDA documents like your life depended on them.

A blur of orange filled your vision, followed by a heavy thud, and the next thing you knew, you were flat on your back, staring at the sky, with the wind knocked clean out of you.

You blinked, disoriented. The thin GDA envelope was still clutched against your chest, safe and sound, so you sat up, heart thudding. No concussion, no major injuries. You were fine.

Your gaze shifted to the sprawled figure in orange, yellow, and turquoise lying a few feet away.

For a split second, your body locked up. The guy who just punched a literal walking, talking concrete wall was lying just an arm's length away from you — a mere (below average fit) human. The last time you physically hurt someone was when you accidentally slapped Donald on the forehead, trying to swat a fly. You were, without question, the last person on Earth who stood a chance against someone with superhuman strength.

Your fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and you scrambled to bolt for the door. But just as your foot lifted, he groaned and sat up, hand cradling his head.

Your heart was slamming violently against your ribs. Every instinct screamed run, but you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

Up close, the outfit was even worse: faded orange rain boots, baggy turquoise joggers with at least two visible holes, and a tight orange top that definitely had seen better days. A yellow cloth masked the lower half of his face. Through his cracked pair of goggles, a sharp brown eye peered out.

You hadn’t realized you were full-on staring until he met your gaze. Instantly, your breath caught.

Your muscles froze. Not out of awe, but out of pure, feral fear.

Sure, he seemed like a hero. But these days, who knew? Powers didn’t come with moral compasses. What if he was one of those loose-cannon vigilantes who didn’t like witnesses?

Was this how it ended? Smacked off a rooftop just because you were nosy?

For a moment that felt like eternity, you both stared at each other, silence stretching until it got too uncomfortable.

“Are you—” your voice came out lower than you expected, so you tried again, louder. “Are you gonna kill me?”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Your eyes dropped immediately, refusing to meet his.

A dozen grim scenarios flashed through your mind, one worse than the next, until they all blurred into static. Silence stretched.

“Huh?” the guy said, blinking. His voice was higher than you’d expected. “Wait — what? No! I — God, no. I was just… trying to help.”

You risked a glance up. He was standing now — and, wow, he was taller than you expected. Yeah, you definitely stood no chance at all against him.

He took a cautious step forward.

You mirrored it backward, stiff as a board.

He froze, then quickly raised both hands like he was trying to show you he meant no harm. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

His gaze flickered sideways, seeming nervous all of a sudden.

“I was just chasing this bad guy and then… uh—“ He scratched the back of his neck, shifting his weight. “I kinda lost control.”

A beat passed.

“Also, sorry about… you know.” He gestured vaguely at the rooftop. “Crashing into you.”

You gave him another cautious once-over. His posture was stiff, his eyes wide and unsure — it almost reminded you of a puppy meeting someone new for the first time. He definitely didn’t look dangerous. If anything, he seemed more scared of you than the other way around. Your shoulders dropped a little. It wasn’t safe, not exactly, but not an immediate threat either.

You offered him a tight-lipped smile.

“It was amazing!” you blurted before your brain could stop your mouth. Your face flushed. “I mean the fight against the stone guy. Not the part where you knocked me out.”

“Oh. Uh… thanks?” he said, blinking like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “I’m still figuring things out. Kind of winging it, honestly.”

Then, the two of you were both staring — holding the awkward prolonged eye contact like neither of you had any idea how social interactions were supposed to work. Still, there was something about him. He didn’t just survive a fight with a living concrete slab — he won. And he was a complete nobody.

And yet…

Was this what talent scouts felt at high school basketball games? That strange gut-deep certainty? The kid had no training, no coordination, almost non existent flying skills… and yet you could see it. Potential. Raw, stupid, unpolished potential.

Your breath caught.

And suddenly, like lightning hitting the ground, you got an idea. A brilliant idea. This was it. This was your ticket out. He was going to change your fate!

“What’s your name?” you asked, taking a step closer.

“Ma—” He stopped, caught himself, and scratched the back of his head. “Uh. I mean. Haven’t really settled on one yet.”

“We’ll figure that out,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, and closed the distance between you. “Have you ever thought about becoming a professional hero?”

He squinted at you. “A… what?”

“A professional hero,” you repeated, eyes bright. “Y’know. Like, full-time. Uniform, sponsors, TV deals, the whole package.”

He gave a vague shrug. “I guess? I mean, not really. I just do stuff.”

Your grin widened, your mind already drifting into the ideal version of your future. This was happening. This was your moment. Goodbye coffee runs, goodbye being Donald’s stand-in, and good-fucking-bye to being your parents’ puppet. They couldn’t say a damn thing if you were the one who discovered the next great superhero.

You were going to make history.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, breaking you out of your mental victory parade.

You blinked, quickly told him, and then, with way too much energy, asked, “Are you interested in working with the GDA?”

He flinched slightly at your volume. “The… GDA?”

With dramatic flair, you yanked the retractable cord on your badge and shoved it right in his face. “Boom. See? I work for them.” (You purposely skipped over the ‘intern’ part.)

“I could help you become a real hero,” you said, voice dropping into a lower, persuasive tone. “We’ve got the training. The funding. The connections.”

You were already picturing your new business cards. Agent. Advisor. Executive Talent Scout. No, screw it — director.

The rookie blinked again, slowly. Then smiled politely.

“Thanks,” he said. “But no.”

Pop. There went your dream. Your smile dropped.

“I’m not really looking to join a government squad,” he added, scratching at the back of his neck. “Kinda trying to do my own thing.”

You stared at him like he’d just refused a winning lottery ticket. Thirty days paid vacation. Free dental. 401k. You were pretty sure Donald even said something about a masseuse coming in every Monday. Was he insane not to accept a deal like that?

“Well, uh, sorry again for crashing into you,” he said, waving vaguely in your direction. “Nice meeting you, though.”

You watched in horror as he turned away.

No. No no no! You can’t let this opportunity slip through your fingers like that!

You scrambled after him. “Wait! I — I work with really big names! Like, I’ve met the Immortal!”

He didn’t even glance back. “Miss, I’ve got places to be.”

You followed anyway, practically tripping over your own feet. “Okay, okay, I get it! You don’t want anyone telling you what to do. Totally fair. Authority sucks. The government’s kind of the worst!”

He stopped at the rooftop edge, one foot already on the parapet. You panicked.

“But resources!” you yelled. “You want to help people, right? We have actual resources. Real support. Equipment. You could do so much more.”

That made him hesitate.

He turned just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. His expression had softened. This was it. Now or never — you pressed your advantage.

“We could train you. Help you get better. You’d be teamed with other pros — people with experience. People who could teach you. You could save thousands of lives, maybe millions.”

You paused for effect. “You could even be like… Omni-Man.”

That seemed to hit a nerve. His eyes widened, then dropped to the cracked concrete below him. He didn’t move. He was thinking.

