#variant mark grayson x reader

[clairewritesfanfics]

Villain Creation System Chapter 4

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

CHAPTER 3: When In Doubt, Do Your Research Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

In the Chinese webnovels you liked to read between classes and study sessions, male leads were given “sword-like eyebrows.” These fan-translated novels never came with pictures, and you were left wondering what they actually looked like. According to the netizens you asked, for brows to be “sword-like” meant they were handsome or ideal. 

Handsome eyebrows.

Oh-kay ? 

You didn’t get it, not until you got to examine Mark Grayson up close. He had thick, handsome, black eyebrows that tapered cleanly to the sides, as though done by a professional makeup artist, but the system told you that this was his face au naturel. 

It was unfair. 

Even his eyelashes were prettier than yours, downcast as he read something on his tablet. He’s been reading quietly since he arrived fifteen minutes ago, slid his pandesal and coffee on the empty space of your table, folded his leather jacket on the back of the chair, and took a seat without ceremony. 

You tapped harder on the keyboard. 

“You’re going to destroy your laptop if you don’t lighten up,” he said, not even sparing you a glance.

“I don’t remember inviting you over.”

“My roommate’s being a pain and I needed someplace quiet to study.”

“There’s a library.”

“It’s too quiet.”

“Then go sit somewhere else.”

“But I like doing things while being watched, makes the task more exciting .”

You stopped typing and gave him a look.

“C’mon, I’ve been a good study buddy, haven’t I? No scribbling, no rustling of paper or loud typing–no offense–”

You felt a vein thump at your temple. 

“–and besides,” he purred, bending his elbow over the table and leaning into his palm, “weren’t you enjoying the view just now?”

Blood rushed to your cheeks and you reached for your frappe, taking small sips to cool down.

Were you really that obvious? 

[Yes, you were.]

You ignored the system and replied to Mark, “I was glaring at an unwanted visitor.”

He said nothing but that arrogant smirk told you everything you needed to know. 

Okay, so you were sneaking a few glimpses. Actually, now that you think about it, you were outright gawking for at least a minute. 

You didn’t mean to. It was just that… how could you not look?

Sure, you’ve seen pictures, watched videos of various actors and singers in your reality. Teen heartthrobs and K-pop idols who were considered national treasures were objectively gorgeous men, but looking at a screen is a very different experience from sitting across a living, breathing organism. 

Stray raven locks touched his sword-like brows and framed the chocolatest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen. High cheekbones and sharp jawline. His smirk showed off slightly crooked teeth and a fuller lower lip. He wore a navy blue Henley shirt that hugged him in all the right places–

[You’re staring again, Host.]

Oh, boy.

You cleared your throat and forced your gaze back to your monitor, ignoring Mark’s haughty grin, looking more amused than ever. 

“Admit it, princess, you think I’m hot.”

“Objectively, you have ideal features.” You resumed typing, refusing to meet his eyes. “And don’t call me ‘princess.’”

“So you agree?”

“It would be pointless to say that I don’t.”

“Which part of me is ideal?”

You shrugged, focus wavering from the conversation as you slowly fell into the rhythm of work. Your embarrassment from getting caught vanishes with each tap on the keyboard. “Your face is symmetrical with good bone structure. That’s always been an important factor in determining attractiveness. You’re at a reasonable height with a good build, again, a ubiquitous criterion for determining the visual appeal of males. Surely, you’re familiar with the old cliche: ‘tall, dark and handsome’? You check all the boxes.” 

When you noticed that he wasn’t talking, you finally raised your head.

He was looking at you, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. 

“What now?”

He covered his mouth and turned to the window. “I didn’t expect you to actually answer me.”

“I obviously can’t get rid of you, I can barely focus with you right there. Might as well make small talk while I do less taxing work.”

“I thought you were the type who hates small talk.”

“It’s not something I particularly enjoy, but I can do it to be polite, even when someone can’t take a hint.”

He was silent again. 

An jazz instrumental of Fly Me to the Moon drowned out the sound of your typing. 

He then asked, “Do I really bother you?”

You arched an imperfect brow at him. “Right now you’re not exactly helping me, are you?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, do you really not like me?”

“I don’t hate you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“... I know.”

“Look.” His hand went to the back of his neck. “I know I’ve been ass to you, but if you really don’t want me here, I’ll leave.”

His perpetual bedroom eyes suddenly looked like the eyes of a kicked dog. Geez, no wonder his exes still liked him. 

You sighed. “It’s fine. You can stay here, just be quiet while I do my work.”

“Before you start, can I ask you something?”

“Not like I can stop you.”

“What exactly are you working on?”

“Annotating handouts,” you lied. “Planning out my weekly schedules, that kind of stuff.”

“Schedules? Like for arranging your dates?”

“I don’t date.”

“I figured.” He turned to his tablet, then back at you. “How come?”

“Never had the time.”

“And if you had the time?”

“I don’t, which renders your question and my answer moot.”

“Are you not into the whole romance stuff?”

You could tell he wanted to ask more than just romance. Regardless, you responded with a “No comment.”

He hummed and then finally returned to his reading. 

[ Ding . Affection: 18%. Darkening: 3%.]

Seriously?

[It would seem that Mark Grayson is very fond of compliments.]

No kidding. He was popular, shouldn’t he be used to this type of stuff right now?

The system could only shrug. 

This thing was capricious in what kind of information it was willing to share. 

Deeming it useless once more, you switched tabs from the campus’ anonymous forums to Amber’s many, many posts. You skimmed her socials before, but with no news about Debbie, Nolan or Mark, she was your only lead. You knew very little about Invincible the animation, much less the comic book. You’ve seen promotional materials in passing. All you can remember is Mark and his dad, his mom (from your blurry recollection, she’s the most beloved character), that pink girl–

Wait.

You massaged your head, thinking.

Yes, a pink suit and long red hair. 

Red hair. 

You searched Amber’s photos. There was one taken during a party this semester. Amber was holding out a peace sign next to a young woman with carrot colored hair and jade green eyes. You missed the picture because Mark wasn’t in it. 

The redhead was tagged Sam E. Wilkins.

[That’s Samantha Eve Wilkins, her superhero identity is Atom Eve. She is an enhanced human with the ability to manipulate matter.]

Judging from the name, I’m assuming she can manipulate matter at an atomic level?

[Subatomic level.] 

That seems a bit OP. 

[Is it?]

Come on, with that ability she can perform simultaneous transmutation, that’s mega OP. Why is she not the main character? Her power is more interesting than just flying and punching stuff.

[Host is so cute.]

The muscles in your jaw ticked.

[In this world, much like in yours, everything comes with a price.]

Enough with the riddles. What are you trying to tell me?

[This system is politely informing you not to deify the people here. Subatomic manipulation is something even a newborn system can do when given enough authorization.]

[<(˘ ˘ ˘)>]

Annoyed, you changed the topic. 

What is her importance to the plot?

[She is a supporting character.]

To what degree?

[In the main timeline, she is Mark Grayson’s wife.]

You blinked once.

Twice.

WHAT?

To be honest you were surprised that the system gave you that information. 

[I received authorization to share that tiny detail with you.]

“Tiny”? Tiny! 

Your eye twitched as you scrutinized Samantha’s photo. 

There’s nothing tiny about Mark Grayson having someone who was literally made for him. You even gave me that ridiculous affection meter, but what can I do against destiny?

[Host, the fact that you managed to even raise the meter is proof enough that you can do it.]

So what? Even if I get that to a 100%, that won’t stop him from falling for her eventually.

[Host–]

This is insane!

This was too much. Some part of you, deep inside your subconscious probably thought that this was just one nasty dream. One long, vivid, goofy dream. But one picture–one ridiculous line about soulmates broke through that part of you.

This was wrong.

This wasn’t fair.

You slammed your hands on the table, knocking your frappe to the floor.

Mark glanced up from his tablet. Concern flashed his face as his arm moved towards you–

[ Ding .]

You were floating. Mark, the cafe–everything was gone. You were submerged in neverending darkness. Not even the tiniest flicker of light was to be seen. You couldn’t hear anything, not until the system spoke to you directly.

[Host, have you calmed down yet?]

“What is this place?”

[This is Nothing. This is your fate if you fail to convert Mark Grayson. Perpetual nothingness. You can scream and cry and pray until you get bored of your own noise and still, no one will hear you. No one will come. You will be left in this Void all alone until the end of time.]

This was your future? This was your afterlife?

[I took you here to remind you of your goal. It matters not who or what is in your way, you must overcome them, use them to your benefit.]

“Why!? Why does it have to be me? Why couldn’t you just let me go to Heaven or reincarnate? I didn’t want this! I’m not cut out for this!”

[You may protest to your heart’s content, but there is no running away from this. You must continue forward regardless of the cost. There is no undoing what has been done. You agreed to our terms–

“You forced me!”

The system shut up.

“You forced me…” You repeated.

You wanted to cry but you couldn’t. You weren’t sure how you were talking because you had no mouth. You had nothing. 

[Host, this system is here to assist you. Rest assured, I exist to ensure your victory. But first, calm down.]

You didn’t say anything.

[I told Host about Eve because I did not think that such information was so important.]

“They’re basically soulmates.”

The system let out a mechanical chuckle. 

[There is a joke popular among my kind when it comes to soulmates: If God can split the Red Sea, then how about two lovers at the park?]

You replied with unimpressed silence.

[...ahem. Perhaps you would appreciate the words of a fellow human.]

That caught your attention. “Human?”

[You are my first Host and agent, but you are not the only contractor in history. An exceptional agent for the Secondary Character Grievance Delivery System once posed this question: “If the red string of fate were real, do you think it can be cut?”]

“I’m guessing the answer is yes.”

The system played out a bell sound, indicating that you were correct. [That host cut enough threads of fate to make a kimono. I’m sure my Host will become an even more amazing homewrecker!]

