#mohawk invincible

[byte-babe]

“do you like my easter outfit?”

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

Conquest is curious about you. It's hard to tell if you're breaking up if you're not really together. Enemies wait cloaked in the stars.

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

Yeah we got hit by the fanfic author curse and got scammed out of a thousand dollars but-? We are so back, lets suck some cock.

[Part one] [Ao3] [28] [Chapter Index]

[Header from my wife whose art you should look at]

29 *  As Friends [13.6k] 

"Telling me you can't do this While your tongue's in my mouth If you don't want it, please, could you just spit it out?"

Spit - Slutever

        Being nine-thousand-three-hundred-seventy-two years old meant a lot of things. One Conquest was one old bastard, creaky in his bones. Two, he killed billions of beings in his lifetime and committed every one of those deaths to memory the best he could. They gave him their fight, their fire and hope and he squashed it out. The least he could do was remember to hold their struggles close. 

        You hadn't been his kill, but he remembered you just fine. The child-emperor's side piece that he dragged around like a stuffed teddy bear. Conquest thought it was cute, really. Good that the boy had a companion, didn't spiral the way Conquest had for thousands of years in the lonely void of the empire. You yourself, had been near inconsequential, a pet that bit and had to be put down.

        Conquest thought Mark was a good emperor. Better than Nolan had been, more thirsty for expansion, which meant Conquest got to throw himself more into his work, got to kill away the loneliness that always came back. He got to train the boy king himself in the spots of peace in between. Over the years, he'd begun to know what a friend could be. But at one point, Mark understood him better than anybody else ever had.

        Right after you died, Mark had no one else. Lashed out at the council. Killed indiscriminately. Spiraled. 

        Mark knew he needed people to pull himself back up from the pit he'd fallen into, but he couldn't go to the council. They were old, stuck in their ways, would talk bad about you if he talked about you. Conquest was old, but not stuck. He listened while he and Mark slaughtered entire populations. Finally felt a connection of real understanding between himself and another Viltrumite and that made him want to fight all the harder for the empire.

        Yet here you were, back from the dead. Could humans do that?

        Conquest should have been annoyed, but he wasn't like the council. He didn't know how you were back, but Mark held his shoulders higher. He hadn't been in contact with the empire in over a year, but he kept his earpiece in. He'd always hated the monotony of the empire. The endless reports and research that needed to be done before anything interesting could happen, Conquest was a man of action. Mark or Kregg pointed him in a direction and he attacked. Restless as a rabid dog until the job was done. Until there was no one left. He had a habit of getting sidetracked, going off on his own for months or years at time. He thought the empire moved too slowly so he took matters into his own hands more often than not. Mostly good things came out of it, sometimes bad. This time when he left, he didn't imagine the emperor wouldn't come back. It was supposed to be a quick mission, a side project Kregg hated. Conquest was secretly happy to hear Mark defy him as he destroyed a small planet that would never be suitable for invasion. He expected to hear the boy's voice a few days later, maybe a few months. He heard nothing but Kregg.

        He'd heard all the moves the empire had made since Mark went missing. Bad ones. So he stayed out in space trying to patch things up through more killing until finally, some good news came in. Lots, all at once, with the emperor's return with seven more in tow. Along with you. You being back meant Mark was motivated the way Conquest was- and really love was a beautiful thing. 

        He smiled down at you with all his crooked, yellow teeth. Thought he looked charming when really he looked rabid. White suit coated in months of muck and dripping with fresh blue blood. "Been awhile, little man."

        Mark's grin mirrored the wildness of the old man's, "Too long you ancient murderous fuck." He slid off you and hovered up to meet his eye. Next to the man, he looked like a doll. "Lemme guess, the missing Ferroids are your doin'?" 

        The man opened his palms, both blue. Beneath the mess, one of his arms glinted gold in the light. Chunky and mechanical, an older model than Phantom's prosthetics. "Guilty as charged. Heard you were heading over here, came to have a looksie. Found that base we built destroyed so I returned the favor."

        Mark put his hands on his hips, frowning, "Before we got here, bro? Some'a them could'a known somethin'."

        You swore you were about to witness a murder with how they were looking at each other. Tension crackling between them, both their muscles bunched and ready under their suits. The man didn't lunge, instead his bushy mustache fell with his frown, "I may have gone a little overboard, I'll admit. You know how I get with the squishy ones."

        Mark laughed, "I'd expect nothing less."

        Gray's voice crackled in Mark's ear piece, "Are you available to speak with the leader of the Gainoy's? They'd like to know more specifics about Ferr as to best prepare their men."

        Mark put a finger to his ear, "Be right over." He let his arm drop as he landed next to you, "Let's continue this on the ship, yeah? Mostly after you've been through the blaster. Love ya, but you smell like piss."

        ***

        The flight back was quick. Mark and the newcomer chatted back and forth while you watched Ferr grow further and further away. Your trip outside the ship cut short. You hadn't realized how much you'd come to loathe the ship's cold interior until you were back inside it. All inorganic shapes and shiny metal, whereas the buildings of Ferr were like massive vases, wizard towers out of a book. 

        Mark set you down inside the landing dock where Gray waited by the door, head down and tapping away at a data pad. "I told the Gainoy leader you'd be available to talk in-" He looked up and paused. A few yards away stood his mentor, still old, still a dirty bastard, but laughing alongside Mark. Gray had seen Conquest smile and laugh, but it was never genuine. Always an animistic sneer or mocking chuckle, never a grin of real friendship or an earnest guffaw, but there it was. Alien on his hard-featured face, cut with the same old scar.

        Mark pointed at Gray who looked like he'd seen a ghost. "That's one'a the ones I was tellin' you about. You were raised on Viltrum, right man?"

        Gray's throat was suddenly bone dry. He nodded stiffly. "Yes."

        Conquest's brows shot up, "Oh? Think he's stronger than you, then?"

        Mark elbowed Conquest in the ribs. If Gray so much as let his guard down a fraction around Conquest, he'd crack Gray's skull, almost kill him to teach him better, but there Mark was, acting chummy, shoulders relaxed. Adding to his disbelief was you, close enough to kill in an instant if Conquest wanted to. Gray hovered further into the hanger, closer to you. 

        Conquest watched him curious as a cat, of course picking up his intention to get between the two of you, "Sure got the same weaknesses. Tell me, boy, how did you find another human that looks so much like your old pet? Or is this one his?" Mark filled him in on quite a bit on the way over but not that particular detail. Conquest didn't remember much about humans, if they could sustain major injuries and live or if all humans simply looked the same. 

        "Right, I was just gettin' to that part." He'd mostly got lost in the trapped in the desert bit, not why he'd left in the first place- for you. "Really, the whole thing is a long as fuck story I'll tell ya another time but short version is, same bitch, different dimension like that guy right there." 

        Gray was nearly shoulder to shoulder with you now, you'd wandered closer to him, further from Mark and Conquest, but not fast enough for you to know what Conquest was. He was debating on whether to zip you out of the room, not liking how Conquest was looking at you. The Conquest he knew killed anything that looked mildly afraid of him and right now, you looked well, not great. Shaken but hiding it in the way you had since he met this version of you.  

        You only dug your grave deeper by saying over your shoulder, "Do you really have to call me a bitch all the time?"

        Conquest rose a brow, "This one's got a tongue the other didn't. Only heard her talk a few times." He hovered closer, but kept a distance as he hovered around you. You didn't move, you'd been sized up by Machine Head's men in a similar way, averting your gaze normally made them back off. You'd made a mistake responding to Mark, but he got under your skin more than your boss had. Gray took the opposite approach, body always turning to keep watch on him. His Conquest thought you were a waste of time and space. Suggested he impregnate you right away, then force you into one of their healing tubes to keep you alive long enough to deliver his child. 

        Mark stayed back, watching with an easy expression when Gray thought he should be panicking. "That she does."

        With every revolution around you, Conquest grew closer like a marble circling a drain. "Not shaking like the other one did 'round me..." He said so close you could smell his stale breath. Gray moved around you like a wall. "Maybe that's cuz the boy's actin' like a shield." He reached out quick for Gray, who dodged, and was captured by his fleshy arm as it shot out viper-quick, and flung him away by the shoulder. It happened in a moment, one moment Gray was there the next he wasn't. Conquest leaned hard into your personal space, let you see the shine of his one milky blind eye, "Let's see how brave you are like this."

        Gray spun and shot back toward you but Mark made him, "Stop," with a hand clasped hard around his ankle. He turned, protestations on his tongue but he saw Mark's face- hard set, oozing an emperor's authority. Gray didn't untense but stopped pulling toward you. Mark let his leg drop, the both of them watching as you stood your ground eye to eye with Conquest.

        After so many years of being surrounded by death, the fear started to blend together at the edges. What was so different between bullet wounds, stabbings, poisonings, thousand-something-year-old homicidal maniacs- they'd all kill you in the end. All of them hurt. You'd been around death and people threatening it so much, it felt almost nostalgic, a sick sort of familiarity that settled in your bones. You were scared, Conquest could hear your heart, yet you stood your place. Used to the hierarchy in Machine Head's gang, when the bigger fish were talking- you sat down, shut up, didn't move a muscle. If you did things as you had been, it probably wouldn't happen.

        "Huh... You really are different." Conquest rolled back, standing at his full imposing height where his balding head almost touched the ceiling. 

        "Gotta thank the powers for that," Mark said with pride swirling in his chest. Conquest had been fine with you before, but an approval now felt like a priest's blessing. He could hear the wedding bells.

        "Powers, hm? Strong ones?" His eyes scrunched up. 

        "Strong enough I had to... temporarily disable them." He was talking about you like a prize goat at a farm show.

        Conquest was only more intrigued, "Mind turnin' 'em off so I can see for myself?"        

        Gray opened his mouth to object. You beat him to it, "Or why not just take the collar off entirely?"

        "So spirited!" Conquest said, "Really boy, you must let me-" Mark held up a hand and Conquest shut right up. Gray held his jaw from falling open. Never in his years had Conquest listened to a damn thing he said.

        "We both know you'd get overexcited and kill her."

        Conquest nodded with a small smile, "You got me there."

        "A showcase another time." Mark gave you a significant look. Could he be considering taking the collar off? You hadn't slipped up yet, had been amicable enough, surely he had to think you'd learned your lesson. "But right now? The only person you should think about sparring with is me." 

        Conquest turned away from you entirely, lunged at Mark like a puma from the brush. Mark cackled, waiting for the tackle with open arms that sent them both bouncing to the floor and nearly out of the automatically opening airlock entirely. Good thing you kept the space suit on. They righted themselves, arms caged around each other, growling back and forth as their muscles bunched and veins popped. 

        You watched, confused while Gray hovered over to you, horrified at what he was seeing. Conquest was... hugging him? He placed a hand on your shoulder asking silently if you were okay. The both of you had trouble looking away from the strange scene but you made eye contact for a moment to say, "I'm okay."

        "Good to see you ain't weaker, boy." Conquest grunted, though his lungs were collapsing under Mark's grip, "Not much stronger either. Gotta work on that."

        "Being trapped in a desert can do that to ya." Mark gave one final attempt to crush his spine but Conquest only laughed, "I'll be back at ass kickin' levels soon enough."

        Their arms slid away and they hovered apart. "Really though man, you smell like actual piss. Hit the wash before I kick you off the ship."

        A laugh bubbled up from Conquest's belly, full and ear-cracking. "Fine, fine, I see how it is."

       Gray was sent away not long after Conquest left to find the nearest atom-blasting wash chamber. Nowhere near as nice as a human style shower, but much more effective. Plus, the man needed some good eats and sleep. Gray however, wasn't sure he could sleep again after seeing you and Conquest so close to each other. Felt helpless once again to the whims of the Emperor as he left. 

        Mark told him to keep the Gainoy's waiting awhile longer, to continue his work in the control room so Mark could be alone with you. Not how Mark phrased it, but Gray understood well enough. 

        "You did good out there," Mark said, arm wrapped casually around your waist. 

        "That guy looked like he wanted to kill me." You shifted, waiting for him to take the cue and lift his arm, but he didn't.

        "Conquest wants to kill everybody. He won't mess with you after I said no, unlike the rest of the council- that guy actually respects me."

        The look you gave him was less than ecstatic at that news. "Really, he's a good guy. One of the best in the empire, don't let the old man's porn stache get to you. Least he likes you, can't say the rest of the council feels the same, but that doesn't matter- you were awesome."

        You'd had your suspicions but it didn't feel great to have them confirmed. "I said one thing."

        Mark pressed you close to his side, "Yeah, instead of nothing or breaking down like..." 

        You imagined her in your place. Sniveling and weeping for the dead like a good person would. Fighting with Mark the second they got back, shoving him off, but you just stood here. Felt yourself lean into him despite the collar's weight. 

        "I'm used to it." You explained, "Meetings with Machine Head were always like that."

        "Well, tch- This meeting held a lot more weight than anything you did with that douchebag." 

        Mark looked down when you didn't respond. Saw the impassive look on your face. Shit. He was making things worse. "Look babe, I'm never gonna make you kill people if you don't wanna. All I want is you by my side. You don't even have to say anything next time. Just thought it'd be good for you to understand what it's like to be more. I know I act super hot and cool all the time, but it's stressful."

        Again you didn't respond, just nodded when he finished talking. Machine Head's automated voice echoing in your head.

        "Loose another target, you loose a hand, got it?" The first missions on the streets always went bad. Machine Head could be lenient, but not three escapes lenient. He didn't give a shit you were eighteen and piss scared- he wanted those fuckers dead.

        "I- I use my hands with my powers, sir." You hadn't learned not to talk back, that even if you spoke softly and logically he'd punish you like you'd called him stupid. You would learn in the coming months with pay cuts that left you restless and threats to your cat or kneecaps.

        Pale fists slammed down on Italian maple. "You think I give a shit? Get out of my office and kill that guy before I take both your hands. Fucking kids these days, 'boohoo I don't wanna lose my hands' grow up."

        Compared to everyone else your age, you were grown up. But you had to be better to survive, so you put your head down, spoke when spoken to. These last few months you'd spoken more than you had the last year. Felt yourself come out of that hard concrete shell you built around yourself and just like that- it was back. You were back in that high rise.

        "Babe?"

        Except you weren't. You had more than you ever had. Food, power, friends, if you could even call them that. Fucked as the collar was, you supposed Mark had his reasons, you were a dog trained to bite and he was trying to train that instinct out of you. Shitty, sure, but it showed how good things were now. You were safe-ish. The only real danger to you was yourself.

         "As long as you don't hurt me like he did, I don't care what happens." It was true in a way you hadn't considered until this moment. Even when that knife came barreling at you, you felt none of the fear you had with Machine Head. You weren't alone, weren't disposable. All you wanted was to be secure. "And I don't think you will besides," you pulled at the collar from over the space suit, "this and sometimes being an asshole so... yeah."

        Shit. Mark's heart pounded. Oh holy shit, this was a total breakthrough. You were fragile right now, he had to say the right thing, keep this going. "I promise I won't," he turned you both, going from a side hug to pulling you into his chest, cradling you into him. "You mean so much to me, I'd never." Everytime he blinked he saw you bloody. His grip on your back loosened instead of tightened, scared he'd pop you like a balloon again. "I know I can be an asshole, but I really do care about you."

        His words skid over your concrete surface. You watched them go by, pretty and soft and meaningful. You could reach up if you wanted, take them to your cold heart and warm it. You were still hesitant. Remembering the heads on the floor, the Machine Head sound of his tone. Remember what's going down on the planet below. You tried to find compassion for them within you, but it just wasn't there. You thought of her, wondered again how she'd respond if she was here.

        You made yourself say it, wearing the skin of a good person who gave a shit, like you desperately wanted to be- like Machine Head beat out of you. "The king... it's good he's dead, but are you really going to kill all those people for that?"

        Mark understood your hesitation, had seen you struggle with it the whole time you'd been here. It was never something he'd experienced, but as a child he wanted to be good for his dad, to put out little lies to make him smile or not yell at him. You didn't have to do that with him, he had seen the way your eyes lit up when you talked about killing, the way your jaw trembled. He knew it was an act.

        It was still hard to keep the frown off his face as he said, "A handful honestly. Few on each planet as a warning to the rest not to rebel. Every death has a purpose." More than a handful were dead. A white lie, not one you could follow up on and it wasn't really a lie. The Ferroid's reproduced faster than Viltrumites did. In the grand scheme of things, they'd be fine. "And when that's done, we're gonna have two enforcers come to watch the planet and make sure everything gets back on track."

        It was a testament to how fucked you were that death having meaning felt right. With Machine Head, it felt petty, useless- all gang war bullshit was- but this was real. And- wasn't the empire trying to do a good thing? Maybe it'd just be best if you stopped questioning it. Yet your nature wouldn't allow that, "Aren't you worried the second you leave the new guys will get killed?"

        "There's no way they can kill a Viltrumite again, but we definitely shouldn't have had them stationed in the same place at once. This time I'll keep 'em separate, have one call in an emergency if the other dies. Honestly? I know you probably don't care, but the empire's in a good place right now. Without the other Marks, I wouldn't have the people to leave here. Hell, this mission would've been waaay too short staffed without 'em, would've taken a day or two for the initial scouting. They're dumb as rocks but I'm glad to have 'em if they can make our empire better."

        "...Our empire?"

        He laughed, pulled back enough to see your face, "You're gonna be my empress one day. You should start thinkin' about the empire like it's already yours. Just like I am."

        You'd wanted power in a detached way. You knew you'd never get it, but now it was pressed against you. Looking down at you like it loved you. You didn't know how to feel, blame it on the emotionally stunting trauma. "I uh... I don't know if I can."

        Which wasn't a no- you were accepting the empire, accepting him. Mark would jump up and down if it wouldn't kill his cool guy persona. 

        He hooked his thumb under your chin, tilted your visored head up to him, "If tonight's proven anything, you can. In like a million years but I'll be there to help you along the way."

        Through the dissociative haze, you smiled. In the heart of the evilest empire in all of existence, you were safe. People were dying and for once you weren't at risk to die with them. "I dunno about a million years."

        "Alright, you got me, a hundred."

        "I won't live that long."

        His fingers moved to slide the visor off, he hadn't even told his version of you this, a secret he'd regretting keeping from her, "With my team working on a cure for human mortality? We've got more than enough time."

        Yeah, he kidnapped, collared, declawed, and humiliated you- but he was also bending the rules of death for you. In the moment leaning in, letting him start to pull the visor off- seemed like a good idea.

        Until the air lock opened and oxygen started hissing out of the room in a whirl. Mark held you in place, pushed your visor back down. You were safe but the moment was ruined by Sebastian, stood on the landing platform, cracking his neck and covered in blue blood.

        It'd been too long since Sebastian really got to see the desperate desolation in someone's eyes before he popped them out. The two months, technically ten, since he'd ravaged Earth felt like a millennia ago. Killing the handful of Ferroid's he had was like a hit of heroine. Markus and Kregg kept a close eye on him, prevented him from killing more, and now he was looking for another kind of fix.

        He wasn't authorized to return to the ship, but he did anyways. Thinking Mark would've returned to Ferr by now on administrative business and left you all alone. Inside he itched to hold you, thought you'd writhe and fight just like he wanted you to. You weren't stupid, you had to have caught on by this point he liked when you fought back- you were flirting, not consciously- you'd yet to figure out some integral things about yourself. Sebastian didn't mind helping you along. Scaring you to near death until your cunt and eyes both wept for him. 

        And for all his efforts to break away from Markus's prying little eyes? To help you figure out who you really were? He was greeted with the sight of you about to swap spit with that inferior, idiot who thought piercings were a good replacement for personality. He could almost excuse you filling the hole his absence left with Mark. You missed him and didn't know it and that was adorable still- he didn't approve. 

        Mark straightened but still kept protective arms around you. "Kregg definitely didn't give you leave. What do you think you're doing?" Mark had a sinking feeling. He should've felt dread, but really, Sebastian scaring the shit out of you was all according to plan.

        Sebastian's brains had leaked into space after the quantum bombs, but he wasn't stupid. He knew Mark could've sent him and Lensless to another planet to watch over, could demand they be the enforcers that stayed at the Ferr Belt, but he hadn't. Wouldn't. As long as you kept pushing against Mark's affections, Sebastian had a shot- Not that he'd let himself be sent away from you when the time came. It'd never happen, you were a stubborn bitch. You had to know Sebastian was the only one that really mattered. Mark was nothing but a cheap clone in a long skirt. A cheap clone he had a quiet mutualistic agreement with. Mark got to play the good guy and Sebastian got to woo you because you wouldn't actually fall for that knight in shining armor bullshit. Mark thought he'd win out in the end, but Sebastian knew you on a deeper level. When people lose all hope, they show you their true colors and Sebastian knew the color of your heart, soul, and bubbling life force as it leaked out your throat.  

        Sebastian ignored Mark's obvious faux glare and prowled closer. "If it isn't the empress."

        There was something about the way he said it that made bugs crawl under your skin. A sobriety sank in. What were you doing? Letting Mark fill your heads with flowery thoughts of ruling a fascist empire, that's what. He made you feel safe, but it wasn't real, not when he let Sebastian stay.

        You pushed Mark away, emotionally and physically. He didn't budge, kept you close to his chest as his brow ticked up.

        "Get back to work." Mark hissed.

        Sebastian stopped two steps away and though Mark's hold stiffened, the feeling of security you'd started to admit- melted away. All it took was a look, proximity, and your heart was racing. They both could hear it. Both felt a thrill that their individual plans were working, thinking they were both in the right for different reasons.

        To both their delight, you said, "Get the fuck away from me."

        Sebastian did not, in fact, get the fuck away. "I see you're already acting the part."

        "I don't want to hear it." You leaned away but Mark's arms kept you regrettably in place. You knew he was trying to protect you alpha male style, but it felt like he was keeping you there so you'd be hurt, not saved.

        "So standoffish... You really do fit right in here." Sebastian said.

        "I'm assuming your squadron is right behind you?" Mark probed.

        Only to be blatantly ignored, "Tell me, Empress, did you notice your little friend wasn't there?"

        "What are you talking about?"

        He smirked. You were so adamant on acting like you hated him but you spoke to him so readily. Fine, he enjoyed some back and forth.

        "Don't tell me you didn't even notice?" He laughed, nasty as a humid summer afternoon, "It's okay, you can admit it. He's not around to feel crushed by the fact that you don't care about him as much as he thinks." According to Lensless's reports, at least.

        It clicked. Looking back, you couldn't count his face among the blood-splattered living in the massacre aftermath. "Seb? You're talking about Seb?" You'd been so wrapped up in the murder and politics and blue blood you didn't do a head count.

        Sebastian's answering grin made your stomach drop. "What did you do?"

        Mark shifted in front of you, "Don't talk to him." He sneered at the man, "Get back with your squad right fucking now."

        You wriggled in Mark's grasp, trying to look around him at Sebastian. Hoping his face held answers, that he wasn't ominously fucking smiling like he'd done something to Seb. 

        Sebastian hovered back toward the airlock. He was getting away with his secrets in tow. Desperately, you peered around Mark's body and shouted, "Stop! Tell me what ha- ack!"

        You'd grown used to the collar's weight, to its restrictive feel around your neck. In your moment of panic, it was easy to forget it was there, what it could do. Easy as it was to forget how to stand and breathe. Mark caught you before you could fall but you were in agony, laid on the floor or not. 

        The shock was nowhere near as long as the first but it hurt. Made your whole throat pulse with righteous agony. Made tears spring from the corners of your eyes. Humiliating for someone like Sebastian to see and grin at- thinking to himself that maybe the collar wasn't so bad if it was that easy to get a view like this. Once he could finally escape this pathetic excuse of an empire, he'd tear it off so you could fight, but for now, with all your overprotective overseers? It was a much better idea to play with the collar than angst over it. 

        "I think I'm starting to see the appeal." Sebastian hovered forward an inch. Even in your haze, you flinched back. The fear in your wet eyes made his cock twitch.

        "Back off." Mark's voice dripped venom, authority. Underlying threats of all sorts. 

        Sebastian paused, put his hands up in mock surrender. "As you wish, Emperor."

        Mark wanted to rearrange his face again but he was too valuable to the empire. Especially with how fragile things were right now. Seb being in the infirmary right now was bad enough.

        "Get out of my sight before I fucking kill you." It was a bluff and they both knew it- but who had you in his arms? Who had a collar around your neck?