You stood there, fists clenched, hardly breathing.

And then, when he lifted his gaze to meet yours, there was something in his expression you couldn’t quite place — curiosity? Hesitation?

“Like Omni-Man?” he asked.

You had him.

“Yes! Like Omni-Man! No — even better,” you said, nodding enthusiastically. “I saw what you did back there. You’ve got potential. You just need the right push!”

He turned fully to face you now. His shoulders lowered, the tension from just minutes in his stance slowly melting away. He let out a small sigh.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?” you echoed, blinking.

“Yeah… maybe I could come by. You could show me around or whatev—”

Before he could finish, you squealed and threw your fists in the air, letting your precious envelope fall to the ground. He flinched slightly at the volume, but you barely noticed. You grabbed his shoulders, surprisingly solid under your fingers, and gave him a small shake.

“I’m gonna make you a star!”

He nodded a little, eyes wide with second thoughts. But it didn’t matter. He said yes.

You spun around, already rambling through the list of things you’d need: training schedule, PR angle, a costume designer, maybe even a catchphrase. Behind your whirlwind of words, your thoughts were soaring.

He agreed. He really agreed.

Not just to being trained or becoming a part of the GDA.

He agreed to help you escape. To pull you out of the endless, thankless spiral you’d been trapped in.

You had just taken your first step toward freedom. And you were never going back.

Read more on AO3.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

"GET WELL SOON!!"

MARK GRAYSON X FEM WB!READER

Bio: Mark got beaten up again, so you try your best to cheer up your sick boy. Based of this post

He's invincible for Christ's sake, so how does he get beat down like some D-tier hero? This sucks. It just sucks sitting down in bed with a broken leg and a fractured wrist. God, this sucks. It's just sucks. Everyone else is out fighting crime, and he's home watching dumb trash TV. He's about to lose it; if he doesn't get any action, he just might go insane from all the boredom. But he can barely get up, and his mom gave him specific rules not to leave the house when she's not around, and the other guardians are watching out so he won't leave bed. Ugh, this just isn't fair. It's just a broken leg and a bruised wrist; he can still kick ass, he thinks.

SLAM

"What the?" Mark sits up but instantly feels lightheaded from all that lying down. "Do not fear, fellow citizen, for Invincible is here!" you yell, wearing your signature yellow, blue, and black costume, flexing your very non-existent muscles at him with a big smirk. "I am here to cheer you up," you say with a wink, hitting him with some corny finger guns. Mark let out a surprised laugh; he couldn’t believe his eyes. This was probably the worst impression of him ever, like when parents hire a fake Spider-Man to come to their kid's birthday party. But he'll play along; plus, you really do look good in that suit. "Wow Invincible showed up to cheer up little ol' me," he chuckled, covering his mouth with his good hand.

"Yup!" you said confidently, pointing at yourself with a grin. "I'll do whatever you wish," you said, doing a little spin for him, making him laugh a little bit more. But you see, saying you'll do whatever he wishes was your very first mistake; your second mistake was not letting him check you out in this little invincible suit. "Oh really? You'll do whatever I say and some more?" he questioned, rubbing his chin with a good hand. "Well, that wasn't what I—" Oh, what the heck, he's bedridden; it's not like he could do anything. "Yeah, that's actually what I meant. Your, dear Invincible, will do whatever you ask!" Big mistake, huge.

"Can you do a little spin for me, Invincible? I want to see the suit; I mean, I never got to see it up close." You felt a strong surge of pride, and you couldn't help but do a little spin for him, slower than the first one, so he could see everything from the front to the back, the way it hugged your curves so nicely and how stretchy the material was so that it wouldn't be too tight. There were some parts that were a bit too tight, like around the chest area, but it was no biggie. Mark let out a whistle, watching it, which just boosted your ego more. "You like?" You did a dynamic pose for him. "Oh, I love it!" You couldn't control the little giggles that escaped your lips. "I made it myself. I wanted to wear it to a convention, but I felt this was better." Lies, you really made it for him. "Well, you did an amazing job, baby. I mean, Invincible," he said with a soft smirk on his face.

You sat on his bed, just for him to pull you into his lap. You keep forgetting how strong he is, even when he's half-broken. "Are you sure you can hold me? You're still a little... well, broken," Mark frowns and flexes his very existing muscles. "Does this look broken to you?" You wanted to laugh and blush at the same time. "No, sir!" You saluted him. "Good girl. Now, can the great Invincible show me her secret identity?" he said, gently rubbing your hip in a little circle, just for you to shake your head. "Nope, secret!" You giggle, "Not one peak," you shook your head again, and Mark makes a mock-upset face. "UGH! You're not fun. How about this: why don't you take care of me, then?" he asked, a wicked little grin on his lips. "Like what? I could make you something to eat—" Then his lips were pressed against yours. Oh, that's what he meant.

Mark's way of kissing was kind of like conquering you, if that made sense. His arms were wrapped around you, pulling you closer until you were both chest to chest. He devoured you with one kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you, needing you, drinking in every whimper and gasp while letting out heavy breaths of his own. Then you heard a rip followed by a tear; his hand was clawing at the back of your suit, ripping it like confetti. "H-Hey, quit that!" But he didn't; he kept on ripping like you were some Christmas present waiting to be unwrapped. He had ripped the front and the back of the suit, making you pout. "You could have just unzipped it." It took you so many nights to make this. "Sorry, sweet thing." He wasn't sorry; you could see it in that devilish smirk. "No panties, huh? Invincible..." And here comes your shame: "It didn't look good because of the panty lines," but to be honest, it really didn't look good with the panty lines either. "Or you were planning this." His fingers flicked your clit, making you gasp, and his thumb slipped between your folds, feeling your wetness. "Definitely planned." He acted so cocky, like his cock wasn't throbbing at the idea of you in a custom-made hero suit just for him. "Come on, Invincible, why don't you cheer up your sick boy?"

"M-Mmh-" his hands were practically glued to your tits; even with a broken wrist, it didn't stop him from grabbing and pinching just to make you smirk as you bounced on his cock, barely even taking him in. Your mask was already lifted over your head; he needed to know your "secret identity." It was actually an excuse to see your cute little fucked-out expressions, like how your eyes would roll to the back of your head if he bucked his hips while you were riding or how you let little tears leave your eyes when overstimulated. "F-Fuck, baby!" you whined, feeling him fuck into you mid-ride. You pushed his hips down to stop him from bucking again. "Y-You asked me to take care of you," soft pants left your kiss-swollen lips. "Let me do that; you're hurt." He let out another needy whimper; it was getting harder and harder for him to keep control of himself when you looked so cute like this, with little baby hairs sticking to your forehead from sweat, how your hips always stuttered just a little when you tried to grind down on him, and the way you let out small curses in between when he was just too much. So Markus sat back and watched the view of his little Invincible.