“Gee, thanks . But–” You didn’t appreciate being compared to a homewrecker, but you could tell it was doing its best to help you “–thanks.”

[˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶]

“Okay,” you said. “I think I’m ready.”

[Are you sure?]

“Yes. Send me back. Please.”

[All right. Preparing for transfer…rewinding–]

[ Ding .]

You were back at The Mug.

You glanced at the table. The frappe was still there, and Mark was still reading peacefully.

Your laptop was showing the anonymous discussion forum.

[I switched the tabs in case Host needed time to recover.]

You smiled.

You then clicked on Eve’s photo. 

She could be useful. 

[Maybe. It certainly will not hurt to have options.]

As you pondered over what to do next, Mark yawned. 

You checked the time, it was barely past ten. “Tired this early in the morning?”

“I work late.”

“Modeling?”

He gave you a look.

“What?”

“Did you just make a joke?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I knew you thought I was sexy.”

“ Enough . We had this song and dance just twenty minutes ago.” You sipped on your frappe.

“What can I say, I like to boogie.”

You coughed out whipped cream. “I can’t believe you just said ‘boogie.’”

His grin deepened and he leaned forward. “What kind of music do you like to dance to?”

“Not much of a dancer.”

“Then what kind of music do you like?”

“Anything that’s good.”

He pouted. 

“It’s the truth. As long as the beat is fun I don't care about the genre.”

His finger trails the screen of his tablet absentmindedly. “You listen to rock bands?”

“Sure.”

The finger stopped.

“I wouldn’t call myself an outright fan, I don’t go out of my way to attend concerts or anything.”

“You’ve never been to a concert?”

“No, I’ve been to one with some friends. I found the ride home more enjoyable.” Concerts were expensive. They were also loud, packed and too much trouble than they’re worth. The body odor clung to you for days. You shivered at the memory.

Mark snapped his fingers. “Just one? You’re basically a virgin.” He said the last part a little too loudly.

Your shoulders tensed. Several students turned their faces to look at your table.

Mark flinched under your glare.

“Don’t be crude,” you reprimanded.

“Sorry–but hey, if you’re interested, there’s this…” He trailed off.

“There’s this what?”

He grabbed his chin, thinking. Then he shook his head. “No, it’s nothing.”

“If you say so.”

You both did your own thing until Mark’s watch beeped.

He cringed as he read whatever message was sent to him.

You peered over your monitor. “Your girlfriend looking for you?”

He gave you a weak smile. “No, it’s my boss. I gotta go.”

“What kind of part-time job just calls you out of the blue?” 

“A very sucky one.” He put his tablet back inside his bag and grabbed his jacket. “A sucky, sucky one who doesn’t believe in a work-life balance.”

“Sounds like a real buttmunch.”

He snorted. “Buttmunch?”

“You disagree?”

He shook his head, still smiling. “You’re right, he’s a gargantuan buttmunch.” 

He started walking but stopped before he passed your seat. His arm slid over the back of your chair and he leaned close enough for you to see his collar bones peeking under his shirt. He smelled like soap. 

“And by the way,” he whispered, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

He held your stare with those umber eyes.

He smirked, pulled back and left.

You heard a ding from the system, followed by a congratulations, but you ignored it.

[Host, are you all right? Your temperature suddenly spiked, and why are you covering your mouth?]

“Just–” the hand on your mouth moved to your eyes “–just let me be for a moment.”

[Affection: 24%]

***

You finished today’s to-do list by saying goodbye to Amber after another tutoring session. She was so stressed for the upcoming exam that all the two of you talked about was academics, no gossip or unnecessary chatting. Normally, you would have preferred that type of interaction, but there was no window to ask about Eve. 

Left with nothing else to do, you returned to your dorm and headed straight for the shower. 

According to the system, the World Consciousness ensured that you wouldn’t get a roommate. A small boon in the grand scheme of things, but one you appreciated. 

You starfished on your bed, the mild smell of soap enveloped you and you fell asleep. 

You dreamt of relaxing in a swimming pool-sized mug, the hot coffee eased your joints. A giant flying pandesal hovered around you, calling you princess before diving in the middle of the mug. 

[Host.]

You startled awake. “Huh?”

[Host, get up.]

You felt around the bed for your phone. Squinting, you checked the time: 23:22. 

[Something is wrong. Get up.]

Before you could tell it to blow itself, it flashed you Mark’s corruption status.

[Darkening: 6%]

That got you up. 

“What happened? I haven’t done anything.”

[I think it would be best if you saw for yourself.]

Your phone suddenly started playing the news, its volume set to maximum. 

“Thousands of dollars worth of property damage, hundreds of civilians injured and dozens are presumed dead in the wake of Invincible’s fight against–”

You put on pants and an Upstate University sweatshirt. “Can you help me find him?”

The system presented a map with a blinking red dot. He was right here, within school grounds. 

[He’s on the rooftop of the main building.]

The main building is off limits this time of night. He must’ve flown there. But how the heck were you supposed to get there?

[Leave it to this system, Host!]

***

Mark Grayson sat on the edge of the roof, reclined over his arms. 

It was almost midnight so the usual hustle-bustle has calmed down. 

His mind wandered over to a certain woman. Did you get home safely? Were you still with Amber?

He glanced over the campus and over the rest of the city. Everything was quiet here. Peaceful. 

If he was this far away, he didn’t have to look at all those people he broke. Their homes were in shambles and they all blamed him–

Huwhahh

A monstrous sound from the stairway had him on his feet immediately. “Who’s there?!”

“Huhuuuuwahhhhuu” 

You pushed against the rooftop door and crawled out of the stairs, wheezing.

Mark stopped himself from stepping forward and speedily threw his civilian clothes over his suit. 

You were on your hands and knees, breathing like you’ve been running. 

“Jesus, are you okay?” He called out your name.

“Hm?” Your head bobbed up. “Mark? Why’re you here?”

“Me? What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

“I–I–” Your nose almost hit the floor but he caught you. 

“Is someone trying to hurt you?”

“No, no.” You closed your eyes and concentrated on breathing first. Once you were back to normal you looked at him properly. “Hi.”

“...hi.”

“I didn’t think anybody would be here.”

“For what, your dying goose roleplaying act?” He helped you sit. “Why’re you here?”

You mumbled something, refusing to make eye contact.

“What?”

“I said–” you appeared just about ready for the Earth to swallow you whole “–I wanted to see if there really is a White Lady here.”

“White Lady?”

Every school has a ghost story, especially universities. Wayne Technical Academy had the giant ghost bat, Metropolitan State had a headless librarian, and Upstate University had the White Lady haunting the main building. 

Mark blinked. “Seriously?”

“Amber told me about it.”

“You believe in ghosts? You ?”

Your recovering cheeks heated up again. “I just wanted to see.”

“Ghosts aren’t real.”

“They’ve never been proven but they’ve not been disproven either–why am I explaining myself to you?”

“Why were you out of breath?”

“I was, uh–” You kept your eyes on the ground. “I was fine walking around the halls when I heard footsteps behind me and I–I bolted up the stairs.” 

He blinked more slowly this time. Then his arms covered his stomach as he cackled. 

“Mark!”

“C’mon, that’s hilarious!”

“It’s not that funny.” You lightly hit his shoulder and he raised his hands up. 

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Now it’s your turn. Why are you here? This place is off-limits.”

He wiped a tear away. “I wanted to be alone, really alone.”

“Oh.”

“Not going to ask why?”

“No.” You looked over his shoulder and at the buildings. “I have days like that, too.”

Mark watched you for a while, then he sat beside you and you admired the lights together.

The speakers scattered across the campus played the sound of a bell, signaling midnight. 

He got up, patted the dust off his rear and wiped his palms over his thighs. He gave you his hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

***

As expected, there were few people outside during this time. The trip back to your dorm was uneventful, but you appreciated that Mark didn’t try to engage in small talk. 

“This is my building.”

“And?”

“Aaand thanks. You can go now.” That came out colder than you intended. “I’m sure you’re tired so thank you. Again.”

“Don’t you want me to check under your bed for any monsters?”

“There’s no need, I’m sure the demons in my closet scared them off.”

He laughed again. “All right, all right, I know when to take a hint.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

He grinned.

You rolled your eyes. “Good night, Mark.”

“Good night, princess.”

The door clicked behind you and you started walking towards the elevator. 

[Excellent work, Host!]

Pink and black contrasted against each other as Mark Grayson’s current status floated in front of you.

[Affection: 28%. Darkening: 6%.]

“I can’t believe you made me take the stairs.”

[It worked in your favor, didn’t it? You’re a surprisingly good actor when push comes to shove.]

You couldn’t argue with that. It was a good thing you read about the school’s ghost stories from the forum. Otherwise, you didn’t know what lie you could have told him for suddenly appearing. 

The system was too busy celebrating to notice your distress.

[The Host managed to get over a quarter of affection in less than a week. Huzzah!]

Fatigue set in your bones and you leaned against the cool metal wall of the elevator.

“I want something sweet,” you grumbled. 

taglist: @weponxwrites @ratkidcalledallie @qxuanii @lilacoaks

Disclaimer: The images used in this post do not belong to writerclaire. They were lifted from the following sources:

Invincible flying

Alternate Invincibles

CHAPTER 5: This Boy is a Choking Hazard Series Masterlist

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MAIN MASTERLIST

Any questions for the author? Ask here.

[kirietown]

Charmless Morning | Ch. II

Pairing: mark grayson x f!reader

Summary: before there was the hive, there was only you.— or perhaps before there was you, there was the hive? it hurt your head to think about it, but all you knew for certain was that now you were one in the same, and if the hive wanted mark grayson, then so did you.