        Before Sebastian could respond with attitude in kind, you started to support your own weight. Mark's attention fell on you, brows set soft. "Don't, you'll-"

        You pushed him hard. It felt like nothing, but it was surprising enough that you were able to stumble backward out of his grip.

        "Don't act like you're sorry." You rasped, blindly wobbling backward to get away from him as fast as you could.

        One second, you were about to kiss him, starting to accept the empire and all it's bloody flaws. The next you were looking at him like you hated him. This was beyond whiplash.

        "I didn't do that, you did!" He said before he could rethink.

        Your face went sour. "Fuck you, Mark." 

        It took two seconds for that feeling of safety to erode. You weren't safe. Weren't being retrained for a better life, only to be the perfect dog for the emperor. You were being held prisoner by an evil empire where Sebastian was allowed to be alive near you. Mark could've taken you away at any point, punched Sebastian, but he didn't. Just stood there and talked and let Sebastian prod at you.

        You stumbled out of the automatic door and into the hall. He could have caught you without much of a chase and tried to explain he hadn't wanted this to happen but- that'd only make things worse. Technically, it was his fault, but Mark was never someone who accepted his own flaws.

        Mark reared on Sebastian, "You stupid, conniving motherfucker."

        "Those two things directly contradict each other, Emperor sir."

        Mark's jaw ticked. "I don't think you remember who's stronger here." 

        "If I may, Emperor," Sebastian said with sickly sweet respect, "you got lucky."

        Mark's fists rose, "Let's see about that."

        ***

        The door to the emperor's personal medbay slid open to reveal nothing. All the beds were tucked away into the wall or floor. The goo chamber Grayson had floated in was drained and powered off. The only thing of note was a single alien doctor, tapping away at a data pad with four arms, despite there being seemingly nothing to do. 

        He didn't look up when you came in. Maybe if you'd kept the space suit and visor on, he'd have mistaken you for a Viltrumite and treated you with respect, but you'd thrown the things off while storming away. Wore some basic outfit that was glaringly non-Viltrum. He didn't look up when you said, "Where is he?"

        "Where is whom?"

        "Seb."

        The doctor looked up only to wear confusion on his brow. "Whom?"

        Right, the other Viltrumites outside the council had no reason to call the Mark's anything other than Mark. You tried again, "The hurt Mark? That was just here, I think? Uh.. piercing right here." You tapped your cheek.

        The doctor looked at you for some moments, saying nothing before turning away, tapping at his data pad. Your fingers twitched to fists, "I'm talking to y-" 

        "He left." The doctor said, "Refused to stay longer than we could put a treatment capsule on him." So Sebastian wasn't bullshitting. 

        "Left to where?"

        The doctor stopped his tapping, "I don't have access to that information. Now, if you'd please leave me to my work?" He said while nothing was happening around him. You assumed it was all digital diagnostics, alien bullshit.

        "Fine." You left, headed straight for the dorms, "dick."

        ***

        The fight lasted all of three blows before the airlock opened and Kregg rushed in, saw Sebastian punching Mark's cheek to burst open, and knocked the boy so hard on his ass he went limp.

        Mark's ire whipped onto Kregg, "I could've handled that myself."

        "I know, sir, but you two were bound to damage the ship in your... squabble. No worries, I'll take him to the medbay."

        Behind Kregg floated in Markus, Lensless, and Grayson. Mark held up a hand to tell Kregg not to leave. He turned on Markus, "You were supposed to be overseeing him." He gestured to Sebastian, thrown on Kregg's shoulder like a bloody flour sack. 

        Markus kept composed despite the emperor's ire. "He left when we were counting the population of a particularly dense area. We came to his location as soon as we noticed."

        Mark cackled meanly, "He was here five fuckin' minutes."

        "I know, I'm sorry, sir." Markus emanated Kregg's diligent respect. So respectful and so fake it made Mark want to throw up.

        He wasn't sick to his stomach but he had another thing to throw at Markus, "I was this," he held two fingers a millimeter apart, "close to fixing things with her, and you idiots let that asshole loose for five fuckin' minutes. How is the empire supposed to thrive if that's your reaction time?" 

        Mark thought this was checkmate. You liked him, even if you were mad, you wouldn't be long. You liked him more than Markus, even if you talked of escape. It'd all stop soon enough once your tantrum was done. Markus didn't have nearly as many romantic encounters with you. Markus was just a pawn. A pawn who'd try and work harder to earn a spot next to you, but he'd never be emperor.

        Markus had him fooled, had made moments for you Mark didn't know about. Told Mark as long as he could go back to his own dimension in time, he didn't mind working for this empire, he was loyal no matter what. Total bullshit but Mark thought he could kill Markus before then. That it'd be no great loss to you when Markus knew the exact opposite. 

        All Markus said was, "Apologies, sir." Mark took his cool veneer as an act. It wasn't. Markus knew Sebastian must've really ruined things and for Markus, that was damn good news.

        "Apologies? Are you kidding me?" Mark wasn't done. "You fucked up on the first real mission I give you, with an overseer. Are you kidding?"

        "If I may," Kregg said, "Don't blame the boy, it was my fault. I left a moment to inspect a suspected rebel camp. Thankfully, it was a false alarm but there was one less set of eyes and these boys were all making themselves very busy at the empire's expense. If anyone's to blame, it's me."

        Markus caught the look Kregg gave him. A silent apology. He really did feel bad. He really was getting onto Kregg's good side. 

        Mark's face ran through a marathon of emotions before he pointed towards the door, "I'll figure out your punishment later, just get him out of my sight."

        Kregg left, followed closely by the others. Grayson the last to leave. Mark flagged him to stay behind. Barely waiting for the door to close for privacy to ask, "The implants?" If a fuck up that big could happen, he was taking no risks. Next time Sebastian was even a toe over the line, he wanted that motherfucker to hurt.

        "Almost ready, sir." Grayson said. In truth, they could've been done by now but he'd been distracted by other pet projects. Mostly making a backdoor to the collars code. Then there was what he'd been doing to the cameras. The brain chips simply fell to the wayside.

        Mark assumed he'd been caught up in working on your brain chip upgrade for the collar. Assumed the best way to get Grayson on task was to say, "I want you to watch the security tapes from the last five minutes. Maybe that'll put some fire under your ass."

        Dismissed, Grayson returned to the labs where he watched the rewind, sent to his embedded datapad. Felt terrified by moving pixels. He called the lab techs together, half-lied the emperor wanted the chips by morning. Not one of them slept that night. Coding, assembling the tiniest pieces of tech they could reasonably fit into a needle.

        By midnight, the test chip was ready. A prisoner was brought up from the cell blocks. Malnourished and forgotten, some long ago leader from a planet already taken over. She'd spat in the emperor's eye, so he'd sentenced her to isolation intermingled with occasional torture. It wasn't often enemies of the empire were left alive, but she'd tried to kill you, hadn't backed down when Mark confronted her. Sometimes before your death, Mark brought you to her cell, showed you what nasty new thing he was having done to her. The old you never appreciated it. 

        But the old you was dead and so was the prisoner after they put the chip at the base of her brain stem. When Grayson sent a test pulse  meant to make a Viltrumite hurt- her head burst open. She fell to the ground, dead, muscles still contracting. Grayson's ears twitched from a lighter version of that awful frequency until the techs took her away.

        They were ready. All that was left to do was to implant them. Grayson didn't consider himself sadistic but he couldn't wait to see how Sebastian folded the next time he spoke to you so terribly. If Grayson had it his way, the chip would shriek if Sebastian thought of you at all. But Mark was cruel in a different way and too loose with his leashes. 

        He didn't tamper with the chips. He could've and would've been caught. No, he made them perfectly. Let the lab team pat him on the back. Lowered their guard so they wouldn't expect what he was going to do next.

        ***

        Knock, knock.

        No answer for the third time. You were beyond worried now.

        Knock, knock.

        "Seb?" Something shifted inside. It was a small confirmation of life but enough to make you pound incessantly at the door, "Seb?"

        The door slammed open to reveal a rack of abs. Dotted with red-purple bruises, a hard disc sat below his belly button pumping his guts full of drugs. Left arm encased in a hard shell sling. He looked at you with a shining black eye and a nose more crooked than you remembered.

        "What?" He sneered with a puffy lip.

        "Jesus." At least he was alive. "Fuck what happened to you?"

        Seb looked past your shoulder to the wall. Nearly locked eyes with the hidden camera. Silently, he slid aside as invitation for you to come inside. You shuffled in, the door shut much to his instant regret. Why the fuck was he letting you see him like this? Weak and beaten and pathetic. He was supposed to be the cool guy.

        "Mission went bad." He grunted as he sat down hard on his bed. "If you're here for booze, I still don't got any."

        "I'm not." You follow him to the bed, sitting, "I heard you got hurt and you weren't in the medbay."

        The last person who gave a shit about him died. He should push you away so you didn't follow suit. But he couldn't help himself, "What? Got a thing for beat up guys?"

        "It's not funny, I was worried. You weren't there, but this weird rude guy was and I was like 'oh my god is he dead?'"

        Seb nodded, "Yeah... that doctor guy was like, a total douche."

        ***

        With Viltrum tech, it wasn't long before he was stable. All his holes patched with freshly healed skin or in the case of his torn gut, a disc. The rest of the med team had been dismissed back to their quarters. The Viltrumite doctor left to attend other business, probably aiding bio-research down in the labs. The empire was always cooking up something nasty.

        In his nine years working with the empire, he'd only known violence. Piecing his oppressors back together. Cutting chunks off other species to take down to the lab for study. Going to the prison blocks to administer just enough medicine to keep prisoners alive but in agony. He hated it. Always had since he was a taken from his home planet, his people cowardly bending the knee. But there was no way out from under Thragg's iron fist. 

        Until Thragg died. The power exchange was a messy affair with plenty of mistakes on the new emperor's part. Especially those first few months. Mark fumbled planets, disregarded advice, got servants of the empire unnecessarily killed, some of the doctors own friends. The Emperor never cared, but when you died? Mark killed his whole team. He only lived because he'd been on the other side of the ship, taking care of important business. It was a miracle the plan worked. He was a sympathizer of the Coalition a long time but he'd had doubts they'd pull through on their end. But they did. He lived, spluttered an explanation to the emperor who almost gutted him- but he was the only member of the med-team left. Someone had to train up the new hires after Mark killed the rest.

        It was luck really. In a rage, Mark blamed the team for your death, killed them all that night. Suspected one of them was the mole who gave the dead you that data pad. In reality, it'd been the doctor who'd done it. It'd been easy. At the time, the observation team wasn't as fleshed out with way less cameras to watch. Only after your death did Mark's paranoia make communicating with the Coalition much harder. But he'd found a chink in that armor in the form of another sympathizer on the team.

        Over these past weeks, he'd slowly let it leak that there were multiple Mark Grayson's at play and not all of them seemed entirely loyal to the empire. He was given the green light to move in, see if he could catch a sympathizer by the tail. 

        He leaned over the bed and whispered low, though he knew the cameras were off, "I know how to help you."

        Seb opened an eye, "I sure fuckin' hope you do, man."

        Ah, yes, of course the dense one was what he got stuck with. Still, he was Mark Grayson. All powerful, uncaring about the empire, Mark Grayson.

        "I've heard what you think of the empire," as reported by his eyes on the inside, "and I agree."

        Seb roused fully awake and mildly terrified, "Fuck are you talking about, man?"

        The doctor held an oblong finger over his narrow purple lips, "Fret not. I am no enemy to you."

        "Enemy to..." Seb rubbed his head, pounding with memories of the last few hours, "Man, what the fuck are you goin' on about?"

        Really dense or a better actor than anticipated. Both could be good and bad. Could get him killed or get the Coalition the best ally they could hope for. He came out with it, "The Coalition needs you."

        Seb went bolt upright, "The what!?"

        "Calm down or we'll be found out- wait, where are you going?"

        Seb floated out of bed wearing nothing. All the clothes had been cut off him for a full body assessment. The blanket that'd been thrown over him fell away exposing hairy, swinging immodesty. "Leaving, obviously."

        The doctor's heart dropped. He scurried to keep up with Seb as he approached the door. "Wait, you can't tell anyone." He grabbed Seb by the wrist, "They'll kill my family." Not that he had one but a white lie never hurt. 

        Seb looked over his shoulder at him with a sneer, "Man, I don't give a fuck 'bout your family." 

        "I see." From under the doctor's coat came a ray gun. Coalition issued. Couldn't kill a Viltrumite but would sting. He pressed it to the disc in Seb's back, opposite the one in his front. "Then I can't let you leave."

        Seb rolled his eyes, "You really think that tiny thing's gonna do shit? I don't give a fuck about you or your Coalition."

        "I misjudged you." The Doctor clicked off the safety. Hoped to God that the shock would short circuit the medicine disc, make the drugs go bad and somehow poison the boy. "You're just like the rest."

        Seb didn't move, not out of fear but because he was sluggish, sleepy, "You think I look like a snitch?"

        He was tempted to ask what a snitch was. 

        "Yeah, that's what I thought." Seb jerked away but didn't get close enough to the door for it to automatically open, "I'm not leavin' cuz I'm scared'a you. I'm leavin' cuz I'm not gettin' involved in any of that dumbass espionage shit. Do what you want but keep me out of it. I'm not telling anyone." With that, he left. Running away from yet another problem that was really a solution.

        ***

        "Did he at least treat you right? Like, you're gonna be okay?" You reached for his face, concern knitting your brows. He flinched away, already feeling weak, not needing you doting on him. 

        "Psshh, dude I'm fine. Don't get all soft on me." He remembered one of the first times you really talked. High and lying on a cot. You'd said the same thing to him. He wondered if you remembered. 

        "I'm not soft I'm just..." He looked at you then, really looked. Forced smile dropped like a rock at the red in your eyes, "Tired. Worried."

        Bullshit. He was used to being hurt, to being indifferent to others pain but he couldn’t help but ask, "What happened to you?"

        You frowned, "Same shit as always."

        He sighed, "Same here." His head lulled to the left, freeing up plenty of shoulder space for you to lean on. 

        You took it without thought, looking up at his face as you said, "Is that code for Sebastian being fucking insane?"

        He went rigid. "No." Said too fast, an obvious lie. "It was a surprise attack, alien bullshit, you know."

        You knew, actually knew, Mark told you all about it. The weapons on Ferr couldn't hope to tickle a Viltrumite, let alone partially gut one. You let him have the lie. Would question him later when he wasn't so raw, literally and figuratively. "Man, that sucks."

        He scoffed, a little less stiff as he thought you bought the lie, "Yeah, so does this whole place."

        You huffed a laugh, "Wait. You wanna know what Gray said?"

        "Oh God."

        You elbowed his side, gentle as you could despite the fact you couldn’t hurt him even if you tried. "He saw me about to rock your shit on the cameras.”

        Seb went pale and red at the same time. "Oh fuck, he's gonna kill me."

        "He was the only one who saw. Don't think he really cares, he's kinda weird in a good way. I mean, there's a team of aliens who probably saw, but I bet they don't know what a dick is and you're not dead yet so-" Seb dragged a hand over his face, not smiling like you’d hoped he would. You consoled him with a, "He even showed me some blind spots."

        "I don’t care what he showed you, dude. Im just glad one of your insane jealous boyfriends maybe won't kill me." He said bitterly as his body throbbed. He'd be fine in a few days but he was going to keep the hell out of Sebastian's path if he could. Out the corner of his eyes, he saw you frown, "That was shitty of me."

        "It was." You hummed, "But they are all fucking insane so." 

        The conversation lapsed. Awhile you sat, comfortably sharing heat while Seb stewed in man-angst that morphed to paranoia.

         "There aren't any cameras in here, right?" If he was caught with you again there had to be some sort of consequences. Maybe Sebastian would finish the job.

        "Only place there aren't. Gray showed me all the angles. Not a single room's got'em." 

        "Thank God." you looked at him with worry knotted brows. It made his stomach sink. You couldn't be worried about him. "I mean, if people were watching me at night? During prime jerk off hours, bro? I'd end it."

        You laughed, surprised, "You really...?"

        "Gotta deal with how much this place sucks somehow. Like yeah, it cuts a lot into my sleepin' time but how am I supposed to fall asleep if I haven't jerked my shit?"

        "Every night?"

        He nodded, "Duh. Puts me out like a light, dude.”

        "You're fucking crazy, man. There could have been cameras the whole time, you know Mark’s weird as hell." You relaxed further into him, hand casually falling over the top of his thigh in suggestion.

        Seb watched your hand carefully, voice coming out teasing against his will, "You're the one fuckin' other guys on the emperor's bed."

        Your fingers drummed pleasantly over his pants, hastily thrown on when you were knocking at the door. "You’re the one who almost let me jerk you off in the hallway."

        Your hand dipped into the crevice between his thighs. Seb stiffened but didn't stop you. Practically had to scream at his dick not to get hard as he said, "That was really stupid of both of us. I could'a died."

        "Maybe, but nobody's gonna catch us here." You leaned harder into his side, head hooked on his shoulder watching him as he tried to keep a passive face.

        His Adam's apple bobbed. 

        Seb was used to a certain amount of fucking. Randoms, friends, a little... something with Rex. It kept him on cloud nine where he didn't have to think about anything. He'd been spoiled by them, and then ruined by you. His hand barely held him over. Every orgasm felt less intense and more boring than the last. Always thinking how much better it could've been if he was inside you. But he knew better. 

        There was the Emperor and his dogs. Gray could snitch on him at anytime. Or the camera team. Mark could have him executed or more likely, castrated for what he'd let you do to him in the hall. Even now, this was a risk. What if Gray had lied about the room cameras? Could he really be so stupid, so horny he'd risk his life for a handjob?

        That decision didn't fall to the head on his shoulders. Not while the other rose, poked up through his skirts. 

        "Ignore that." He said, sounding strained. Fists curling in the sheets, trying to force his dick back down- down boy, bad! 

        "Do you really want me to?" Your heated breath on his neck made the hairs on the back of it stand up- and his dick a little stiffer.

        Shit. Not good. Abort. 

        "You're sure, no cameras?" He said instead.

        "No cameras." Your hand slipped under his skirts. Closing the distance between you and his clothed erection painfully slow. "Just me and you." And the need to feel normal. Like you were in control and not submitting to Mark with his fucking shock collar.

        You hardly touched him and his head fell back. A sigh sent up into the ceiling, his hair spilling over his shoulders. All you did was hold him, slowly rub your hand into the fabric. "Shit."

        Your hand agonizingly paused, "That a good shit or bad shit?" 

        "Good," he breathed, "good shit."

        "Good." You hummed, resuming movements to you could watch his pretty face twitch and flush. "Jeez dude, I'm hardly doing anything."

        "It's been a long time for me, okay? Just," he pushed his skirts to the side, looked down and got a good view of you fondling him, "fuck." He throbbed in your palm. You didn't wait for approval to tear his magnetic fly open and pull his cock out.

        Your hand retreated to let him move but when you didn't immediately start jerking him off again he whined and bucked into the air, "You're killin' me here."

        You hadn't been in control in so long, you wanted to take your time with this. "Be patient."

        "If I don't cum right now, my balls are gonna fall off." Maybe a little light fem-domme wasn't the best idea right now. Fine. You'd have a good time either way.

        The tip of his cock bubbled out a single tear. It wasn't enough, so you spat into your hand and wrapped it around his shaft, the bottom vein thrummed in your palm. Your thumb came up, pressed and rolled up and around his sweet pink slit. He was groaning, muscles tensing and untensing before you'd even started to get a good pace, pumping your hand up and down his length. 

        Seb was usually one for dirty talk but after the fight, the medbay, and the fact he hadn't had you since the desert, all he could do was gasp. Watch with puffy, half lidded eyes as you worked him. Tilted his neck so you could lean in and suck the skin between his throat and shoulder. You couldn't help biting. 

        That earned your hand a hearty thrust that made your bones rattle in your palm. "Shit, my bad." He pinned his hips to the mattress, regretting that your pace slowed with a pained hiss.

        "It's fine." You said, lips slippery on his neck. "Just don't do that to my mouth, okay?"

        "You're..." You let go much to Seb's chagrin. He didn't mourn the loss, not when he knew what was coming next. Thighs spread as you lowered to your knees, shuffled between them.

        "Fuck," he breathed, "you're so hot."

        He should have argued. Said this was too much, too far. He distantly thought of the collar tracking your vitals, he hadn’t touched you but your heart was racing, he could hear it under the thrum of his own blood. 

         Fucking you in the desert was almost fair game but now it was treason. No arguments came as you again took him into your hands, pumped up his base and lowered your head to his. Tongue warm and soft and inviting and begging to be painted. 

        The only thing Seb could say as your lips joined your tongue was, "Holy shit."

        You looked up at him, eyes red, dick in your mouth, and he swore in that moment he loved you. Loved you even more as your tongue lathed over the bottom of his cock. Head slowly bobbing up and down, spearing yourself more and more unto him with every repeat. 

        You stayed midway down his length, hand working his base, for some time. Enjoying the stretch in your cheeks, the weight on your tongue, the cockhead pressed to your uvula. You thought of him thrusting into your hand before and you shivered. You'd told him not to but you wanted it. Your hand came away, rested on his stomach as you made the slow journey further down. 

        A soft sigh cooled his puffy lips. His hand shakily came to the back of your head and pushed you ever so gently down until your lips kissed his pelvis and the head of his cock kissed the back of your throat. Your nose pressed into a thick mat of hair that smelled like sweat and a hint of sappy blood. You didn't care. You nestled your face harder into him. Unable to breathe well with him blocking your throat. Gag reflex held at bay even when Seb started rocking his hips up and down.

        Languid at first but the longer Seb was inside you, the harder it was to keep himself together. Thoughts jumbled like his fingers (in your hair/twitching on your scalp). He fucked your face with held-back fervor. A band inside him tightened. He went faster as he could restrained, rug burning your lips with his quickness. An incoherent babble of, "Fuck, shit, so good," came pouring out his lips. 

        At first you couldn't keep up but you found a rhythm, moved with him while avoiding cutting with your teeth. The beginning of the end started when you moaned around him. Feeling the stretch in your mouth like it was your cunt. Every thrust sent shudders down to your heating core. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes like you needed this. 

        He spilled down your throat with a cry. Finally feeling a real release with every pulse of his cock. Ebbing away too fast for his liking. 

        You pulled back, letting his slick, softening cock escape the cavern of your mouth. His seed hot and heavy in the back of your throat. You shut your mouth, still tasting like him, throat bobbing as you swallowed. "You know for all that alien food you eat, you don't taste half bad." 

        You were smiling up at him, contented, but all he could feel was a looming dread. What the fuck was he thinking? Why were you okay with this?

        "Seb?" You pulled yourself up his body, careful to avoid his sensitive softness and healing discs. You reached to touch his face, to check in with him because you cared. He melted too easily into your touch, even if it was on his busted cheek, leaned in when you went to kiss him.

         His other head started to work and that head made him stop, flinch away.

        You paused, “Seb?"

        God, you looked so confused, he was such an asshole. But he couldn't bring himself to act like it, saying soft, "You should go."

        You blinked at him, "What? No one knows I'm here, you don't have to worry."

        That broke his resolve because who did you think you were? Making him all.. soft and shit. All like, susceptible to danger just for the chance to feel you.

         "Of course I fuckin' do," he snapped, "that thing monitors your vitals. No cameras means they’ll assume the worst."

        You hovered but didn't leave. "Did I bite you or something?"

        "No you-" His voice rose, but the words stopped as he saw that awful falling look on your face. He cared too much about you. It was a problem. Before he had no problem kicking one night stands out on their ass but now he gave a shit and that was stupid and dangerous for you both. So he let his voice raise, let himself yell because maybe then you'd stop being so terribly good for him. "You gotta stop hangin' around me! I know your boyfriend's a dick and all but he'll kill me if he catches us if you haven't noticed. Or do you just not care about me?"

        No. No you just started to feel normal. You couldn't take this. "I do. I won't let them hurt you."

        He laughed, "How? You're just some human."

        You didn't know and that started to scare you. "I can- I can-"

        "Yeah, you ain't got shit." He tucked himself back into his pants. 

        You hadn't been taken care of. You didn't want just anybody to take care of you, you wanted Seb, you wanted a normal friend. "If he hurts you, I'll never touch him again." It's a desperate plea.

        "Oh sure, like that'll hold up with your track record." The skirt went back over his crotch. When he stood you stumbled back. 