But a part of him didn't like how you were doing all the work, his pretty girl, so why not help you just a little? And by a little, he means a lot. He wrapped both arms around you and pulled you closer to him so the two of you were face to face. Both of you let out pathetic little "ahh ahh ahh" sounds as you fucked like rabbits in heat. Mark bent his good leg up so he could get a better angle, hitting that spot that left you quivering. You tried to get out of his grip but remembered he's the hero here. "F-Fu... my g-god... y-you're so... w-warm... and... tight, shit!" He bit his lip hard; just feeling you was enough to make him cum, but he had to hold out. "Fuck!" He looked to see your blissed-out face. "God, you're so pretty like this," he breathed, nipping at your lips, trying to pull you into one of his very sloppy kisses, and it worked like a charm. You felt him grip your thigh, a sign that he was close, but at the same time he was moving, there was no way in hell he was pulling out or letting up on his pace. He moaned into your mouth, his cock twitching as he came inside you, thick hot ropes of cum painting your insides. "I-I really did like the suit," he choked out in between gasps, just for you to slap his chest; there was literally no suit left.

[luvvcharxo]

so in love with you - mark grayson headcanons

warnings: fluff, smut, NSFW CONTENT!! MINORS DNI. word count: 541 summary: boyfriend!mark x fem!reader headcanons. notes: hi so this is just some tired rambling from me because i have writers block so i cant write an actual fic. sorry, hope this feeds the mark lovers. yall, the suit stays on!!

boyfriend!mark who always makes sure to bring something for his girlfriend when he's late (as usual) to a date.

boyfriend!mark who tries his best to plan the dates, but secretly likes it when you take charge.

boyfriend!mark who has you saved as his wallpaper, a picture of you in his phonecase, and has a picture of the two of you as his pfp for EVERYTHING. no one can argue with the fact that that man loves you.

boyfriend!mark who always makes time to send you a 'good morning' and 'good night' text. it doesn't matter whether he's just been beaten up, or is about to be beaten up, he will always do his best to make time for you.

boyfriend!mark who likes to show his affection subtly, like when he does the sidewalk rule or when he holds your hand when he notices you feeling anxious. he's not opposed to PDA, too.

boyfriend!mark who feels happy when you show PDA, a big smile on his face if you give him a small kiss before going to work or school, or when you hold his hand when walking together.

boyfriend!mark who likes to remember little stuff about you, whether it be that one makeup product you wanted ages ago, or the name of your first pet. he'll even remember that one person you hated years ago and talked shit about to him.

boyfriend!mark who's too scared to initiate anything physical, worried you'll reject him (even though the two of you are literally dating).

boyfriend!mark who gets flustered during the first time you have sex, but eventually gets the hang of it.

boyfriend!mark who could live between your thighs and would be the happiest man alive, eating you out for the rest of yours (and his) life.

boyfriend!mark who worries whether he'll hurt you with his viltrumite strength, but you reassure him that you'll be fine. besides, you wouldn't mind getting crushed by those muscles anyway. it would be a nice way to die.

boyfriend!mark who stares at you for a moment when you stop him from removing his suit when you two are on your bed.

boyfriend!mark who's face turns bright red when you sheepishly ask him to keep the suit on, doing your best to prevent yourself from grinding against his hard length that you can already feel poking against your thigh.

boyfriend!mark who actually enjoys it (maybe a bit too much) when you sit in his supersuit-cladded lap, the friction between your lower halves making you let out a small whimper.

boyfriend!mark who's grateful for the fact that the suit is so tight, meaning he can still feel everything you do and how you feel.

boyfriend!mark who can feel your wetness seep through the fabric when you remove your pants.

boyfriend!mark who can't help but cum in his suit when you let out the most pornographic moan he's ever heard after rubbing against his hard-on.

boyfriend!mark who doesn't cares about the clean-up (that's a problem for future him to think about) and instead flips the two of you over, a smug smile on his face, ready for round two. maybe with the suit off, this time.

extra notes: hiii im so sorry if this isnt written well. im not used to writing sexual content, but i hope this is okay. love u guys, and reblogs are very welcome!! :3

⋆ MASTERLIST

[readingbunny44]

You're Dead Everywhere But Here │ Invincible Variants x Female! Reader x Mainstream Invincible │#4

#1, #2, #3, #4, #?

CW: ooc, violence, mild gore

WC: 8k

You tried to use the Invincible variant that was holding you as a stepping stool to give you a jumping leap, but he quickly acted as he grabbed a hold of the heel of your foot.

You yelped in surprise, not expecting a quick reaction as you slipped and fell downwards. Not wanting you to fall, he used his free arm to wrap around your leg to catch you.

You were now dangled upside down in the air, pressed against the variant's muscular body.

You grunted, straining your neck to lift your head away from Mask’s legs so you wouldn't be smothered against them. You pressed against his knees using your hands to create more distance from the lower part of his body, extremely displeased at this bad positioning.

"Wait, wait a minute!" He stumbled; his voice was close to a begging tone as he had a firm but soft grip on you. It was evident that Mask didn't want to hurt you, though you didn't care as you thrashed wildly against his hold, wanting nothing more than to get away from the man.

Trying to loosen the grip he had was strenuous with how this positioning actively worked against you, making it hard to get out of.

It felt like you were a fish caught by a hook—no matter how much you struggled his grip didn’t let up. Hell, it felt like the more you did the more he made sure to hold you even tighter.

"Fucking shit! —Let go of me!" You yelled through gritted teeth as you tried to look up as you kicked your legs wildly, though it was difficult to do so with how close your two bodies were.

"Just listen to me, I won't hurt you—I want to help you!"

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. "I am not finding out what your sick definition of help is!" You retorted, refusing to even play with the idea of hearing what this blue and black variant had to say.

It would be a very stupid and bad decision to spend one more second with this Invincible variant, especially with how "great" the previous interactions with the others were.

It was really absurd, incredibly ridiculous, and absolutely infuriated you to your core. Being caught off guard and captured, then thrown into a dingy prison basement, and then to top it all off being used as an asset against your will was already upsetting.

But it didn't just stop there—your supposed opponents that the G.D.A told you to fight were some deranged, mentally ill freaks that wanted nothing more to push their delusions onto you because they apparently had a relationship with—well, you?

When you went searching for Invincibles to kill and find the perfect murder method for your own Invincible, you were expecting a fight. A brutal, disastrous fight where you were crowned victorious in the end.

That’s how all fights go—how all fights should go. It was the basic formula known to man.

Instead, it was some big reunion where they all drooled over you like a bunch of slobbery dogs looking at their long-lost favorite toy.

You would’ve rather been beaten to death then ever go through that again!  