Content: mind hive control, college move in!, the hive shenanigans, minor body horror

18+

[chapter one] [chapter two] — ongoing series

Word count: 2.1K

a/n: i promise we will have mark appear in the next chap <3

College meant a lot of things; change was the most major thing. Luckily, you hadn’t gone through many throughout your first week. Though it was difficult to part with your bees; your backyard had grown into a large sanctuary over the course of your adolescence and housed thousands of bees of various breeds. You promised them you’d see them on the weekends because thankfully it was only a half hour drive from your college. 

Upstate was promising, but you had no interest in socializing— and had heard plenty of roommate horror stories on Reddit that caused you to implant a bee as soon as you saw your roommate come in with a scowl on her face and more luggage than necessary. Her name was Darla-May, a second year, (not Darla, not May, but Darla-May), and she grew up in the city but had some questionable tradwife views. Had you not planted the bee in her brain, you would have never found out about the fact she was planning to have her group of friends harass you to force you to drop out so she could have the room to herself. 

Luckily, campus was buzzing with bees and you managed to find one for each of them! They lived life the same, though now you made sure they wouldn’t be hurting any more girls on campus. The Hive was truly a blessing. You now had your very own friend group, something most university students struggle with for months. They made it easier to seek out the one you were looking for, Mark Grayson, who apparently was a friend to William who had been dating Rick, who unfortunately was MIA— or possibly dead? You didn’t bother with the details, and The Hive was able to handle the rest. 

You’d learnt a few things about Mark Grayson since your stay on campus; 1. He has a girlfriend named Amber,— this, the hive was displeased by for some reason. 2. He was the superhero Invincible, son of Omniman,— though it seemed the hive already knew this. 3. Mark Grayson was not on Earth at the moment, and although The Hive knew most things, it appeared that outer space was its hard boundary. 

“How can I get close to him if he’s not even on the planet?” 

You sighed as you laid in bed and pondered over your situation. Darla-May was fast asleep in her own bed across from you, and you didn’t have to worry about potentially waking her up because her bee ensured a strict sleep schedule (she used to have a bad TikTok addiction and it was what led her down the tradwife pipeline). It wouldn’t wake her unless you wanted her to wake, or if it felt as though she were in danger. 

We wait. In the meantime, we have to prepare. 

“Prepare?” 

We’ve been tailing Amber and William. Their discussions imply that Mark has a habit of putting his hero duties over his personal life. We won’t get anywhere by trying to get through to him through there. 

“But how will we be able to do that?” You furrowed your brows in confusion,— just how could you infiltrate his superhero life? 

Is it not obvious? 

“No…” You knew where this was going, but you didn’t like the thought of it. College was supposed to be your biggest worry, but it seemed like The Hive had a different agenda for you.

Becoming a superhero was easier said than done— even with the help of The Hive. Outside of class time, The Hive had you on a strict regimen when it came to exercise and concentration. You’d learnt that if you focused your attention enough, you could connect to any bee in the country if you had to. The Hive was convinced you could link to every single one on the planet if you continued to strengthen your link. 

By the end of your second week of training, you were already stopping petty burglaries amongst other smaller crimes. You were pleased, but The Hive was convinced you could do more. 

We have to get the GDA’s attention. Go after something major, and then we’re in. 

“I don’t get why you can’t just plant a bee in one of their top agents or something…” You sighed. You walked casually on the sidewalk until you came across the tailor shop you had been looking for. You needed a proper costume now that some time had passed, as The Hive believed a baggy sweater and a scarf wasn’t heroic enough. The shop you chose was old fashioned, but it was the closest one to campus that seemed low key. You needed something that didn’t seem like it attracted a lot of visitors.

They’re incredibly thorough when it comes to access. We can’t risk them believing we’re some type of foreign invasion nor would they understand us regardless. We’d have to get their director, Cecil Stedman,— but we don’t want him to join our hive. 

The Hive was picky sometimes when it came to allowing certain individuals into its domain. Planting bees into your parents, and most regular people was fine. But it drew hard boundaries during other occasions and you weren’t sure why. 

We find him icky. 

“Hello?” You called into the tailor shop, stopping by the counter until a man emerged from a back door. 

“Hello to you as well,” he replied in a chipper tone. “My apologies, I’m the only person who works here and so it’s hard for me to manage the desk and work on suits at the same time. It feels like a back and forth between the back and the front. But it’s why I have the bell here,” he explained with a sigh, and ended his ramble by pressing his hand against the bell on his counter. 

“Anyway,” he continued. “So what can I do for you?” 

“Well,” you said. “I’m trying to get my own suit too, but something of a more niche nature. Actually, I’m glad you mentioned you’re here alone because it makes this so much easier.” He furrowed his thick brows in confusion at your words, and you only smiled tenderly. 

“Sorry,” you said. “The little guy I picked out for you is a little shy.” You sighed dramatically before you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a mellow bumble bee. “C’mon,” you said softly. “I know you’re young but I promise you it’ll be fine.”

”Look girl,” he said as he backed away in worry. “I don’t know what you’re on about but—“ his words were cut abruptly as the bee in your hand quickly flew off and went straight into his ear. He choked for a moment, stunned, before his expression changed to one of familiar neutrality. You sighed in relief, glad that your little friend finally got over his confidence issues. It wasn’t that the bees didn’t want to work, some were afraid of disappointing The Hive as it was a great honour to work directly for you both.

You shut your eyes, suddenly in tune with the memories of the tailor. “Okay Derek,” you said, though you didn’t need to speak physically, but you had begun to prefer it over the years due to the history of silence between yourself and your parents. “You know what to do.” 

You turned to take a seat on the couch, and watched him bring out various yellow fabrics and immediately started to work at a quickness that was beyond human. No, it was a quickness only made possible by The Hive, and its little friend.

The entire process of making your superhero costume, which would normally take any tailor several weeks, only took an hour. He needed no measurements as The Hive knew all there was to know about you and your preferences and thus your suit had been made. 

You stepped around the mannequin Derek had assembled it on and noted the fairy like appearance of the top and skirt. You pursed your lips at the sight, noting the wide open back— you weren’t opposed to a backless look but you didn’t realize the hive would select something so… revealing. 

The back is open for a reason. But unrelatedly, we want to catch Mark’s attention. 

You stepped back in shock at the words that rang in your head. “I thought you just wanted to get close to him— did you mean seduce him?” You paused for a few moments and waited for The Hive’s reply but it didn’t come. “Are you there?”

Yes. Are our intentions not obvious? 

“He has a girlfriend, which you’re aware of…” You paced around, feeling your cheeks heat up at the thought of The Hive trying to set you up with a guy you never even met. 

She doesn’t seem very happy with him.

”Whoa,” you said with a snort. “I’ve never heard you sound so snappy before, you’re usually so monotone. Why do you need this guy so bad?” You halted your walking and found yourself in front of the costume again, admiring the bright and sparkly fabric. It ideally fit the criteria of both cute and sexy. You could see Derek at the corner of your eye standing stiffly, if he had been paying attention to your conversation he didn’t show it. The Hive had said his implant would be temporary anyway, you only needed him for his skill, and now that the bee had been in his brain long enough, anyone connected both now and in the future to The Hive could duplicate his skillset. 

Everything was shared once you were a part of The Hive; in fact, everyone with a bee in their head currently knew exactly where you were right now and what you were feeling. 

Awkward. 

We think he’s an ideal candidate for us. 

“Because he’s some B-tier superhero?”

No, because he’s part extraterrestrial. It is the link we have been ready for. 

“I see,” and you really didn’t. You just hated to question The Hive too much; if The Hive got too agitated, your head would start to hurt. It wasn’t a normal pain either— it was punishment. You knew better than to question The Hive’s choices or authority. You weren’t sure why you bothered to now. 

You turned and allowed Derek to pack up the suit and associated mask. You thanked him and paid him generously for his services before you summoned his bee back into your palm. You watched his expression shift from contentment to confusion within seconds before you thanked him again and exited the store. You knew he wouldn’t remember anything that had just happened, and thankfully you didn’t have to fix any cameras as the store didn’t have any. 

That night you slept pleasantly until you awoke from immense pain searing across your back. You flailed in bed for a few seconds before you tumbled out and ripped your shirt off and threw it across the room. It hit Darla-May straight in the face but she didn’t stir whatsoever much to your annoyance. Wasn’t she supposed to sense your pain? 

We can’t see but she’s crying in her sleep, The Hive said solemnly. They all are. That’s why we waited to do this in the middle of the night. 

“W— what are you doing to me?” You cried out. You curled your back and pressed your clammy forehead to the floor, feeling the cool hard wood against your skin. The pain of your back was so intense you felt as though you’d pass out at any second if it didn’t stop. You could feel your skin splitting, as if to make room for something, though it felt less so of an invasion and more so like an intrusion— if that even made sense. You had never felt the terms were so different until now. 

Don’t worry. Just sleep. 

Instantly you relaxed, your eyes shut tightly, and despite the pain, your body and your mind listened. 

In the morning you woke up sweaty despite having been pressed top naked against the cold floor all night. Slowly, you arose twitching slightly due to the sensation of fluttering against your back. 

“What is it? What’s on my back?” You asked Darla-May who seemingly awoke a few minutes before you as she had been in the middle of grabbing her towel and other toiletry from her closet. You stared at her with anxiety written all over you. Yet, if she noticed, she didn’t show it. Generally, she was clearly unbothered by the situation. 

“Wings,” she said happily. “You have wings,— just like a bee. Isn’t The Hive so generous?” 

What a blessing, you thought bitterly. You ignored the pain suddenly digging in your skull. What a blessing to have been chosen by The Hive. 

[sinfiction]

Hey There, Roomie (ViltruMark Edition)

ViltruMark/Reader | Interactive Fic

Warnings: Dubcon (due to a cultural misunderstanding between a viltrumite and human, consent becomes explicit before sex begins), Breeding

Markus Grayson is… weird. Plain and simple. You knew it from the moment you first met him after you answered his ad in search of a roommate. Even before you met him, there were some… alarm bells. But you needed a place to stay, and he could offer that to you... as long as you played by his rules.