        You sputtered, the taste of him going sour in your mouth, "What's your problem?" 

        "My problem? Tch, look at me. You think I can do shit once your boyfriends decide they're done letting you use me?"

        Your eyes followed his hands, gesturing to his chest and the wide disc holding his guts in. The implication wasn't lost on you.

        "I know it was Sebastian." You snipped, because he was being a cunt. 

        You looked at him with so much pity it burned. Made his wounds laced with pain killers start to throb.

        "God," his hands flew up to twist into his hair, "You knew and you still came to fuck me? What's wrong with you? Can you just-" Stop giving a shit about a gutter rat like him? Stay? Never talk to him again? Lay with him and talk about Rex? Leave? Take your clothes off? "Go already?"

        Your eyes misted over. A wall that'd fallen snapped back into place. Good, but not good enough. You were like a hungry dog in the street, always coming back for more friendship or dick. He was too happy to give it away. 

        "I came because I was worried, it just hap-"

       "Look, you're fun and all but for my sake, stay the fuck away from me."  It hurt but it was the smart thing to do. The easy thing to do because he was angry and weak and pathetic and he knew it.

        Sometimes you forgot with the crooked nose and piercings and attitude, that he was still just another Mark Grayson. "Fine."

        You shoulder checked him on the way out. It didn't actually do anything, but he found himself swaying back into the wall anyway. Hit with the sledgehammer consequences of his own actions. The door shut. He was alone, sinking with the feeling of it. Your friendship gone just like that. The one thing that was keeping him sane on this hell ship. Being alive felt like a consolation prize.

        He wasn’t surprised. He always was a selfish asshole.

        "I'm not some... just because we... ya'know. It was one time." 

        Rex looked up from the glowing stick he'd been twirling through his fingers. Practicing how long he could hold a charge before it inevitably exploded. It'd been quiet, them just hanging out in Rex's room in the Teen Team headquarters. The skunky stench of marijuana thick in the air.

        "Uh," Rex half-laughed, "I mean sure dude, but it was actually two times."

        "I wouldn't even call it one." Seb took a hit off the blunt. It wouldn't do anything, not since he'd gotten his powers months ago but he still liked the warm hug feeling of smoke in his lungs. He hadn't told Rex about that one caveat yet, Rex would take his blunt-bumming privileges away and he wasn't ready for that. Not after losing the ability to take molly and xanax at the same time and stargaze high as all fuck. "We didn't even like, touch tips or anything."

        "Dude, we jerked each other off." The charge grew hotter and hotter in Rex's hands.

        "As friends." Seb spat out because he couldn't take the sick swirling feeling in his gut at the memory, Rex's green eyes locked onto his instead of the porn he'd put on, idly playing in the background.

        Rex laughed, "Sure, cuz every pair'a bros does that." He turned to the wall and let the charge fly into a tungsten painted target. Bullseye came with a small explosion that lit Seb's face up so pretty. Seb caught him staring, the feeling intensified. 

        Looking back he should've acted on it sooner. Should've realized their time together wasn't going to be longer than a handful of years with how stupid and selfish they both were. How they both acted like they were invincible. Always trying to stay in their own little bubble of loser paradise.  

        Seb always thought he was going to die young because of that stupidity. He never thought Rex would go first.

        You'd just gone but the loneliness felt weeks deep.

        ***

        A rhythm was set as the days passed. The ship was stationed outside the Ferr Belt as they waited for replacement workers. The culling was said and done with as little structural damage as possible. A job for Gray and Markus who had the finesse. The council could be a little more callous with lesser civilizations, it'd set back timelines restructuring buildings on the planet itself.

        Mark was permanently trapped in his office, taking naps at his desk when he could. Always on calls with loyalist planets, who as the days went by, got more and more frantic to prove their loyalty after Mark slightly over exaggerated the killing on Ferr by a hundred thousand. When he wasn't in his office, he was in the war room, listening to Kregg as he planned out a deliberate path for the next planets to check up on- short visits or quick executions depending- on the way to the next staple planet that actually mattered in the grand scheme of things. 

        The Hydroxians weren't a foolish people, they were engineers and weapon smiths known far and wide across the galaxy. Rebels to the core who made and dispersed weaponry solely to rebel planets. Most rebel forces still used them to this day. The amount lessened more and more in the past hundred years though, as they'd gone radio silent. Viltrum used to be able to pick up their radio chatter, but now there was nothing. Any soft-bellied rebel the Viltrumites killed, toting one of their fancy weapons, had no answers either. The galaxy chalked it up to extinction.

        So did Viltrum.

        Until a few days ago. Gray came into Mark's office, interrupting another long, brain-rottingly boring meeting. He'd tweaked the scanners settings to what he was used to on his Viltrum. It made things a little more gorilla tech, but that's all it took for Hydrox's hundreds of years of luck to run out. 

        Because right there on the data pad, a tiny dot with distance was an unknown mass flagged. Mark cut the meeting short, went straight to the observatory and called in the council. Sure enough, there was Hydrox, thousands of miles away but unmistakable in the scanners. Blending into space with what must've been an intentionally thick debris field of black machining waste and rudimentary cloaking tech.

        They were trapped. Unable to send out more weapons. Unable to see their burning red sun. 

        They could be left alone to die under their man-made cloak, but that wasn't Viltrum's style. They'd rebelled loud and proud, they needed to be made an example of. Publicly televised for the galaxy to see, they needed to die. Never have the chance to send out weapons again.

       They pointed the scanners at Hydox and for the first time got a look at how massive it was. Population well into the billions. A single Viltrumite could do the job but it was flagged as too risky. In their time isolated they could've made countless breakthroughs. Their weapons were toys to Viltrumites but packed a noticeable sting hundreds of years ago- leaving the question of what were they now?. It was too dangerous to leave them alive.

        Gray was patted on the back. Helped Kregg and Markus put together an invasion plan, often relaying it back to Mark. Mark listened, stretched himself thin going from duty to duty. In seconds of peace between endless things to do, he watched you on the cameras. Wished he had time to go to bed and just lie with you.

        You’d been in the lab more than usual instead of puttering about with Seb these last few days. Seb cut corners more than ever on his work much to the council's annoyance, but Mark let it happen. When not working, Seb was in the training arena, adding on level after level of artificial gravity and working out till he nearly passed out. He avoided you like the plague. 

        Mark had his suspicions. Got a report from the observation crew about you entering his room, matching up with a small spike in your vitals. It pissed him off sure, but, something bad had happened. You weren't talking, you were so lonely you opted to go to meals alone or with Lensless. Opted to go to the labs more with Grayson. You were emotionally hurt by some guy who was only making himself better for the empire and avoiding you- it was a total best-case scenario.

        You'd wounded him by storming away after what Sebastian had said. He hadn't been able to speak with you since, so wrapped up in busy work. But he was hopeful because he knew once he got time to see you, you'd be glad for it, he was much better company. 

        Lensless was an idiot, always tailed by the too-serious Lucan. Both his and Sebastian's brain chips had been successfully installed. Sebastian was kept under while Grayson finished development and the first to undergo the procedure. Lensless 'finally' got to fight Lucan, who was ordered to knock him out at the next prodding. The fight had been harder than Lucan thought it would be, Lensless was slippery, but once he landed a few good hits on the boy he was out. He didn't acknowledge any questions about his black eye. Knocked out, the chips were attached to their brain stems. Grayson oversaw the operation. Confirmed with Mark himself the operations were a success.

        When they woke up, they were none the wiser, suspicious, sure, but who would guess Mark had ordered impromptu brain surgery? They both went about their duties with their tails still on. It'd be too suspicious to drop them abruptly. Mark wanted the first use to be a nasty, painful surprise. He also wanted to make sure the chips were working which they wouldn't entirely know until a few days after the operation and the chips were fully synced to their brain waves.

        Lensless wasn't a worry even with the chip. He seemed to calm afterwards, not pushing his luck with Lucan, seemingly satisfied with their fight. He also got more time around you, and instead of terrorizing you like he and Sebastian had the desert, he played nice. Saying things just on the edge of acceptable. Hovering around you like a gnat. Always hinting at some gift he got you but when you asked, he giggled, covered his mouth and said, "Not with Lucy around. Stoooop! I'm embarrassed!" When you'd said barely anything at all.

        Mark had a servant check the room to find a sack stuffed under the mattress. In the report he got it was listed as: various biological matter. Ew. 

        Right now, you were in Grayson's lab. His prostheses finally moved with less stiffness. His buzz cut had grown out an inch, making his head look like black puffball. You were going through the motions as Mark waited for another call from a loyalist colony. Grayson was being more than thorough in the capture and study of your brainwaves, terrified if he got one thing wrong in the re-code the collar would wind up shocking you to death.

        Mark appreciated the effort. Watching you do another round of breathing exercises for low-brainwave scans, as he finally got a call from the loyalists. He turned his attention away.

        "...And out." 

        Air whooshed out slow behind your teeth. "In." Grayson said, you sucked in, "and..." you held your breath, waiting for the instruction for what felt like the hundredth time. "We don't have a lot of time."

         You breathed the word out, "What?"

        The lab was empty aside from you both. The techs on their lunch break. You wanted to go with, but Grayson said it'd be bad to interrupt the tests, so you lagged behind.

        "I've looped the microphone and video feeds." He muttered, shuffling closer like somehow the mics would still pick up his voice, "for the next minute, they'll think we're doing our exercises." 

        Your jaw dropped. You'd been waiting for days on end for an update from Markus, for something to assure you some leverage. Nothing. He'd been too busy. Then Gray couldn't manage to steal himself away to see you at all. You hadn't even seen Mark. Everyone was too busy working on the empire to help you. Grayson hadn't given a single hint he was up to something and now he'd stepped over the line, stepping closer to you, sat as always on the lab bench.

        He didn't wait to speak until spoken to as he usually would, "It's a test." The next time he did something like this, it'd be longer, give him more time alone with you, but for now thirty more seconds was all he could steal. "I-" and yet the words still get caught in his ragged throat, "I wanted to show you I've been trying since I can't..." His eyes flicked down to the collar. He couldn't help with that yet, but the cameras were fair game.

        You turned to the camera in the wall he'd pointed out days ago. "Are they really-" you turned back to finish your thought, but found your lips nearly brushing his. He'd leaned in, stopped at the last second. Blue eyes wide like a deer in the headlights, he looked like the Mark you knew as a teenager, scared and shy and so full of want it made your stomach flip. 

        His breath was cool and minty across your lips. A hairs length separated your flesh. Electricity wanted to pull you closer but you were so shocked by the cameras, by his sudden quiet treason, by his boldness that you just blinked back at him. He wanted to press forward, kiss you, hammer his allegiance home, a show that his trick had worked, that he would do anything for you. It'd be easy. You weren’t cringing away or pushing him back.

        Your eyes started to shudder closed and as you leaned in, he leaned back like an oppositely charged magnet. "Sorry, I just..." He said when your eyes opened. "You feel like you owe me and I want..." His words got stuck, he wanted you to want him. He didn't want a kiss as a thank you or an obligation for helping you, he wanted you. Wanted you to want him the same way he wanted you. He checked the clock on the wall, ten seconds. He swallowed hard as he watched your eyes flicker down to his lips again, "Don't. Not until you really want to." 

        You understood well enough, had somehow always been able to read between the lines with him. Grayson moved back to the position he was in before, leaving you stunned.

        "You're a weird guy, Grayson." You smiled at him, soft, sweet, just like she used to, "Thank you."

        "The cameras are about to turn on." He lifted his hands in gesture to breathe out. He hoped when the loop cut, no one noticed his blush. "...And out."

        ***

        At long last, the ship caught up. Close enough to confirm the ship was indeed the emperor's. Far enough that the Thraxa's bio-tech would keep the cloaked ship hidden from the warships sensors. 

        Thragg wired into the communications, a shoddy connection at best, even with how far he'd advanced Thraxan tech. He heard the boy's plans for Ferr and mostly agreed with the proceedings. He would've killed more than half, had to hold himself back when he felt how weak they were. He would've had replacements here faster but none of that mattered. No matter how much Mark tried to rebuild the empire, Thragg was waiting to burn it back down.

        All there was left to do now was wait. 

[invoncible]

RUNNING INTO INVINCIBLE VARIANTS DURING THE WAR ft. mohawk!mark, viltrumite!mark, nogoggles!mark w/ gn!reader

— you were special to them, in another universe... — in which reader is not with the mark in the main universe, but has history w/ the other variants

the news said to stay inside. couldn't they have broadcast just 10 minutes earlier when you weren't in your car on the way to work? heroes resembling invincible were wrecking cities and taking lives left and right, and you were stuck in a traffic jam, trucks and vans crammed against your doors.

you climbed over the center console into the backseat, squeaking in surprise when the car rocked you off balance. some idiot decided to bulldoze through the traffic carelessly.

"fuck." you cursed, hurriedly opening the sunroof, climbing out and sliding down the hood. unfortunately for you, before you could even get off your car, you were stopped by—

MOHAWK!MARK

a joyful whoop made your head snap towards the incoming missile bulldozing through the congested traffic, trampling cars, snapping bodies in half, toppling buildings over onto the highway.

he flew right past you, bumping your car over to the side. your eyes were stuck on the building that was teetering closer and closer to tipping over. the resonating crrrreak sealed your fate as it came crashing down—

this is how i die. you let your eyes fall shut.

they were promptly forced open a second later when invincible crashed into your stomach, throwing you over his shoulders as he bolted out of the area of impact.

"holy shit!" he stopped in the air, holding you up proudly. "y/n!"

"wait!" you gripped him tightly, nails digging into his skin. you coughed when the dust plumed upwards, the fallen building settling against the broken road.

he hissed at the sensation but laughed; laughed like he was a kid in a candy store. "don't worry, i won't drop you. you trust me, don't you?"

"i..." you gasped, catching your breath as you studied him. he looked crazy, but after what he just did, looks weren’t where the insanity stopped. "i don't know who you are."

he frowned momentarily, holding you against him by your waist. "really? this world's me is lamer than i thought. i mean, look at you." he leaned in close, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "you smell the same. god, i missed this." he inhaled deeply, crushing you in his embrace.

you flattened your hands against his chest and pushed him back a little. "what are you—?"

"hey. i saved you. can a guy get a thank you?" he playfully scolded you, but with him, you couldn't tell if he was actually joking or not.

your eyes trailed over the calamity beneath you. thank you? as bewildered as you were, you played into his hands.

"thank you," you mumbled, a small smile spreading on your lips for good measure.

"you're welcome." he grinned, flying over to the top of an untouched building and setting you gently on the roof's surface. you stumbled onto the concrete until his hand steadied you.

"you say you don't know me. but i know you. and we are so good together, baby." mark said softly, backing you onto a wall. for all the blood on his suit, he handled you so gently. "what d'you say? let's get reacquainted."

VILTRUMITE!MARK

your breath caught in your chest as mark shot down from the sky, sending ripples through the asphalt road. you screamed as your vehicle floated in the air for a split second, enough time for your heart to skip a few beats too many.

mark sped over to you, stopping abruptly right in front of your car. the impact of his sonic boom made your car shoot backwards, sending your back into the windshield mirror with such a force that the glass broke under you.

you didn't even have time to blink before he grabbed your wrist and yanked you towards him, dangling you in front of him like a child inspecting a toy.

"you look just like them." he mumbled under his breath, brown eyes narrowing.

you just stared at him dumbly, horrified by the splatters of blood over his otherwise pristine white uniform.

in stark contrast to the barbaric way he introduced himself, he collected you in his arms and floated away from the disaster on the ground.

"wait—" you protested weakly, but he cradled you closer to his chest.

"dad said you'd come around. that after we took over the planet, i could keep you and you'd eventually stop fighting me." he sighed, heavy. "my mother did. she eventually stopped fighting my dad."

your eyes were wide and vulnerable, unable to tear away from who could be your murderer. what was he talking about?

his grip tightens involuntarily. his jaw clenches. why aren’t you reacting the way you should?

"don't you recognize me? or does the invincible of this world direct his... affection somewhere else?"

mark can feel himself getting frustrated by the look of confusion on your face. you didn't recognize him and it makes him want to kill the invincible of this world even more.

on his world he went to earth to conquer it by his father's side. he didn't expect to ... fall in love with you. love is what his father told him he was feeling, a human emotion that he could only have for something small and harmless. like a pet.

"mother will like you," he muses to himself. "it's been a while since she's seen someone from home."

"i don't—"

"shhh." he softened as he looked at you, a ghost of a smile on his face. "i'll take care of you like i promised. it'll be just like before. we'll be so happy together. right?"

something told you to nod your head if you wanted to live.

NOGOGGLES!MARK

"boo!" mark touched down right in front of your car, a wild grin plastered on his face. this bitch looked insane with the wife-eyed delight on his face from causing the carnage around him.

you screamed and slapped him impulsively, a loud crack echoing around you. oh fuck. holy shit, i am so dead.

but he laughed. he giggled all giddy and massaged his jaw. "holy shit, you've got a good arm on you. do it again."

"huh?" you spluttered, scrambling up the hood of your car away from him.

"wait," he frowned, grabbing your ankle and pulling you back down the windshield. "i said do it again."

as frightened and perplexed as you were, you couldn't stop your mouth from running. "you... want me to hit you?" what the fuck?

"i'm not gonna ask again." his eye twitched imperceptibly. "c'mon, give it your best shot. it'll be fun!"

when you continued to hesitate, he jerked forward. you flinched, sending your knee into his nose.

"haha!" he beamed, swiping at the trail of blood underneath his nose. "this is more fun than the heroes. you're so..." he gripped your shoulders, squeezing experimentally. "small but—"

your hands curl around his biceps in an attempt to deter him, your nails digging through his suit. he hissed, clicking his tongue as he laughed lowly.

"ughh it sucks that i've gotta go kill some heroes now..." he said under his breath, unmoving as you squirmed against him.

mark leaned back, stretching his arms like he hadn't just been breathing down your neck. "you're lucky I'm in a good mood." he tilted his head, as if reconsidering. "or maybe you’re unlucky. guess we’ll see, huh?" he huffed a laugh, his expression wild.

he took your hand gently, almost sweet, lifting it up and pressing your knuckles against his bruised jaw.

"go on," he whispered. "give me one more for the road?"

© invoncible

[sunsetbois]

PLEASE PLEASEE PLEASEEE fluff with the variants any kind i give you full creative freedom!!!

They are totally a bunch of puppies! :) ay or may not have gotten a touch carried away :P made an OC mentioned in one of the little plot points- like a good little vilmy soldier he has a moustach because why not and he did moustach-a-question

Some of them are still meanies tho and as always there's always going to be some sexual/dark themes

Emperor- Mark:

The only time you will see any hint of softness from him is when you are behaving. Being good. Of course you are human and ofcourse that means he recognizes the difference in strength.

Strokes your lower back, has soldiers under him attend to your needs in his absense.

When he does get a moment alone, he rewards you for being good. A date on the other side of the world, he wasn't about to be called a shitty husband by anyone, even if he kind of really was a bit of an asshat. he did care enough to see that you were always protected, seen to, had what you wanted within reason and usually the best of the best, befitting his status.

Still, the date wasn't actually bad, you even tollerated the fancy threaded outfit he insisted you wear- citing it was for a reason. The reason in question you ask? well to match of course. It's not some silly cute gesture either, he just likes matching. What was however out of his usual shit- was that he had paid enough attention to you to have a buffet made of your favourite foods (all organic food sources too, none of that alien-human hybrid food that definitely didn't taste like it's description.) Okay, fine- good direction. the windows wind down- and you realize he had set this all up in the planet's observatory. One thing you had been caught doing a lot since the marriage was star gazing from any and every window you had the chance to look out of. Space should have been a scary prospect but you just seemed enchanted by it if anything- it was something he never told you but he admired your fascination, that you weren't so attached to a sun and moon marking your days and your nights.

So long as you don't ask about work, the inner rullings- he will be docile, borderline pleasant to be around whilst you enjoy the fruits of his labor. Part of him wants to see a reaction, something to say his efforts were worth something after all he planned this just for you, good behaviour aside- to show you how good it could be if you misbehaved less. The moment you verbalize your appreciation of his efforts, it clicks in place- a small barely perceivable satisfaction swelling in a rock solid chest he dared not show. doesn't stop the softer than air "I'd do anything for you." as you fall asleep worn out from him showing you the stars.

Viltrumite- Mark:

He was not privvy to human conditioning, it was a shock that he managed to convince you to say yes of your own volition to his proposal (not much of a choice given it was accept or die with the other inhabitants) in the first place.

Like a hero with their wings cut, you were beginning to resent him, he is privvy enough to know the signs. Humans were predictable yet still astounded him. He is not a fool, he could see your view- you were now in a place where you were outnumbered, deemed fragile by their standards and your purpose on earth as a hero had gone down the shitter seeing as you were now with the bad guy.

When he has the resources, see's that you will not act out- he takes you outside, suggests a play spar- you get to take your anger out on him and use your powers of nature against him without repurcussion or seeing eyes. A win-win in resolving the issues or atleast starting his attempt. The way you look at him as if he had grown a second head instills doubt that you believed him. He is not surprised however when the vines start climbing up his leg rapidly, cocooning his lower body. he flexes his thighs- shredding greenery like a salad. He makes no move, wanting you to get it out a little more, get used to the feel of the energies you had been quelled from using.

At some point during the not so much play spar as it is repeated one sided burials by plants only for him to shed out of at the last second. When you start to smile, get creative- the cogs turning. That's when he turns it into a play fight, flying closer and round in circles as you attempt to ensnare him, willing trees to lean into his flight path for a smack. he lets it- for show. It doesn't really hurt. He lets you make your comments, compare him to a strange prairie dog if you must, at least you sounded happy. You treat him as if he would actually hurt you. when he flies too fast and close - you swing your fist, a wall of foliage blocking him as you flinched............ Cool lips press to yours prompting yours to gingerly flick open, unexpecting of such a light touch that had accompanied the aggressive launch. His hands had created a hole for his face to peek through as he pulls away. "1 - 0, you have to try harder." Was he....? Did he just... steal a kiss..?

Little did you know he was using those cheesy romcoms you didn't know he knew you watched when he wasn't there as basis for how to show you a more human side.

Omni- Mark:

Master of soft, underneath the crust, the mask, the facade.

His muscles were built to hold you, and he lives to prove his purpose. It doesn't matter how you're feeling, your daily routine start to finish always ended in the warmth of his lap by the fireplace he had installed upon your request. Obviously it was not a proper fireplace, one that was made with technology allowing the temperature to mimic just right and the warm glow of the fire to mirror realistic enough. Omni would withstand the toughest of days knowing that it all lead back to this. You so sweetly curled up on him, wearing something of his as you relaxed- free as a bird. You hadn't always been free as a bird, a nicely decorated living area was still a cage.

Reserves the tenderest of touches for you only. hands always resting near you or supporting your ass to find that comfy spot. has a tendency to lightly massage your scalp with the lightest of scratches that feel just so...?.... oh so nice, if he's lucky you reward him with hanging eyelids- relaxed, and a sweet little half smile that leaves no doubt in his mind that you are trying not to melt.

Smelling your hair. It's like smelling what's his, it's as much his weakness as your smile is his antidepressant, all hidden behind the darkest of brown eyes stealing glances at you as he clicks onto the audiobook the both of you had been listening to together. one a week wasn't too bad- maybe if he stopped looking at you, he'd hear half the plot.

Lenseless- Mark:

Lenseless had his moments from almost meeting the definition of 'Sweet' to complete batshit. Batshit was fucking your brains out to Sunday and Sweet was taking you to random places

His version of trying to be sweet is something. Holding hands is an adventure- he fidgets alot, very expressive talker (next thing using your hands to emphasize his points) Won't stop at one kiss- would lick your face chin to scalp if you'd let him.

Is like Pavlov's dog- learns that if he is less forward, he earns points, points he's saving for something BIG. Never in a million worlds would lenseless play dirty to try and guilt you into doting on him, right?

In usual circumstances Viltrumites didn't get sick, absolutely under no circumstances would a mere cold do anything against advanced antibodies and immunity.....right? wrong! Because somehow your friends w/ benefits had gotten sick, apparently some alien cold he said- sniffling dramatically whilst occupying your couch and kicking his feet up. You are tempted to tell him to kick it, seeking a relaxed night to yourself after work. but he is nothing if not persistent. "But y/n! I need you, I can't fight bad guys like this" Aheh, but what he really meant to say was he couldn't go back to play fighting with the cartels, antagonizing the crawler twins on their days off, running circles around a perpetually pissed off Doc seismic and fucking with the general public. How he didn't have the GDA chasing his ass down, astounded you.