Each fiber of your being wanted to run away and come back with a flame thrower to kill each single one of them, exterminating their annoying asses to guarantee you’ll never see them again.

Especially that black and yellow degenerate.

"Okay, okay!" He panicked, "I can see how this looks but you have to trust me!" Mask desperately pleaded, a whine scratching at the back of his throat as you continued to fight against him. "I got you away from the others, they're way worse—"

"Oh!" You rolled your eyes, a scoff quick to escape your throat. "My hero, my hero! Thank you so much for rescuing me!"

You clasped your hands together, each word dripping in sarcasm. "Say, what do you want as your reward? Money?" You asked before pausing for dramatic effect. You let out a wild fake gasp. "Oh, of course not! Me, right?"

Mask was taken aback with that witty response, defensive words choking in his throat as his cheeks heated up underneath his black mask. "No! (Y/N)—No, I—that's not what's happening!"

You furrowed your brows, digging your fingernails in his knees. "Either way, I don't want to fucking know what is happening!" You replied, spitting out the curse word with venom.

You brought your head close to his leg, opening your jaw wide. You clamped your teeth down hard, making sure to make it hurt as much as it can. Your teeth sunk into his skin through the thin layer of spandex, the soft sensation yet sturdy muscle meeting your mouth.

The Invincible variant gasped in shock, not expecting the sharp sensation of your teeth to dig inside his leg. His grip loosened, allowing you to finally wiggle out of his grasp.

Even though his mind didn't know how to react to this, his body certainly did. His foot jerked to your face, and before you could raise your hand to block it his foot already contacted the top of your forehead.

It was immediate, and your head swung backwards from the kick.

It didn't take you long for you to hit the ground, the road splitting in half as you were smacked to the ground—rolling like an unstoppable boulder.

You crashed into a fire hydrant that stopped your momentum, but at a consequence of it busting open and water gushing out everywhere. The water sprayed on the ruined road, the cracked sidewalk, and onto you.

Your prison jumpsuit quickly became soaked with water from the broken fire hydrant, the loose fabric sticking to your skin making it hug your silhouette.

At first, Mask didn't realize what he had done—watching you crash into the fire hydrant not registering that he had been the one to be the cause. When he finally realized, he was fast to descend down.

"I'm, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to kick you like that, I don't even know why I—are you okay?!" He hurriedly rushed to your side, crouching as his eyes looked at your forehead that was forming a noticeable bump.

Water still escaped from the fire hydrant, but it turned into a light lawn spray as he looked at you.

Your eyes hazily opened, pushing yourself up using your elbows. You slapped a hand on your forehead, your brain feeling like it shifted with how hard the kick was. You winced, jumping at how there was already a bump forming.

The variant next to you was repeating apologies, reciting them like scriptures. You couldn't really pay attention, your blurry vision taking their time to adjust as your hearing made everything around you, particularly Mask's voice, sound like white noise.

"—let's get you somewhere safe," Mask hurriedly looked around before landing his eyes on you again, "someone might've heard that. We have to go." He spoke with urgency, placing a careful hand behind your back.

Your blurry vision quickly became clear, and hearing returned to your ears, your healing properties finally kicking in and fixing the damage that had been done to you. The bump that was rapidly swelling on your forehead also died down, returning to the same level as the rest of your skin.

You blinked, your eyes finally trailing to the Invincible variant.

He was too close for comfort, and you tensed as you felt the hand that was cupped on your back. Your gaze moved to his face, and his goggles were completely void of glass besides the small remnants that edged the outline.

His brown eyes were on full display, and they looked deeply into yours as if they were the only thing worth peering into. It was clear as day how much blind affection, softness, and worry filled those eyes.

It made your skin crawl to be viewed with so much tender emotions for so many reasons, one of them being that you knew it wasn't directed towards you. It was someone else who was a different version of you that got to experience another life than the one you have currently.

You felt like a second rate to some weaker version of you that died. A version of you that didn't even have powers.

Though you guess if you had to admit you were a speck jealous. Those versions of you probably had normal lives, normal hobbies, normal jobs—normal everything. Even if their life wasn’t that pretty, it probably was better than what your life was right now.

Although that small trace of jealousy disappeared as soon as you remembered they had the misfortune of dating Invincible. The Invincible variants were whack, crazy, and probably made their lives a living hell.

You grimaced and shrunk away as he reached a hand out to you, aiming to caress your forehead with his blue gloves. Your face contorted into a glare, your hand flying to secure his wrist and fling him behind you like he weighed nothing but a grain of salt.

Mask was flung inside an empty cafe, breaking through the brick wall and through the marble counter. A pot of cold coffee that was abandoned at the workstation during evacuation fell on his shoulder, pouring out and staining the side of his suit.

You pulled yourself up, the soaked clothing making you shiver uncomfortably. I need to change out of this.

You looked around to see where you were. Even though the surrounding buildings and structures were decimated and resembled more of an apocalypse than a functioning city—you thankfully were able to recognize what part of Chicago you were in.

You squinted, trying to jog your memory. You had made secret deserted spaces that people and the city itself forgot existed as hide outs, places for you to retreat and hide from whenever you were finished doing your routine destruction and "rough housing" with civilians.

That's how you were able to run and disappear so fast whenever superheroes tried to capture you during your "hobby". It was funny hearing them frustrated and angry when you slipped away, their muffled voices coming behind the entrance of one of your many hideouts whenever they walked past one.

At least, that's how it used to be. Other superheroes seemed to have moved on from you, the only super showing up to stop your reenactment of Godzilla movies on the city before being locked up behind bars was Invincible.

...

It was odd, honestly.

To totally toot your own horn, even though you were a regular menace and an everyday pain in the ass that everyone became "use" to—you were still that, a menace.

You knew that the secret organization sent any hero near your vicinity to deal with you before you could cause any more indirect casualties—but they seemed to have changed their mind one day and only sent Invincible.

Sure, he stopped you each time—but it must’ve not been efficient to send him every time with how quick you were to get to wrecking. There was no way he was the closest to you every single time with how you made sure to pick different spots to remain unpredictable.

If you didn't know any better, it felt like he called dibs on you.

You couldn’t help but think that because there were multiple times where he unknowingly stood near a concealed hideout you were in. It was easy to eavesdrop him conversing with himself, overhearing mutters and incoherent whispers.

His mutters were always along the lines of hoping you were okay, that you'd heal and recover quickly, that he hoped he made a good impression this time, and something about how he should stop running to you?

You got a slow, sinking feeling form into your stomach as you thought more about this world's Invincible.

He was always weird, treating you differently from other villains. You always chalked it up to be a potential hero complex, all superheroes having some mild form of it. That’s what you theorized, anyway.

Saving the city, saving civilians—it's inevitable that a shiny new hero thinks they can save a villain from the mess they are.