Markus Grayson is… weird.

Plain and simple.

You knew it from the moment you first met him after you answered his ad in search of a roommate. Even before you met him, there were some… alarm bells.

First, he wanted you to come straight to his place to discuss the roommate agreement, and the rules you’d both be expected to adhere to… rent and all that. Never mind the fact that you’d never met him before.

Then, when you actually convinced him to meet you at some forgettable chain coffee shop instead, he was sitting there, statue still, like he barely existed in the world around him until you walked up to him.

He wasn’t much more animated after that.

But he invited you to sit, calmly insisting that he had already ordered for the both of you—he got you tea, citing the numerous health concerns associated with excessive caffeine consumption, and you accepted because you didn’t want to be rude.

That was the first really red flag, but when he immediately followed it up with an offer to reduce the listed rent price by a fairly dramatic percentage if you allowed him to have total control over all groceries coming into the home, your broke ass couldn’t pass up lower rent and having someone else cover the food bill.

You convinced yourself that he was just a health nut… He had the body for it. You weren’t opposed to healthy eating, especially if you weren’t paying for it.

Really, that was your first mistake. A stupid one.

You should have clocked his need for control right away, but you had like… a day left to pack your shit and get out of your old apartment, and no family to fall back on, so you didn’t have a lot of options.

Markus’s seaside apartment was pristine, so much so that it was hard to tell that anyone even lived there, save for the well stocked pantry, and the dishes drying in the rack.

The next red flag came shortly after you moved your things into your new room.

His weirdness aside, you were relieved that you managed to not end up on the streets, and since Markus was your roommate now, you figured you should try to bridge the gap a little.

Chat.

But he wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

He wasn’t outright rude, or anything like that—he’d acknowledge you when you found yourselves in the same room, but it was always the same, brief way. He’d just nod and say your name.

When you offered to let him call you by the same nickname most people in your life did, something a little more casual, he declined.

Which could have just read as him trying to keep a certain distance—something respectable like that… if it wasn’t for what he followed it up with.

“You have such a beautiful name…” His tone was as impassive as ever, but he held your gaze too intently as he said it. “...Why cheapen it?”

That was a few months ago.

Since then, you like to think that you’ve been adjusting to life with the near-silent enigma that is Markus Grayson.

You’ve come to realize that what you had originally mistook for him being uncomfortable or disinterested is just… how he is.

You’ve fallen into a comfortable rhythm, even cooking together when he’s not off doing… whatever secret business it is he does when he goes out—he wasn’t forthcoming about that when you tried to ask him about it, beyond the fact that he’s involved in some branch of the military, and you figured it was best not to pry.

He even started inviting you on hikes, and to go swimming in the ocean with him.

You weren’t wrong about him leading a healthy lifestyle, and you have to admit that after a few months of living with him, you’re in the best shape you’ve ever been in.

Physically and mentally.

After a falling out with your old friends ended in you losing your last apartment, it’s kind of nice to have someone as steady and predictable as Markus in your life.

Or at least, you thought he was predictable.

All that goes out the window when he walks out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, droplets of water still clinging to carved muscle, his wet bangs weighed down and in his face…

Your breath hitches, and you freeze, like maybe he wasn’t expecting you to be here, like you’re seeing something you shouldn’t be.

But then those stoney brown eyes settle on you, and he asks, “Are you on the pill?”

🤍 🩶 Continue the Story on Glimmer 🩶 🤍

[aaph3lion]

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

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

Life is strange, really. 

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

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

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

MarkyWarky: please tell me you’re okay

You: i’m fine

You: i’m just scared mark 

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

MarkyWarky: i wish i could tell you

MarkyWarky: just stay put alright im otw

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t get far.

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

“Another survivor?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surely, his brain is playing tricks on him.

Then he hears it—they all hear it.

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

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

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

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

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

No.

No.

No.

This can’t be happening—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

[readingbunny44]

You're Dead Everywhere But Here │Invincible Variants x Reader x Mainstream Invincible │#1

You were thrown out to the wolves—well, in this case, Invincibles and they seem a bit too eager to see you. You do not like that.

updated as of 07/18/2025

note: for new readers, be careful of the comment section! There may be potential spoilers, so if you want to read this completely blind just be careful when opening it. thanks!

#1, #2 ...

CW: swearing, light gore, suggestive themes, violence, light freakiness

WC: 3,1k 5.2k

“This is complete—” You clenched your hands into fists, your nails digging at your palms. Your nails were a bit overgrown, not having the opportunity to cut them since your capture. You’ve been biting at them though, the ends of your nails having sharp edges that lightly pierced your skin. “—bullshit!” You spat, gritting your teeth.

You flung your head back, giving a short yell to the sky. It wasn’t coherent, maybe a few curses then and there as you shouted. While you did so, you used your legs to begin kicking at the dirt out of deep frustration, flailing your arms around as if you were having a temper tantrum—which you totally were. Any sore loser would be in your situation.

Your hands jumped to the tight metal collar that the assholes from the G.D.A had forcibly attached to you, the feel of the cold metal only worsening your temper.

It was blinking a green hue, and as you dug your grubby little fingers between the small gap of your neck and the collar with the intention of ripping it apart—the green light changed to a ruby red, sending painful shockwaves of electricity through your body. It hurt like hell, and it was obvious that the G.D.A had tailored this electroshock collar specifically to you.

You’ve been shocked before—many hurtful things have happened to you. You’ve nearly experienced all forms of physical human suffering through heroes that tried to stop you. Sometimes even other bad guys such as yourself that tried to take you down because of their own personal agenda.

That’s why you know that secret—stupid—law enforcement agency had whipped this thing up just for you. It was ten times worse than regular electricity, like it was made with the use of something foreign.

Ugh. You felt like a dog strapped with an e-collar for punishment—you hated this form of entrapment. It came close to being thrown into that stupid underground cell with nothing to do but just rot while the guards looking at you with indifference.

After sprouting out more curses and grunts, you quieted down while huffing. You put your arms to your side, finally looking around you to take in the area you were dropped in by a couple of agents covered head and toe in gear. They dropped you off like you were an Amazon package, not sparing a second glance before leaving you be noticed by God-knows-what.

You raised a brow as you did a full 360, taking in the complete destruction that surrounded you. This was supposed to be somewhere in Chicago—you weren’t sure where with how there wasn’t any identifiable landmarks. Everything, literally everything, was wrecked and banged up in some way.

Blood splatter, broken structures, and pieces of human remains that were torn apart were scattered in every nook and cranny you could think of. It was brutal and barbaric. Many of the bodies were unidentifiable of who they were with how their faces were mutilated—complete fucking overkill.

An angry vein popped on your face, your eyes narrowing in annoyance. This... ruthless scene only served to fuel your bad mood. Those bastards had to drop me off at the worse spot in this joint, huh? You scoffed, clearly unimpressed.

Your ears perked up as you could hear civilians screaming from a distance, a mixture of fear and pleading. You clicked your tongue, rolling your eyes as you turned away from the noise. Whoever done this could’ve at least done a solid job and killed everything before you arrived—that was their goal, right?

You sighed, your thoughts drifting off to something else. Particularly the recollection of what had made you end up here in the first place plaguing your mind.

You had been captured and locked away after another confrontation with Invincible, and you couldn’t believe you had been such an idiot to have been caught off guard. It was just so... ugh! Just so stupid, idiotic, and confusing!

That dull-witted superhero, Invincible, got into your head and messed with you. It was crazy—it drove you up the fucking walls when you thought back to the moment in that small dingy cell of yours.

A phantom bitter taste flooded your mouth, and you couldn’t help but bite your tongue.

Even with his yellow mask covering half of his face and its lens shielding his eyes—his face was so expressive, and you could see it clearly. It makes your skin crawl whenever you have to stare at it whenever he comes to you like this.

“There’s no way you’ve always been like... this.” He said—God, why did every time he’d confront you, he used that tone? That soft, aggravating tone was like he’s talking to a scared animal rather than a criminal who wanted nothing more for him to go away.

His expression made your skin crawl, his voice dug under your skin like an annoying tick, and the way he tried to reason with you made you want to rip your own flesh off.

“The fuck you know about that, pretty boy?” You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest as you sent a hard glare his way.

He only continued to stare at you with that same look, his shoulders relaxed and not in a rush in ending whatever this is. “You know—how many times are you going to give me these pep talks? There is never this much talking during a fight—probably ‘cause it’s a goddamn fight, not a book club.”

Invincible sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “However long it takes. You don’t hurt people and that’s good enough for me to think you can be redeemed.”

“Tell that to the people I sent to the hospital. I don’t think they’ll find me ‘redeemable’ material.”

“Okay, fine, I misspoke—you don’t kill people. Even then, you’re... different from the other villains. Your different from... everyone else.” He replied, taking a step towards you, pushing past the debris you caused.

The way he said that last part was breathy, like he was referring to something else. “I mean, it’s not too late to turn a new leaf. Change your ways.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. You’ve done it so much already between this exchange that you’re afraid they might get permanently stuck.

“What makes you so confident to say that, huh? Did you waltz in and take a psychology course and suddenly,” you gestured to your head as if it blew up, “boom! You know exactly what I’m thinking? What I’m capable of? Who I am?” You dryly snorted, an unamused smile gracing the corner of your lips.

“Maybe.” He couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head. He found you effortlessly funny—entertaining. Whatever you do practically light him up like a Christmas tree in December. “We’ve fought long enough for me to know you pull your punches, drag out the fight just a few minutes more...”

“Oh really? Good job, detective. Thinking of changing professions now?” You sarcastically remarked.

Invincible hesitated, there was something at the edge of his tongue that he wanted to say but it was far too delicate to disclose. Or maybe he didn’t have the right words to articulate them well.

He cleared his throat, changing his mind. “... and I think you do that because you like the company I give you.” He continued, pushing past your sarcastic quip. “And I like giving it to you.”