Needy hands grabbing at you each time you are forced to get by the couch "Babee I know you can hear me, your laughing!" He says catching you stiffling a chuckle at his latest attempt.

Expects you to feed him soup, claiming his hands aren't "working." gaslights you into thinking this cold is the "worst of the worst" in the hopes that you will play mummy. tows the line of 'too sick to fuck' and 'ohh the pain' yet his grabby hands don't leave you as he manages to finally get you to settle on the couch with him- only for him to try and curl up on you like a damn cat. "So you got any games on your phone?"

Mohawk- Mark:

Mohawk is so used to being abrasive, it takes a bit for him to realize you just needed him to chill, not pick at you, not fuck with you today. IT was his love language for sure, but today you just felt like shit- nothing bad happened persay, it was purely mental. He hadn't picked up on your lack of enthusiasm shall we call it? until he finally glances across the couch to see an almost sad look on your face (resting bitch face, anyone?) Weird. He is tempted to say something, maybe point out that you couldn't be sad when you looked so adorable in the Galaxy's finest and scientifically most comfortable pyjamas (Anniversary gifty) doing jack shit with him.

Not a complete asshole. You hardly expect the slow gradual quiet- just the drawl of whatever imported earth TV show he had projected onto the futuristic screen. That was a first, the second was the hand that massaged your leg in his lap rather than play 'sex or no sex?' you just needed to do nothing. He can tell you aren't in the mood, rather than pry- knowing from prior experience NOT to pry- he applies his rarely acknowledged listening skills. Mohawk was known for being a bit of an asshole, never one to just shut up without good reason even if you two had been going steady for 5 years, but he knew his baby needed some TLC, more so recently than ever. You just seemed so.., human? burnt out? less enthusiastic, less energetic lately. He didn't like it, but saw no reason to talk to you about it yet- seeing as you insisted you were okay. Hell he recognized the signs, he just didn't connect the dots that he wasn't exactly helping, even if you hadn't verbalized why you were feeling so... deflated?

Be prepared to feel the most understimulated bliss you have ever felt. You know those times you were seriously wondering why you put up with some of his shit? well it turns out the little shit actually did notice a few things. Rather than chat your ear off, debate whatever, suggest hypotheticals, he let you bask in the silence- the plot drifting in the background. No theories, no nothing. he surprises you with your favourite food ordered to the room from tech in his suit (having authority did come with its perks afterall.) just so you wouldn't have to deal with anyone below in the eating areas. He becomes an Introverts wet dream for the night, just until he can tell himself you look and sound better. Only interacts when you do for the rest of the night, unless it's to kiss your cheek/forehead/top of the hoodie on said luxurious fancy pyjamas.

That being said, you won't see this kind of consideration all too often.

Sinister- Mark:

Only when Thorlan mispoke, mentioned to him -infront of an audience, no less- why he keeps a human that was not to be enslaved or tortured. Whilst true, his status required additional incubators for heirs where one would bear little, he really doesn't like someone picking at the situation by trying to tell HIM what to do. It was stupid eitherway- a move seasoned out by most of the viltrum population whenever their to be leader acted in lieu of their progression. IT was none of their business why he had taken you yet he waved off talks of additional humans yet doesn't explain in ways they deem reasonable. They were not privvy to why the to be- ruler of earth under viltrum occupation had taken almost a pet? He never made you wear the traditional garbs, so it was clear you weren't to be displayed for the purpose most assumed.

Sinister had never been known to take little digs from someone under and therefore weaker in every way to him so well, but with his not yet ruler status, his father always checked him before he could do more harm than good- keep your cards hidden. That's why it went so well- his hand had vanished from sight and reappeared- red and clenched and surrounded by the meaty gore of a still beating heart. The fool bold enough to try and get him in shit for wanting you, now silent and in reluctant death at his feet, curled moustach a permanent sneer. The others, taking the hint with the severity it was intended. "Thorlan gets the point, anyone else feel brave?"

Nobody questioned why he re-prioritised you- a mere earthling over his duties. When you got sick, some form of a fever from the change in atmosphere. Usually you were left to get well on your own devices- but after the incident with Thorlan and the other higher ups deemed important enough for his ear, he was not planning on leaving you for long. Doesn't say the true reason why- that his men were pieces of shit that he didn't want to risk them trying to take matters into their own hands. He waited with you, in case his paranoia was right and maybe he would have the pleasure of catching anyone feeling particularly bold. He is an asshole most of the time- mainly downplays your symptoms.... until you look pathetic enough from the vomiting, the sweats, the sniffling.. that you absolutely insisted on him not seeing in favor of hiding under the covers of the rarely occupied bed since your indefinite 'stay.'

IF and only if it's particularly bad- will you receive anything that could even come close to 'sweet' or 'overly considerate.' and don't mention it either. because "Maybe I wouldn't have to watch over you but you're human. too weak and fragile to look after yourself." and the classic "Can you atleast try and not dribble it on my sheets?"

And yet... he made sure you ate all the food deemed necesary for recovery, Hadn't told you the pills he had given to you were actually to keep you hydrated seeing as you couldn't keep your eyes open for long without whining about having to drink water which he of course had to assist with, yet the biting remarks are more rounded than biting. Wiped your sweaty forehead without his usual commentary- eventually goes to falling asleep next to you (on top of the sheets) when he really could have been out and not postponing the inevitable bitch fest that was duties. The Rebels could wait for their swift deaths, when you were better. Will never say it to your face, but he secretly likes when you get sick because he has an excuse to be close, albeit unsettling but close enough to keep an eye on things, close enough to remember why he took you. For all the names he calls you, you are nothing short of perfect in his twisted little mind.

Flaxan- Mark:

Valentines day- huh? so that's why you were upset with him. Over a capitalistic made up holiday from... earth? The concept sounded almost silly to him, definitely foreign as he rolls the reasons on his tongue why you were angry with him and currently not doting over him like you usually were like the first week out of the month he was not required to leave for whatever reasons and there had been a lot of reasons so far, none pretty. It's just because he hadn't acknowledged the holiday on a particular date that had lit a flame under your ass, and left him, the amateur torero waiting to be attacked.

Soon realizes it's not really about the holiday, it's the gestures he could have done- the gestures he failed to provide, or go above and beyond to provide for one day- hell it wasn't as if he hadn't tried to up his game here and there, he just hadn't thought. It had upset you and now whether he liked it or not, he was in the dog house trying to unchain himself. It'd be a real effort to verbalize the hurt he had caused, the little somethings he had brought, not a worry. He knew you too well to know exactly what little somethings you would appreciate.

This argument is one of few where he conceded, the realization that you mattered more. So what if you wanted to celebrate earthling holidays, between the two of you, it could happen. His men wouldn't say a word, knowing if they say anything it would be cut down at the stub- the feud between Flaxan people and earth forgotten for one human of all things, but every year on the same date, he celebrated it with you.

One time you had gifted him a pair of handknitted socks- completely human and not something he would usually be excited to recieve, but you point out the design- his star sign you had taken time (months) to learn and knit into the design for his consideration. He loves those socks and not because of the human star sign you had taken time to figure out and knit- but that you paid attention, put so much effort into the socks, he might have wept if he wasn't so stunted. He was usually too busy to even question where things were at in the relationship. The holiday just quelled any lingering doubts and he now had an opportunity to impress you more each year. Gives you traditional Flaxan jewelry, usually with very rare pearls from the hibernating fish (never tells you that he sources the pearls/gems/crystals himself and simply lets the jewellery maker add it to his design notes. Always includes a bit of tech in his little gifts to you, after all he wanted only the best for his partner.

Prisoner- Mark:

You are going to have to spell it out for him... It had been a month since whatever this was happened. Part of him wonders if you meant to do it? Clearly not as you had slyly been trying to get him to entertain your playful footsie attempts. In different, less blurred circumstances he would have tapped your leg right back, but now? he was still hesitant to touch you. Who would have thought that he was actually worrying about hurting you, when you were technically the enemy. Except you really weren't, it was funny how one meeting and fighting it out could have ended up with... this? him- an ex prisoner of his species on viltrum and you a viltrumite sent to locate and end him.

Last week your foot was fucking up his ribcage and now they were so gently tapping against his leg before he watched your eyes glue back to the scenery in front of you both- a foreign planet with purple skies and stable buildings constructed using the planets natural resources- the best for defence. It was rare to see you in a playful mood... given he had watched you go from good soldier to dare he say soft? he certainly didn't have to tell you that he grew on you, your actions already told him that, even if you still had your moments. but you seemed to like him, maybe he had knocked a screw loose during your initial fight?

Prisoner still to this day doesn't know what switched in you- to make you renounce Viltrum like he had. To stab the un-stabbable back. perhaps that's why he doesn't catch himself tapping back- a fraction of the nudge you were pretending not to give him. Were you wondering what he would do? it continues on until one of you breaks- him first when he figured it out, a small barely perceivable hum of amusement, then there was you, "Having fun there?" You always pointed out his cracks. "I didn't expect humor to be in your dictionary" He refers to the joke you had slyly been morse coding onto his leg. unexpected, but nice. Taps one back. One about a conqueror falling for the enemy- fitting eh?. He doesn't miss the irony as the peace settles in. He knew you were in your head again. Probably still trying to make sense of your u-turn, of him. Prisoner knows he is not the most... ideal looking. Hell you probably knew that when you were sent to kill him. It's back and forward- murky, feeling the landing.

The night ends- date in his mind. Better than the other ones- if they could be called that. Apart from hiding out on an alien planet, neither of you could leave yet whilst the viltrum enforcers were circling outside of the atmosphere, waiting for his corpse or yours. either way, you both made it a home away from home, they would leave eventually- to report/suggest invasion... but that would be okay, because he knew you would both be gone, it was just a matter of waiting. His hand touches yours on the smooth pane of the roofing- unsure but certain as he notices your questioning look. He gave no explanation, he just wanted to touch you- to know you knew what you were getting yourself into. The unexpected squeeze back, a reminder of why you were not currently beating his brains into mush.

[streco3y]

Why would he need so many piercings?

[dontforgetiminvincible]

Mohawk Mark for a friend

[poptartpillow]

Bully Mohawk Mark X reader

Part one:

[note: guys i am not much of a writer anymore. Wrote this for fun.]

━✦❘༻༺❘✦━ ━✦❘༻༺❘✦━ ━✦❘༻༺❘✦━

-

-

“Well look who it is”

Oh god

Not him..

Anyone but him.

You try to ignore his annoying voice. But by now it's too late. his voice sounds too close to your proximity to ignore.

There's only one person who can ruin your positive mood at 8 in the morning.

Mark Grayson.

He's such an asshole. He's been teasing and bullying you for a while now. Daily too. Almost like he looks forward to it, and your hobbies don't make it easier. With a special interest in superheroes and comics. You're such an easy target for him.

It doesn't help that you're the president of the comic club.

If anything it makes you more of a target for him.

He slams your locker shut. Enough to startle you. You look up at him and take in his features. He's got brown eyes. But not the soft brown eyes most guys have. It's a harsher color. Darker. Piercings fill his face. He's got some on his nose, mouth area, ears, and eyebrows. Eye bags too. Looks tired.

Very tired.

And his most recognizable asset yet. His Mohawk. He looks like such a jerk. Like he eats screws and bolts for fun. He lives in his parents' basement.

"Stop staring at me dipshit." He said pushing you

You stumble back a little. Usually, it would be you and him. He'd make fun of you maybe push you a little or beat you up a little. But he's not alone this time. Mark has his little group of friends watching the whole thing go down. Like a villain. They even seem like his goons

(Haha goon)

"I'm not in the mood for this mark." You said clutching your books and attempting to walk away.

He grabs you by the shoulder and pushes you. You're back hitting the locker.

"I'm not finished here nerd," he said looking at you. He then grabbed your books.

Just a bunch of nonsense. Algebra, Chemistry, Honors English...BORING.

But there it is. A limited edition seance dog comic that you've spent weeks saving up for. Doing various chores, walking dogs, and mowing lawns.

Mark roughly hands you back your books. Almost like a "damn here" kind of way. 

"Look what we have here...this little nerd brought their ultra rare comic to school!!!" He said mockingly while holding it and flipping through the pages looking unimpressed.

"MARK GIVE THAT BACK!!" You exclaim trying to grab the comic back.

"No. Let me have a little fun with it!!" he said laughing and dangling the comic so it was out of your reach.

"Mark cut it out!!" You said trying to reach it.

Unfortunately, it's too far from your reach.

Mark holds it like he's about to rip it. He smiles at you.

"Whoopsies...I wonder what happens if I try to...rip this comic..." he said with a grin on his face

The audacity and nerve of this guy to smile at you while implying to rip your comic.

"Don't you fucking dare." You say to him. Probably the first time you've said anything like that to him.

His eyes widen. A laugh comes out. It's not a normal Mark laugh. It's more like a "I'm making fun of you" laugh.

"Oh no...!! Shiver me timbers...what are you going to do..." he said while pretending to chatter his teeth

Mark then lets out a bigger laugh. His group starts laughing along with him like mindless idiots.

"Do me a favor and don't ever say shit like that again!!" He said throwing the comic back. It makes a rough landing on the ground.

Feeling humiliated you go pick it up where it landed.

Knowing there was nothing you could do about his shitty attitude. You just suck it up and check the comic for any damage. Nothing worth getting mad over. Thank goodness. You then proceed to place it back in your locker where it should have been.

"Jeez it's just a comic," he said rolling his eyes "not a good comic either."

You ignore him.

Instead, you reach into your locker and pull out a bunch of fliers. They're for your comic club. Today you're hosting a character design workshop. Promotion for your club if you will.

You hesitate for a little. Thinking.

Should I really be giving it to him...??

but hand one to Mark anyways.

Mark looks surprised as you hand him the paper. He inspects it closely.

"What is this?" He said looking at it like it's some sort of foreign item.

Was this a mistake? Should you even invite him? He's been nothing but an asshole to you.

Yet

Inviting him does mean you'll have a chance of having more people at your event. Even if that means inviting the asshole that makes your mornings worse.

"It's a flier...for my club...see I'm hosting a character design workshop." You say a little sheepishly

He looks...confused? That's not what you expected.

"You want me to attend your little nerd fest..?" He said crossing his arms while looking at you

"You don't have to. See there's gonna be a lot of drawing activities and I brought a bunch of foreign snacks for the event and just wanted to hand these flyers out to promote the event" you said pointing to the flier

His expression changed at the word "snacks" It was almost comical.

"Foreign snacks..?" He asked.

Wow for once in his stupid life, he wasn't immediately gonna start making fun of you or pushing you into anything.

"Yeah stuff from places like Korea and Japan...you know exclusives you can't get here." You said cautiously. Hoping he wouldn't switch up and start whacking you for even talking to him longer than usual.

"You don't say," he says still looking at the flier.

Why is he taking so long? Just crumple it up and move on.

He looks at the flyer then back at you.

"Do I have to attend your little nerd family gathering...." he groaned

He's considering it..??

"Uh yeah...you do. But I can hand you some more snacks if you do decide to attend" you said

WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?? Oh god, he's gonna punch you for sure.

He looks over at his friends. They look back at him. It's like they're trying to form a thought for the first time.

"I'll attend your little nerd show. But I'm only going for the rare snacks. And there better be snacks" he crumpled the flyer and threw it at you.

Predicted that one.

But you don't have time to think. Just to give out flyers and preparing everything for the workshop.

Suddenly a bunch of students walked by. Perfect opportunity to hand out these fliers

"Hey are you interested in character design..?" You say with a smile

[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

[bunnyclawzz]

“C’mon, baby..c’monn-one more. One more, pretty girl! Please? Pleease?”

Mark begged you, kissing at and licking your juices from your inner thigh as his two fingers pushed in and out of you. He’s been down there for too long already. One moment you two were giggling and laughing over the stupid movie he put on, the next he was on his knees, kissing through your underwear and begging to just have a small taste.

“M-Mark, calm down” you whine at him, your hand tugging at his dark hair weakly. You barely had the strength to use your voice, let alone manage to pull your half alien boyfriend away from what he so desperately wants.

“I know you can keep going. You’re strong, aren’t you baby? Just one more-Only one!” He added on as if you weren’t whining after the third orgasm. His lips latch onto your clit, gently sucking as his fingers pound in and out of you. The noises that fill the room are borderline gross; wet squelching from your poor, overstimulated hole, his muffled moans that send the sweetest vibrations through you, your weak whines and huffs. All straight from a porno.

“I know, baby, I know-“ he murmured the soft reassurance as he pulled his fingers out, quickly replacing them with his tongue. You huff and writhe under him, soft thighs squeezing around your skull as your breathing picks up.

Then there you are again, being pushed over the edge for the umpteenth time in the hour. You gasp, whiny moans filling the room as you finish. He never stops, getting faster if anything, slurping loudly and moaning into you, his deep eyes stuck on your face just to see those perfect lips spilt open in a silent scream as he eats your cum right out of you

“god baby..” he breathed out as he sat back on his heels. His face is covered in your juices, all messy with a big grin on his lips, tongue moving out to lick the corner of his mouth.

“One more time, yeah??”

[yanderenightmare]

Mark Grayson — Invincible Variants

♡ TW: nsfw, yandere, poly yanderes, captive reader, invincible variants in general, you've seen the show

♡ GN reader

You’re dead in every other universe. 

It’s his fault.

He tries to save you, but he’s too late—every single time.

And in every universe, it’s what pushes him to embrace his Viltrumite nature. It’s his canon event. The moment he realizes he can’t trust in the weak constitution of human beings, it costs him too much, so he adopts his father's truth—things that drop dead like flies have the same value, meaning worthless.

So you can imagine the clusterfuck raging on in each of their heads when they find out you’re alive and well in the universe they’ve been told to wreak havoc in.

And you’re as pretty as the day they lost you. And teary-eyed and scared and cute, calling out for your Mark to come and save you. Oh fuck, how their cold hearts all melted at once.

The plan changed then. If this were the only world you were still alive in, then it was the only world they needed to conquer. And with eighteen of them, it wouldn’t be hard.

Or well, so it proved to be a little hard…

But the eight of them that survived killed Angstrom. Then locked your Mark up, thinking he could be convenient to keep.

It didn’t even take a week before Earth surrendered in full.

That wasn’t the hard part. In fact, it’s good that over half of them died—because sharing you between the eight of them is the real challenge. 

It’s not something they’re used to. Fights break out daily. And they don’t care about the damage dealt. It’s like kids stomping on an anthill just for the fun of it, leaving thousands to die every time.

Feeling as though it’s your responsibility, you try your best to please them all. Coming up with schedules—how they can alter daily or even hourly if need be—but it all proves fruitless. All you end up doing is begging them not to fight—on your knees, bowing while sobbing, holding onto the edge of their cape, pleading with them to stay.

They seem to like that. When you lower yourself.

Most of them refer to you as a pet. 

You remember Mark saying his father said he saw his mom the same way. You remember your Mark being disgusted by it. But even those of them who don’t refer to you that way still treat you like one, like something lesser, like something they’re letting live for personal reasons, not because you’re something that deserves to live.

The kinder Marks have a little more decorum about it. The superiority has really gotten to their heads, trying to spare you the understanding of how they truly see you, as if you can’t read between the lines. You don’t know if you dislike them more than the cruel Marks. At least they’re honest about it.

You’re starting to doubt whether your Mark is even still alive…

You’d cried for weeks on end to see him. And when they’d finally complied, they took you to the prison cell where they were holding him. You’d sobbed and kissed him and told him how much you missed him and how terrible everything had been without him, how you weren’t sure how much more you could take. 

He’d played along well enough for a while—you hadn’t been able to tell. But at some point, the way he touched you just didn’t feel right.

He laughed once you understood it. Mocked you. Licked the tears off your cheek with a grin and said it was worth it playing your weak-willed wimp version of them just to see that pretty look on your face. A couple of the others came in after that—they’d all found it just as funny. And then they told you they knew of a way to cure your loneliness—after all, why have your wimpy Invincible, when you can have the elite?

One time, when you were being extra whiny, as they call it, they’d taken you up in the sky and used you to play catch.

Mark had taken you flying before, but he’d never ever dropped you. And so you’d screamed until your voice gave out, and then you’d just closed your eyes and prayed for death.

But that wasn’t the worst part of it, as you found out… No, the worst part was when they’d undressed you and started playing something different with you. In the air, thirty thousand feet above the ground.

They all might look like Mark, but none of them are anything like him—some more than others. Beyond just sadistic, they’re psychotic. No humanity left, just trigger-happy thrill-seeking maniacs. They don’t even fight each other over you—they fight each other for fun. Coming back with mangled legs and broken jaws. Because why not? It’s no matter. They’re healed within the week. They don’t care about the many lives they’ve left in their wake.

But you’d caught a foul cold after their skylarking.

They’re not used to facing consequences—didn’t know who to blame but each other. Didn’t know how to fix it either—all scared you were going to die. They never did it again after that.

That’s not to say your life became any easier.

The dynamics became ever more strange the more months that passed...

At first thy wouldn’t fuck you at the same time, then they would, but without acknowledging the others presence, then it became a competition to see who could fuck you best. 

It’s not like that anymore.

Their narcissism has now evolved into a strange attraction towards each other. And it’s odd as fuck to be caught in the middle off.

They like watching each other fuck you now. Getting off on seeing themselves get off, using you more like a toy than a partner.

Any day now, and you’re sure they’re going to start kissing and touching each other.

Fuck knows what your role will be in all of it when that time comes.

��� MISCELLANEOUS masterlist

[swtheartz]

“ DRIVE WHO CRAZY? ” — M. Grayson variants what’s he like in the bedroom?

info : smut & nsfw, nasty nasty shit idk what to tell you. AFAB reader a / n : i actually need to be spit roasted by every single variant and main mark i’m sorry

SINISTER MARK

biting, scratching, is very condescending in bed. this one doesn’t leave marks to be possessive, as lovely as that thought is. nuh uh. he does it to match with you. he’s the one biting, you’re the one scratching. he prefers cowgirl most of the time, but when he needs to let out his frustrations, he loves a good mating press and full nelson. definitely the kind to record you when you’re fucking—not as blackmail really, but because he likes going back and hearing the sounds you make. likes that he’s the one that makes you sound like that. mirror sex. that’s it. that’s the sentence. spit kink. it’s inevitable with this freak. he’ll put his fingers in your mouth just to see your drool, to feel your teeth on his skin.

MOHAWK MARK

he lovesss someone who’s able to bite back at him. you’re both mean in bed, he absolutely loves it. missionary, cowgirl AND reverse cowgirl, 69. . . i could go on and on. he’s all sloppy kisses and makeouts. will absolutely dry hump you and cum in his suit or pants. don’t ever believe him when he asks for a quickie, it will NEVER be quick. ‘just the tip??’ yeah, no. he’s lying through his teeth. this man cannot live without fully indulging himself in you. you’d think he hated you with the way he fucks you—he’s genuinely, and not so secretly, obsessed. PUSSY EATER. sloppy with it. can’t help but wanna live in between your legs for the rest of his life. spells out his name and a multitude of words on your clit whenever you’re close to cumming, would absolutely suffocate between your thighs if he could. begs you to sit on his face constantly. . . . tongue piercing. . . yum.

SHIESTY MARK

dirty talker 100%. “c’mon, fuck me back. there you go, pretty. keep it up.” doggy style, reverse cowgirl, prone bone. he’s unfortunately an exhibitionist. heavy on eye contact, too, when he’s not wearing that fuck ass shiesty LOLL loves to cover your mouth and tell you to listen, fucks into you harder to get his point across as he obsessed over the filthy sound of your cunt sucking him in. lovesss to finger fuck you. don’t ask him why, he’s not gonna answer. but truthfully, just the thought of making your eyes roll back and to feel you cum around his fingers alone makes him impossibly hard. he’s a little embarrassed about it.