It wasn't the first time a super thought they could change you, "fix" you for the better. You always spat out a harsh refusal over and over again until they finally gave up. It was easy, just be an insensitive prick and they wished the kind words they spoke to you were punches instead.

Invincible was the longest, being stubborn about offering you redemption and friendship no matter how much you drilled it into him that you won't budge.

You literally beat it in him with each encounter, but he would show up once again with a smile whenever you were out and about.

You became used to seeing him, even with how annoyed you were each time. It became familiar to just randomly turn around and see him staring at you while you were punching holes inside a building, like a shadow waiting to be acknowledged.

However, he was still a good guy—at least, you think. Experiencing these different versions of him made your head wonder if he had more interest in you than he should have beyond just the potential hero complex and annoying moves for friendship.

It seemed like all his variants so far did, having some sort of romantic relationship with your counterparts. You didn't want to think it but—did your Invincible hold some sort of affection for you?

Of five variants of five realities, Invincible liked you in each one of them.

What's to say this reality was any different in that regard?

What's to say that he didn't view you more than a criminal?

What's to say that your Invincible wasn't like them?

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to snap out of your train of thoughts.

That just wouldn't make sense, Invincible viewing you in a romantic way. It just logically wouldn't. You treated him lower than dirt more times than you can count—he'd have to have his own form of delusion to form lovey dovey thoughts for you.

You had to hold out hope that your Invincible was a good, weird, but normal superhero. If the Invincible variants were searching for you—you needed help getting them off your back until this war blows over somehow.

"Don't fucking touch her!" You heard Mask shout, and you turned around to see what he was screaming at. As you did, you were met face to face with an Invincible variant that had sneaked up behind you. They wore a similar get up to your Invincible's suit, but they had washed out colors and bigger goggles.

Your eyes widen, looking behind the newly appeared variant to see Mask approaching fast with his arms out. You were fast to sidestep, the newly appeared variant getting pushed to the ground where you previously stood.

You heard someone land behind you, and you turned around in a defensive stance to see that another Invincible variant had shown up.

Before he could get the chance to say anything, you jumped at him—socking him in the jaw. Twisting on your heel, you used the small momentum to kick his side. The variant was kicked to the ground, the wind knocked out of him.

You jumped backwards, your back hitting someone else's. You looked over your shoulder to see that it was Mask, his fists raised ready to fight the variant he had roughly pushed aside.

Shifting your head to look at the sky. There were two more variants that were preparing to throw themselves at you, both having different versions of the yellow and blue Invincible suit that strayed far from the original.

You clicked your tongue, pressing your back further into Mask's as you knew if you fought them all by yourself, you'd be in deep shit. "If you're serious about helping me—then you'll help me get out of this alive. Then you'll fuck off and leave me alone."

"I can do the first one but..." His voice was muffled behind his mask, hesitance clear in his voice. His brown eyes flickered behind him, your hair in his view and the press of your back sending shivers down his spine.

Mask breath wavered, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from you to refocus on the Invincible variant that was picking themselves up from the floor.

"I won't do the second one. I'm sorry. I'm not leaving you."

Mark huffed, trying to fight off the exhaustion that was threatening to overtake his body. He didn't know how long he was fighting these evil versions of him, but it must've been less than an hour with how the sky didn't shift to a different hue at all.

They were doing a number on him and to each other with how they were all strained in some way. Ragged breathing, minute slower movements, and taking any opportunity to catch themselves before jumping back into the chaotic fight.

The only variants that didn't seem completely worn out were Viltrum and Sinister—but even then, the two seemed out of it like the rest of them were.

"Are you kidding me with this bullshit!" Mohawk Mark screeched, his snarky voice making every variant pause. "Why the fuck are you fighting us?" He pointed, hovering next to Omni-Mark whose red cape was half torn.

Mark jumped, not expecting everyone to collectively stop fighting to look at who Mohawk was pointing at—which was him.

They all took in Mohawk's words, being interested to know the answer to his question. Either that or they were taking advantage of the rare stillness.

"What, what do you think!" He stuttered out, his voice squeezing as his body became more agitated than it already was. Mark felt on edge, like each nerve of his body was exposed. "You all think that you can just kidnap (Y/N)! She doesn't belong to either of you!"

"She doesn't belong to you either." Omni pointed out, his eyes narrowing at Mark with haughtiness. "Please, remind me again, what relationship do you two have?" He quipped, tilting his head in amusement.

Mark felt a lump form in his throat, his whole body feeling like someone had just ripped off his skin. Being reminded that these evil versions of him had something that he didn't have was painful—like he was being punished.

To add more salt to the wound that the red and white variant had opened, Mohawk jumped at the opportunity to rub it in Mainstream Mark's face on what he didn't have and ever got to experience—you.

"She was my girlfriend—got together senior year of high school and continued dating when she went to college." He let out an airy laugh, gesturing at the lower part of his body with both hands. "Suck it."

Viltrum took the surprise pause of the fight to add in his own relationship with you, tone flat but lighthearted—an invisible smile on his lips. "She was my wife. I met her the first time I went to Earth on the rooftop of her apartment complex."

His eyes flickered to the punk-style Invincible, the mention of college making him remember something. "... It was after she dropped out."

Sinister laughed, a playful grin gracing his lips. "Pfft, those are stupid. My bunny was an inspiring journalist who wanted to bring me to 'justice'—oh, how it was practically destiny that she landed herself to be my plaything." His hands twitched, thinking back on the first time he met you.

A smug, almost shit eating grin danced on his lips. "I could tell it made her feel alive, even through her senseless wailing. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, that bitch enjoyed me as much as I enjoyed her."

Omni shook his head, waving his hand as if all the words that the others spoke were meaningless. "She was my pet, the only perfect thing that could be my wife.

His lip quirked upwards, recalling the first time he saw you. "It was a long process to domesticate her, but it was worth everything." He chuckled before his smile faltered, transitioning to a frown.

"Oh, and we had a child together." He shrugged his shoulders before continuing, speaking casually like it was nothing too extraordinary.

He seemed displeased to have remembered that fact, his expression turning sour. "Shame there wasn't much use for it. Got in my way more than being convenient."

Mark choked on nothing when he heard that, his soul feeling like it got kicked out of his body as he tried to recover from the shock.

He burned his stare in the variant that resembled the suit his father once wore like he had just grown two heads.

"Child? —Child?!" He screamed, shaking his head as his mind was swirling with all this information that hit him at once.

Viltrum huffed hearing that, avoiding looking at Omni. "(Y/N) and I would've produced a child eventually." He murmured, defending himself like it was some sort of competition to who hit more milestones with you.

"Ugh, that's pointless! Why have a child?" Sinister rolled his eyes, thinking that it was absolutely absurd that his counterparts would think of having an offspring. His posture was relaxed as he voiced his thoughts. "Her body should only be available to me, not something else."