There was a moment of silence.

Your breath hitches, a small—horrified squeal itching at the back of your throat. You took a step back, your face distorting into different emotions. What on Earth was he saying? “What—What the hell are you getting at?” You snarled, biting down the stutter that threatened to slip up your words. Though it seemed like he heard it as clear as day.

You clicked your tongue. “I’m going to kill you for this sappy shit your saying. You’re dumber than I thought if you reached to that conclusion.”

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 pretty good friends.”

... Friends? Is he crazy? Did some parasite go up his nose and into his brain that’s making him say these ridiculous things? Invincible is annoying, sure, but not downright delusional.

While you were lost in thoughts—wondering why the superhero was sprouting out less-than-regular nonsense—his shoulders stiffened as his eyes flickered behind you.

There was a G.D.A agent that had snuck up behind you, the invisibility they had on thanks to their high-tech gear disappearing. They had a gun in hand—and not the regular ones. It looked different, built with another purpose and functionality in mind.

“Wait, fuck, look out!” He screamed.

You immediately became tense, zipping around to see what was behind you. However, it was too late, the gun set off and a painful electric bolt stabbed into you.

The pain was irregular from just normal electricity; the pain was excruciating. Like one million needles were suddenly thrusted deep inside you at your very core. Your body immediately went limp, your knees first to fall to the ground as you were being subjected to absolute torture.

It hurt. It fucking hurt.

Invincible was shouting in the background—yelling about something. It was hard to focus with, you know, the pain.

Your body spasmed on the ground. You wanted to scream with how much it hurt, but only a squeezing choking sound escaped your throat.

“—what the hell! I had this all under control, why did you do that!” Invincible’s words seeped into your ear, and a quick ‘woosh!’ sound came faster than lightning to you.

The hero crouched next to you, quick to cradle your head in his lap as he watched your body involuntarily contract—each of your limbs shaking uncontrollably. It was difficult to watch.  

He held your face upright on his lap, looking down at you with panic and worry. He was in clear distress, feeling his hands tremble as he cupped your face oh so delicately.

This—This little shit! Why was he acting like he didn’t plan for this, account for this? It made sense now, saying anything to catch you off guard using fake notions for friendship while some goon came up from behind. You should’ve known—should’ve fucking known.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck! You’re going to be okay, I’m—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He apologized, sounding so apologetic as he continued to hold you.

You wanted to push him away, so you weren’t forced to look up at him and feel him. He held you so dearly and fearfully, and you didn’t like that. Not one bit.

His eyes shifted to the agent that had shot you, standing there silently. He glared daggers, anger swallowing him. “How do I make this stop! Tell me how to make it stop hurting them! Tell me!” He demanded.

Your body was quick to turn into a state of exhaustion, the pain being quick to overwhelm you. Black dots appeared in your vision, multiplying rapidly until everything just became a void as Invincible’s shouting faded into the distance.

The last thing you felt was your head being carefully set on the ground, a gust of wind flying past you. Then you heard the sound of someone choking, being strangled by something—Invincible still shouting.

You grimaced at the recollection. You couldn’t believe you easily got distracted by the—ugh—friendship talk. You should’ve known that he was just saying all that shit to throw you off, but with that hero it was always confusing! Everything he did threw you off!

Every other super would immediately get straight to business, throwing punches or whatever special ability they had when they came on scene and seeing firsthand at the absolute destruction you caused.

Sure, some of them stopped to say something cheesy and comical to make fun of you. Rex Splode was an example of this, his grating character throwing some bullshit joke. But even then, he and everyone else put the safety of civilians above ‘talking it out.’

Yet, with Invincible, it was the opposite. He seemed to be more concerned about you than the wreckage and terror you spread.

You would’ve brushed it off if he treated you and civilians equally—many superheroes had this high morality to their character, wanting to be a ‘bigger person’ so you were used to that—but that wasn’t the case for him.

Destroying downtown Chicago like it was a fun game of Godzilla loose on the town? 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 to slow him down because he had to catch them otherwise they’d die? Oh, Invincible will just catch the guy and go, “Come on!” in a stupidly playful way as if you had gone a little bit too far with playing around.

“Weirdo.” You shivered, his weird behavior never failing to make you feel wrong.

The next time you see Invincible, you will, for sure, kill him. Or erm, the Invincible of this dimension?

You had been dragged out of your cell and been briefed about some evil alternate Invincibles wreaking havoc all over the world, and they needed every available resource they got out there to fend off the evil variants.

And apparently you were included as an ‘available resource.’ Great.

Well, you supposed you could practice the best way to kill your Invincible with the knock offs. Even though you’re forced to do it, there’s no harm in seeing the good in the bad.

You jumped in the air, using the ground as a surface to leap off of. You were high in the air, peering down below.

Squinting, you scanned the area.

The destruction stretched for miles. Blaring cars and screams filled the air. You saw some injured civilians using each other as support to try and run to safety.

You averted your gaze to not look at the innocent people below—all those government assholes told you to do is fight off variants, not save lives. That’s their mission, not yours.

“NO! Please! AARRGHH!” You heard a blood curling scream screech up ahead, and your ears perked curiously. You decided to make your way towards it, jumping off destroyed buildings like a frog leaping off lily pads.

When you were close enough, you landed a few feet away.

You looked up ahead, seeing a tall figure standing before a freshly dead body. The skull was crushed, bits and pieces of brain spilled out from the cracks. You tilted your head, observing—assuming they were what they are from an educational guess—a variant.

He had no mask, his face on full display along with his mohawk haircut. His suit was torn on his shoulder, dust debris sticking to the spandex of his suit. He had a large shit eating grin on his face, visible smile lines accompanying it. He seemed to be having fun.

You were surprised. Is that what Invincible actually looks under the mask? Huh, I guess he is actually a pretty boy. You remarked in your head.

You put a hand on your hip as you continue to watch this Invincible variant. He began cackling to himself as he turned his head, his back facing you as he was choosing where to go next.

A smile creeped on your lips, your eyes dilating like a hunter watching its prey being unaware of what was behind them.

Without a second of hesitation, you leapt off the roof of the building you were on as you hurled towards Mohawk Invincible. You raised your fist, landing a solid hit on the upper part of his back between his shoulder blades—sending him flying to a brick wall.

“Score!” You whistled, his legs up in the air as his head was shoved into a patch of dirt. It reminded you of a groundhog burying its face in the ground, and it made you snort.

You slowly approached the downed variant. “Those G.D.A motherfuckers kept me in their basement for way too long, my body is all tense. Thank God I’m out, but fucking sucks I got a shock collar on me.” You hummed, talking to yourself.

You used the tip of your foot to leap from the floor—sending yourself flying to the variant with your leg ready.

Mohawk grumbled under his breath in a daze, “What—”

A harsh kick dug in his side, sending him flying once more. Though this time, he caught himself, jamming his hands into the ground to stop the momentum of your kick. He whipped his head up, swatting at the dust of dirt to see his assailant.

You used the cloud of dirt to your advantage, a tight fist meeting his jaw. It sent his head backwards, but he had dug his heel in to catch himself from being sent flying. He whirled his head back, extending his arms to tackle the person who had just sucker punched him.

You grunted, falling backwards. The mohawk variant didn’t waste time climbing on top of you, putting his whole-body weight to trap you.

You felt a hand grasp at your neck, a large amount of pressure squeezing at your throat following swiftly afterwards.

Mohawk Invincible raised his free hand ready to beat the shit out of whoever ambushed him, his eyes darting to your face.

His eyes were wide and angry, but an undertone of excitement in his emotions. That faded quickly, however, as the dust settled to reveal who was underneath him. His clenched fist softened, surprise and complete shock itched in the features of his face.

Mohawk blinked, taking in the familiar face that was struggling against him.

He waited for just a moment to see if your face would change into someone else’s, testing to see if his vision was playing tricks on him. Or maybe he finally went crazy with how long you two have been apart.

But no, nothing changed. You looked the exact same—minus a few details. Like how your hair was disheveled and the eyes that used to stare at him so lovingly held nothing but sharpy pointed daggers.

There was no doubt in his mind that he was staring right at this dimension’s version of you, and it made his stomach squeeze in delight. Mohawk was in disbelief and in awe.

“Oh, shit... (Y/N)?” He called out your name, a name that he hadn’t spoken out loud for the longest time. It felt strange to use it, but it felt so right too.

Your eyebrows furrowed, confused. Your chest felt heavy as the tone he used was the exact same one your Invincible used for you constantly.

“That’s me.” You hissed, watching how his gaze bore into you. Not with malice, hatred, or anger—just... nostalgia. His brown eyes blinked to the collar on your neck that was underneath his hand.

With him distracted, you took the opportunity to land a hit on Mohawk—his weight lifting as he didn’t brace for it.

You rolled the two of you over, and you connected your hands to his throat, pushing down.

“How do you know that name?” You questioned. He shouldn’t know your real name.

"Fu—Fuck—(Y/N)," He choked out, staring up at you with something you couldn’t recognize. It was something warm yet wretched, and you squeezed down harder as you stared into them.

Your Invincible always wore goggles so you never had to see his eyes. You faintly wondered if he had this look every time he looked at you. You scowled, that thought made you uncomfortable.

The look wasn’t hatred nor fear, not even anger. It was... some form of desperation. Not desperate to live, but desperate for something else. But that wasn’t right. It was more like... desperate for someone else.

"It's—It's you. Shit, it's—it's really you." He heaved out, his hands jumping to reach your arms. You expected him to dig his nails in your skin or try to snap a bone, but instead, he was holding them. There was no effort to tear your arms away.

Hell, he was actually using his thumb to caress you.

Your eyes squinted, not understanding what was happening but you didn’t release your hold—and he didn’t seem to mind as he sat his neck up, bringing it closer to the chokehold you had on him. He looked up at you with half lidded eyes, enjoyment in his eyes.

