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clairewritesfanfics · 2 months ago

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Mark Grayson Variants as Husbands

Characters: Emperor Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Omni-Mark, Prisoner Mark

Emperor/Target Mark

Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t have any concubines. He is mature enough to know that he doesn’t have the capacity to manage a harem of alien brides. Despite his occasional childishness, he is devoted to you and you alone and takes great pride in his monogamy. He would be lying if he said he doesn’t want a harem composed of versions of you though.

He can be, for lack of a better term, a brat and insists on “my way or no way.” But in the end, he always buckles to what you want, because he hates upsetting you.

He values your opinion. You are his consort, his only equal. He will always seek your advice before he makes any major decisions, especially ones that may affect the empire.

Mohawk Mark

Reads all the books you like to read, and even the fanfics you deemed “shameful.” Though he teases you, he never mocks you.

He’s a philosophy nerd–actually, he’s a total bookworm who’ll read anything, from The Nancy Drew Cookbook to the Kama Sutra–but he has a soft spot for Camus and his peers. He talks to you about the inherent meaninglessness of life while you two eat pizza and watch TV.

He loves seeing you use and wear the stuff he buys you. It’s rare for him to actually make a purchase with the intention of getting you things, but he always thinks of you. Even when he isn’t thinking of you, he can’t help but think of you.

One of his favorites is the heart-shaped locket which contained braided locks of his hair. He has an exact replica of that locket that contained your hair, too.

No Goggles Mark

Resembles a puppy dog who loves his owner too much. A cute, obsessive, six-foot-tall murderous dog. His day starts and ends with you.

He would probably be your devoted househusband if he had any choice in the matter, but you don’t like him being alone.

Out of all of them, he’s the reddest flag purely from the fact that he has difficulty, or rather, has zero interest in interacting with others when you’re not around.

He’s also one of the more competent fighters, but he always comes home bleeding and bruised. It’s because you fuss over him. More blood means more affection.

He doesn’t get the human concept of the “nagging wife” because he relishes in your voice, in your undivided attention. It doesn’t matter if you’re reprimanding him or praising him, whether you throw flowers or dirt, life with you is one big, beautiful garden.

Omni-Mark

Appears cold and distant to outsiders, to the point that they can’t even picture him smiling or being all cuddly, but he’s just a man who knows when and how to separate business from pleasure.

He is very observant. He repairs any problems in the house before you even notice, like a leaky faucet or a squeaky door hinge.

A man of his word, he prioritizes his commitments to you over everything else. If you two planned a vacation together on the other side of the world, then he is ignoring any and all calls from work.

He has endless time, but time with you can only be for so long, which makes it all the more precious than the lives of everyone else in the universe.

Prisoner Mark

The actual househusband.

He gets super competitive when it comes to cooking and maintaining the house’s cleanliness, which, while you do appreciate, concerns you a bit. You don’t want him to get too obsessed with the housework because it means he always finds an excuse to stay at home. Granted, he’s an ex-con, but you still want him to interact with other people.

Despite his rough exterior, he is still a sweetheart. When random thugs aren’t making trouble for him, he is pretty chill.

You find that you have nothing to worry about when you discover that he is on a first name basis with the cashier lady at the grocery you two frequent, is affectionately called “Boo Radley” by the neighborhood kids, feeds the ducks and pigeons near the park, and is loved by every dog and cat that crosses his path.

author's Note: I'm so lonely.

Masterlist | request rules | ask box Husband headcanons for: Cap Mark, Full Mask Mark, Maskless Mark, Shiesty Mark, Sinister Mark, Viltrumite Mark

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

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urdreamydoodles · 3 months ago

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"A UNIVERSE WITHOUT YOU" — Mark Variants x Fem!Reader Fanfic

CHAPTER 2 OF ?

CHAPTER 1 HERE

(Mark Variants: Sinister Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Prisoner Mark, Bald Mark, Goggles Mark, Sheisty Mark, Omni-Mark & Viltrum Mark)

WARNING: Heavy smut, Violence, Emotional and physical abuse, Non-con (at first)

SMUT WITH A PLOT!

SYNOPSIS —

You exist in a world that should have been safe. But safety is an illusion, and so is peace.

They arrive like a plague, tearing through your city with hands built for slaughter, eyes sharpened by obsession. Mark Grayson—many Mark Graysons—each one twisted, each one wrong. They have hunted you across universes, through blood and ruin, through lifetimes lost to grief. And now, they have found you.

Sinister Mark is the first to taste you, the first to carve his claim into your skin, his hunger slow, deliberate—inescapable. But the others will not be denied. Mohawk Mark wants you wild and breathless, a creature of instinct. Hoodvincible, all fury and need, wants to break you into something that belongs only to him. Prison Mark, silent, watching, waits for his turn to unravel you with patient hands. Each of them will take you. Each of them will ruin you. And you—

You will learn what it means to be wanted.

@weaponxgames @martinys-world

If you want to be tagged for this story, comment!

The alley is suffocating.

Your breath comes fast, shallow, but not from exertion. Not from fear, though that, too, coils in your chest like a thing alive. No, it is the weight of him that steals the air from your lungs.

Sinister Mark is close. Too close.

The bricks are cold at your back, unyielding, rough against your palms as you brace yourself. But he is warm—so terribly, unbearably warm. His presence is suffocating, his body caging you in, hands planted on either side of your head. His eyes burn through you, deeper than they ever did before, dark with something far worse than rage.

Possession.

His lips part like he might speak, but nothing comes out. Instead, his breathing sharpens, the rise and fall of his chest ragged, like he's trying to hold himself together with sheer force of will.