OMNI MARK

very quiet in bed. isn’t messy—no, he’s very precise. knows exactly what to do to make you fall apart. almost like he studies you, wants to know what makes you tick. prone bone, mating press, missionary. don’t ever let this man hit it raw. he won’t ever want to pull out if you do. but if you do. . . he shudders just from putting the tip in. tries to stay calm and collected, but the second he’s all the way down to the hilt, he swears he loses a little bit of his sanity. cockwarming’s a big thing with you two. he doesn’t know how he even manages to control himself, but he manages. for a while, anyway. every once in a while when he feels the need to let out his frustration, this man will put you in a headlock. just to hold you in place because he is definitely big on overstimulation just to hear you squeal. this is why prone bone’s so high on his list. breeding kink. no i’m not elaborating.

taglist : @lxkoluvsu @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha @tokoyamisstuff

[seacuppy]

Mark bazomkers

[vinnyvamppp]

Lord almighty save me, my brain has been spiraling ever since I read Viltrumite Mark going into heat. 🩷🩷🩷 Now I’m picturing all the variants having a heat cycle (separately with reader ofc [unless— 👀 reader would break, I fear in the best way though]). Any chance I can request other versions of it, like with No Goggles, MoHawk, Sinister, Omni-Mark or Shiesty? 👀👀👀

𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐨𝐨

A/N: Every main, side, and popular variant is in this bitch.

Warnings: Smut, Knotting, Overstimulation, Breeding Kink, Pheromone Play, Power Dynamics, Sub/Dom Dynamics, Heat Cycles, Rough Sex, Penetrative Sex, Cum-Eating, Anal Sex, and etc.

Synopsis: Each version of Mark Grayson—bratty kings, calculating monsters, broken gods—crave the same thing: your body, your loyalty, your soul. You’re a cure and a weakness they crave to keep. Consume him.

⭐: Lensless, Sinister, Variant #17, Shiesty/Hooded, Mohawk, Masked, Main Mark, Omni-Mark (Teasers): Gangbang, Thragg, Nolan, Atom Eve, Rex, and Rae. (Viltrum Marks Ver: Here.)

Viltrumite Heat Cycles x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 17.1k

Sinister Mark

Sinister Mark didn’t fall apart. He broke others physically, mentally, and existentially. The idea of something breaking him was absurd. The usual cocky demeanor—full of false-promising smiles, had been replaced by something raw: an expression of strife.

So when the heat started... he ignored it. He thought he could power through it like a broken rib. Pain meant nothing to him. Weakness didn’t exist in his vocabulary. This couldn’t be happening to him. The Invincible, utterly devoid of humanity, felt his knees weaken.

Then he smelled you, and suddenly, he was falling.

It hit him right in the middle of a mission, screams drowned beneath the crackle of fire, blood coating his knuckles, a ruined building collapsing behind him as survivors scrambled to hide. He should have flown home. Instead—he flew to you.

Now you stood in front of him in your apartment, lips parted, wearing that thin tank top he had imagined ripping off in more than one intrusive fantasy.

"Mark?" you asked cautiously, eyes scanning his tense body. "You look... flushed." He didn’t respond at first. He just stepped inside, his eyes devouring every inch of you like a predator locking onto its prey after weeks of hunting.

"I told myself I wouldn’t do this," he muttered, the door clicking shut behind him. "That I could outlast it."

The red haze burning behind his eyes had only intensified. His pupils were blown wide, his chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. His jaw clenched, muscles flexing as he fought against the last threads of restraint. He couldn't explain what was happening, only how it felt—the kind of arousal that outpaced even the blood pumping through his veins.

"But then I thought about you," he said slowly. "About how you'd feel under me. How you'd sound." His smile was humorless. "That's all it took to lose control."

He crossed the room in a blink. One hand slammed into the wall beside your head; the other gripped your waist hard enough to bruise. He inhaled deeply, his nose brushing your neck. You drove him insane in ways other women could only dream of.

"You smell unreal," he rasped—like temptation, like trouble, like a nuisance he wanted to carry.

"Mark, what is thi—" you started, but he cut you off with his mouth.

His lips crashed into yours with brutal desperation. There was no hesitation, just raw hunger and the urge to conquer. His tongue forced its way between your lips, teeth clashing clumsily against yours as he fought to taste every part of you. His hands roamed up your sides and under your shirt, gripping you tight, possessive, like you were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

He expected you to melt. To plead. Maybe to behave sweetly, submissively, the way you sometimes did. But no—you twisted your fingers into his hair and yanked, just enough to make him groan. The ichor from his bloodstained hands smeared across your waist.

"You already know how this ends," he growled, pulling back just long enough to rip the tank top from your body. "I'm not gentle. And right now? I’m not asking."

His mouth latched onto your throat, your collarbone, devouring the skin there with a feverish fervor. Your fingers tangled again in his hair as he groaned into your neck, grinding his hips against yours, caging you completely against the wall.

"This heat—it’s made me insane for you," he hissed. "I see you in my dreams. I wake up hard and furious that you’re not next to me." You shivered. "Then make it real."

He lifted you effortlessly, his lips claiming yours again, carrying you toward the bedroom like a man possessed. You could feel the heat radiating from him, burning into your skin, muscles twitching beneath the strained spandex of his suit.

Mark wasn’t the type to surrender to anything. But tonight, he surrendered to you.

He kissed you like an afterthought—like you were the inevitable conclusion to every version of his day. It was slow at first, almost mocking, daring you to push him away. But you didn’t and you wouldn't because you enjoyed the attention. The kiss deepened with a low growl caught in his throat—teeth grazing your bottom lip just enough to sting. His hand curled possessively around your jaw, guiding you, as if he already owned every inch of you.

His breath ghosted over your face, and then you were dropped onto the mattress. He dove in after you, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could keep him alive.

It was slow, but not sweet. He peeled your clothes off like he was unwrapping a weapon. His hands slid beneath your shirt, brushing your ribs—his eyes flickering with dark amusement even as his touch trembled with lust. His fingers traced every curve that had haunted his dreams.

Your palms pressed against the mattress, knees spread just wide enough to hold your balance but not wide enough for him. You felt the bed dip behind you as he settled in—looming, warm, suffocating. His fingers dug into your flesh, leaving marks that would bloom into bruises.

His breath seared your neck—hot, hungry, trembling with restraint. His chest pressed flush against your back, his body vibrating with need. You shivered, not from cold, but from the way he gripped you, as if he needed to devour you to survive.

"You’re so wet I could drown in you," he growled into your ear, his voice curling around you like smoke. "Maybe I should."

His hand traced a deliberate path down your spine, dragging heat and chills alike until he reached your hips. His thumbs hooked into the waistband of your pants, tugging them down just past your hips before letting them fall. He paused there, worshipful, possessive. One finger slipped beneath your panties, teasing—and with a hard tug, he tore them apart.

He left your underwear for last, dragging his thumbs over the soaked fabric before sliding it off, letting his eyes drink you in. "So worth the wait," he muttered. He didn’t break eye contact with your reflection in the mirror across the room. His nose twitched as he inhaled sharply. "You love this," he said, voice low. "Don’t lie to me. I can smell you."

Before you could even scoff, his teeth sank into your shoulder—a deep, burning mark that drew a startled cry from your throat. The pain melted fast into pleasure, flaring hot and low in your belly. His hips ground against your ass, cock pressed thick and heavy between your thighs. His whole body trembled, every shred of his usual composure slipping.

"You love this," he growled again. "Don’t lie. I can feel your body begging me to ruin it." You pushed back against him—grinding slow, deliberate, a smile tugging at your lips. "Go ahead," you whispered. "Show me how weak you really are." His groan was feral. "Still so mouthy," he hissed, voice ragged. "Fine."

There was no warning, no teasing. Just one brutal thrust—stretching you open, hot and unrelenting. A gasp tore from your throat, your hands scrabbling for the bed frame as your back arched into him. He held you there—chest pressed to your back—his whole body shaking from the effort not to lose control.

"Fuck, you feel perfect," he muttered, his voice splintering. "You always do."

You bit down on his shoulder until he hissed, dragging your nails down his side until his hips bucked into you, the bed shuddering beneath the force. He didn’t stop. His body was on autopilot now, pounding into you until your vision blurred and your body clamped around him like a vise.

The heat didn’t just fuel him—it destroyed him. It turned his pleasure into something darker, something he had no hope of resisting. He didn’t want to fuck you. He wanted to etch himself into your nervous system. "Fuck," he rasped, forehead pressed to the back of your neck. "You’re so tight, so warm... I could die inside you."

His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, the words so hoarse and broken they barely sounded like him anymore. He rolled his hips, grinding slow and deep, making you feel every desperate second he was buried inside you. His fingers slipped down between your thighs—stroking the swollen, soaked mess he had made of you. Your body shuddered at his touch, and a cry escaped your lips, only spurring him on.

"You’re dripping," he groaned. "All for me. Only for me."

He wanted every gasp to come from him. Every soft whimper to bear his name. He would fuck you slow and cruel just to see how long it would take before you started begging. And afterward—when you were wrecked and mindless—he would kiss you sweetly, because that was the worst part: how completely you unraveled him and how much he lived for it.

It was a craving so deep it rewired his instincts. Pain felt good. Pleasure felt like war. His eyes rolled into his skull at the sight of your ass bouncing back against him, the sheer force rocking you into his pelvis over and over. "Look at you—pathetic," he panted, the words filthy but breathless. "So easy once I start fucking you right."

The heat was overwhelming. His strangled whimpers filled the air around you, cracked and broken, raw with desperation. "Just squirming for me... so much for that sharp mouth."

There was no real bite behind the words now. Only the heaving rasp of a man on the edge of combustion. His body shuddered against yours, his hips stuttering. For a moment, you could feel his cock softening—but every dragging pull of your body around him yanked him back in like a magnet.

He pounded into you, hips moving erratically, his breaths ragged, sweat dripping down his temple. The orgasm building inside him sent violent twitches down his spine, his thrusts matching the rattling pace of his racing heart. He drove into you hard and deep, the swollen tip of his cock catching against your cervix each time, sending you reeling.

His hands were everywhere—greedy, rough, almost clumsy with need. You felt him rut against you like a man lost, desperate to get closer, closer still. The wet, obscene sounds of your bodies meeting filled the room, slick and loud, as your head dipped into the mattress from sheer sensory overload.

He made you wait for it. His tongue trailed your nape first, teasing along the curve of your neck, slow and lazy, like he was memorizing you. And when he finally bit, it wasn’t playful but rather purposeful and ragged. A deep—anchoring pressure that made you jolt under him. You felt the throb of it shoot down your whole body.

He wanted you marked, bruised, maybe even bleeding. He wanted proof that you belonged to him, proof that no matter what happened tomorrow, tonight you were his. You weren’t a weakness. You were a religion, and this was his new form of prayer.

He moved faster, harder, his hand clutching your hip so tight it was almost painful. You knew it wouldn’t take much more—the way you clenched around him, the way your body opened for him, made his mind blank.

When you came, screaming his name, your body convulsing so hard you thought you might shatter, he sobbed. Not loud—just a soft, wrecked sound against your ear, so broken it barely made it out of his throat.

Because you had won again. He was truly weak during these ruts—and though he'd never admit it—he secretly wanted it that way. The night was far from over. His balls were heavy with another load already, the ache undeniable, and you noticed. You always noticed.

As you turned, straddling him for another round, he stared up at you, eyes wild and almost feverish. His voice broke when he murmured, "Please. Please ride me. I’ll shut up. I’ll be so quiet."

The scent of scorched cedar clung to the air, thick and heady. It wrapped around you, seeped into your skin, and filled your lungs until it made your head spin. You breathed it in and felt hunted—and weirdly, wanted.

When you sank onto him again, it was a slow, brutal stretch. His cock filled you completely, locking into place as he groaned through gritted teeth, his hands trembling where they gripped your hips. His forehead dropped to your neck, his fingers curling under your jaw to guide you down harder onto him when the knot started swelling.

He didn’t panic, nor did he hesitate. He had planned this. And when you tried to move, he growled low in your throat and pinned you down harder, hips grinding deep to milk every ounce of sensation from both your bodies.

"I don’t want fast," he whispered roughly. "I want slow torture. Let me feel every single inch... again." You could only gasp as he rutted up into you, deep and slow, grinding your bodies together until it was impossible to tell where you ended and he began.

Omni Mark

He hadn’t planned to see you tonight. Omni-Mark had half the galaxy kneeling at his feet, another third begging for mercy, and the rest daring to defy him. That should’ve occupied his attention. But the heat came early.

It was unforgiving. He fought it at first, of course he did. Viltrumites were above their biology—or so they thought—but this wasn’t a subtle ache or dull need. This was a burning, a low snarl in his blood that turned every thought into you. Whether it was your voice, your body, or your scent.

Now, here he stood in your doorway, fists clenched so hard his gloves tore, sweat beading on his forehead despite the icy chill in the air. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he warned, his voice low, reverberating like thunder in a canyon. You raised an eyebrow, only half-dressed in a sleep shirt. “I never asked for anything. I want you to let go, Mark.”

That made something snap in him.

In an instant, he was on you, hands gripping your waist, slamming the door shut with the other. His mouth crashed into yours in a passionate, suctioning kiss that pulled the air from your lungs. His lips were soft, molding against yours as his tongue gently caressed yours. You barely registered the way your feet left the ground—his grip tightening possessively. He pulled away just long enough to nuzzle into the crook of your neck.

“You’re soft… too soft,” he breathed, eyelids fluttering like he was trying to snap himself out of the trance you had pulled him into. “You think I haven’t dreamed about this?” he growled against your ear. “You think I haven’t imagined burying myself in you while the universe burns around us?”

You clawed at the armor along his arms, gasping when he bit down on your neck—hard enough to leave a mark but not break skin. You felt the growl building in his chest, the way his whole body vibrated with restraint. “You’re my weakness,” he confessed between fevered kisses. “I should’ve destroyed you when I realized what you meant to me.”

“But you didn’t,” you whispered.

“I couldn’t,” he admitted.

He dropped you onto the bed like the princess you were. His costume peeled away in pieces, every inch of exposed skin rippling with tension—the kind of power that could level continents, yet somehow was gentle with you. You reached for him, but he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice trembling. “If you touch me right now, I won’t be able to stop.”

“Maybe I want to be ruined,” you whispered, your words like honey blessing his ears.

He crashed down onto you, desperate, kissing you with reverence and fury at once. His mouth mapped every inch of your body like a man on borrowed time. His lips trembled slightly against your skin, and an unfamiliar greed lingered in his touch. His hands explored and gripped every valley and curve he could reach, leaving your skin warm with the imprint of his palms.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your mouth, over and over like a mantra. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.” His voice cracked, that calm, collected demeanor unraveling to reveal the boy he once was.

Omni-Mark didn’t believe in surrender. But with you beneath him, gasping his name, begging for more, he didn’t need to.

He kissed like an emotion given shape—like someone who was never taught softness, only possession, but craved it so. When his mouth met yours—it wasn’t tentative. There was no gentle testing of the waters. It was hunger and desperation, devouring you like he was terrified he’d never taste you again. His hands cupped your jaw, a little too tight, while his body caged you in with muscle and need, heat radiating off him in heavy, sweltering waves.

He watched the way your knees buckled when he finally pulled back, panting, red-eyed, drunk on the taste of you. “You call that a kiss?” he rasped, lips already slick with yours, pupils blown wide. “Try again. Put your back into it.”

You felt the shift instantly. His hand curled around the back of your neck, firm but not rough, holding you there as his tongue pushed deeper into your mouth. The kiss grew sloppy—fast, breathless, and messy—his breath catching every time your hips brushed. He walked you backward without breaking the connection, steps deliberate until your thighs met the edge of the bed frame. His hand dragged down your side—palming the curve of your ass like he was checking to make sure you were real.

When your fingernails scraped gently up the back of his neck, he moaned into your mouth—quiet, raw, almost ashamed of how much it affected him. His cock was already hard, pressing against the fabric of his pants, grinding into your hip like a need he couldn’t reason with anymore.

He unwrapped you like you were a relic unearthed in some war-ravaged city. Like something precious and divine that was buried beneath fabric. His fingers curled around the hem of your shirt, but he didn’t yank. He peeled it away, inch by slow inch, eyes locked onto you as your breath shuddered with every inch of exposed skin.

When he got to your underwear, his hand lingered—not out of hesitation, but because he was reeling. His thumb brushed over the fabric, memorizing you, before he diligently undressed you. His eyes glazed over like a man about to feast.

You were already seated in his lap when the snap beneath his skin finally broke open and all that restraint crumbled into dust. His scent grew sharp and sticky, like the smell of rain on dry earth. His arms came around you from behind—forearms like iron bars across your stomach as you rocked against him. You could feel every inch of him beneath you: his cock—heavy and flushed—already pressed between your slick folds. His head bowed low, lips dragging from your shoulder to the shell of your ear.

“You’re shaking,” he muttered darkly, his voice frayed with strain. “Is it the heat... or me?” You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you pressed your hips back deliberately, grinding into him slowly, cruelly. He shuddered, biting back a moan like it betrayed him.

He wasn’t ready to slide into you yet. He wanted you to feel it first. Wanted you gasping from the pressure of him nudging against your entrance. His teeth sank into your nape like he was starving, tongue dragging after to soothe the sting only to suck the skin back into his mouth.

“This isn’t about power—it’s about you letting me have it all,” he whispered against your neck, his voice wet and sick with hunger. He wanted to ruin you so gently you’d fall even deeper in love. “Tell me to stop. Just say it. Please.” His final warning, his final plea. He was never the most talkative, but he whispered murmurs against your skin like it was his coping mechanism.

Heeding his warning, you ignored him. Instead, you ground down harder, once, twice, teasing your entrance just enough to let him slip inside. It was over.

He groaned, the sound uncharacteristically high, and thrust up in one gripping, seamless motion. Your body gave with a lurch, your eyes fluttering shut as the air punched from your lungs. He bottomed out instantly—nudging every ridge, heavy, and throbbing deep inside you, but didn’t move.

“No?” he whispered. “Then take it. Take all of it.”

“I warned you.” He gritted his teeth, biting back broken whines. His forehead pressed against your neck, lips brushing over your skin as if to muffle his own groans.

“I’ll be gentle—then I’ll break you. And you’ll thank me." Your body pressed flush against his, the cool air in the room doing nothing to temper the heat radiating off his skin. Omni-Mark’s breath was steady at first—controlled, just like everything else he did. Even now, with you seated in his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, he held himself like a soldier at war. His palms smoothed over your waist, thumbs stroking reverently at the dip of your hips, almost as if he was trying to memorize how you felt beneath his hands.

"You don’t know what you do to me," he murmured against your shoulder. "You were supposed to make me stronger. Not... this."

His thrusts were slow, intentional, and deep. Every movement pressed you forward just enough for his pelvis to grind against your clit, the friction exquisite in its cruelty. He wasn’t rutting—he was studying you. Each drag of his cock was a question: Will this make you break first? But you didn’t.

Instead, you sank your hips back harder, rolling your spine as you moaned, letting him feel just how much you needed him. You caught his gaze over your shoulder, lips curling into a smile that wasn’t soft—it was sharp, daring. His fingers flexed hard enough around your hips to leave bruises, the illusion of his control slipping.

"Quiet?" you teased through heavy breaths, tilting your head back against his shoulder. "Is that focus... or fear?" He said nothing, almost smiling to himself as you mocked him. He just growled low in his throat, his hands clenching tighter as he jerked you back onto him, forcing you to take him even deeper. His breathing hitched violently.

His hand slipped between your thighs, two fingers pressing firmly against your clit, stroking tight, slow circles that made your whole body jerk. Your hands clutched at his knees for balance, pleasure spiking through you like electricity.

"You speak so boldly," he rasped against your ear, his voice almost tender despite the way his fingers worked you. "But I can feel it. How badly you need me."

His free hand moved to your breast, kneading and squeezing, thumbs flicking over your nipples until they hardened under his touch. His whole body was trembling now, his thighs shuddering beneath you as he thrust upward with brutal need. His hips stuttered. His breath caught ragged in his throat. The moan that escaped him was broken and rough, like it hurt to keep it inside.

He clamped his hands around your thighs, grinding you down onto him with force, pelvis slapping hard against your ass. The rhythm grew messy, erratic. You gasped as he spread your legs wider, one hand bracing you open, the other never relenting from your clit. You were shaking, spasming around him, nerves lighting up and snapping under the overwhelming pleasure.

He felt it—felt the way you clenched around him—and his groan turned desperate. That’s when it happened.

His breath hitched against your skin, hot and heavy, and he sank his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder—not sharp, but crushing. A deep, anchoring bite that made your knees buckle. There was no teasing graze. No playful nip. It was brutal and real, the final claim.

Your blood hummed beneath his tongue. His growl ripped through his chest like something primal and unhinged, all of his restraint gone in an instant. When he pulled back, your neck throbbed with the mark he left—a vow burned into flesh.

He stilled for a second, trembling, forehead pressed to your temple, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he could fuse you to him if he only squeezed hard enough.

And then he came. It wasn’t silent—it tore from him in a broken, gasping sound, raw and utterly human. His hips bucked forward once, twice, grinding himself as deep as he could go. You could feel the heat of him spilling inside you, thick and hot, flooding your cunt until it leaked out around the base of him.

The knot swelled suddenly, locking you both together with a sharp stretch that made you both gasp aloud. He stayed buried to the hilt, unmoving for a moment except for the erratic trembling in his thighs. His fingers curled around your jaw, forcing you to tilt your head back so he could kiss you—soft, almost reverent, as if he couldn't believe you were real.

He didn’t slow. He didn’t stop. "We’re not done," he murmured hoarsely against your lips. His voice was frayed and trembling, nothing like the god he was to everyone else. It was raw and human and yours.

"I've made you cum before," he panted. "Again. And again. Tonight’s no different."

You could already feel him swelling again, already twitching inside you, the knot keeping you right where he wanted. It was thick, full, and practically immovable as he rested his forehead against your cheek. His hips began to move again, slow and grinding, sending aftershocks of pleasure straight through your gut.

Omni-Mark wasn’t the type to give up. Not when it came to you. Especially not now. Not when he had all night and all of you.

Full Masked Mark

He didn’t knock. You found him in your room, standing in the dark—half-shadowed beneath the blue light leaking in from the city. He hadn’t removed the mask, just hovered there, tense, and breathing too hard.

“Mark?”

He didn’t respond. You took a step forward, and he flinched—his hand tightening into a fist so hard his knuckles cracked beneath the glove. “I shouldn’t be here,” he said finally, his voice hoarse, cracking like old porcelain. “I—I can’t trust myself.” You stopped moving. “It’s happening, isn’t it?”

He nodded once. “The heat. I felt it coming for days. Thought I could outrun it.” His head tilted, his voice almost breaking. “I ran here.” You didn’t question it. Not the fact that he trusted you with this—something he clearly didn’t understand, something that made him feel wrong. You stepped close enough for him to see the softness in your eyes.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Mark.” His brows furrowed, his body suddenly becoming tense. But the way his body ached for you, the way his strength spasmed as he imagined fucking you raw with the memory of countless nights fucking his fist in your bed… he couldn’t tell.

His breath hitched audibly behind the mask. “You don’t know that. I’m not like the others. I—I think about you too much. I dream about you. And in those dreams, I—” His voice cut off with a choked gasp.

“I miss her,” he whispered. “She’d know what to do.”

Your heart broke. He was burning up inside, trembling with unspent want, haunted by grief and biology and years of holding himself together with cracked pieces of identity. You stepped closer. “Let me help you,” you whispered, hands gently brushing the hem of his mask. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

He didn’t move as you slid it off. Underneath, his face was flushed, wet with tears he hadn’t realized he was crying. His jaw was clenched like he was fighting himself from the inside out. And then you touched his face—just a thumb across his cheek—and the dam burst.

He surged forward, mouth on yours in a desperate, needy kiss. There was no dominance, no force—just raw emotion and trembling urgency. His hands gripped your waist like you were the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

“I’ve wanted this,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “Wanted you. But it never felt fair.”

“It’s not about fair, Mark,” you whispered, unzipping his suit slowly. “It’s about what we want.”

His lips found your throat, reverent and shaky, like he was worshipping every inch of you he touched. His fingers trembled against your skin as he helped you undress, his breath stuttering every time you made a sound. When he finally lowered you onto the bed, it was with a gentleness that felt sacred. He was utterly devoted, his lips parting as unabashed whines and whimpers in your name spouted from his lips.

“You’re so warm,” he whispered, nuzzling your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “You feel like home.” You pulled him in, let him bury himself in your arms and your body, and let him feel safe while the storm inside him raged and broke.

“Don’t let go,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder. “Even if I fall apart.”

You kissed him back, holding him through the fire. “I won’t.”

And he didn’t fall apart. He broke open, in the best possible way.