Your hands were—damn, they were still perfect. He could feel rough calluses which were certainly new, but it added to the experience rather than diminishing it. The familiar weight of your body on top of him threw him into euphoria and—oh, fuuckkk, he even got a whiff of your scent.

He wasn’t expecting to find this dimension’s version of you so soon. He held hope that this dimension of you was still alive, planning to go looking for you after he wrecked some shit to satisfy his end of the deal with Angstrom, but instead you found him.

He also wasn’t expecting you to jump at him like this—with incredible strength too. Your punches actually hurt a little bit, Mohawk still feeling the sting on his jaw.

Are you a super in this dimension? That would certainly make sense on why you jumped at him—but your suit looked like shit. It looked like a prison uniform rather than a functional superhero suit—

Actually. God. Who cares? Right now, he doesn’t care about whatever backstory you had. He could learn about it later because currently this little act was pretty fucking hot.

He bit his bottom lip, his hands sliding down from your arms to your waist. Jesus, that was the same too—he squeezed the familiar curve that he used to grab so much. He loved it—and he still does.

You were currently sitting on his stomach, but if you just moved your sweet ass a little lower, you’d be at a much more perfect spot. You can continue choking him however much you wanted, but if he could just nudge you a few inches down— [1]

You gasped, pulling your hands away as you recoiled backwards—jumping away from the man. The touch of his grabby hands lingered on your waist, and you shivered as you made a disgusted face.

“What kind of perverted freak are you?” You asked in disbelief, taking a defensive stance. So, your Invincible likes to scold your ear off and—what? This one likes to be touchy?

The Mohawk variant merely coughed, a laugh escaping him as he stood up from the ground. He brushed a hand over his Adam’s apple, his throat feeling empty now.

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

You shot him a quizzical stare, looking at him like he was crazy. “... Who the hell is Mark?”

“Your boyfriend, duh.”

Now you looked at him like he was an insane asylum patient.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Mohawk Mark rolls his eyes, snorting. “He doesn’t bag you?—Ah, whatever. Your friend or something. Looks like me but less attractive.” He brought a finger to rub the inside of his ear.

You only continued to stare at him like he was nuts. “I don’t know anyone with that name.” You reiterated, irritated at this odd interaction. The fact that he called you babe was not lost on you, and you wanted to punt his face in with the audacity he had to call you that.

That seemed to genuinely surprise him, his eyes wide.

Every single Mark variant had some sort of relationship with you. Friendship, partners, mentorship—anything up there. “You’re a super, right? You gotta know Invincible at least.” He asked, leaning forward trying to gauge what the hell this dimension’s Mark was up to for you not to know his civilian identity.

You scoffed. “Me? Superhero? Don’t fucking play with me. I’m not fighting you out of a heroic duty. I didn’t have much of a choice here.” You corrected his assumption, tugging at the collar that was beeping on your neck. "But Invincible? Yeah, I know him. He's the reason I got thrown into G.D.A's little dungeon and have this thing on me."

Not a superhero. Huh.

That left him a little dumbfounded. Actually, your whole attitude and demeanor left him dumbfounded. Not that he didn’t like it—he really did—but it was just different.

You were soft in his dimension, physically and personality wise. It was the same for the other dimensions according to some of the variants that shared stories about you on the ship. He didn’t contribute, only half listening. This certainly was not what he was expecting—but he liked the surprise.

“You’re not a good guy? Wow, that’s new to me. What’d you do to get thrown in there?”

You groaned, your shoulders sagging. You were frankly done hearing the nonsense that this Invincible variant was spitting at you. It makes you confused and annoyed. Does each version of this guy make it a point to talk so damn much each fight?

Not entertaining his question, you lunged forward.

He blocked your attacks, dodging your fists and leg jabs. “So, you’re bad? That’s pretty cool, I’m getting pretty excited.” He joked, though the way he said it indicated he meant it.

My God, he’s going to continue to talk?

“You’re going to definitely like me then. I’m pretty naughty, especially when it comes to fucking.” He cooed, winking at you flirtatiously. [2]

“Shut the fuck up.”

“It’s fine, we don’t have to get to the ultra-good stuff right now—we can continue this foreplay. Fun!”

“You’re more annoying than my Invincible.” You took a jump backwards, Mohawk leaping at you with a wild grin. You steadied yourself, preparing to hold your ground before a blur of black and blue intercepted.

You whipped your head to see what happened—and eyes widened as you saw that another variant was here. They wore the same black and blue palette that the Mohawk wore, but their face was fully covered by a black mask.

“Ya dick!” Mohawk screeched, pushing off the newly appeared variant. "I'm in the middle of something here, go somewhere else!"

The fully masked Invincible only slapped the other’s face to the ground as a response, standing up hurriedly to take a good look at you.

He had heard the commotion when passing through, and your voice had made his ears perk up.

It had been so, so long since he heard your voice. It’s been so long since he heard you speak—breathe. His body started moving before his mind could process that you were alive in this dimension, his instincts overriding his brain.

He breathed out your name, feeling his whole body go light as he took a hesitant step towards you. It really was you; his ears didn’t play tricks on him—not this time. “Your alive here. Alive and healthy...” He scanned your figure, and you tensed. “... and strong. That’s good.”

You clicked your tongue. "What am I supposed to be? Dead?"

“Yeah. In my dimension you died. You were sick.” He answered solemnly, his voice breaking as he took more steps to reach you. You responded by taking the same amount of steps back, keeping the distance.

This one was different than the other one—he was sad but still held that same desperation. Instead of it being shown through his eyes, it was through his quivering voice. "I've missed you; I've missed mom. Both of you meant so much to me—"

“—What is with this sentimental bullshit?” You cut him off, talking more so to yourself than him. You felt like you were intruding in some sort of sad romcom scene that wasn’t supposed to be directed at you, but it was.

This was really killing your appetite to kill Invincible.

You couldn’t help but ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "Did we know each other?" You apparently knew the pervert and now this sad guy too.

He flinched, looking physically hurt from the fact that you didn’t know how deep your two’s relationship was. Words compiled into one big ugly lump in his throat. He wanted to say everything and anything—and so much in between. “In my dimension we knew a lot of each other. We were—”

“—Well, I’m not whatever lame ass version you think I am.” You cut off, snapping, not wanting to learn more. You shouldn’t have asked anyway, that was your fault.

Your eyes darted to him and the mohawk one. You maybe had a shot in killing him, but two of them? It’s best to sneak off. It’ll be even worse if more Invincibles showed up.

Worse in the fighting aspect and worse in the... whatever you call this strange thing happening between you and these variants. Some alternate version 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. Then we can go home.”

“Hey! I found them first, I get dibs, dipshit!" Mohawk didn’t waste a second to spring into action, his face contorting at the fact the masked asshole wanted to be the one to take you home. He was taking you home, not a second-rate version of him.

He jabbed his finger into the masked Invincible’s chest, “Go cry to your mommy instead of moping around here! I was here first, fair and square.”

“Don’t talk about them as if they’re an object!” He shouted.

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

You sweat dropped at the scene. They were acting like children fighting over a toy, though it worked out great in your favor as it gave you an opening 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 pointed out, and you froze. You snapped your attention up, spotting two Invincibles hovering in the air.

When did they get here? How long had they been there?

One adorned the signature colors of Omni-Man on the design of an Invincible suit; a red cape attached to his shoulders being a new addition to the look.

The other one wore a white uniform, with no resemblance to the Invincible suit beside how it was snug on his body. A cloth draped over his lower area, stopping just above the knee.

The Omni-Invincible had his arms crossed, his strong biceps popping out. He had a head tilt aimed at you. [3]

“Let me take a wild guess,” You sarcastically began, “you know ‘me’ too?”

They both answered at the same time with a clear resounding ‘yes.’

The red and white one looked over to the two variants that were squabbling with each other, but the white one kept his eyes on you, unblinking, making sure to see each move you made.

A move of a limb, a twitch of a finger—he wanted to see it all.

Your nerves screaming for you to get moving. I’m getting out of here. You jumped in the air, bolting through the sky, wanting to go literally anywhere that was far away from them.

.

.

.

You could hear something whirling a few feet behind you, nearing you hot and fast.

Amazing. Guess you weren't going to escape so easily.

[invoncible]

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

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

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

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

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

"Hel—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mark is—”

beeeeeep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost like he was never there to begin with.

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

Girlfriend?

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

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

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

"Uh-huh."

"You think I would make a good jock?"

"You've got the look for it."

"Dumb?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Need some help?"

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

"Damn. Relax."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Checking on you."

"Where's your mom?"

"Smart enough to leave home."

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

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

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

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

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

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

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're not..."

"Nope."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hadn't even realized you started crying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked, "Girlfriend?"

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

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

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

[]

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

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

"You can't be here, kid."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[]

"I killed the Guardians, yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah. No big deal."

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t bother asking how.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can explain."

"You better fuckin start."

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

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

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

"Get off me."

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

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

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

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

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

"He killed people—"

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

"I thought he was hurting you!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Childish.

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

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

[]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[]

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

"Oh, good."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You said he touched you." He started.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Need what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, you believed him.

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

© invoncible

[zeecriter]

Invincible p!links·˚ ༘ P2

WARNING ➤ Pornographic content mdni! The links all have afab/feminine bodies except maskless mark, do not open in public.

Sinister Mark

Fucking you into the sofa

He loves choking you

bought this skirt just for this

Can’t run away anymore

Main! Mark Grayson

Literally like rabbits (LOADS)

Sock on the door

Virgin! Best friend!Mark who wanted to try something with you

He WANTS you carrying his kid

Full mask Mark

Breeding you full with his babies

Stroking him

Short cunnilingus vid

Got him all tied up

Mohawk Mark

Do y’all see that bulge?? Definitely the way he’d fuck you

How he’d eat his princess out

Normal au!Mohawk mark after taking a drive in his car with you. Couldn’t wait till you got home huh?