Then, finally, he exhales a curse under his breath, something guttural and raw.

"You don’t get to run from me," he says, voice almost gentle. Almost.

A lie of softness wrapped around something razor-sharp.

Your heart pounds, but you meet his gaze, refusing to cower. You should be afraid. You are. But there is something else, something deeper, something that should not exist in the face of such violent devotion.

"You’re not him," you say.

And oh, that does something to him.

His fingers twitch against the brick, his whole body going rigid like he’s just been struck.

"No," he agrees, voice hoarse. "I’m not."

He should be furious. He should rip through the wall behind you in his rage, in his inability to be what you lost. But instead, he lets out something close to a laugh. It’s dry, humorless.

And then, without warning, he kisses you.

It is not a kiss meant to soothe, nor a kiss meant to convince. It is a claim. A demand.

His lips crash against yours with bruising force, fingers digging into the wall like he’s holding himself back from tearing you apart in a way you would not survive. His teeth catch your lower lip, sharp enough to sting, but he does not relent. His hands have yet to touch you, and yet you feel him everywhere—his presence, his heat, his need, pressing into you like gravity itself.

It is the most dangerous thing you have ever felt.

But you do not push him away.

You tilt your chin, just enough to break the kiss, just enough to breathe, and when you speak, your voice is steady, unwavering.

"He would hate you," you murmur. "Everything you are. Everything you've done."

Sinister Mark inhales sharply, his head tipping forward so that his forehead brushes yours.

Then he laughs.

It is low, deep, shaking through him in something close to ecstasy. He exhales against your lips, slow and measured, a ghost of breath against your skin.

"Then it’s a good thing he’s dead."

And the worst part?

You believe him.

The realization sends a tremor through you, but before you can react—before either of you can—another voice cuts through the alley like a blade.

"Well, well."

A slow, amused whistle follows.

"You found her first. That’s cute."

Sinister Mark does not move, but you feel the shift in his body, the slow turn of his head toward the source of the voice.

Mohawk Mark.

He stands at the mouth of the alley, his silhouette cast in flickering streetlight. There is blood on his hands, on his clothes, smeared across his jaw like war paint. His grin is wide, lazy, eyes gleaming with something wicked.

"Was wondering when you’d get tired of playing with your food," he muses, stepping forward.

Sinister Mark is still, his posture unchanged, but something about him feels even more dangerous now, like a predator whose kill has just been threatened.

"You’re in my way," he says, voice void of any warmth it once held.

Mohawk Mark chuckles, rubbing his thumb through the blood on his knuckles.

"You’re so serious," he muses. "Come on. We all came here for the same thing."

His gaze slides to you, and his grin widens.

"And damn, she looks even better up close."

A rush of cold floods your veins, but before Mohawk Mark can take another step, the air shifts.

The wall behind you cracks under Sinister Mark’s grip, a deep, splintering sound that vibrates through the alley. His expression is unreadable, but his intent is clear.

Mohawk Mark tilts his head.

"Don’t be greedy," he teases. "I mean, I could fight you for her, but we both know how that’d end."

Sinister Mark’s jaw tightens.

"You’d lose."

Mohawk Mark’s grin sharpens.

"Maybe."

He steps closer.

"But I’d have fun trying."

The space between them shrinks, and you realize with a sick, sinking feeling that they are not arguing about if you will be theirs.

Only who gets to have you first.

Sinister Mark doesn’t blink, doesn’t so much as twitch.

Then, slowly, he reaches out—grabbing the front of Mohawk Mark’s suit.

And slams him into the opposite wall.

The force cracks the bricks, a spiderweb of fractures blooming outward. Mohawk Mark exhales sharply but laughs, wiping a streak of blood from his temple where the impact cut skin.

"That’s the spirit," he purrs.

Sinister Mark leans in, his voice dropping to something quiet, something lethal.

"You won’t touch her."

Mohawk Mark raises a brow.

"Oh? And what are you gonna do about it?"

Sinister Mark smiles.

A slow, terrifying thing.

"I’ll show you."

The alley goes silent.

For a moment, the only sound is your own breathing, too fast, too uneven.

Then, suddenly—

Mohawk Mark moves.

Faster than you can process, faster than human sight can track. His fist swings for Sinister Mark’s jaw, a hit that would shatter bone—

But Sinister Mark catches it.

The impact is deafening.

For a long, terrible moment, they are locked in place, a silent battle of strength and will.

Then they move.

It happens too fast. One second, Sinister Mark’s grip is crushing Mohawk Mark’s fingers, an unspoken promise of destruction. The next, Mohawk grins, twisting his wrist with practiced ease, slipping free just enough to drive his other fist into Sinister’s ribs. The crack is deafening.

Sinister barely flinches.

Instead, his response is immediate and brutal. He swings Mohawk like a ragdoll, slamming him into the opposite wall with enough force to send debris flying. Mohawk lets out a bark of laughter even as the impact splits his lip, blood smearing his grin.

"You hit like a jealous boyfriend," he taunts.

Sinister doesn’t waste breath on words. He lunges.

Their battle is violent, chaotic. Brick and concrete crumble around them as they tear through the alley, each strike a promise of suffering. Mohawk is fast, laughing between his dodges, jabs sharp and mocking. But Sinister is relentless, every attack carrying the weight of absolute hatred.

And they are distracted.

For the first time since this nightmare began, no hands are holding you down. No cruel voices whispering claims to your body, your existence.

You run.