He hummed, as if agreeing with Sinister, "It was a good enrichment for a while, then the thing got annoying." Omni explained. "Didn't want to keep it around anymore."

"Anymore? The fuck that's supposed to mean?" Mohawk questioned, both hands settled on his hips. With how he phrased it, he didn't think it was farfetched to assume that his counterpart did something horrible to the child.

Omni-Mark stayed silent, not responding as he crossed his arms. That earned a raised brow from Mohawk, suspicion surfacing through his sharp features.

Mark finally snapped out of his shell shock, interrupting the variants' small conversation. "Fine, maybe I don't have a relationship with her like you guys had." He began reasoning, his eyes blinking fast behind his lens.

"But that doesn't mean I don't care about her, that doesn't mean I don't want her just as much as you all do—probably even more!" He gestured, shaking his head frantically as he raised the volume of his voice the more he continued his speech.

"I want to be close to her, I want her to be mine, I want her to..." His voice died down, closing his eyes before opening them again, "to feel for me like I do for her." Mark confessed in a hushed tone.

The words escaped from him faster than he could think of them. "I like her." He admitted, the complicated feelings that he had dealt with for so long surfacing brightly without being pushed down into the void of denial.

It was like a wave of clarity washed over him, crashing down on him so unexpectedly.

The first time he saw you, intense feelings bubbled up in him that he never experienced before. It only became worse the more he saw you, being consumed with the feelings that overtook his thoughts.

Mark Grayson began secretly begging the world to let him hear that you're out there so he can chase after you—the light at the end of the tunnel that only shows itself every once in a while.

Whenever he was with you, it was like his whole body was alive. He never felt like he ever truly lived before meeting you, each part of him waking up as soon as your presence basked his soul and body like sunlight.

It didn't make sense, there was no rhyme or reason why he felt this way. It was so wrong, but so endearingly right.

It felt so right just to be near you, look at you with so much affection and adoration that it was unmeasurable.

He drowned in thoughts about you that hijacked his mental space, each nook and cranny of his mind tied to you somehow. Each time he resisted and pulled away; he rushed back in with a tighter grip than before.

This pull never happened with Amber, his first girlfriend and the first person he'd ever been intimate with. As well as confess his superhero identity.

He liked her—loved her, cared for her and had feelings for her, but it wasn't the same. She just wasn't you.

Amber didn’t make him feel like his whole life purpose was fulfilled by just watching you do whatever, tracking your movements like he was writing them down in the folds of his brain. The physical contact he received from you, mostly violently, didn’t cause his body to soak up each centimeter of it like it was starved for it.

That subconsciously seeped into their relationship. He put so many things above Amber, missing so many places that she wanted him to be present because he was her boyfriend. He put their relationship on pause countless times to be a superhero, saving the world and saving lives—it was hard to drop it for her.

Though it came easy when it was for you, not for Amber.

Then there was Eve. She was a great person, helping Mark to understand what it truly was to be a superhero. She was there by his side and understood the hardships that the world relentlessly threw at him, giving him an open shoulder to talk about his problems.

It made sense their natural friendship blended into something more. She pulled him in—but not in the same way.

Eve didn't compare to you, not even close. Mark wanted her to, grounding himself and swallowing down this claim that she was the one—his girlfriend, his everything, his.

Everything else came secondary when it came to Eve. That was until he heard you were out there again instead of safely locked away, and suddenly it became easy to leave Eve behind when he was so adamant about staying with her.

He was so immersed in so many things and with Eve that when you were in that cell made by the G.D.A, his mind didn't wander to you so frequently anymore.

Mark didn't have to worry about the next time he'll see you again, always constantly on his feet ready to fly over to you.

Mark didn't have to worry about whether the last time he saw you was the final one, paranoid that you'll suddenly disappear without a trace, the chance to earn a mutual connection with you completely gone.

Mark didn't have to worry because he knew where you were and knew you were okay, safe, alive, and waiting. When things slowed down, he planned to visit you and show you that it was okay to give him a chance.

He wanted—no, he needed to earn your trust, earn your interest. That he could change your mind about rejecting him, even if it meant being a broken record that was on repeat.

Since, in truth, he wanted you to be his from the start.

It was unreasonable, illogical, but it felt more right than wrong. It was stupid, fucking pathetic even just like how Cecil said—but Mark couldn't help it. He tried to deny it for so long, but he couldn't anymore. It was impossible to.

It was love at first sight with you, and he wasn't going to let you get taken away. Mark wanted you to be his, and he'd push everything and everyone aside to get that opportunity.

He raised his voice again, stern and firm. "And I'm not going to let any of you take her just because you all failed at your chance. You don't get to have do overs with my (Y/N)."

"Aw, cute!" Mohawk mocked, lifting a hand to form a mouth puppet. "Practiced that speech of yours with good ol' buddy right hand?" He let out a forced coo, turning his mouth puppet into a circle—going up and down in a slow motion.

That earned a hearty chuckle from Sinister, but not Viltrum or Omni. It also didn't get a peep out of Mask either, not a single word coming from the masked Invincible variant.

"You almost sound as corny as—" He whipped his head around, searching for Mask who seemed to be not present. His mischievous grin dropped, and the others followed suit in looking around to spot the missing variant.

There were supposed to be five among them, yet there were only four. The yellow and black variant's relaxed posture disappeared as soon as the absence of one of them was brought to his attention, spinning around to confirm that the other's presence was truly not there.

"Jesus, where the fuck is the other one." Sinister growled, snapping his head to the direction of your body. He zoomed past, the others lagging behind to search for your unconscious body.

Mark drifted behind, his heart leaping to his throat.

The place where you were supposed to be—empty. Dried blood and the broken metal fragments of the collar were the only things there, greeting their eyes.

It didn't take a genius to piece together what happened, and it enraged Sinister how foolishly easy it was to sneak off with you.

Sinister fists clenched, screeching at the top of his lungs at a random direction. "You're dead!" His growly voice carried out, dragging his words across the distance.

Viltrum's hand grabbed a hold of the end of Omni's cape, draping it over his neck and pulling it towards him tightly. "Where did he take her." He spat out, eyes darkening as he tugged at the red cape he was using to strangle the variant.

Omni had quickly dug his fingers in between the space of the cape and neck, ensuring that he wouldn't be asphyxiated. "Your guess is as good as mine." He grunted, bringing his head forward before swinging it backwards—smacking Viltrum's face.

The white uniformed variant let go of his hold, and Omni-Mark whipped around to punch him in the chest, knocking him a few inches away.

"There goes the 'alliance!' Not that it was going to last long anyway. Ugh! He could be anywhere in this shithole." Mohawk grumbled; displeasure written on his face with how a deep frown embedded itself on his lips.

Suddenly, all the variants had something thrown at them, pushing them to the ground. A large wall from the collapsed building nearby was on top of them, the heavy weight grounding and crushing them.