His own fleshlight

Viltrumite mark

The eye contacttt

After a long day of viltrum work

Morning sexxx!!

His maid looked hotter today, especially in that skimpy dress you wore.

Maskless mark(MLM)

Riding him in your dorm

You two both got horny while hanging out

Bottom! Mark

Seeing stars

Omni-Mark

loves tasting you

You were a brat in this universe too he had to handle it!

He loves the feeling of your gushy walls clenching around his fingers

You were so desperate to cum :(

Rex Sloan

You play way too much video games

Devouring your pussy

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ NOTE ➤ sorry guys I released this sooo late! The next part of the invincible p!links are going to be revolved around threesomes! If you guys want other p!links with different media I’ll be happy to do it. I want to do a jujutsu kaisen list but I want to see what y’all want first.

[vinnyvamppp]

To Be Desired

⭐: No Goggles Mark, Mohawk Mark, #17 Mark/Sinister Mark, Mentions of Invincible (requested!).

Synopsis: Variants of your childhood best friend spawn across the globe, and you find yourself in the crossfire of their previous lovers. What happens when you experience the parallel pleasure they offer?

Warnings: Power Struggles, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Morally Grey, Nipple Play, Fingering, Pussy Eating, Overstimulation, Public Sex, Squirting, Rough Sex, Switch!Reader, Switch!Invincible Variants, Plot changes for convenience, Matching Freaks, Position Changes, Porn w a Plot, etc.

Invincible Variants x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,239 (PART TWO HERE)

“You won’t believe what just happened, oh man!” Mark exclaimed with glee; an unfamiliar look of pride swam within his irises. It was the night he received his powers; a deep crater buried itself into your driveway from his failed landing. “What?” you questioned, prying your front door open as he entered. There were scuff marks littered across his naked upper body, battered and bruised from his knightly adventure. “It was incredible. I—I flew,” he explained, his hand gesturing excitedly. This was a dream of his; he would craft makeshift suits and detail desired escapades to save the world. However, for it to come true was another story.

“No way! This… this is a funny joke,” you sputtered. One doesn’t usually acquire powers at random, but in this dimension, who knows? “No, really. I took a huge leap off my roof, not really expecting anything,” he interrupted to soften the already ridiculous landing of his story. “You know, and I just took off.” The topic was so exhilarating; the thought of questioning him hadn’t dawned upon you. He leaned against the back of your couch, crossing his arms as you two reminisced.

“Wait—why were you jumping from the roof anyway? What if nothing happened and you fell?” you questioned with a raised brow. “I know, I know, it’s stupid. But I was curious and decided to give it a try,” he rationalized quietly, fingers nervously scratching his nape. “Aw… I want powers now,” you feigned sadness as you sulked. It was your attempt at being amusing, but truthfully, you felt left behind. Was it envy? Was it the need to feel important? Was it the fear of him leaving you behind to begin his journey as a hero? You didn’t know at the time. His expression became tinged slightly with guilt. “Hey, don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get powers soon,” he reassured you, but it was too humorous to be sincere.

“Yeah… soon. Real funny, wasn’t it?” you said to yourself as your body perched against a rooftop. It was the second day of the Mark variants ravaging Earth like their playground. The once-majestic towers now stand as skeletal frames, their glass windows shattered. Debris litters the streets, a tragic mix of shattered concrete and twisted metal, and the air hangs heavy with the scent of smoke and ash. Heroes formed makeshift shelters and sifted through rubble for survivors.

The Mark you once knew was head over heels for Atom Eve. It was no secret; he was a lost puppy whose ears would perk at the sound of his name on her tongue. Utterly devoted. Sickeningly in love. You were the very last to discern his truth. The two were written in stone, but it left a bitter taste in your mouth that you had long since gotten over. Until now. You were late to the news of the world's destruction. A strangely familiar face appeared on the news, a version of Mark that made your chest tighten. Within your family, a strange ability was acquired—a power bred through evolution to ensure survival in a world full of the unknown. Once in a lifetime, through a series of visions, you would discover a pivotal moment in time to peer through. That moment was now. Eighteen variants were loose internationally, each with their own tragic story and love interests. Six had dated or lost their Atom Eve, five had slain their worlds' Amber, and six had been devoted to you.

Helping where you could, you began assisting in fighting off the weaklings who figured now was the best time to attack Earth. Micro tears riddled your uniform as you tore through them mercilessly, all through a look of pity. There were days you'd resent this “job” you'd granted yourself, the little recognition and appreciation you'd receive from the public. How selfish of them—and you. You wanted an excuse to have this world fair alone without a need to rebel when no one would notice. As luck would have it, a voice suddenly dawned behind you, his body floating midair and adorned with the appearance of your dearest friend.

Mohawk Mark

“Oh, shit… I know you,” he rasped, his expression twisted into a cocky grin. His stature and pose were that of confidence—and a man who caused insurmountable damage to those he met. “You look just like her,” he continued, his feet finding purchase on the ground as his stride increased. “Sorry, you've got the wrong one—try finding her—” Just as you spoke, static buzzed in your skull—a low crackling hum that drowned out the edges of the memory before it fully formed. It was there—just beyond reach—shrouded in white noise.

The harder you focused, the more the static swelled, but for a moment, the interference cleared. A voice—the ghost of a feeling—and just as quickly, it was swallowed again. You understood the gist; he was indeed one you would find yourself tangled with. “Looks like you’ve been through some tough shit—mind if I join you?” Without waiting for a response, he lunged forward, grappling you in a powerful embrace. His intent wasn't one of danger but instead of safekeeping despite his demeanor. Reflexes took over as you slammed against his cranium with the strength you could muster, effectively knocking him back.

"Fuck, you're a feisty one," Mohawk Mark growled, his breath hot against your ear. "I like that shit. Let's see how you handle this." His chuckle was condescending—yet a thrill shot through you. “‘Won't be handling shit,” you quipped before biting into his neck—just rigid enough to draw blood. He groaned, his flight knocking you two back into an alleyway.

Similarly to your Mark, he seemed attracted to strength, his veins pumping with lust rather than adrenaline. Holding a firm grasp of your jaw, his lips collided with yours in a searing and blood-stained kiss. The muscle of his tongue forcefully parted your lips as he sought to taste you against his own. Finding yourself against the wall, your legs wrapped around the width of his waist, your ass snugly hovering over his pelvis.

He pulled away every few seconds to watch your expression succumb to your selfish wants. Sex with the enemy was enticing and you weren’t letting him escape any time soon. “You planned this?” you murmured between the saliva-ridden kisses. “That would be telling. You know enough if you’re agreeing to this.” His voice grew to tease as he licked his lips—mirroring his satisfaction before peppering kisses down your exposed neck.

His version of sex was rough, with small increments of romance—only reserved for the best prize. With muffled groans, his teeth harshly nipped their way lower, his fingers tearing through the fabric of your suit. As he continued down your now-exposed cleavage, his tongue ran along the scantily clad lace of your bra. Staring up at you, he let out a mischievous snicker before his teeth snagged the cup and tore it from your chest—leaving it discarded on the ground.

“Shit… was fucking not enough? Had to ruin my clothes too,” you complained as your hips bucked against his pointedly. This earned a guttural grunt from the flesh of your breasts, as he heaved out a response. “You’ll forget about them anyway,” he dismissed as he continued until your panties were the last to be removed. The cool air dusted your wet cunt—its arousal seeping through your folds like honey. Its chill made you shiver and like bees to nectar, his tongue feasted before his eyes.

Hoisting you up, your thighs rested against his shoulders as he knelt, the angle allowing his tongue to slip inside your already spasming pussy. An unusual pink hue dusted his cheek as he stared up at you in utter bliss. Your fingers dug into his forearms, your puffy folds pressed against his lips as he devoured you. With your head resting against the wall, your hips ground themselves relentlessly against his tongue.

"Mmm, shit, already soaking wet for me," he taunted, pumping his tongue in and out of your tight cunt. His tongue—rough and textured—lashed out to lap at your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His groans sent mild vibrations through you as his fingers reached up to paw at your tits, nipples stiffened in the cold air. You couldn't help but moan as he ate you out with relentless intensity, his tongue plunging deep into your folds. His calloused hands roamed your exposed flesh, pinching and kneading your breasts, twisting your sensitive nipples until they grew numb.

His hands couldn't stop their exploration—they explored what he had lost many years ago. Sparks flew as his tongue circled against your clit, flickering the bundle of nerves with a speed inexperienced before. Every time you neared the precipice of your orgasm, his tongue would flatten as he sucked your clit—ruining the rhythm. You tugged his hair with a frustrated groan, and his eyes rolled into his skull with an amused moan.

Finally pulling away, he stood to his feet. His lips parted to speak when suddenly, “Hurry the fuck up,” you said curtly with exasperated gasps. With lidded eyes, a Cheshire grin settled across his features. “Yes, ma’am.” Prying his suit off, he palmed his dampening erection. For once he fell silent as anticipation ate away at you both. As he freed his cock from the confinement of his boxers, it slapped against his lower abdomen.

It stood with a veiny girth—the tip kissed a rosy red like his many mistresses' lipsticks. With a pleased hiss, he stroked himself briefly—eyes just barely losing focus from the buildup before he plunged himself into you. Your pussy hugged him with a familiarity that felt like home, the painful stretch soon becoming one of bliss. His hips began to quicken, wanting to see your fucked-out expression like never before.

However, his greed overwhelmed him as the stimulation grew difficult to ignore. His usual grunts and growls diluted into groans and profanities. The alleyway echoed with the cacophony of moans that mingled in the air—inharmonious, yet emotion-filled as a flame flickered within your core. “I’ve waited so fucking long for this,” he grunted, a grin etched into his lips. “N-None of them—no ssslut compares to this. Only pussy I need—only woman I want.” A groan interrupted his sentence as your cunt contracted around him—swallowing him at the base.