It is not planned, not graceful. It is instinct. Pure, blinding survival. Your feet slam against the pavement, your breath ragged as you race through the ruined city.

Everything is in ruins.

Buildings are gutted, glass and steel strewn like the organs of a dying beast. Fires burn in the distance, black smoke curling into a bruised sky. The scent of blood is thick in the air, mingling with the acrid stench of destruction.

The dead are everywhere.

Twisted forms litter the streets—civilians, heroes, anyone who dared stand in their way. Some are unrecognizable, bodies reduced to pulp beneath inhuman strength. Others are frozen in their last moments of horror, eyes wide, mouths open in screams that will never end.

This is what they have done.

What they have turned the world into.

And you are next.

A flicker of movement in the distance makes your stomach drop.

At first, he is just a shadow against the firelit horizon, standing amid the carnage like a god surveying his kingdom. Then, as your breath hitches, he turns.

No Goggles Mark sees you.

His head tilts, blood dripping from his fingers, his grin slow and lazy. His eyes gleam with something hungry.

You run faster.

It is useless.

In the blink of an eye, he is gone—vanished from his perch among the corpses. Before you can even scream, a gust of air slams into you, and suddenly—

He is there.

Directly in front of you.

You crash into his chest, the impact sending you stumbling, but his hands catch you, firm and unyielding. He holds you steady, fingers pressing into your shoulders with bruising amusement.

"Well, well," he murmurs. "I was gonna say we should just kill you."

His grin widens.

"But now that I see you?"

He leans in, breath warm against your skin.

"I just wanna taste you."

Your stomach twists violently. His grip tightens, one hand dragging up to brush your jaw, slow and deliberate. His fingers are still wet with blood, smearing against your skin like war paint.

You shove him.

It is like pushing against steel. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even budge, just laughs—a delighted, terrible sound.

"Oh, I like you," he hums. "You're not even crying yet. That's cute."

His hand moves again, fingers tracing the line of your throat.

"You know," he continues, conversational, "Sinister’s gonna be pissed when he finds out you ran. He’s real possessive. Real crazy about you."

His thumb presses against your pulse, feeling the frantic beat beneath your skin.

"But me?" He tilts his head, grinning. "I don’t mind sharing."

Terror flares white-hot in your chest.

You try to twist away, but he moves faster, catching your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to his.

"Mm," he muses. "Yeah. I get it now. Why they all want you."

He steps closer, crowding you, his presence overwhelming.

"You’re just so—"

A blur of motion—

And suddenly, he is gone.

One second, he is pressed against you, his breath ghosting over your lips. The next, he is yanked backward with bone-crushing force.

The world spins.

Then you hear it—

A snarl of fury.

A brutal, devastating impact.

And the growled, venom-laced words that follow:

"She. Is. Mine."

Sinister Mark.

You turn just in time to see him drive No Goggles into the pavement with the force of a meteor. The ground shatters beneath the impact, cracks webbing out in every direction.

No Goggles Mark coughs, laughing even as blood drips from his mouth.

"Damn," he wheezes. "Took you long enough."

Sinister looms over him, eyes black with rage.

"You let her run," he seethes.

No Goggles grins, wiping blood from his chin.

"And you almost lost her."

The words are a taunt, a goad. Sinister reacts exactly as expected—by grabbing No Goggles by the throat and slamming him into the nearest wall.

"You don’t get to touch her."

No Goggles laughs, the sound strained from the pressure on his windpipe.

"You gonna fight me for her, too?" he rasps. "Or are you scared you’ll lose?"

Sinister’s fingers tighten.

"You were never a threat."

His free hand moves—too fast to track—gripping No Goggles’ wrist and twisting. The sickening crack of breaking bone fills the air.

No Goggles’ laughter chokes off into a sharp inhale.

And yet—

Even as agony flashes across his face, his grin remains.

He leans in, voice dropping to something almost reverent.

"Then prove it."

For a moment, neither of them move.

A tense breath between destruction.

Then Sinister Mark lunges.

No hesitation. No warning. Just pure, unrelenting violence.

His fist collides with No Goggles Mark’s jaw, sending a ripple of force through the air. The pavement beneath them splinters from the impact. No Goggles barely has time to react before the next blow comes—a brutal uppercut that sends him hurtling through the ruined cityscape, smashing through what remains of a collapsed skyscraper.

Debris rains like a dying god’s final breath.

Sinister doesn’t let up.

He moves faster than thought, a streak of crimson and darkness as he follows No Goggles into the wreckage. A heartbeat later, another impact shakes the ground. Dust billows out in waves, choking the sky. The sounds of their battle are deafening—flesh hitting flesh, bones fracturing, the sickening crunch of destruction.

You do not wait to see the outcome.

You run.

Again.

Your body screams in protest, muscles aching, lungs burning from the effort. But you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when every moment wasted brings you closer to being caught again.

You dart through the ruins, slipping between shattered cars and crumbling buildings, heart hammering in your chest. The world is a graveyard, a smoldering wasteland left in their wake. You do not think about the bodies. You do not think about the blood.

You only think about escape.

But fate—fate is a cruel, laughing thing.

Because before you can even reach the next block—

A shadow looms above you.

A rush of wind.

And then—

You are airborne.

Your scream is stolen by the sky as you are yanked from the ground, lifted with terrifying speed. The city shrinks beneath you, buildings reduced to tiny, smoldering corpses of their former selves. The higher you rise, the more the destruction spreads out like a bleeding wound, stretching to the horizon.

The grip on you is unyielding. Strong. Familiar in its cruelty.

Then, a low, smug voice in your ear—

"Miss me?"