Mark floated above them, having gone and grabbed a fallen chunk of a structure to pin them down. It wasn't going to delay them by much, but it gave him a running head start.

Each second counted to go searching for you and find the Invincible variant that stole you from right under his nose.

He propelled himself forward, flying in a random direction. His hair was pushed back as the wind howled against him; his forehead furrowed. Mark brought his hand to his ear, holding the earpiece that Cecil had given him.

"Donald? Donald are you there?" He asked while looking down, flying above structures. The city had been bulldozed by his evil counterparts, making it look more like a salvage yard rather than an international hub.

"-Uh, yes. I've—I've been here the entire time." Donald jumped, clearing his throat. He was surprised at being suddenly addressed, having been silent this entire time.

He had been observing safely at headquarters, watching through the screen. While the cameras themselves didn't have audio, Mark, having an earpiece, allowed him to finally listen to something.

Donald had been overhearing this entire time, and he had begun to think that the superhero had forgotten he was there. He felt out of place, and he couldn’t possibly interrupt him to remind Mark of his presence. He was saying vulnerable things that seemed rude to cutoff.

"Can you try and find (Y/N)?" Mark queried, scanning the streets below him for any sign of you.

He could care less that Donald may have overheard everything he said—it didn't matter. The time was ticking, and he was not going to leave you alone with your kidnapper nor let some other Invincible find you first.

"Mark I-" Donald shook his head, beginning to speak before being brashly interrupted.

"I don't give a shit what you have to say Donald! Just tell me if you can try and find her or not!" He snapped, his question shifting more into a demand.

Each letter of his words was as sharp as a blade, coming out of the blue which shocked the older man.

A static silence overcame the intercom, and Mark back tracked on his words. He didn't mean for it to come out so harsh. "I'm—I'm sorry Donald that's not what I meant. I didn't mean to-" He sucked in an unleveled breath, "Can you try and find her? Please?"

"... Sure thing, Mark."

You hissed, pulling your hand out of the esophagus that you had forcefully slid your hand into. You ripped the tube out, throwing it aside as the Invincible variant fell on his knees—clawing at the gaping hole in his neck.

The blood gushed out like a geyser as you took a step back, your chest rising and releasing a huff.

Your hair was a mess, tangled and mangled together from fighting the Invincible variants that tried their hardest to take you down and submit to them. They were relentless, and you were grateful that Mask mitigated the fight—doing his part and killing two eviler versions of himself.

You looked over to Mask, the variant lunging a rusty metal bar that he got from a hanging sign inside the chest cavity of his opponent. It hit straight to his pumping heart, a gritted gasp escaping their throat before the light in their eyes disappeared.

Small muscle memory jerks remained, but it died down as Mask dug the metal bar harder—twisting it for good measure. He then pulled it out effortlessly, a string of thick blood and cartilage following as he threw it aside.

Comparing yourself to him, you probably looked like absolute shit. There was hardly any blood on him, the only liquid there being was the dried coffee stain and the damp areas of his suit from the fire hydrant.

You, on the other hand, were covered in sticky blood. Your neck was painted in a deep shade of red, it dripped down from your neck to the collar of your prison uniform. It looked like a badly botched tie dye job, minus the metallic smell that made your skin crawl.

The tips of your hair were dipped in the liquid of death as well, the affected hair forming clumps at the end and hardening.

You hated killing—not because of a moral compass, merely because of the smell that made your stomach feel absolutely sick. You could never avoid making a huge mess, so your face was always met with the waft of blood exposed to oxygen.

You breathed heavily as you blinked to look around. All four variants who tried to jump you and Mask were dead, the one you just killed on the ground—the blood gushing out of his throat formed a puddle.

You swallowed, putting your hands on your knees to catch a breath. The odor of blood seeped into your nostrils, and you gagged as your stomach was not taking too kindly to that smell. It felt like you were going to throw up with how it twisted and swished.

“Do you feel sick?” Mask softly asked, hopping off the variant he had just shoved a rod through their chest.

He surveyed the slaughter you both caused, mentally noting the splattered blood along the concrete. “It’s because of the blood, isn’t it?”

You gagged once again, bringing a hand to pinch the tip of your nose. “Kind of.” You replied bluntly, not elaborating more on it.

“The odor I’m guessing?” He continued, and you gave him a funny glance. Mask rushed to explain, “In my world, you also hated the smell of blood. It always made you feel nauseous—I got good at not getting too much on me because of that." He laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

"Ding ding ding." You clapped lazily. "Never been a fan of it. It makes me want to projectile vomit everywhere."

"You did one time. It was on me though." He joked, but not really. It did actually happen when he rushed to the hospital after a fight because he promised to visit you at a specific time.

Mask had forgotten to change out of his blood-soaked suit with how panicked he was to arrive on time. The moment he appeared by your side from entering the window, the metallic smell hit your nose, and you puked all over him without sparing a second to register to face somewhere else.

"I won't do the second one. I'm sorry. I'm not leaving you."

Mask's words echoed in your mind, and you mentally rolled your eyes at the reminder. The only reason why he wanted to stick around was because he wanted to project the variant version of you onto you—all of the variants did.

It was annoying. However, with how more docile and suppressed he was compared to the others, you had the chance to break this illusion of his. It wasn't the first time you've successfully pushed someone away.

You bit your tongue, feeling a dry laugh threatening to escape. "Guess all I did there was be sick and puke on you. Very romantic." You sarcastically responded, looking over to see how the masked variant would react to what you're going to say. "With how weak she was, she should've died sooner."

"..."

"Honestly, she managed to pull the short stick of our childhood." You bitterly mentioned, a small flashback to your childhood played in your mind. "If whatever illness I had didn't take me immediately, I would’ve just done it myself. That would've been the best option."

"..."

"Not only was she weak, but she was also stupid too apparently." You added, continuing to watch how he'd react to your words. His eyes were boring into yours, and you didn't peel away from them as you simply glared.

You were ready to dodge anything he threw at you or came at you with, expectantly waiting to move your legs to dodge an incoming fist.

A second passed, then another, then another.

“... Haha!” He suddenly burst into a small fit of giggles, raising a hand to cover his mouth. Startled, you flinched, your eyes turning wide at this unexpected reaction. You couldn’t gauge if this was some kind of ploy to catch you off guard so he can hit you by surprise, but the more he laughed the more confused you got.

“Is something wrong with you?” You asked annoyed, not understanding why he was laughing. His giggles were dying down, and he brought his hand back down to his side. “You found that funny?” He shook his head frantically, taking a few steps towards you.

“No, no. I just—even though your different from my world you’re still the same.”

You scoffed, taking his statement as a lie. “Bullshit.”