And then he kissed you like it's the only thing keeping him from falling apart. It’s wet and trembling, like he’s trying not to let his body take over too fast. His hands shake where they touch you, fingers curling into your shirt as if you might disappear if he lets go. “M-missed you,” he stammers into your mouth, kissing again before you can reply. He chases your lips, nose bumping clumsily against yours, and sighs when your hands pull him closer. “Let me stay... just a little longer.”

Like being wrapped in something wet and hot and too much. His scent is thick with desperation. It pulses with each pant from his lips. The longer he holds back and the heavier it becomes—need turned physical. A pheromone so raw it drips off him like sweat. It smells of molten amber and pine sap. The type that fogs up mirrors, clings to your sheets, and fills your mouth. It says, He’s not fucking for pleasure—he’s fucking to survive. And only you can keep him sane. His bones ache, every cell in his body screaming to break his restraints, but he can’t help but treat you gently.

You could tell his usual gentleness and restraint were bursting at the seams. Almost like he was still deciding if he should even be touching you at all. But then you made a sound—soft, breathy, inviting—and it destroyed whatever hesitation he had left.

The scent of you had soaked between your thighs—a dizzying blend of heat and arousal that made his chest rise with ragged restraint. His jaw clenched. His eyes devoured you, shoulders heaving, hands trembling with the effort of not lunging. The suit remained half on—his skin flushed and damp beneath the edges of his armor. But even while he stayed dressed, he made sure you weren’t.

Because in heat, Mark didn’t want just access to your body—he wanted your vulnerability. All of it. And before you knew it, your back was against the mattress.

His cock is thick, not monstrous, but unmistakable and it fits him perfectly. Hard, flushed, curved slightly upward, the tip already slick with need. It twitches when you look at it, eager, the kind of erection that speaks more of obsession than pride. And when he finally presses himself against you, it’s not just hunger—it’s worship in motion.

His body trembled as he positioned himself between your legs, jaw clenched so tight it ached. His skin burned under the mask, damp with sweat, heart pounding out of rhythm like it was trying to crawl from his chest. The heat coiled in his gut like a second heartbeat—violent, possessive, undeniable. His cock throbbed with every shallow breath he took, already leaking against your thigh, twitching with the need to bury itself deep.

He entered you slowly, almost reverently, but it was clear from the start: this wasn’t about control anymore. Not that he had any. Your folds are slick, swollen, already glistening with arousal; he's too far gone to pretend not to notice. His wildest instincts flared against his reddened skin. His breath hitched the moment you tightened around him, the heat inside him flaring like a wildfire fanned by gasoline.

“I didn’t know it could feel like this. I didn’t know you would feel like this,” he said, through a lump of saliva stuck in his throat. You two have had sex before, but this was a transcendence of normal sensations. Like an aphrodisiac had poisoned his every being—only craving to have you. Every inch he gave you sent a tremor through his spine. His hands gripped your thighs too hard, fingers digging into the plush of your skin as if anchoring himself to reality—to you. Choked gasps echoed from you as pain mingled with pleasure.

His hips rocked with shallow, fluid thrusts, but his body betrayed him. Sweat dripped down his temples. His thighs flexed beneath you. The very fat of his lips felt suffocating now, his groans catching behind it, as if he were trying to bite down every sound—but the whines slipped through. Small, needy, devastated.

When his mouth found your neck, it wasn’t a kiss. It was a branding. His teeth grazed your skin, his tongue darting out to soothe the sting—only to repeat the ritual again and again. You felt the tremor in his chest every time he breathed you in. With every nip, your body jolted against him, clamping down as you curled into him. He was trying to restrain himself, to stay present. To worship you. Your skin curved upward as shaky gasps left your fingers clawing at his shoulder blades before you barely grazed his shoulder with your fangs, and he gasps—a full-body jolt that ends with him moaning your name. “Ah—wha—fuck, do it again—please, I—I like that, I really like that—” His hips buck into yours without rhythm, lost in the sensation.

But his body pulsed with hunger, and your scent had soaked into his bones like poison. He was hard—too hard—the kind of painful pressure that fogged his brain and turned every thought into a raw, burning need to come. He didn’t last long before instinct buckled his knees.

Suddenly, he surged forward, hips snapping into yours with more force, more desperation. “Can you feel how deep I am? I need to be deeper.” His body moved on its own—sharp, ragged thrusts as if chasing relief he already knew wouldn’t come easy. He whimpered against your collarbone, low and broken, like it hurt to need you this much. Like, if he came, it wouldn’t be enough. He tried to slow down again, pulling his hips back to regain control, but the second your body clenched around him in reply—he lost it.

He flipped you onto him without thinking, your chest sliding against his sweat-slicked torso. His hands ghosted over your back like you were made of glass, but his eyes? Glazed. Wild. You sank down on him again, and he cried out—not loud, but breathless. Helpless. “It’s okay, Mark… I’ll take it from here.”

You started to ride him, each movement smooth and sensual, and it shattered what little composure he had left. Gooseflesh peppered across your skin as your vision blurred, moving absentmindedly through groans. His hands clawed at your hips—desperate for something to hold. His thighs trembled beneath you, every muscle pulled taut like a man bracing for impact. You were moving too good, too slow, too deep—and the look on your face drove him mad.

“Mark… oh, f—fuck, Mark.” His name on your lips was like a spell. “Say my name again… please, I need to hear it when you touch me, m—mommy.” His groan was so broke it borderlined slutty. You leaned down and nipped at his chest, your tongue tracing the contours of his body, and he arched into you so sharply it bordered on pain. The groan that left him was guttural and shameful—his cock twitching so hard inside you it made your stomach flip. He was trying to last. You could see it in how hard his jaw clenched, how his fingers trembled where they held you, and how his entire body was one breath away from breaking.

You rolled your hips faster, and his head fell back against the pillows, mouth parted in a gasp that never fully came. His release hit like a landslide, thighs spasming, chest heaving beneath you. He spilled inside you with a full-body jolt, his fingers digging into your skin like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His hips kept moving—just barely—like his body hadn’t realized it was over. Like it didn’t want it to be.

His hips roughly buck upwards, the dominance within battling with his personality. He swells, his pelvis pressing into you as it forces every obsessive emotion out of him. And even as he lay there, breathless, unraveling beneath you, he didn’t let go. One hand slid up your back. The other held your hip still, his cock still twitching inside you. His body was still burning.

Because it wasn’t over. Not even close.

It wasn’t his choice; he tried to fight it. He wants to hold back. But when he finally gives in and marks you, the bite is sloppy—messy with saliva and a low, broken whine in your ear. He bites twice, just to feel it again. His knot slowly forms as he clings to you, speech slurring as he becomes barely coherent. You feel his whole body tense as his teeth graze, then dig in. The second bite is deeper, so sudden you yelp. His grip tightens. “I—I’m sorry, I just—I needed you to know you’re mine.”

Main Mark Grayson

You didn’t expect him to show up at your place at two in the morning—especially not looking like that. Hair wild, eyes glowing faintly gold, his shirt drenched in sweat and clinging to his chest. His hands were shaking and his voice was frantic.

“Hey—hi—uh, this might be crazy, but I think I’m, like… dying?”

You blinked. “Mark… what?”

He paced your living room, tugging at his clothes, cheeks flushed. “Yeah, so, um—my dad kind of warned me this might happen one day? Something about Viltrumite biology and… a heat cycle?” Your heart stuttered. Oh. Oh. Suddenly, you were very intrigued.

He froze mid-ramble, turning to you, eyes wide and full of panic. “I smelled you, okay? On the way home. I was flying, and then boom—your scent hit me like a truck, and now I’m like—" He gestured down to his very obvious, very painful erection. “THIS.”

You bit your lip, trying to stay calm while your thighs absolutely clenched. “Mark, sit.”

He obeyed immediately, flopping onto your couch like a broken marionette, head falling into his hands. “I swear I’m not a creep. I just—God, you smell so good—”

You crossed the room slowly and sat next to him. He tensed like a live wire.

You touched his knee, and he whimpered. The poor boy almost looked embarrassed before his jaw clenched to bite back another sound. It was subtle, but his head tilted as his nose flexed—inhaling your scent like the sweetest dessert as heat broke his skin into a red flush.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “It hurts. It aches, and all I can think about is you. How soft your skin is. How you taste when I kiss you—God, I’ve imagined it so many times—” You took his face gently in your hands, turning him to look at you. “Mark,” you said softly. “Do you want this? With me?”

He nodded so fast it almost looked painful. “Yes. Yes, I do. I’ve wanted this—but not like this. I didn’t want to scare you. But now I’m losing it, and I need you. Please.”

You kissed him before he could spiral further. He gasped, then melted into it, grabbing your hips like they were the last stable thing in his universe. His mouth was hot, desperate, already starting to shake as the heat flared stronger.

You slid your hands under his shirt, feeling the sweat-slick heat of his skin. He shivered, grinding up against you with a needy groan. “I feel like I’m going to explode,” he whispered against your neck. “Like I could fly through the moon just from touching you.”

You tugged the cloth off, eyes roaming his flushed, muscular form. Within seconds, a familiar musk perspired from his pores. It was warm. An after-battle scent that's adrenaline-laced with sweat-slicked sandalwood and a subtle sweetness of red apple skin. The smell of his cologne clashed as if he had tried grounding himself before arriving. The kind of scent that clings to your sheets and drives you crazy when he’s gone. Suddenly, you felt vertiginous with a mixture of lust and reason clashing within your veins. It was so easy to relinquish control to whatever temptation awaited.

“…Are you mad? Or are you gonna kiss me before I combust?” He said nervously, brows furrowing upwards.

You blinked, surprised—then realized he’d mistaken your stunned silence, the way your breath caught, and your hands hesitated for doubt. Not awe. You straddled his lap, gently guiding his trembling hands to your hips, grounding him now.

“Mark,” you said softly, pulling his mouth back to yours, “I’m not scared. I want this. I want you.”

He groaned into your kiss—relieved, wrecked, like the words unraveled something in him. And when he kissed you back? It was like he was learning it all for the first time, like you’re teaching him with every sigh. But the moment his hips shift against yours, instinct takes over. He groans into your mouth, the kiss going from nervous to needy in seconds. His fingers curl into your thighs, pulling you closer with soft pants between kisses. Again and again—faster, deeper—like he's afraid of what happens if he pulls away. “You make it worse. Being this close—I just—please… let me have this.” And when you nod, he kisses you like it’s a thank you and a promise in one.

He didn’t hold anything back. His hands found your waist, your thighs, your chest, everywhere at once, guided by instinct and passion. His breath caught as you guided his hands, his hips, and his rhythm.

Mark Grayson didn’t know what he was doing, but he learned fast.

You barely got your shirt off before his mouth was on your throat again. Not kissing. Breathing, tasting even. He was fumbling at your clothes like he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to take them off or just fuck you through them. He doesn’t mean to be messy—but his heat is driving him crazy.

Inhaling your scent like it soothed the ache in his chest. His hands trembled at your waist, thumbs brushing bare skin like he was trying to remember how to be gentle, how to be Mark—but the heat was too much.

He's been aching for hours. His cock started reacting before he even knew why—just the sound of your laugh, or the memory of how your hand felt the night before, was enough to make him twitch. Like a magnetic force building pressure in his chest and groin that no amount of willpower can settle. His heart beats faster when you’re close, but not because he’s nervous. But from burying his face in your skin and rutting like an animal.

The instinctive, all-consuming need to bury himself deep and never leave—to feel your cunt pulse around him until he doesn’t know where you end and he begins. He wants to merge with you in every way imaginable. Every inch of skin feels like it's starving to the point where sex might not be enough. His nervous system feels alight, all senses searching for yours, like that's their purpose.

His calloused fingers slid your panties down your thighs, soaked through, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. His hips lifted, hand palmed at his soiled erection before yanking down the fabric. Veins ran the length of his cock—the usual pink tip was an irritated red—and it was heavy as it smacked against his abdomen. He jumped, bucking into the air as cold precum bubbled from his tip.

Too impatient to fully undress, he let you take the reins, legs wrapping around his waist. His breath hitched like you’d struck him. You settled into his cross-legged lap, chests pressed together, skin to skin, cockslick hot between your folds—and he froze.

Not from hesitation. But because his entire body short-circuited.

He entered you slowly, like he was trying to feel every second of it. Your walls stretched around him, wet and pulsing, and he moaned—deep, wrecked, like he hadn’t even meant to. You clutched around him, and his head dropped to your shoulder, arms wrapping tight around your back as your bodies fully sealed together. Every bulging vein was caressed, arousal threatening to erupt.

He rocked his hips, slow and intense. Grinding into you like it was the only thing keeping him conscious. Then came the whisper. Low. Ragged. Right against your throat. “Mine…” His hips rolled with it. You gasped. “Mine,” again, softer, needier, as his cock dragged in slow circles inside you, the pressure growing unbearable.

He buried his face in your neck like it would keep him grounded, hips moving with desperate rhythm—not pounding, but grinding, searching for friction, pleasure, and closeness. Like your body was his whole world. He shook. A full-body tremor that told you he was losing it. Your legs tightened around him, head tilted towards the ceiling as strobe lights clouded your vision from his thrusting.

Through hitching breaths, you stammered, “That’s it. Just like that. You feel it too, don’t you?” You gulped, his lips tracing over your bobbing throat. “I can’t think, I can’t—God, you feel so good.” He heaved, tongue running over your clavicle as he sought every drop of sweat. “You’re squeezing me so hard—are you trying to kill me?” His tongue tickling you sent shivers down your spine, causing his arms to wrap tighter, feeding off every vibration.

And then he fell forward. Not collapsing—just pressing you back onto the mattress, hips never leaving yours. Still buried inside you, still grinding as he held you like his anchor. His mouth found yours, kissing you hard, hand at your lower back dragging your hips forward—trying to keep you pressed to his cock even as his muscles gave out. “Harder. Please. I can take it,” you gasped, fingers clawing at the couch material. “God, you make me lose control. I can’t stop—not when you sound like that.” A whimper and deep groan rumbled in his chest as he nearly doubled over, his hips pushing forward as your head collided with the armrest.

When he finally came—deep, groaning, clinging—his thrusts didn’t stop. He just rode through it, fucked through it, face against your chest, body shaking. And when the wave passed? He shifted you both gently, his body still connected to yours, curling behind you like a second skin. You stared wide-eyed; his eyes were glazed over, and he whispered uncharacteristically in your ear. “I’m gonna keep going until your legs won’t close without me between them.” He’s not cruel. He’s possessed. He wants to wreck you because he loves you—and it terrifies him how much he needs it. “I just need you so bad,” he pants. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Your knees bent as he nudged closer, cock sliding back inside you from behind—spooning now, softer, deeper, but no less desperate.

He kissed your shoulder. His hand found your thigh and pulled it up. His cock dragged in slow, aching thrusts that felt like a secret. But the moment your hips shifted—even the slightest grind back against him—he whimpered. His hips rolled forward on reflex, just enough for you to feel how he was still thick, still twitching inside you, still needing.

He started moving. Small thrusts. Like he was trying to be good, to hold back. But every slow drag of his cock inside you made his breath catch, made his arm around your waist tighten. Your body was still so wet, so warm, so welcoming. It pulled the heat right back to the surface—he pummeled into you now, forehead pressed to the back of your shoulder, hips snapping forward in slow, aching rolls that never left you empty. Every inch of him throbbed with restraint. His body buzzed with heat and urgency, but you could feel the emotion under it.

He was fucking you like he meant it. Like your body answered a question he hadn’t realized he was asking. His hand slid over your thigh—palm dragging up your slick skin until he reached your chest. He gripped it, not hard, just possessively. Like if he held you tight enough, he could force the ache in his stomach to ease. Like the way your breath hitched made it bearable.

Your ass rocked back against him now, unconsciously meeting every rut of his hips, and he gasped quietly, but cracked open with it. His pace faltered, and then, he grinded.

A long, deep press of his cock, slow enough for you to feel every vein, every throb as he pulsed inside you. He whimpered again as you clenched, mouth open against your nape like he couldn’t breathe without you. “Oh, fuck, Mark.” Your voice cut through his thoughts like a knife; a deep groan vibrated in your throat as an impending orgasm washed over you.

He’s trying to be gentle—he swears he is. But the second you cry out his name, the dam breaks. He groans low in his throat, body trembling as he leans over you, breath hot against your skin. “Fuck—I need to…” He presses his lips to the base of your neck first, shaky and reverent—then you feel the slow pressure of his teeth. He bites down harder than he intended, and your back arches. His heat-maddened body needs you claimed. Mark shudders, lips wet as he pulls back just enough to whisper, “You’re mine. Sorry—I couldn’t—I couldn’t stop.” His hand flies over your mouth to quiet the pain and pleasured grunts. He couldn't handle it. Until you bit into the web between his thumb and pointer finger.

He yelps—then moans, breathless, like you just knocked all the air out of him. His face flushes red all the way to his ears, his hips stuttering against you. “D-don’t stop doing that,” he begs, voice cracking. You feel him start to swell, and he panics—eyes wide, voice stuttering, body tense. He tries to stop moving, but it only makes the pressure worse—and suddenly he’s knotting inside you with a choked groan.

“Can we do this again? And again? And—fuck, I’m not done.”

And he wasn’t pulling out. Not until you whispered that he was yours. And not even then.

Mohawk Mark

You didn’t move. He was already in your apartment when you walked in—standing dead center in the living room, like he owned the place.

Shoulders squared, jaw tight, fists flexing at his sides like he was trying to decide if he wanted to grab something or break it in half. His nostrils flared as he exhaled slowly through his nose, teeth catching his bottom lip. Not angry. Not quite.

Something worse. Something hungry.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running his tongue over his teeth like he could taste you in the air. “You always leave the door unlocked like that? Or just for me?” He almost sounded flattered. You cocked a brow. “You broke my window last time. I figured this was safer.” That almost made him grin. Almost.

Instead, he tilted his head and stared at you like he was trying to figure out how loud you'd scream if he pinned you to the wall right now. “You smell that?” He muttered, eyes narrowing. “That’s me. Going fucking crazy.”

“This what you wanted?” he asked, voice low and sharp. “Parading around like that, all soft and smug? You get off on teasing me while I’m like this?” You glanced down at yourself—shorts, tank top, nothing special—but his eyes were molten.

“Are you teased, Mark?”

He let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Shit, you’re—mm…” He grimaced to himself.

His hands twitched again, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to cross his arms or slam them on either side of your head. You stepped closer. He didn’t flinch—just watched, jaw ticking, eyes following your every move like a predator holding himself back by a thread.

“I expected more restraint,” you murmured. “Didn’t think you'd lose control this fast.” He’s mentioned these heats before, almost braggadocious in an excessive way. He was a sexual deviant, skilled within his own right, and you knew that very well… but you don't recall him seeming so… lewd during these ruts.

He scoffed. “Restraint’s for people who aren’t boiling inside their own goddamn skin. You ever felt that? Like your bones are gonna split open if you don’t fuck something?” You inhaled slowly, thighs clenching. “Sounds intense.”

“It is.” His eyes flicked to your mouth. “You drive me fucking insane.”

“You sure you don’t like it?”

He finally moved—just a step, but it was heavy, purposeful, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to hold back a war. His voice dropped into a growl. “I like watching you squirm when you pretend you’re not dying for it too.” You smirked. “I’m not pretending.”

His pupils blew, and he heaved as if sick. He took another step. “You should’ve stayed away tonight,” he said. “You don’t know what I’ll do to you if you let me.” You closed the space, lifting your chin. “Then show me.” The moment cracked like lightning.

He grabbed your waist hard enough to bruise, spinning you, pressing you against the nearest table with his hips grinding into yours. One hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back, the other sliding under your shirt with zero patience. You gasped, nails digging into his arms. “I’ll be gentle when you stop making it fun,” he hissed in your ear. “You want it rough?” His eyes peered into yours with an intensity that made your heart thrum. He could hear it.

“Good,” he growled. “Let me ruin that attitude while you still remember your name.”

He doesn’t ask for a kiss. He leans in like he’s about to win something—eyes sharp, mouth already curled in that half-smirk that makes you want to slap it off or bite it. There’s heat in his stare, but it’s not desperate. It’s deliberate. Like he’s letting you know what’s about to happen without saying a word. And when he finally does kiss you? It’s firm, demanding, but not cruel. The kind of kiss that says, “I see you. I respect you. Now shut up and let me in.”

His hand’s usually on your jaw, thumb under your chin, tilting your face just how he likes it. He likes a little resistance—loves when you kiss back with a bite, when your teeth graze his lip just enough to make him growl. Your hands wrap around the width of his shoulders, feet shuffling beneath you as his teeth attack your lips. You're barely able to reciprocate the usual energy.

He laughs into your mouth. A low, cocky rumble, like he’s already planning his next move. He kisses like a dare—like he wants to know how much you can take before you start pulling his hair and grinding back. But there’s tenderness under the heat. A kind of quiet reverence in the way he pulls back just slightly to breathe against your lips before diving in again, slower this time, almost careful. Like he doesn’t say the soft stuff out loud—but he lets you taste it. He’s panting, flushed, pupils blown wide. Smirking like he didn’t just almost lose his mind. His tongue flicks over his lips, the cold metal ball of his piercing just teasing you of what could be.

His teeth now bite at your bra strap just enough to make it snap. Your pants come off mid-makeout, fingers fumbling until he just rips them at the seams. “Oops,” he grins, not sorry at all. He doesn’t slow down, his hands linger on your thighs, his mouth hot against your neck. “Shit, you should see how wet you are for me. You feel that?”

He makes a mental note to “kidnap you.” It's about time you lived with him; having to travel so far ticks his gears. You’d assimilate perfectly, having been adorned with a matching mohawk. His thoughts are interrupted the second your nails scratched up his chest—just hard enough to leave a faint trail over the curve of his pecs. He stopped smiling. His jaw flexed. His hands slid down your waist. Then lower.

You hopped back onto the edge of the bed like you’d done it before and you had. With him. Because with Mark, it was always the same deal: you push, he pushes back harder. You spit fire; he kisses it into your throat.

Your legs were already bending when he grabbed them, hauling your thighs up until your ass slid into his lap and your weight tilted. You dropped forward to the floor, hands planting flat against it as your body stretched into that long, open line. It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t supposed to be. You didn’t need to be told what he wanted. He didn’t need to say it.

His cock slid against your ass—thick, hot, already leaking—and your mouth curled into a smirk. You arched purposefully. A little taunt, a little “you can take it, right?” attitude radiating off you, even as your thighs trembled from the stretch. He grunted, lips quirking in response. And then he pressed into the sweet nectar that dripped from your cunt. It was dizzying each time, but today especially. The sight of it alone causes him to pant. His scent is overwhelming. Makes the air taste heavy. It forces submission from the inside out as you feel your stomach twisting. The smell sticks to your sweat, resembling charred sugarcane and gasoline.

You felt the give, the pressure blooming in your gut as his cock breached you, thick and unforgiving. He guided your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft skin just above your knees, using your legs to tilt your body into the angle he liked best—deep. He didn’t thrust. He carved. Mark grunted—low, restrained, shocked by how tight you were. You squeezed him hard, involuntarily, and he twitched so violently his hips nearly stuttered out of rhythm.

His hips pummeled forward, nearly knocking you off balance, your fingertips digging into wooden floors. The rocking presses him against every ridge inside of you. “Fuck, you’re tighter than I thought… knew you’d be trouble.” He was thick, his cock pulsing with heat and slick from his own need, and the sensation of being filled that way had your vision going white around the edges. Every thrust after that was short, deep, grinding. You were being taken. And he was barely holding himself together at the seams.

Your pelvic muscles tightened every time he reared back, his fingers gripping you with such vigor that his hands went numb. His gaze purely focused on your ass, the sight alone nearly busting his balls as he gritted. Peering over your shoulder, you watch as he whispers to himself—hand nudging himself deeper with every stroke. Planting your feet against the sheets, you began to bounce back against him; loud pops echo in the room in tandem with your moans.

“You’re gonna ride me like I’m nothing, huh? Fucking do it.” You almost make it look easy, his toes spreading from the pleasure, being your encouragement. “I'm gonna fill you til' it leaks out of your nose, babe. You ready for that kind of damage?” His hand against the small of your back, head lolling backwards as unfiltered groans left him. His voice cracking occasionally, fingers ripping at the sheets, the hairs of his mohawk becoming slick to his scalp.