Mohawk Mark.

You twist, struggling against his hold, but his arms are locked around you, iron-clad, caging you against his chest. His laughter vibrates against your back, a pleased, predatory hum.

"Damn, you really don’t wanna be caught, huh?" he muses, effortlessly adjusting his grip as you writhe. "Too bad."

He tilts his head, smirking. His face is bloodied—whether his own or someone else’s, you can’t tell. His grin is sharp, eyes gleaming with something wicked.

"You know," he murmurs, voice dipping, "Sinister’s gonna lose his mind when he finds out I got to you first."

His words send a fresh wave of panic through you.

You jerk against him, desperate, nails digging into his skin. He only grins wider.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts, tightening his grip. "Be nice now."

Then, without warning—

He kisses you.

Rough. Unforgiving.

His mouth crashes against yours with a hunger that is almost painful, teeth scraping, tongue demanding. His grip around your waist tightens as he holds you steady, savoring the way you struggle.

Your reaction is immediate.

You bite him.

Hard.

He jerks back with a sharp inhale, tasting his own blood.

Then—

He laughs.

A delighted, wicked sound, rolling from his throat like a lover’s sigh.

"Shit," he breathes, licking his lip where you broke the skin. "That was hot."

He looks down at you, amusement flickering through his gaze.

"You really got some fight in you," he muses, voice rich with approval. "I like that."

Then—his grip shifts.

Suddenly, he is no longer holding you.

He is dangling you.

The air around you turns colder as he loosens his grasp, just enough for your body to slip a little. The city stretches out beneath you, endless, waiting.

"You know," he murmurs, tilting his head, "I could just drop you."

The words are spoken playfully, casually.

And yet—

There is no doubt that he means them.

Your breath catches.

Mohawk watches your reaction, utterly enthralled.

"You scared, pretty thing?" he teases, voice honeyed with mock sympathy. "You should be. Bet you’d hit the ground real hard. Splat."

He chuckles, fingers flexing around your waist.

"But don’t worry," he purrs, pulling you back in. "I like you too much to waste you like that."

Before you can respond—

Another voice cuts through the wind.

"Well, shit."

Mohawk tenses.

You twist in his grasp—just in time to see another figure hovering in the air, watching the two of you with a lazy, knowing smirk.

Sheisty Mark.

His arms are crossed over his broad chest, his posture relaxed, but his eyes—

His eyes are locked onto you.

And he looks—

Obsessed.

Mohawk exhales, rolling his shoulders.

"Look who finally decided to show up," he drawls, tone half-annoyed, half-amused.

Sheisty’s grin widens.

"Yeah, yeah, took me a second," he shrugs. "Had some fun down below first. Damn, though."

His gaze rakes over you, dark and slow.

"You really are as pretty as I remember."

Your stomach twists.

Mohawk tightens his grip around you, possessive.

"Back off," he warns. "I found her first."

Sheisty raises an eyebrow, floating closer.

"Yeah?" he muses. "And? You really think Sinister’s gonna let that slide?"

Mohawk’s smirk falters—just slightly.

Sheisty chuckles.

"Man’s losing his mind over her," he continues, shaking his head. "Tearing the city apart, wrecking everything in his way. He ain't gonna let you have her just 'cause you got lucky."

Mohawk narrows his eyes.

"Maybe not," he admits. "But I don’t see him here right now, do you?"

Sheisty hums, considering.

Then he grins.

"Guess that means I can cut in."

Before Mohawk can react—

Sheisty is in front of you.

Too fast. Too close.

His hand reaches out, trailing a finger along your jaw, slow and deliberate.

"Been waitin’ a long time to see you, baby," he murmurs, voice like velvet and danger. "And you don’t know how bad I wanna get my hands on you."

His touch is feather-light, teasing, his eyes drinking in every detail of you.

Mohawk growls.

"Touch her again," he warns, "and I'll break you."

Sheisty laughs.

Loud. Careless.

"You wish you could," he taunts. "But let's be real, man."

He smirks, tilting his head.

"You really think any of us get to keep her?"

His words hang heavy in the air.

A reminder.

A promise.

Because this—

This is just the beginning.

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artbyblastweave · 1 year ago

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A few years ago, there was a thread on r/asksciencefiction where someone was fishing for a superhero story with an inverted Omni-Man dynamic, or a setting where Homelander's initial presentation is played straight- a setting where the Superman figure actually is the paragon of morality he's initially presented as, but no other superhero is- a situation where you've got one really competent true-blue hero standing head-and-shoulders in power above what's otherwise a complete nest of vipers.

Someone in the thread floated My Hero Academia; while I haven't read it, my understanding is that that's not really an accurate read of what's going on with Stain's neurosis about All-Might being the only "real hero," that the point of that arc is that Stain's got an insane and unreasonable standard and that taking an endorsement deal, while bad, isn't actually grounds for execution. My own contribution to the thread was Gail Simone's Welcome to Tranquility, where a major part of the backstory involved the faux Justice-League's Superman analogue having a little accident because he's the only one who thought they were morally obligated to go public with the secret life-extending macguffin that the rest of the team is using to enforce comic-book time on themselves and their loved ones; while only a couple members of the team are directly in on it, the rest are conveniently incurious. And Jupiter's Legacy gets tantalizingly close to this- The Utopian, a well-meaning stick-in-the-mud, ultimately gets blindsided and couped by his scheming brother who creates a superhero junta staffed by a Kingdom-Come-style glut of third-gen superheroes, who are framed as fundamentally self-interested because only came onto the scene after most of the situations you legitimately need a superhero to handle have been neutralized. (The rub, of course, is that the comic is also highly critical of the Utopian's intellectually incurious self-righteously 'apolitical' approach to superheroism- if for no other reason than that it left him in a position to get blindsided by a coup!) While Jupiter's Legacy gets the closest, all three of these are only loosely orbiting around the spirit of the original idea, and there's something really interesting there- particularly if the Superman figure isn't hopelessly naive in the same way as Utopian. Because first of all, if you're Metaman or Amazingman or whatever brand-name alias the writer goes with, and you really earnestly mean it, and you put together a team of all the other most powerful heroes on earth in order to pool your resources, and then with dawning horror you gradually begin to realize that everyone in the room besides yourself is a fascist or a con artist or abuser or any other variant of a kid with a magnifying glass eyeing that anthill called Earth- What the hell is your next move?