“No, you are! When we first met,” Mask took your hand, cupping it into his. You jumped, but didn’t pull away as you were curious to what he had to say. “You said something so similar about yourself. Looking back on it, you were trying to drive me away.”

He sighed, “You thought that if you pushed out all the worst traits of yourself, no one would want to stick around.” he said in a low voice, almost recalling it in a fond. His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, as if trying to soothe a wild animal.

The smooth texture of his gloves sent goosebumps down your spine, causing you to tense. I’m not listening to this. You thought, but his gaze held your body firmly into place, like a nail driven in wood.

"You were wrong, though," he whispered. "It just made me stay longer."

Your breath hitched, your heart squeezing at those words.

You yanked your hand back instinctively, your heart hammering against your ribs in an uneven rhythm. "Don't say shit like that," you snapped, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence. "You don't know me."

“I do.”

“No, you don’t!” You screamed, shaking your head. You stepped away from him, needing the distance like air in your lungs, "I'm not the same as her, I’m different," you muttered, your voice quieter, heavier now. "I'm stronger, I’m powerful—I’m worse."

He tilted his head, the smile slipping away from his face, replaced by something that looked almost like sadness. Not that you could tell with the mask that covered it, but his eyes expressed it. "Maybe you are," he agreed after a moment. "But I’m happy to learn.”

Shut up.

“I love each part of you, even the worse ones."

You stood there frozen, caught between cursing at him and lunging at him—but you did neither. You just stared at him, words caught in your throat and your hands flexing not knowing what to do.

Finally, you turned on your heel, going to the direction of the nearest hideout you owned. “Come on, we need to go.” You called out, walking without checking to see if he was following.

“We?” He repeated, hope filled in his voice as he quickly trailed behind you. Not bringing attention to the fact you dismissed everything he had just said, not bothered by it.

“Don’t misunderstand anything! This is momentary. I’m tired, exhausted, and clearly can’t think straight with how I’m even letting you tag along!” You grumbled; eyes stuck stared ahead. “You’re protecting me from whatever lunatic of an Invincible we come across.”

“I—”

“And don’t talk.” You whipped around, causing him to halt in his steps. “It lessens the chances of you saying stupid crap,” you hissed, referencing his whole cringe speech, “oh and, ten steps back when you’re walking with me—I don’t want you humping my leg.”

“Got it!” He happily chirped, overjoyed just to see you were allowing him to be with you without telling him to fuck off.

“Ughhh, shut up!” You swiveled back around, walking in a faster pace than before. You heard him begin walking at the distance you commanded him to follow, and you dug your nails in the palm of your hand.

This was stupid—you were going back on your word about how bad it was to spend one more second with this variant, yet here you were letting him follow you to your hideout. You wanted to pull your hair out with how you should be telling him to screw himself and to get lost, but you bit your tongue as you merely continued strolling.

Even worse, your cheeks were a tad warm. You hated what he said seemed to affect you. You tried to ignore how your heart was softly rattling against your chest, taking deep inhales and exhales to calm it.

Maybe the forced proximity of being near crazy variants were beginning to rub off their lunacy onto you, making your headspace cloudy.

At least it was only down to one.

An Invincible was standing on the roof of a building, peering down the alleyway that you and Mask were walking in.

He wore an exact replica of this world’s Invincible suit; the one small difference was the fact his gloves were blue at the end of his knuckles. The male also didn’t have the mask on, blood scattered on his face and chest.

His eyes were downcast, his hand over the other, holding it as he stared at you.

It was a way to self-soothe himself, no longer having his favorite person in the whole world to hold his hand anymore. His heart ached at that, breaking more than it already was.

His eyes burned thinking back on how his partner was forever gone—he’ll never see that handsome face ever again, the witty personality, and the easygoing jokes that always made him feel better.

The Invincible would’ve started crying if he hadn’t already squeezed out each tear already. He didn’t think he’d be able to produce any more with how hollow he felt, completely dried out.

He continued to watch intently, having witnessed the brutality you caused minutes prior. He didn’t mean to come across the scene, having been just wandering around aimlessly after doing the orders that Angstrom had instructed him and many others to do.

The variant had stayed silent, watching from a safe distance. He hadn’t expected to find you here, but he supposed it made sense.

The Invincible had been preoccupied thinking about his special one that his mind didn’t think to remind him about you until now.

You were special too. A good, dear friend. You were the second person to truly understand him and be by his side through everything. Accepting who he was and supporting him.

Guilt and grief swelled in his chest as he found himself hovering to you just a few feet away. You were completely unaware of the presence that was stalking you as you silently fumed at the predicament you were in.

Finding you made the emotional weariness drag him down further, like weights were placed upon his chest.

Seeing you made him think of—

“... I miss William...” He croaked out, his voice sounding like it hadn’t been used for such a long time. He whispered out the name William like it was something sacred, holding the name of his dead lover with so much tenderness.

William was his boyfriend and his first best friend, the person he cared so deeply about more than himself.

You were his second best friend, the only other person in his life that he relied on. The three of you were a great trio that protected each other, being brought together by the wonderous work of his late boyfriend.

You died while trying to protect Wiliam, Nolan determined to kill the boy Mark was in love with—saying that having a big of a distraction as William would only hinder him from doing what his life’s purpose was.

There was only so much that you can do against a viltrumite while having the capabilities of being human. You were completely butchered, the overkill that Nolan did was unfathomable. William’s death was less severe, you stood between him and the painful ending he would’ve originally received.

He lost the two most important people in his life that day, dying next to each other.

All three of you promised to be together in the future, live in the same neighborhood so that every day whenever you and William wanted, you’ll all get together and hangout. Him and William would live in a cozy house just for the two of him, and you would be the next-door neighbor with the key to let yourself in anytime.

That’s what you three had promised—before Nolan ripped and tore that promise apart like it meant nothing.

Maskless Mark eyes shifted to the variant that had his face completely covered, squinting his eyes. He was too late to protect you and William, but he wasn’t going to repeat that same mistake with this dimension’s version of you.

William would’ve wanted him to protect you too—protect you from a stranger. He could practically hear his boyfriend’s nagging voice on how he shouldn’t leave (Y/N) alone with a guy, talking about how creeps would take any opportunity to snatch you away simply because you were a beautiful girl.

He would say that you didn’t have the privilege like him and Mark did to just wander around because of the absence of a dick in your pants.

His body was suddenly energized, pacing closer behind you both above the tall buildings. For the first time since the death of you and William, he felt something other than sadness and grief. He felt happy.

It was... nice to be reunited with a friend.  

yawns me when I have to write plot progression🥱🥱

I blinked and suddenly two weeks passed 💀 I ain’t going to get into this habit trust 🤞🏽

UHH BUT BEING FR I LOST TRACK OF TIME MY BAD YALL… feel embarrassed LOL posting this with my eyes closed idc 💔

anyway we ALL CRACKING WILLIAM

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