One hand against his chest, the other gripping his jaw as his whole body convulsed under you, chest arching, hips jerking up in desperate, erratic thrusts even after he spilled inside you. And even when it was over, when he’d emptied himself with a full-body tremble and a cracked moan, he didn’t stop moving.

His hands slid weakly down your back, nails dragging across sweat-slick skin like he didn’t know how to stop touching. His breath came in short, broken gasps—mouth open, throat dry, eyes glassy with disbelief. “Still hard—how the fuck am I still hard?” His spine curved forward as he continued to bounce you against his cock, his jaw slack. “You feel so good, I’ll die here, I don’t care.”

His body twitched under yours, overwhelmed but addicted—his cock still twitching inside you, trying to stay hard even as overstimulation set in. He whined when you clenched. Actually whined. His thighs trembled, head turned to the side, face flushed and lips parted in a half-smile, half-wrecked expression that made it impossible to take him seriously—except he was so serious.

He slipped out of your pussy with a wet, audible drag, the sudden emptiness making you gasp. He was breathing heavily, shakily, even as he pulled you up like you weighed nothing. His hands framed your thighs, one arm cradling your back as he stood with you wrapped around him.

Your cunt was already dripping from being stretched—slick enough that when he used the arousal to lube your ass, it was an immediate, obscene slide. The angle—chest to chest, your back hitting the wall—meant he could slam up into you, balls smacking your ass with every thrust. The shift from vaginal to anal only made it more intense—your walls fluttered around him from sheer overstimulation, gripping his cock like your body didn’t want to let him go again.

It was instinct and control, primal and practiced, each movement slamming forward with just enough mercy to keep it beautiful. The sound of your skin meeting his hips echoed in the room—wet, filthy, rhythmic.

He reached down and grabbed the back of your neck, not to choke, just to feel your pulse as you took it. You barely had time to turn before he lifted you. One arm behind your back, the other under your thigh. His mouth slammed into yours again—sloppy, hot, teeth and spit and praise held between clenched teeth. He licks into your mouth like he’s chasing something—dominance, control, maybe a bit of sanity he left behind two cities ago.

You clawed at his shoulders. Bit his bottom lip. His cock was slick, messy from the first round, pressing against your slick folds as he walked you toward the wall like a man on a mission.

You clung to him, legs wrapping around his waist, and he fucked you standing—hard, deep, devastating. But still precise. Still so goddamn good it made your knees shake even while they were off the ground. He whispered something against your cheek, nothing coherent, just the sound of someone wrecked and reverent.

The stretch? Piercing and intense. His knot leaves you gasping, trying to squirm, but he holds you down, ramming his knot deeper with each thrust until it pops inside and locks you together. You can feel it throbbing, almost bruising, and he loves the way you twitch around him. He grinds through the swelling, making it worse for both of you—and better. “Too much? That’s the point.” There’s no warning. Just a cocky snarl, his hand locking in your hair and shoving your head to the side. “You ready, sweetheart?” You don’t get the chance to respond—he sinks in hard. Deep enough to bruise. You scream, and he laughs, moaning into the skin. “God, that’s hot. Fuck, keep squirming.”

Annoyance floods your veins as you crane your neck. You sink your teeth into his collarbone, and he shouts, hips snapping. “FUCK—oh, that’s what you’re on? You wanna bite now?” He’s panting, pale, flushed, eyes wild. “Bite harder. C’mon, make me bleed, I dare you.”

You clench around him, “Yeah, make me your little toy. I’m built for it.”

Lensless Invinicble

He hasn’t said a word for over an hour— which, for No Goggles Mark— is basically a war crime. He’s sprawled out on the couch like he’s been shot, one arm flung over his face, the other dangerously close to palming himself through his sweats, and you know he’s doing it on purpose. That self-sabotaging little shit. He’s so obviously in heat it’s comical. Sweat slicks his collarbone, his jaw is clenched tight, his shirt is lifted over his abs like a mating call, and a flush rises from his chest to the tips of his ears. And still, nothing, not a single word.

So you break first. “You good?”

His fingers twitch. His mouth moves like he might respond. Then, silence again. Of course.

You walk over, stand above him, arms crossed. “Mark.”

He groans, dragging his arm off his face to reveal bloodshot eyes and a crooked grin. “Dude,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to cave.”

“Cave?” you echo, raising a brow.

He smirks, shifting slightly, letting his hips roll just enough for you to see the outline of him pressing hard against his pants. “Yeah, cave. I mean, I’ve been lying here like a Victorian heroine in heat, and you didn’t even check my temperature. Rude.”

“You’re actually insane.”

“Little bit,” he chirps, breath catching as his thighs tense. “Dude, like, on a scale from 1 to melting down in your lap? I’m somewhere around… please slap me, choke me, tell me to shut the fuck up, and I’ll still get hard.”

Your face twitches, and that’s when he knows he’s got you.

“You like this, huh?” He taunts, grinning through a low, shaky breath. “Me all pathetic and wrecked. Just lying here, trying so hard not to hump the fucking couch. You gonna be a hero and save me, or… just watch me lose my mind?”

You kneel beside him, now he twitches.

“God, I love when you do that,” he mutters. “All serious and controlled while I’m three seconds away from grinding myself into a puddle.” You glance down at his flushed neck, already marked up from earlier in the week. Old hickeys, faint bruises—like trophies. Your trophies.

“You are so lucky I have bad taste in men.” You sigh, feigning annoyance as you two share knowing glances. “If I touch you, will you stop talking… or just moan louder?”

“Okay, rude again, but also… accurate. Now come here. Get on me,” he says, voice deepening on the last word. His breath hitches again, and for a moment, he shudders—hands fisting in the cushion, thighs shaking.

You lean close, your lips brushing his ear. “You could’ve said something.”

“No fun in that,” he pants, finally reaching for you. “Wanted to see how long I could suffer. I always ruin the fun too fast. Mark me. Scratch me. I’ll wear it like a fucking badge, babe.”

He rolls over, yanking you into his lap, lips ghosting along your jaw. “C’mon. Don’t make me beg.”

“You already are.”

“…Shit. That’s hot.”

His heat ruins him. He’s unhinged, usually pacing the walls of your shared home like a caged animal, trying not to wake you, but failing. His brain short-circuits with the memory of your mouth, your voice, and your bite. It's self-inflicted torture—he delays touching you just to feel the high of suffering. And when he finally breaks? It’s like watching a dam explode. You’re not just his girl—you’re his goddess, his favorite kind of punishment. And this need? It’s sacred, in the dirtiest way possible. For a loose cannon with unparalleled brutality, you’ve got him on a leash.

His hands hovered at the hem of your shirt, fingers twitching like he was trying not to break apart mid-touch. “Dude, I can’t—I need—fuck, just lemme, please—”

You didn’t even answer. Just raised your arms, and that was all it took. He yanked the shirt over your head, tearing it in the process, and shifted you beneath him with a groan, mouth already dragging over your stomach like he didn’t know where to start. Your bra went next—half-bitten, half-torn—and when your chest spilled free, he just stared. Wide-eyed. That smirk curled at the corner of his mouth, slow and sinful, but his eyes were already glassy—like he was drunk off the tension and starving for your skin. It was a smile like he knew a secret and you were the punchline. All teeth and dark promise.

His tongue found your sternum, teeth grazing as he mouthed down one side, up the other, breath shaking against your skin. “I’m gonna say the worst shit if you let me keep going. Like, really bad. I’m so fucking gone for you.”

Ten minutes passed, and he still hadn’t made it past your ribs—just kissing, licking, groaning, hands dragging up your thighs like a prayer with no end. You knew he was struggling, his sweat pebbling against your thighs. It was sudden, your fingers curling just below his jaw and yanking him upward. The sound he let out was between a groan and a chortle.

He looked at you like you were the final scene in a movie he’d watched a thousand times—obsessed, twitchy, reverent… and just a little off. It was unhealthy. He was in love. His smile didn’t match the heat in his eyes; it was crooked, teasing, like he was holding in something far worse than words. His fingers ghosted along your thigh, warm and slow, but there was nothing calm about the way they twitched—like he was barely holding back from sinking them in.

It was dangerous. Like if you stopped now, he wouldn’t ask you to stay. He’d make you. And still, you didn’t move. You didn’t flinch. You let him worship you like the pretty little problem you are.

And so, with shaking fingers, he shoved his slacks down like they offended him, groaning when his cock sprang free—already flushed, already wet at the tip. The air hit him, and he trembled, panting through his teeth as if just being exposed was enough to short-circuit his control.

Your hand snapped up to his throat—tight, deliberate—and the moan that tore from him was instant, filthy, a cracked whimper that vibrated against your palm. You pressed him back into the cushions, straddling him with one thigh slotted between his twitching legs. His hands found your hips, but they were too unsteady to hold you down—more like he was asking permission with every touch.

You kissed him mid-moan—sloppy, messy, mouths colliding with teeth and spit and breath you didn’t care to control. His lips chased yours like he needed them to stay grounded, like losing contact for even a second would break him. His tongue was desperate. Uncoordinated. He whimpered every time your hips rolled. You reached down between your bodies, guided him to your entrance, and sank down.

He groaned. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a pathetic little sound trapped in the back of his throat as your warmth surrounded him—tight, slick, all-consuming. His head hit the back of the couch, and his mouth hung open in disbelief, fingers digging into your thighs before thrusting upward. A thick, wet sound of arousal coated flesh echoed between walls, his lip caught between his teeth. As you set the pace, his hand clasped the width of your ass as he forced you to swallow him whole.

That’s all it took for your fingers to tremble, for your grasp to slip. “You hear that? That slick sound when I push in? That’s what I do to you. That’s mine now. Say it.” Words refused to form, only a disgruntled sigh escaping in their place. “Shaking already? C’mon, baby, you like when I talk like this. Look at you—gripping me like you want me meaner.”

Finally, your gaze shifted towards him as your hand cracked across his face once more. Your body leaned forward as you pressed weight against his windpipe. Head bowing to catch him off guard, biting his shoulder, the muscle jumping beneath your teeth, as a stinging pain filled his side. He stops moving, his breath catching. He gasped for air, rasping beneath your palm. “Dude. Holy shit—okay, okay, that was—fuck.” He’s grinning like he’s about to explode. He was a whore. Your whore, and he loved every second of it.

Each roll of your hips dragged a strangled noise from his throat. His hands flew to your waist but didn’t guide—just held. Clung. Like you were the only thing tethering him to earth. His cock twitched inside you every time your walls clenched, and his abdomen jumped with every bounce of your hips. “Oh my god, that’s not fair. That’s—you’re cheating; this isn’t normal. No one’s supposed to feel this good.” His toes curled into the couch foam, unable to tell if he was cumming or unprecedented amounts of precum were coating his cock.

You leaned down, lips ghosting his cheek, your chest brushing his as your breath fanned across his ear. And while staring him in the eyes, while he was mid-moan, you spit into his mouth before delivering a final slap.

And that was it. His grip faltered. His hips jerked. He started to move—just a little—shallow, instinctive thrusts as he gasped beneath you. His eyes widened between delight and surprise. You could feel the sweat pooling at his lower back, the way his thighs flexed beneath you with every slow grind of your core against his pelvis.

Then you pulled off—just to tease, but not before you were flipped around and impaled once more; your ass nuzzled against his pelvis.

He made a noise like he’d been stabbed, both hands flying to your hips as you sank back down onto him in reverse cowgirl. Shivers crawled down your skin as heat from an impending orgasm made your vision blotch. You took all of him at once, and his reaction was feral. His head rolled back, a curse strangled in his throat, and his legs shook like he was trying not to thrust up blindly.

Your ass smacked against his abdomen as you rode him—harder now, rougher—and you reached between his legs to cup his balls. They were already tight, already twitching, the heat and overstimulation building to an unbearable edge. You rolled them in your palm, gentle but precise, and he nearly screamed through his teeth, hips jerking up so hard it lifted you both. His hips unrelenting as he fucked up into you. “You ride me like that again and I’m gonna black out. I’m gonna fucking die. Keep going.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mark. Just take it. I don’t want soft.” And with that he just lunges, no warning, no restraint, sinking his teeth into the nape of your neck like it’s all that’s keeping him tethered to reality. He moans like biting you is better than cumming. He didn’t speak for a brief pause, and that's when it became sickly.

His scent is of bruised plum and metal. It's strongest when he’s holding it in—when he won’t speak, won’t beg, won’t stop. When his heartbeats migrated to his dick. Then he keeps biting. Little ones. Bruising ones. Like he’s chasing the high of your yelps. “Dude, it hurts so good. I don’t even know if I’m still hard or if I’m just that fucked up. Keep going. Keep going.” Your fingertips curl into his calf muscle.

His entire body convulsed beneath you. One hand fisted in the couch cushion. The other grabbed your ass like he was trying to ground himself—but failed. You felt his cock pulse inside you, hot and overwhelming, as he came hard, breath leaving him in broken, unbelieving bursts. He twitched beneath you, thighs quivering uncontrollably, soft curses tumbling between panting moans. He’s rutting even though he knows it makes it worse. He’s overstimulated and absolutely getting off on it. You reach back to touch him, and he moans, full-body shaking, begging you to keep going until he breaks again.

So, you don’t stop. Neither does he, because he’s having too much fun. “C’mon let's go again. Don’t start whining now—you’re the one who started this.”

His knot swells too fast, too hard, and he’s already trembling before it locks in. Hips stuttering as he tries to pull out and realizes—he can’t. And the look on his face? “Oh my god—dude—I’m stuck. I’m literally stuck in you. This is—holy shit—this is the best day of my life.”

Shiesty/Hooded Mark

You found him leaning against the counter in the kitchen— acting as if nothing was wrong, like he wasn’t in the middle of a full-blown heat spiral. He was shirtless, his hair matted with blood, and a bandage hung off one shoulder as if he had forgotten it existed. His hair was pushed back, and his veil hung low around his neck, revealing a face that was too calm for someone whose chest was visibly heaving.

“Stop staring,” he muttered without looking up, a crooked smirk playing at his lips. “Unless you’re planning to help.”

“You look like shit,” you deadpanned. He rolled his neck slowly, his eyes finally meeting yours. They glowed with that sick, golden hue, and he was sweaty and raw. “I look like someone who just took down three versions of himself and came home hard as fuck. Same thing.”

You squinted. “You’re such an asshole.”

“And you love that about me,” he replied, pushing off the counter and stalking toward you. His hands flexed at his sides as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pin you or put them through a wall. “You know what this is, don’t you? I can smell your damn skin, and it’s driving me crazy.”

You crossed your arms. “So suffer.”

“Oh, I am,” he breathed. “But not for long.”

He backed you against the fridge, slow and heavy, his heat radiating off him like a furnace. His mouth hovered at your neck, not kissing, just breathing in deeply as if he could swallow you through scent alone.

You shoved him, but it was pointless, really, more instinctual than anything else.

He grinned. “Still so fucking defiant,” he muttered, grabbing your wrists and slamming them up against the cold metal behind you. “God, I missed this mouth. Say something cruel.”

You stared him down. “You whine more than a virgin.”

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering as if you’d praised him. “Do that again. Be mean to me.”

“You’re a freak,” you said flatly.

“And yet you’re the one who’s been riding me for months,” he replied through a tight grin. “Guess that makes you my freak.” His voice came out in a rasp. He loved how cold you could be; it made it all the more fun to ruin you, to watch you fuck yourself on his cock until you went limp. Usually by now you’d be bent over before finishing your sentence—yet he couldn't bear to. Not with his body practically vibrating, completely feral for you.

You gritted your teeth. “You’re bleeding on me.”

“Guess you shouldn’t have waited so long to come home,” he said, burying his nose against your pulse. “Didn’t wanna admit I was in heat. You’d gloat.”

“Am gloating,” you replied with a smirk.

He growled low in his throat, his hips rutting into yours with zero finesse. “Yeah? Let’s see how smug you are when I’ve got you shaking.” You narrowed your eyes. “Is that a promise or another Mark-level bluff?”

He licked the corner of your jaw—slow and deliberate. “I’m starving and you’re wet. Bite me, babe.”

So you did. Your teeth sank into his throat, and he groaned, his head tipping back. “Oh, fuck yes, there’s my girl.” He was panting now, grinning. “Shit. You like hurting me, don’t you?” He grabbed your hips hard, pulling you closer. “Do it again. I want bruises.”

His adam’s apple bobbed. Usually, he wasn’t a masochist; if anything, he was overly dominant in bed, but his inhibitions were loosened. Breaking even, as his eyes held a different reality than his words. It was only to taunt, as when your tongue flicked over your lips, preparing for another taste.

His lips crashed into yours as if he had just lost a fight and this was his prize. His mouth dragged against yours with a growl in his chest—blood still on his tongue, and the weight of battle clinging to his skin. He was cocky even here—biting at your lips between each kiss as if testing how far he could push before you snapped. When your nails dug into his biceps—he laughed against your mouth.

You rolled your eyes as he smirked against your lips, already dragging his teeth across your bottom one just to be annoying. “Careful,” you murmured, gripping the front of his suit. “Do it,” he muttered, his voice low and gleeful. Oh, how he loved when you pretended to be in control.

His hand grabbed your thigh, lifting and pinning you to the wall without warning—your lips barely parted before he was back on you, kissing you like he had something to prove. You broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, panting against his mouth. “You really think this is working?”

“Oh, it’s working. You’re already grinding on my thigh,” he replied, his voice thick with desire.

“Because you put me there,” you shot back.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, slower, as if he wanted to make you forget what you were about to say. His tongue flicked against yours in a rhythm that was just a little too practiced. You pulled back, your eyes narrowed.

“You kiss all your enemies like this?” you asked.

“Only the hot ones,” he responded with a smirk.

He did it mid-banter, almost annoyed by your clothes. One second you were snarking back, the next—rip. The seam of your shirt tore in his hands. He chuckled when you glared at him, his lips grazing your ear. “Buy you another one,” he breathed before kissing down your spine. Pants? Gone in a blur. Underwear? Teased off with one finger and a smirk. “You always taste better when you’re pissed at me.”

He sat back on the bed with that infuriating grin still tugging at his lips, watching you crawl toward him with that glint in your eye—the one that said you were going to cause problems on purpose.

You slid to his right instead, your shoulder brushing his thigh, your eyes locked on his cock as it twitched between his legs. You placed one hand on his knee, your lips parted, and then slowly bent forward until your head rested just above his lap. His breath hitched.

And then your mouth wrapped around him.

He groaned, his head tipping back, but he didn’t get to stay passive for long. You shifted slightly, lifting your hips—giving him just enough of a view to see how wet you already were. Your legs bent at the knee as your back arched, your ass high and ready to be touched—and he got the message.

His hand slid down the curve of your spine, lingering just above your ass like a threat, before diving between your thighs. His fingers met slick heat, and his cock twitched inside your mouth.

Two fingers pushed in slowly—testing—before curling as if he already knew exactly what spot made you twitch. You gasped around him, and he moaned in reply, his free hand tangling in your hair as your hips rocked into his touch.

Every time he thrust his fingers deeper, you sucked harder, like a trade-off. Every time you moaned, he pressed deeper into you, his fingers soaked, knuckles dripping as your body clenched around him like it was begging.

Your thighs quivered against his ribs. Your spit dripped onto his lap. His abs tensed every time you swallowed. You were both losing it. His fingers caressed every ridge—pads searching for that gummy spot that made you keen. The strokes were long, ending at the tip of his fingers before plunging in once more—your own arousal coating your insides as it glued his fingers together. It took everything in him to not bring his digits to his tongue and swirl your arousal across it. His taste buds ached as his mouth swelled with saliva. He could imagine it now—the faint tang of sweat, sweet like molasses and burnt herbal.

Your mouth worked over him like you were daring him to come too fast—your lips swollen, your throat taking him deeper each time you sank down, your tongue dragging slow and purposeful. His cock twitched between your lips, and you felt it—every pulse, every subtle tremble of restraint breaking. “Fuck… that’s it,” he whispered, his head spinning.

And he felt you, too. The way your body clenched around his fingers, soaked and twitching as his hand pumped between your thighs with growing intensity. Your hips rocked against his wrist, your heels kicking air each time his fingertips curled just right.

You choked just slightly, his cock hitting the back of your throat as your body jerked—but he didn’t stop. His palm slapped wetly against your ass, the obscene sound of his fingers fucking into you barely audible over the slurp of your mouth and the low, guttural whimpers pouring from his chest.

His voice was tight, right on the edge. But your pussy was shaking, your thighs trying to close, your back arching in that telltale way—and he felt it coming. You moaned around his cock, a deep, muffled sound vibrating against his length, his legs jerking in response.

His fingers slammed deep, curling sharp. You gasped, mouth full, throat convulsing, and then everything snapped. You squirted all over his hand with a cry you couldn’t hold back, your legs shaking, your ass twitching in the air. Your arousal spilled down his fingers, soaked his wrist, dripped onto the sheets.

And the second you spasmed like that around him, his hips stuttered, his breath hitched, and a low, fucked-out growl rumbled in his chest as his cock throbbed inside your mouth. You felt the first warm spurt hit the back of your throat, followed by another—and another—as he came hard, one hand yanking your head down to bury himself deep, the other still stuffed inside you, his fingers riding out the pulses of your orgasm.

His thighs flexed. His stomach clenched. His voice cracked with a half-moan, half-laugh that sounded just a little too close to worship. You swallowed it all, deliberately.

Then let him slip from your lips with a slick pop, your breath ragged, sweat cooling on your back as his hand finally slid from between your thighs, his fingers shiny and trembling. He looked down at you like you were divine punishment, still twitching from overstimulation, breathing like he’d fought a war—but grinning like he’d die to do it again.

His chest heaved like he couldn’t get enough air, his jaw slack, lips parted around a breathless whine. You could still see the way his muscles jumped—little tremors of pleasure his brain had no control over.

Temptation overtook him as his hand shot up—twitchy and instinctual. He couldn’t speak. He just leaned forward, his lips brushing your fingertips, and licked your arousal clean. Each drag was shaky, his mouth hot and eager, licking the mess he'd made like it was sacred. His lashes fluttered as his tongue circled your knuckle, the sound of his breath catching every time your taste hit his tongue. He whimpered—soft, broken—like it hurt to keep going, but he couldn't stop.

Every noise he made was involuntary. Every twitch in his hips, every stutter in his breath, every faint jerk of his cock against his thigh—it was pure overstimulation. His body was wrung out, undone, and still begging. And when he pulled your fingers from his mouth, licking the corners of his lips like a man starved, you knew he wasn’t done.

To him, heat felt like madness dressed in power. Everything was louder—your heartbeat, your scent, the memory of your lips. He was a god in a cage, and you were the only key. You were the one thing he didn’t need to conquer—he wanted you willingly, but if you fought, he ached harder. Every roll of your hips, every defiant glare, only sharpened his focus. He would fuck you like he was trying to outrun the heat clawing at his brain—but the truth? He didn't want it to end. Mating with you wasn’t about reproduction. It was absolution.

“It’s consuming me,” he spit out, breathless. “I can feel it in every goddamn nerve.” You touched his shoulder. He grabbed your wrist instead, shoving it to his chest. It hit like tension in a dim room—quiet, deliberate, intoxicating. The kind of scent that makes your breath catch before your thoughts do. There’s intimacy in it. One that thickens as your taste is savored on his tongue. The smell was of black tea and a faint rosewood, perhaps ink-stained leather. He grabbed your chin—dragged his tongue along your neck, then bit down slowly. It was deep, controlled, like he was branding you. His chest rumbled, almost pridefully.

He didn’t need to speak—you felt it in the way his hands gripped your hips, steady and possessive. You pushed up onto your hands, your spine arched, your thighs trembling as your knees left the bed. The tension in your core burned as he slid his hands beneath your pelvis and lifted. Your body tipped forward, your thighs locking tight around his waist, your ankles crossed at his back as his cock pressed flush against your slick folds—heavy, aching, ready.

He adjusted his grip, one hand under each thigh, supporting the weight of your lower half as your toes dangled uselessly in the air, your legs trembling from the position. The angle was unnatural—perfect—your arms still grounded you, your pussy tilted toward him like an open mouth begging to be filled. Your thighs tightened with every breath he took, every twitch of his cock as he positioned himself. And he pushed in all at once. “I can feel your heartbeat around my cock,” he said, his voice a gritted rasp.

Your mouth dropped open in a soundless gasp, your head tilting back, your arms shaking beneath you as your cunt clenched around him from the sudden fullness. You could feel every inch of him—every throb, every twitch—so deep it felt like he’d never leave your body again.