Do you just call the whole thing off? Can you trust that they'll actually go home if you call the whole thing off? I mean you've put the idea in their heads, are you sure that they aren't going to, like, start the Crime Syndicate in your absence? Do you stick around to try and enact containment, see if getting all of these people on a team makes them easier to keep on a leash? But that's functionally going to make you their enabler pretty quickly, right? Overlooking "should you kill them-" can you kill them? You're stronger than any individual one of them- are you stronger than all of them? The first time one of them really crosses a line in a way you can't ignore- will that be a one-on-one fight? Are they the kind of people capable of putting two-and-two together and pre-emptively ganging up on you if you push back too hard? Do you just start trying to get them killed, or keep them at each other's throats so they can't coordinate anything really nasty? Can you squeeze any positive moral utility out of them, or is that just a way to justify not doing the hard work of taking them down? There've been works where the conceit is to question the default assumption that Superman in specific would be a good person, and there've been works where the conceit is to question the default assumption that superheroes in general would be good people. Something to be done, I think, with questioning the default assumption that everyone Superman becomes professionally close to would be good, and to explore how he'd handle it if they weren't.

#thoughts #meta #jupiter's legacy #welcome to tranquility #superheroes #story ideas #analysis #effortpost

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moonlightcycle571 · 9 months ago

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The Cons of being Omni-lingual

I made a post about the pros of being omni lingual. Did you really think I would make fluff without making any angst? *insert evil laugh*

As established, Cap can speak any language and knows what’s your Native tongue. Cool right? Wrong.

There’s a reason he hates speaking Themesquiran. Wonder Woman was NOT the first Amazonian he ever met. No, the first time he met one of the warrior women, it was when he was doing a sort of quest as part of his Champion duties where he met an Amazonian away from home. Seeing that she wasn’t affected by All Speak (a type of magic that lets magical or magical adjacent speak in accordance to their environment), he decides to speak Themesquiran. It does not go well. Gets insulted, accused of many things, immediate battle that he doesn’t want to be in. It’s all around not a good thing for him.

So no Diana, he will not be speaking that language, he knows it’s a trap (the last Amazonian said it was OK, but then threw an axe at his head out of reflex)

A very similar experience happened with the Valkery.

Another thing is the suspicion. Sure most of the time, it evaporates after you get to meet him, but it still hurts. What; you think Waller will think ✨magic✨ is a good enough explanation, and not try to pry into his life? Or try to exploit this other facette of him?

It gets especially rough when people don’t take it well. His a big buff white guy, so sometimes speaking more obscure language, or even any non European language, is at best seen as a parlour trick, at worst seen as an insult (how dare he defile our sacred language with his ‘dark arts’).

Another thing to note is that Billy started young. In some iterations, he started at age 8 and joins the JL at 10. So when he hears people curse him under their breath, or even to his face, in another language… he knows. He knows most people don’t think is human, and sometimes doesn’t treat him like one (it doesn’t hurt, really). He knows exactly what people say about him (be it his Cap form or Billy form). And maybe calling them out will make them worse. He’s already been called a freak enough times by his uncle and various foster families, he doesn’t need more

Maybe sometimes he would get captivated by languages long gone, and have access to tidbits of their history, but not have anyone to talk to about it. How many of the languages were forgotten and changed over time, and how many were forcibly destroyed? Would he mourn a civilisation he never knew? Was it even human? The day he found out one of his favourite obscure languages was Kryptonian, his powers opened up a bit, to see what the civilisation was like, and how it ended. He mourns in private and never tells a soul. Cap is not Kryptonian or ever been to Krypton, he has no right to openly mourn. If Supergirl noticed something different in her and Caps hang outs, she says nothing

The worst is when he forgets a word. It happens to everyone, and maybe he was in a place that makes magic glitch. It doesn’t matter. As soon as he finished the mission, he rushes back to the rock to make sure he knows EVERY language. He not forgetting, no, he refuses to forget any language. Especially since for a lot of them, he’s the only one that still remembers them (he may not know the context or culture, but at least he can keep something alive).

#billy batson #dc #dc captain marvel #shazam #supergirl #languages

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rushman-natalierushman · 2 months ago

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Darling, I need all the nasty, dirty, juicy fics of omniman that you can put out. Please and thank you

Are You Sure?

Pairing: Omni-man x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, non-con, manipulation, grooming, read at your own risk type shit!

a/n: you asked for this- (jkjk) but seriously come on, Nolan Grayson being soft and gentle? I don’t think that’s how it would go. Let’s take a look at the sinful thoughts this fiction animated character has placed in my head:

You stood there, frozen in fear. Breath caught in your throat, chest heavy as you attempted to keep your breathing to a minimum. You didn’t want to find out what he’d do if he caught you in his home.

I was brought in by the DEO, per Cecil’s orders. I was a rogue, undercover, trusted agent with a harmless ability. They were used to several fatal encounters when it came to supes vs mortals, but Nolan- the infamous Omni-man- they needed more than just human agents.

I could keep a close eye on the Graysons, undetected. It wasn’t much, but being able to vanish under thin air had its perks. I could get intel that no one else could.

Cecil was always suspicious of Nolan since his arrival to Earth. Despite his many heroic accomplishments, he couldn’t help but be cautious on the off chance he went rogue. Everyone thought he was paranoid- including me.

One wrong move. Whether I shift my weight in the slightest, causing the floor to creak underneath me- or I let out a breath that changes the rhythm of my heartbeat that would allow him to assume an intruder was in his home. That’s all it would take for him to erase me from existence.

Since the passing of the Guardians of the Globe, Cecil’s suspicions became not so impossible. The evidence only ever came up clean, favoring Nolan- but it never lined up. I took it upon myself to find out the truth.

I rolled my head as I focused on the thought of changing the form of my body’s atoms, creating an invisible cloak over myself. Sure I could just call it ‘turning invisible’, but what’s the fun in that?

I didn’t expect him to be home so soon. I had been searching every crevice for a loose end. Nothing. That’s when I heard the familiar whoosh of a gravitational pull. He’s home. I supposed I could take advantage of the situation and see if he slips up if he thinks he’s alone. Terrible idea.

I waited anxiously as Nolan scanned the living area, eyes glancing at me but eventually faltering as if I didn’t exist. It was a relief knowing he couldn’t see me. His cape swished behind him as he turned, brushing off the thought as he took a step toward the kitchen.

I celebrated my victory too soon as I exhaled lightly in relief. It was as if he caught wind of my breath. In an instant, he appeared before me, lifting me off the ground from my throat as I revealed my appearance.

“Cecil,” he declared. His grip on my throat tightened, closing my airways.

“N-no! He doesn’t… know I’m here,” I struggled as he strangled me.

“Liar,” he accused, not letting his guard down.

“Wait, please!” I begged as I clawed at the sleeves of his suit. His eyebrow lifted at the tone in my voice, throwing me against the wall by the stairs. He hovered, awaiting for an explanation.

I coughed momentarily, regaining my composure as I sat up against the wall. “I wandered, okay? I thought I could figure it out on my own… I know what you did.”

His expression hardened as he lowered himself to towering over me. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

“I don’t have proof!” I admitted. “Debbie. Your wife, she’s conspiring against you. I heard her voice her concerns to Cecil and-”

“And?” He shouted.

“And they’re planning to send agents to take you down.”

“As if they could,” he scoffed.

“It’s stupid, but true.”

He leaned down to my level, caressing my face as he forced me to look up at him.

“They sent you? To kill me?”

“N-no…” I nervously replied. “I’m here because they wanted to wait it out. Give time to plan and prepare, but I couldn’t just sit and do nothing.

“And how did you think that would go, sweetheart?” I cringed at the nickname he used.

“If I could find your weakness, I could inform them on how to properly take you down,” I stated without hesitation. What did I have to lose at this point. I was already caught. I’m as good as dead.

I watched him shut his eyes in frustration, breathing in deeply before sighing. His grip on my chin loosened as he stood up, reminding me of his broadness.

“Get up.”

I stayed sat, unable to find a will to move- knowing what’s coming next. But why didn’t he just decapitate me right then and there? Was it the need to regain control?

“I said get up,” I winced as he reached down to yank me up from my hair. “Your biggest mistake was coming alone.”

Nolan dragged me up the stairs as I stumbled along. He then shoved me onto the bed in his bedroom. I sat up in confusion as he crawled over me, pinning me to the mattress.

“W-what are you-?”

“Normally, I would have executed you instantly. No questions asked. No final words,” His voice was deep and gravelly, yet nurturing- in an unsettling way.

“Then why let me live?”

“It would be such a waste,” he lowered himself until his lips grazed my neck. I turned my face away from him, unfortunately allowing him more access, “…of a pretty face like yours.”

I wriggled underneath him, attempting to free myself from his hold, but it was no use.

“I could have so much fun with you,” he revealed as he trailed soft kisses along my neck, up to my jaw. How could he behave so tenderly while taking advantage of someone who didn’t stand a chance against him.

“No,” I mumbled as Nolan used his knee to part my legs.

“Yes…” he applied pressure to my core, earning an instinctual whimper. Although, I couldn’t tell if it was from fear …or pleasure.

“Please, don’t-” I couldn’t finish my sentence before he trapped my lips within his, forcing me into a kiss I couldn’t pull away from.

“There it is. Your body’s natural instinct to beg,” Nolan pointed out as he continued to rub his leg against me, creating an unwanted friction.

“I don’t want this,” I tried as tears began welling up in my eyes.

“Yes, you do,” He watched my face coil in questionable pleasure as he continued to rock against me. “You just need to into give into submission.”

I gasped as my hips unwilling bucked against him, earning a deep and dark chuckle from him.

“See? You crave it. You can’t help the arousal that’s already building inside you,” he cooed as he patiently waited for my walls to crumble.

My back lightly arched. My body was betraying me, I didn’t want this. Not like this. His lips latched back onto my skin, this time sucking at my collarbone- marking me.

“Stop,” I pleaded barely a whisper, but he ignored it. He began tugging at my shirt, revealing more of skin as he trailed downward. Eventually the fabric of my shirt tore. The lower he moved, the quicker my heart raced.