Your legs locked tighter. Your arms strained to keep balance while your body pulsed around him, helpless to anything but the slow, punishing drag of his hips. And he moved. Just a steady, ruthless rhythm, rocking you forward with every thrust—forcing your body to take him in angles that made your stomach tremble. “Don’t pass out yet—I’m not done proving I’m stronger than you.”

“Oh, fuck off. You’re disgusting,” you replied, your voice laced with sarcasm.

His heart nearly swelled. Fuck off? He’s influenced you. “Call me disgusting again. Go on. I’ll moan your name while I keep ruining you,” he said, his voice thick with desire. It was sudden; the knot started swelling so fast it pulled a ragged sound out of him—a half-moan, half-growl, his teeth clenched like it hurt to feel this good. He was trembling—addicted— and pulsing around the knot that wouldn't let go. He was fighting for his life. You clenched down at his words, your heels nudging him deeper as his knee nearly buckled.

“You’re mine, mouth and all. So shut the fuck up, or I’ll make it worse. Just tell me I’m your bitch. I’ll wear it like a crown. I can take more. Sit on my face again, like last time—I’ll breathe later. Tie me down and fuck me dumb; make me useless. That’s what you want, right?” It all spilled out in broken fragments like a truth serum.

“We’ll see,” you responded.

Variant #17 (I wouldn't even keep you as a slave in my Empire!)

You come home to silence, which is odd. Because Variant 17 is never quiet. He likes to remind you he’s there—pacing, hovering, teasing, demanding attention even when he doesn’t need it, especially when he doesn’t need it. The apartment looks fine. There are no signs of a fight. But something buzzes under your skin the second you shut the door behind you. That strange, oppressive heat in the air… You round the corner to the bedroom and stop short.

He’s already there, sitting on the edge of the bed in just his boxers, elbows on his knees—breathing like he just ran a marathon. His skin is flushed, and his pupils are blown. The second he sees you, he grins.

“Finally,” he says, his voice low and gravelly with strain. “I was wondering how long you’d make me wait.” Your eyes flick to his throat, bitten and bruised from the last time he threw you against the wall. The marks still haven’t faded, just like yours. “Oh no,” you mutter. “Again?”

His smile sharpens. “You say that like I planned this.”

He stands slowly, almost lazily, despite the twitch in his jaw, and stalks toward you. His suit is on the floor, and his knuckles are bruised. He smells like sweat, ozone, and you. You backpedal, but he doesn’t chase. He just says, “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You scoff. “Because you’ve been humping the couch like a damn dog in heat—”

“Because I am,” he snaps. “And you left me here suffering.”

You try to shove him, but he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. “Still so stubborn,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. “Fine. I’ll fuck the resistance out of you.”

He doesn’t kiss your mouth—not yet. Just watches you. That cool, calculated expression is gone now, burned out by the haze of his heat. He’s not just attempting to be dominant—he’s deranged with it, shaking slightly as he presses himself harder into you.

“You’re lucky,” he mutters, his voice strained. “Before you, I had an ex that resisted too. You know what I did?” His eyes narrow. “I fucked her until she cried and then begged me to make her a queen.”

“You’re disgusting,” you say flatly.

He just smirks. “You say that now.”

He knows you don’t mean it, and if you did, you're now stained by his very presence, defiled by his wants. The desperation takes over. His hips rut against yours shamelessly—his teeth dragging across your jaw—fingers digging into your thighs as he hoists you higher. You gasp, grabbing his shoulders for balance, but it only makes him hungrier.

“I was gonna be patient. I was gonna convince you,” he growls. “But this—this is your fault. You made me wait. You let me suffer. And now you think I’m gonna stop before you’re begging me to stay?”

The slick from his precum smears against your bottoms. He is feral, utterly consumed by his desires. He doesn’t give you the opportunity to chide him. “How many orgasms does it take to turn a little rebel into a queen?” His authority is being questioned with every action. He walks like he owns you, talks like he’s already won. His words are sharp, cocky, laced with superiority and amusement, like he’s just entertaining you until you break. But his body tells the truth.

He kisses you like every second your lips aren't on his is a personal insult. The moment your mouths meet —his hands slide into your hair, tilting your head back with a quiet, commanding drawl. It's slow at first, but controlling. But when your hands fist in his shirt—tugging—he loses it. He bites your lip and moans into the kiss. His hips rock into you, and he groans like he hates how good you feel. He pants, licking into your mouth again like he's ready to devour the last of your resistance.

His fingers twitch at his sides when you don’t move fast enough toward the bed. The way he breathes through his nose to keep it even—calm, cold—while his pupils are already blown wide from scenting your skin. The clench in his jaw when you lean in close, and he doesn’t flinch, but he stops blinking. He says he’s in control. He says he’s patient. But his hands shake when they finally touch you.

Every article of clothing is gone. There’s no grace anymore, just hunger. He strips you like you’re the only cure, moaning when your thighs press together. You’re left as his equal, in lust and in the nude, as his damp cock presses against you within the confines of his boxers.

The second the fabric left your skin, he changed. What started as cocky hands pulling your underwear aside—slow, smug, practiced—now turned frantic. The moment your bodies were bare, he hesitated, just for a second. Like the sight of you finally being exposed knocked the breath clean out of his chest.

His cock twitched, and his jaw clenched. He groaned—low, guttural, like his body betrayed him by reacting before he had the chance to mock you for it. He didn't speak. Otherwise, the words would've come out shaken, and his pride couldn’t handle that.

Instead, he flipped you onto your back, hooked his arms under your knees, and folded you in half—knees tucked high to your chest, back arched off the mattress. Your hands instinctively gripped behind your thighs, holding them there, perfectly presented.

Then he moved over you. His toes dug into the sheets, his body hovering just enough to control the angle—forty degrees of domination, cock aligned with brutal precision as he pressed forward with an unsteady breath. The slide-in was deep. His composure crumbled almost immediately as he realized you held the very power he attempted to steal. Completely open and vulnerable to him, and yet his nerves felt alight.

You watched his expression twist, his eyebrows pinched, mouth parted, pupils dilated—as the sensation rocked through him. He moved hard from the first thrust, his hips slamming into yours with rhythmic force, his abs tightening with every movement. But for all his aggression, it wasn’t anger—it was panic masquerading as power. He was unraveling too fast. Your walls fluttered around him, and he twitched, his thrusts faltering.

He tried to hold it together. Tried to go faster, deeper, rougher—tried to dominate. But his face gave him away. “You’re not as untouchable as you pretend to be, Mark,” you mused, although through choked sobs. The air leaving your lungs came in short bursts, unable to breathe as he pummeled into you, your body curling into itself. You open your mouth to taunt, only for his face to close in, his breath fanning your face. “Say it. Say you’re not mine. I dare you.”

His brows knitted tighter. His mouth hung open. A trembling gasp escaped when your body clenched just right. His hands, once firm on your thighs, now gripped like he was afraid of being pushed out. And when your legs shook in his hands, when your slick dripped down to his balls with every brutal thrust? He lost it. “I’m supposed to be building an empire, and instead I’m here—drenched in you, shaking, because my body thinks I’ll die if I don’t fuck you.”

You felt him stutter—his hips stalling, jaw slack, and his body shaking from the effort to keep control. His cock throbbed deep inside you, his breath turned ragged, and still, he fucked into you like you were the only anchor he had left. Then suddenly… he remembered who the fuck he was. Sure, he could be a brat, even doing this for the sake of vengeance. He persevered regardless.

He pulled out in one slow, wet slide, watching the way your body clenched and twitched at the loss. His back arched inwards, and he looked down at you—ruined, smug, triumphant—and for a moment? He just stared. His hands were everywhere now—pushing your legs apart wider, guiding your hips into the perfect angle, dragging your ass back into place. You tried to shift. He didn’t let you. His grip was unyielding, fingers sinking into your flesh with possessive finality.

It was different, one fluid jerk. Buried to the hilt, grinding slowly, deliberately—just to feel your walls flutter. His body rolled against yours like a machine built for precision destruction. Each thrust carried weight and rhythm like a punishment laced with adoration. He felt it. Felt your legs twitch, your walls tighten, and your breath catch. Instead of slowing, he pistoned forward, chasing your peak like it was his right to feel you come around him again and again, until your moans weren't pretty anymore.

“You live with me. You sleep in my bed. And you still act like you’re not mine?” He was falling apart. And you never said a word. He could throw a fit if he wanted to, but your defiance is what drove him mad. Because this was his undoing—not the position, not the pleasure, but you. The way you let him think he was in charge… until he wasn't. And when your body clenched around him, slow and deliberate? He moaned, not cocky, not cruel, just ruined. His knee momentarily bent into the plush mattress as his thighs shook. It was like you’d stolen something from him. And he was grateful.

His hips continued to piston as if to punish you. But every word was backed by panic. Just this involuntary drive to make you stay, to make you need him back. Because underneath all that power, he was terrified that if he lets up—just once—you’ll walk away. And that thought derails him. So he fucks you like he’s proving something. And every time you moan his name, every time you whimper, or beg, or tease him? His heart races. He’s more addicted to you than he’ll ever admit. And that’s why he dominates. Because if he doesn’t stay on top, he’ll fall apart.

“You’re lucky I even let you touch me like this. You’d be a wreck if I left right now,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Your cunt squeezes, causing him to slam deeper, earning a yelp to crawl from your throat. His ego and god complex nearly shattered upon hearing it. His dick was twitching, muscles jumping beneath his skin as he grimaced in pleasure.

Burned sugar, sandalwood, scorched velvet, and ash. That’s his scent. It’s infuriatingly addictive. Sweet in a toxic way, like cotton candy laced with smoke. It doesn’t feel like comfort—it feels like compulsion. You hate how much you like it. It clings to the back of your tongue, gets stuck in your hair, and when he’s inside you? It’s everywhere. He leans down, nose nuzzling into your scalp as he inhales it like a drug fix. He reeks of dominance slipping into madness.

Dipping his head slightly, he bites into your clavicle with no mercy. A sound between a snarl and a moan leaps from his throat. The unrelenting pounding of his hips caused his teeth to grind slightly. If he doesn't claim you now, he’d lose himself. Not like you two had a choice, as he came without warning—a strangled groan being the only indication as your insides spasmed around him. He murmured into your collarbone, “Tell me I’m yours. Say it. Even if you don’t mean it, lie to me.” You obliged, the words barely coherent but enough to make his ears ring. A pained and pleasured whine left you; no amount of tensing his abdomen withheld the flood he released, his dick bulging inside you as the knot formed. Your insides practically latched onto him.

With bated breath, he leaned back, staring proudly at his work before he sighed, frustrated. “I was winning, and then you made that noise—fuck.” A quiet whine echoed in his voice. “All that attitude and you still came first. Typical.” Your eyes finally focused, narrowing on his gaze.

“Don’t… don’t fucking look at me like that. I meant to last longer,” he says, his voice ragged. “I was supposed to be building an empire, and instead I’m here—drenched in you, shaking, because my body thinks I’ll die if I don’t fuck you.” His eyes scanned over the marking, almost like his name was carved into it. Suddenly leaning up, you clamp down on his chest with your teeth, and he freezes mid-thrust, then growls. “Ohhh, so that’s how you want it?” His breath is ragged now. “You little fucking traitor. You think biting me’s gonna save you?” But his hips rut harder. “Do it again. Prove you’re mine too. You’re coming into my empire anyway.” Truthfully, you didn’t mind. But he had finally earned you. TEASERSSSS (Part 3, if requested. Congratulations, reader!!)

@ploiigee

(Photo stitching made by me!)

[slutoru1207]

Its not a competition

A group of Mark Graysons from different realities sat in a rough circle, postured like they were at some kind of interdimensional support group. Except, instead of discussing trauma, morals, or the existential horror of being a multiversal constant, they were arguing over who had the best Reader.

Because apparently, that was the priority here.

Viltrumite!Mark crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. “Mine is obedient and listens to my every command.” His voice was laced with pride, like he was stating a universal truth. "No complaints, no resistance. They know their place."

Sinister!Mark scoffed, leaning back in his chair, his cape flaring dramatically as if the very air respected him. “Obedient?” he echoed, eyes glinting. “That’s boring. Mine created an entire rebellion against my empire.” He grinned, teeth sharp. “I kept them alive so we could fuck in between fights.”

Silence.

Some of the Marks shifted uncomfortably. Mohawk!Mark just nodded in approval. NoGoggles!Mark looked toointerested.

NoGoggles!Mark’s grin was feral, bruises barely healing from whatever fight he just crawled out of. “Mine likes to punch the living shit out of me!” he laughed, tilting his head like a dog listening for a whistle. “She really hates me! Like, actively hates me! It’s so fucking fun.”

Viltrumite!Mark and Sinister!Mark looked at him like he just said he enjoyed getting hit by a truck. Which, knowing him, he probably did.

Mohawk!Mark shrugged, amused. “Mine always has plans to kill me,” he said, scratching his chin like he was fondly remembering an assassination attempt. “Too bad she gets cock-drunk before she can actually initiate them.”

Sinister!Mark snorted. “Pathetic.”

Mohawk!Mark smirked. “Jealous?”

Sinister!Mark glared. NoGoggles!Mark looked like he wanted to fist-bump him.

Mainstream!Mark had been sitting there quietly, arms crossed, waiting for the nonsense to end. Now, he just shrugged and said, “I got mine pregnant.”

Silence.

Dead silence.

All the Marks stared at him.

Then, like some collective, hive-mind realization, their eyes glinted at the same time.

“Yeah,” Sinister!Mark mused, rubbing his chin. “I should do that next.”

“Damn,” NoGoggles!Mark muttered, a lightbulb clearly going off in his head.

Viltrumite!Mark simply hummed in approval, like it was already on his agenda.

Mohawk!Mark clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Guess I gotta stop dodging those baby traps.”

Mainstream!Mark’s face dropped. “Wait—NO—guys, that wasn’t—”

Too late.

The multiverse had just been given a really bad idea.

[invoncible]

KEEP AWAY with the INVINCIBLE VARIANTS ! ✧˚. — after finding you in this universe, they're not gonna let you go! w/ mohawk, viltrumite, no goggles w/ gn! reader cw. suggestive. no goggles is a freak

— a continuation of running into the variants during the war :)

"donald, give me some good news." cecil had his hands on his hips as he stared at all the destruction broadcasted to the pentagon control room.

"uh... some variants seem to be slowing down on their escapades, sir."

"that could go both ways," cecil's eyes narrowed. "depending on what they've decided to do instead."

the big screen zeroed in on a version of mark dragging some random through the air. the blood drained from cecil's face as he walked closer, eyes narrowing at the footage.

"who the fuck is that?" cecil snapped. he deprived them of the chance to respond when he followed up with, "get me an ID on that kid. and prep the next squad of reanimen to go after them."

now, did cecil really think that was gonna do anything against him? he was hopeful, but his top priority was saving a life. but mark was not going to make that easy for him.

MOHAWK MARK

mark was having the time of his life! he was set to conquer dimensions, he'd killed so many people, and he was making out with the love of his life on the roof of some random building against the napalm skyline.

he was so content kissing you silly. imposing his body into your space, his forearm flattened against the wall behind you right next to your head, his other tilting your jaw up; being in your arms felt like coming home, and he'd kill anyone to stay there.

his eyes only broke open when he heard the wailing screams of cecil's undead soldiers in the distance. he sighed heavily, pulling away slowly and smiling proudly when he swiped his thumb over your swollen lips.

"c'mon, baby," he muttered lowly, pulling you in his arms. he scoffed amusedly at your dazed state, pressing one last kiss to the fat of your cheeks before his feet left the ground. "some bad guys are tryna take you from me."

"who?" you responded, wrapping your arm around his shoulders.

"no one you need to worry your pretty little head about!" he laughed, taking off into the sky. "i'm not letting anyone ruin this."

you could only hold on for your life as he wove through the clouds, avoiding the squadron of reanimen pursuing him.

"mark!" you screamed, ducking into his chest as one frantically launched itself into the air, swiping at your head.

"yeah, hold on, baby." mark's grin would scare you if you hadn't realized how devoted he was to you within the hours of meeting him. "i've got you."

an undead solider leaped into the air, clasping its metal hand around his shin and letting its weight drag him down. mark grit his teeth, swinging his leg in an attempt to shake it off.

but the soldier held firm, climbing up mark's body.

"are you fucking kidding me?" mark groaned in annoyance. he turned to you. "i'm gonna need you to trust me, y/n." you felt his grip around you loosen.

your body tensed, nails digging into his shoulder. "no—"

"trust me." he braced himself, muscles coiling as he prepared to throw you.

"mark, what—"

"it's gonna take a minute, tops, and i'll catch you."

"what the fuck?!"

"pretty please with a cherry on top?"

catch me? your eyes blew open, grappling at his arms even as he lowered you down before catapulting you into the air.

mark immediately turned to the bitch on his leg, grabbing its throat and twisting until its head popped off. he shifted his weight as he zipped through the rest of the hordes of reanimen, ripping them limb from limb.

all the while you were on the verge of passing out, falling from who knows how high back onto the abandoned streets. you regretted all your life choices in that moment, especially getting involved with this half-bald freak of nature.

your stomach lurched as the ground rushed up to meet you. you barely had time to scream before something caught you midair, arms locking around you like a vice. the impact rattled through your bones, but before you could process the relief, you realized it wasn’t mark—it was one of the sentries he was fighting. held in someone’s arms for the second time that day, you were whisked away from the battlefield, your head spinning.

"what the fuck is going on?" you whispered to yourself, dizzy and lightheaded from your some-hundred ft. fall.

mark's head turned as if he had a sixth sense. he saw the red light fading in the distance. he snapped the final limb before ricocheting towards you.

his hands curled around the base of its neck, stopping its escape in its tracks. "think you got something of mine..." he said lowly, lifting the cyborg off the ground.

its jaw snapped wildly, thrashing to try and dislodge itself from his grip. mark clicked his tongue, laughing. "aww, look, y/n!" he grinned and pointed his free hand to the reaniman. "it's trying to get away!"

you just stared at him, dumbfounded. thankfully, he got his satisfaction and snapped the neck of the soldier, wrapping an arm around your waist as he tossed the dead agent over the rooftop.

"there," he pressed his lips to the side of your head as he took to the sky again. "see? wasn't so bad. now, where were we?"

you rolled your eyes, but rested your head against his shoulder anyways.

VILTRUMITE MARK

"first, we'll get married."

"married?"

"as soon as possible."

"uh-huh."

"then kids."

"kids?!"

"at least... four."

you rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a smile. reaching over, you took a french fry from the package he was holding (the same one he’d terrorized a McDonald's to get for you). you two were sitting atop the golden gate bridge, and for some reason, the shitshow beneath your feet didn't make you feel queasy anymore.

mark, as you've learned, saved the softest spot in his heart for you and his mother. he was adamant on just talking to you, rekindling the love he knew he had for you.

"it seems like you're trying to replace your y/n with me." you hum, passing him a look. "we're not the same person."

he shook his head, resting his head in your lap. you softened against your will, dragging your nails against his scalp.

"you say that like it matters." he sighed, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzled into your thighs. "you’re mine. you’ve always been mine. doesn’t matter what version of you i started with—i like this one just fine."

"that's—"

mark's head hit the cool metal of the bridge in the next second, his eyes flying open as he saw a squadron of reanimen bolting away with you in their arms.

his eye twitched, a crazed genre of rage rushing through his veins. not again. not my y/n. he shot off the landing after them.

other soldiers fell out of formation to slow him down, thrusting the reinforced soles of their feet into his face. he barely flinched, grabbing anything he could and throwing them off into the distance. carnage could come later; right now, he needed you back with him.

what was cecil thinking sending these zombies after the mark raised on viltrum? mark shut that whole thing down real quick, snatching you by your waist and throwing you over his shoulder as he mopped the rest of them up.

he held you in front of him, a frown on his lips as he asked oh-so-gently, "are you okay?"

brain rattled by being treated like a football, you settled for nodding. your eyes drifted behind him, too slow to warn him about the lone zombie throttling through the air towards him.

the sentry's feet slammed into mark's back. its hand grabbed onto you, preventing you from being sent to the ground with mark. you dangled in the air, watching the asphalt below crack under the impact of his fall.

"mark!" you yelled after him, gagging in disgust when you were brought closer to the agent's rotting flesh. "shit—"

below, mark stood slowly, letting the gravel fall off his white uniform. he exhaled in annoyance, like a bull grunting before charging. he watched you struggle in the soldier's arms as you were carried farther and farther away, and he's never felt his heart beat so erratically.

he zipped towards you. a sonic boom tore through the air as he slammed into the reaniman's side, driving it into the ground. right before the agent could be reduced to paste on the pavement, you were ripped from its grasp into mark’s.

he barely spared a glance at the corpse, scowling as he shifted his grip on you. his next words were muttered, spoken more to himself than to you.

"more reason this stupid planet needs our oversight. they waste their time with their arrogant pursuits." he sneered, flying to another location you two could be alone.

your pulse began to steady, body sinking against his.

mark exhaled, softer this time. his grip around you tightened, but his lips were gentle when they pressed against your temple. then your cheek, then your lips—languid, warm and slow, savoring the way you felt in his arms.

"they could never keep us apart." he murmured against your lips. "if they want to figure that out the hard way... so be it."

NO GOGGLES MARK

mark came back to you, like he promised. he wasn't going to miss the opportunity in front of him! you handled him so well.

there was nowhere he wanted to be other than under you, your hands wrapped around his neck. at first you were weirded out. he claimed you were together in another dimension, and with everything he knew about you, you believed him. now you were just... intrigued.

"squeeze harder, baby, come on." he gasped, winking up at you in his delirium. "i can take it."

you pouted, eyebrows knitting. "i don't like this game." you needed to work up to the level he was expecting from you, as much as you were enjoying this too.

he laughed hoarsely, curling his fingers around your wrists. "we got a couple more we can play. but i dunno if you'd want to do them all out in the open."

you rolled your eyes, a small chuckle slipping through your lips. you dragged your nails down his chest, noting the way he shivered. the maniacal grin you've come to know him for grew on his face once again.

"i wouldn't mind, of course." his eyes glinted with a twisted delight, his hands squeezing at the fat of your thighs. "don't think i can wait any longer, actually."

"you might just get lucky," you giggled so sweetly that mark's fucked up mind paused its depraved thoughts to really take it in.

he began to respond when the rooftop caved under you. soldier after soldier emerged through the hole, bombarding you with numbers. their half-metal bodies blotted out the setting sun. mark growled in frustration, swiping through the swarm. when the smoke cleared, you were nowhere to be found.

"fuck," he chuckled, cracking his neck. "making me chase you, huh?"

mark grinned, tilting his head as he watched them try to drag you away. fun! did they really think they could outpace him?

he shot forward, cracking through the air like a bullet. he didn’t even slow down as his fist caved into the first reaniman’s spine, sending it crashing into the pavement below. the next got a foot to the chest—its entire torso collapsing under the force, mechanical parts sparking and hissing as they fell.

you yelped as one tried to launch itself away, still holding you tight in its arms. mark barely had to think yet he caught its ankle, spun it mid-air, and slammed it into the ground so hard it cratered on impact.

you didn't have the time to register you were falling; you landed in his arms a second later.

"there we go," he hummed, dusting debris off your clothes. "still breathing?" he pressed his ear to your chest, heat blooming across his skin with every thundering beat of your heart, head rising and falling as you inhaled and exhaled.

your chest heaved, adrenaline buzzing under your skin. he laughed, delighted by the look on your face.

his fingers slid under your chin, tilting your face up. "hey, don't tap out yet. you said i was getting lucky."

"i said you might get lucky." you corrected, even though you already decided how the night was going to go.

he grinned. "will you actually choke me out this time?"

"i'll fucking slap you." you hummed, a pleasant breeze drifting past your face as he carried you off to a more secluded location.

"i love you so fucking much." he groaned, eyes fluttering shut. his hands tightened around you. when you looked up, he was biting his lip to conceal his excitement.

"this planet better give you a medal of honor or some shit the way you're saving lives right now," he chuckled, leaning down and gnawing on the fluff of your cheek. "how long do you think you can keep me occupied?"

he didn’t need to hear your answer—he was already planning to keep you up all night. but the look in your eyes told him he didn’t have to do much convincing.

© invoncible

[streco3y]

Hehe