I shuttered every time his lips touched my skin, looking down as he groaned as if this was riling him up. As he reached the hem of my jeans, he began unbuttoning them- nearly sliding them off in one swift move before I kicked at his shoulder.

Nolan stumbled back at the force as I turned to crawl away, but it didn’t take long for him to lunge forward and grab my ankle. He dragged me against the mattress until my ass reached his crotch.

Disgusted at his arousal, I attempted to crawl away again. He grew frustrated, prying off my shoes and jeans as he pulled me in close once again. This time, holding me in place with his fingers on my hips.

I clawed at the sheets as the tent in his suit rubbed at my now sensitive folds, seeing as the only thing depriving me of full contact was thin laced fabric. We groaned in unison as he rolled his hips a second time. Fuck I wanted to escape, but a part of me enjoyed the pleasure he provided.

He paused his movements to start peeling off his suit. “Move, and I’ll crush your skull like a watermelon.”

I gulped, displayed on all fours as I didn’t dare look back. I felt the bed dip as he eventually returned to his spot behind me.

“Stand on your knees.”

Again, I was unsure if moving was the smart move. It was easier if he just man handled me in case I impulsively decide to run.

“Knees. Now.” His tone was impatient. I forced myself up, feeling his warmth creep up behind me as he closed the space between us. His fingers barely worked to unhook my bra. His chest was pressed flush against my back, hands gliding up my torso until they cupped my breasts.

I let my eyelids fall heavily to embrace myself. His nose trickled along my neck as he inhaled, taking in my aroma.

“Nolan, please,” it was my last chance to talk him out of it. “I won’t tell anyone. I’ll convince them that it wasn’t you-”

“It’s a little late for that,” he mumbled against my ear as he began massaging my breasts- squeezing and kneading.

“It’s not.” His fingers tickled my skin. It was as if he enjoyed the fight I had in me. Taking his time, allowing my pathetic excuses in attempt to stop him. “Nolan…”

“Yes, sweetheart?” His voice was low and playful as he teasingly grazed his fingers against my slick folds. My body stiffened, unsure how to handle the overwhelming stimulation. “Fuck, you’re wet.” He breathed out.

“I don’t want to be…” I softly stated. That’s when he snaked his fingers out of my panties and aligned himself at my entrance. The tip of his cock tracing along my folds through the fabric.

“No?” He played coy.

“No,” my breathing grew heavy. He shoved his cock in between my panties and my aching core. Rubbing as his excitement leaked and mixed with my own arousal. A shiver was sent down my spine as he moved slowly and deliberately.

My head fell back onto his shoulder as I myself began to question whether or not I wanted this. Nolan only allowed the tip to enter before continuing strides on my wet folds.

“Are you sure?” He asked knowingly as I was slowly gave into him.

“Yes…” I groaned out. Not really sure if it was an answer to his question.

“Then beg.”

My eyes shot open. Is that not what I’ve been doing?

“Beg me to stop,” he ordered as he allowed himself to slowly plunge into me. My mouth opened to speak, but as he filled me- words failed me. “What’s wrong? You had no trouble begging for your life when I caught you in my home. Or when I pinned you against my mattress.”

Nolan pulled me against him as he filled me whole. He was toying with me. My body and mind were at war. He took advantage of the confusion I underwent.

“I…” Here’s my chance. He was giving me a way out. Take it. “I can’t…”

Nolan chuckled to himself as he snaked his arms around to cup my breasts again. This time pinching at my nipples. I moaned as he pulled out, only to thrust back in fully.

“Last chance, pretty girl,” he teased as he grazed his teeth against my neck. I bit my lip at every pleasurable sensation, letting my head fall back on his shoulder.

Nolan kept an agonizing pace as he continued to thrust into me, nipping at my neck awaiting for my response. I opened my mouth to protest, but to my surprise, a moan escaped my throat.

“There you go,” he encouraged as he began picking up his pace. I could no longer think for myself. He built up all this frustration, I needed to release it. I began panting with every thrust, letting him have his way with me. “Just let it happen.“

A single tear slipped from my watered eyes, running down my cheek. I hated myself for feeling good. I hated submitting to him, but here I was. Taking him like a slut.

I felt numb, but it didn’t stop the small jolts of pleasure coursing through my veins. His grunts were filthy in my ear as he forced his hand around my throat, locking my head in place.

“Oh, God…” I cried out as his cock hit my g-spot.

“No. No God. No one’s coming to save you,” he reminded as the room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin. Every thrust was followed by the wet sound of my slick engulfing his cock.

More tears streamed down my face as his movements became sloppy. I couldn’t help but mewl as my muscles clenched around him.

“Fuck- do that again,” he demanded. It’s not like I could control it. My muscles naturally clenched as I grew closer to my high. As my body listened to his command, I couldn’t loosen the grip of my swelled folds wrapped around his length. This fueled him into an uncontrollable, powerful force as his hips jerked against mine. My jaw dropped, unable to let out any more sounds- only forced pants.

With a couple more pumps, my body shuddered as I came undone. For a moment, he stilled from my whimpers. Nolan’s hips jerked, threatening to reach his own release.

He let go of my throat, allowing me to fall forward. I caught myself, palms flat against the mattress. I felt his hand fall to my lower back. He traced his hand along my spine, pushing my head down onto the bed.

“Here.” He reached over my head without ever pulling out, bringing a pillow and shoving it underneath my chest so I could hug it. “Now be a good girl, and let me fill you until you’ve taken all of me. Maybe then you’ll learn to stop snooping in a man’s home.”

I felt his weight shift as he stood on his knees, forcibly thrusting into my throbbing core as I bit down on the pillow he adjusted for me. It only muffled the squeals I made, but I couldn’t help roll my eyes back as the new angle hit just right with each thrust.

His pace was brutal. The bed creaked underneath us, but his loud grunts overpowered it. I felt myself clench once more, this time not only finding my own release- but allowing him to find his.

I could feel him spill his ropes inside me, riding out his climax until every last drop was shoved deeply.

I gasped at the loss of him after he pulled out. It was a new emptiness, one I’d never felt before.

“You took it like a champ,” he praised in a condescending tone. I curled myself up underneath the sheets. Ashamed. Not about what had been done, but that I had enjoyed it. How could I yearn for a monster like him.

It wasn’t long before he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer to him. Maybe it was wrong, but after everything I just participated in, it felt like only he could fulfill the emptiness inside me.

#invincible fanfic #nolan grayson #nolan grayson x fem reader #nolan grayson x reader #omni man #omni man x fem reader #omni man x reader #unhinged

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arieswritez · 1 year ago

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What do you think about Nolan? 😳

i think!!!!!

afab! reader; yandere nolan would baby trap you :)

cw; stealthing, baby trapping, breeding kink, yandere!nolan

if you menstruate, he'd innocently ask when your next period is. just to be prepared ofc! <3 and he is! always bringing you pads and treats you might be craving. going as far as to fly to other countries to get goodies in the most authentic way possible! lays in bed with you and cuddles his warm body against yours when you're having cramps or when you're just feeling sluggish and beat!

but . . unbeknownst to you: now he knows when you ovulate <3

and despite you climbing him like a tree, you always make sure to have protection. it's too risky without it. but that's nothing nolan can't work with <3 you act as if you're in heat: presenting yourself to him with your back arched and your hands on your pretty little cunt, spreading yourself open . . as if you needed to entice him anymore. when he places his hands on your feverish skin and adjusts you, the condom has already been slipped off of his cock and you're way too horny to notice teehee <3

gn!reader or amab!reader:

cw; power imbalance, inappropriate relationships, manipulation, blackmail, non-con, cheating (srry debbie ily), faux-incest, daddy kink

yandere!nolan would pretend to be your mentor :) you're a young, aspiring hero and you can't believe omni-man believes in you enough to take you under his wing!! the respect you have for him is immense and you like that he doesn't hold back. often, you're left with so many bruises on your body from training you can't tell which are accidental - from scuffs or bad landings - or which are from the amount of times he's pummeled you.

you're not cowed by his violence. you know he means well. so you start to use your injuries a point of reference for how far you've come. someday, you tell yourself, you'll remember this day and know these were all worth it. so you make it a habit to stare at the bruises in the mirror: whenever you catch sight of them in the showers / locker room of the guardians of the globe training facility.

luckily for nolan, you're not as observant as you should be. but he can fix that. he'll make sure you're as aware of your surroundings as he is when he's done with you.

because any other hero, any good hero, would be able to tell when they're not alone. a good hero would be able to spot nolan peeking around the corner as you stare at your battered body, his cock in hand :)

nolan's a patient man.

he can wait until he's earned your trust enough to confide in him. and predictably, you do. the two of you have a conversation in which you spill the reason why you want to become a hero in the first place. your parents weren't good people. a tale as old as time. in and out of jail for as long as you remember and you'd never had a good role model in your life until nolan.

and with those beautiful, innocent eyes, you look at him and confess he's like a dad to you.

nolan doesn't think he'll ever tire coming to the memory.

and he'll never let you live it down. no, no, no. how could he?

he hyperfixates on the thought and begins to overstep. acting less like a mentor and more like a controlling father. innocent things at first. no, you can't go out with your friends. we have training, remember?

and no, you don't remember. you specifically told him you wouldn't be free. but he won't hear it. says it's an emergency. that being a good hero sometimes means sacrificing personal time.

then, when you begin to show romantic interest in someone, love is a distraction. you're young. don't waste your time.

and when you've had enough of his intrusive behavior, behavior you have no choice but to call him out on. . nervously, but you do it nonetheless, he sends you a simple message that makes you crawl back to him.

do you want this or not?

you do.

more than anything.

so you agree to go to his house and talk. you sit with him and accept the beer he gives you. and at first, he's apologetic. but the more he drinks, the more the facade slips. he scoots closer towards you on the couch, lays his hand on your thigh, and tells you that he just wants to keep you safe. wants to make sure you're the best of the best but you have to trust him. and all you do is freeze and stare, only coming to your senses when he begins to lean in. with a racing heart, you try to turn away from the smell of beer on his breath, pushing at his chest, saying it's late. you should go. you should really go. but all nolan does is grab you by the wrists and demand you look at him.

he's like a dad to you, remember? it's what you said. you're supposed to listen to him. you're supposed to obey and do what he says. nolan knows what's best for you, why can't you see that? and if you want him to keep guiding you, protecting you, if you don't want him to abandon you like your good for nothing parents did, you'll do this for him.

so you get on your knees and watch as he unbuckles his belt in a hurry. you allow him to grab you by the nape of the neck and force your face down to swallow his cock. your nose nuzzles against his pubic bone: forced against neatly trimmed, greying pubes as you gag whenever his hips fervently move.

but don't worry, as your mentor, he'll make sure you learn how to swallow a cock properly <3

#invincible #nolan grayson #nolan grayson x reader #omni man #omni man x reader #dilf fuckers RISE!#yandere nolan grayson #yandere nolan grayson x reader #invincible x reader

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