That’s right—every harem formed and woman fucked was so he could ruin the image of you that plagued his mind in its grief. The vulnerability of it all made your toes curl, even if it wasn't much.

The fingers pawing at your breasts began kneading them like stress balls, until they were red. Truthfully, he missed every inch of you—not that he would admit that, especially since you weren’t exactly his. A high-pitched moan ripped from your throat as he continued to bounce you on his dick. Pre-cum coated your insides as the sounds of arousal grew louder, his balls tightening. With every thrust, he could see the air physically leave you, the scuff marks from brick marking your skin.

He could barely tell where to focus his eyes—on your tits or face? Both were gorgeous but fuck, he should just kidnap you and take you home with him, right? “Fuuuuck, Mark… I’m g-go—” you groaned as your fingernails indented into his skin, a pain and pleasure-filled gasp crawling from his throat. “Fuck, yeah…” he said, his raspy voice cracking with the slightest whine. “Take it… s-shit, take it…!” It was a growl as his eyes fluttered shut to hide his eyes practically rolling around his skull. With a clenched jaw, his dick began to milk itself. The pleasure mounted as your impending orgasm washed your body in a sweat-breaking heat. Just as he came, your cunt spasmed, once he pulled out, something within snapped as an aroused gush squirted from you.

His groin was now coated in your scent, taste, and the result of your rough fucking. The pleasure racked your brain as tears threatened to spill over. Noticing this—and pleased with his efforts—he let out a short chortle, a hand coming up to swipe your folds and have a final taste. His expression turned into a feigned sob as he silently teased—his tip running a line between your folds and ass, resisting the temptation to fill your asshole with his seed. Once you two were settled from your high, he spoke up. “Had fun, babe.” Your eyebrow lifted at the newly coined pet name.

Suddenly, a muffled voice in his ear caught his attention. “Shit…” he muttered with an annoyed grimace at Angstrom ruining his amusement. “Go on,” you beckoned. “Not yours anyway—so no need to stick around.” It was a light jab—one he received with a satisfied smirk before taking flight. “Doesn’t matter—I’ll be back,” he replied curtly before disappearing into the horizon.

You stood there—naked—processing what just happened. "Shit, I need a new suit from my apartment.”

Variant #17 Mark (I wouldn't even keep you as a slave in my Empire!) Or Sinister Mark (personalities are similar in the comics, so imagine what you will.)

"You thought you could hide from me?" he said, peering down at you with a friendly grin for someone so domineering. Staring down at the man’s shadow, his cape billowed in the wind. Unlike the other Marks you’d caught a glimpse of, this one barely had a bruise on him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he finished before he landed softly on the ground. As he approached, you remained still, eyebrows creasing into a frown. “I’m not—” You were abruptly cut off by a low voice as his head tilted to stare into your eyes. “Don’t play stupid. My version of you had the same power—but she resisted our cause.” His voice was tinged with pity as he frowned; he decided to take another route in his approach.

“I’ll tell you what—I’ll leave if you come with me,” he offered with an outstretched palm. You vehemently shook your head in disagreement. “I’m not going—it'll disrupt the timeline.”

“Why does that matter?” he asked.

“What makes you think I won't resist either…?” you retorted, causing his eyebrows to raise slightly in thought. “I’ll change your mind—and give you what you missed out on in my world.” It was such a matter-of-fact opinion—one rooted in a determination to outclass any obstacle that might deter him. Curiosity bested you the moment you turned to face the chaos erupting in the streets as a strong gust of wind obscured the debris. He was behind you. His fingers draped over your waist as he took flight—and to… your apartment? “I’ve been watching you for a while now… I know all about your preferences. Let’s have some fun, shall we?” His lips just barely grazed your ear.

Amongst the hands that roamed your body, a sense of longing lingered in every squeeze and grope. While being one of the strongest—and surely the most vile—his personality could be charming like your dimension’s Mark. Even if feigned for manipulation. He spun you around to face him, that polite smile etched into his face again as his body betrayed innocence. The erection forming within his costume became difficult to ignore—but he found a distraction. A touch, a handhold, and finally—a kiss.

“Let me show you what it's truly like to be satisfied.” His words were reassuring, yet they felt more directed toward his version of you rather than now. His tongue swept into your mouth, tangling itself in a wet heat as he sucked the air from your lungs. The warmth of his fingers spread across your cheek as his tongue attempted to delve impossibly deep. The taste was better than you imagined—not that you expected any less. If anything, finding him in a forgiving mood proved to be favorable.

His fingers shifted from your face to the back of your costume—in his attempt to be gentle, he tore the cloth from your body like tissue paper. In an instant, his costume was discarded in the corner, leaving him in snug boxers that hugged his dick. Before you knew it, you were pinned against the bed—a hand flush against your throat as he shrugged slightly. “Didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said, an amused huff exiting his nose as you exchanged knowing glances.

The remaining hand gently pried the panties from around your hips and down the length of your legs. His eyes fell upon the wet patch that seeped through the thin fabric—as the semblance of a pleased grin stretched across his lips. Focusing his attention once more, his fingers slowly parted your folds, watching as your velvety walls peeked through the slit. Its warm flesh was inviting—something he had yet to try since you retaliated so often against him at home. Just why couldn’t you be this welcoming? So willing to be corrupted? So… morally gray at the least.

Pressing two digits inside your warmth, he watched it conform to the size of his fingers. An obvious shiver ran through him with each moan that vibrated from your throat—as he imagined you hugging him and wrapped around his cock in plea. The sensations set your skin alight with gooseflesh—and each time you attempted to scurry away from his gift, the hold around your neck tightened ever so slightly. He was such a brat.

Your hips ground into his hand, clit colliding with his palm in gentle waves. As his fingers slowly retracted, his cock shyly peeked from the pocket of his boxers. His patience was running thin as he adjusted himself at your entrance—and slowly pushed through. A loud sigh escaped his lips as he bottomed out, his head falling backward as he quietly cursed under his breath. Mirroring his restlessness, your foot hooked around his lower back and pressed him deeper. A drawn-out moan echoed from your throat; he was barely holding on as he gnawed at his lip to contain himself. Reflexively, his hips stuttered before setting a relentless pace—pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes that hit all the right spots.

“Already so wet for me… pathetic. Fucking slut.” His words struck a nerve within—as you repulsively tightened around him, earning a whine. Your moans echoed through the room, mingling with the slap of skin against skin and Mark's grunts of pleasure. He hammered into you like a man possessed—his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he drove you toward climax.

The long thrusts stimulated every inch of his dick—the veins kissed with every grip of your cunt. “Did your version of me not do it for you?” you teased before taking a sharp breath at his relentless pace. “Y-You really don’t know when to be quiet,” he gritted. “But n-no… not like this. You're much better. I would take you to be a part of my empire.” He replied, his jaw tightening as his hips drilled into you with renewed conviction at the thought. A second you—not the one he’s attempting to keep as a slave for disobeying—but one he could trust to blindly follow his power. His grin grew wolfish as his other hand overlapped your throat—his gaze shifting between your bouncing tits and pleasured face.

The slight closure of your windpipe didn’t allow for much noise—but no matter, Mark began to sing like you’d never imagine. It was strange—the sound was much louder due to your silence as you clawed at his skin. His voice began to crack as his tightened jaw began to slack. "F—fucking incredible," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "I knew… you'd be worth every s-second of c-...chasing you down," he sputtered as his length began to twitch inside you.

Seeing someone as strong as him unravel before you was a greater sense of accomplishment than becoming a hero itself. With a closed-lip groan, he began overstimulating himself with the effort to get you off. “Haaa… I’m c-close. Ugh…!” you muttered through strangled gasps—as the deprivation of air made you lightheaded and sensitive. Every nerve ending inside your cunt doubled as you went taut beneath him. “C’mon, fucking cum for me,” he heaved.

His thrusts became sloppy as he came inside without warning—doubling over as a consequence. An unfamiliar sensation painted your insides. You both saw stars as silence pierced the room—the slick produced coated his cock in a glaze. Through bated breaths, his fingers finally released their grip around you as you coughed out a response. “I have to admit… you’re hard to deny,” you said, momentarily spent as you lay before him. “Swee—” He was cut off by a voice in his ear.

It was Angstrom demanding his presence over the city. “What a nuisance,” were the final words you caught as he muttered under his breath. Every version of Angstrom was a hindrance to this Mark—nonetheless, he suited up to leave. “I’ll return—and you will join me,” he said confidently, as if there was no argument to be made. You nodded absentmindedly and sighed. Just what had you done?

No Goggles Mark

“Dude…! You’re so cool—what is that? I’ve never seen any powers like that in my world,” he said with an amused expression as he snickered at your agony. You stared up at him, your heartbeat suddenly quickening when meeting his gaze. A look of recognition flickered within his eyes. “Hey, I know you,” he said, his feet touching base on the ground as he approached you with a widening grin. “I’m not sure you know me exactly…” you replied, backing away as your eyes searched for a route to escape—his friendliness had truly taken you aback.

“Who do you work for?” he asked, words flying from his mouth without a care as he approached closer. “You're way stronger than the Guardians of the Globe dudes I fought.” He fought who?! A sense of dread filled you as a new series of questions plagued your mind. If this one could ruin the team to filth—then just how strong was he, and what exactly did he want? “I don't want to fight you, man,” you somewhat pleaded; he frowned with disapproval. “Fight? No, man… but it seems like you’re in trouble, dude.” The topic switched again—his gaze now behind you—as a flurry of aliens attempting their takeover waltzed through a portal. You didn’t have the heart to tell them it was a failed crusade before it began.

Taking a stride forward, a strong arm suddenly wrapped around your waist as you two were propelled to a lone-standing structure where steel beams and concrete floors remained. “Put me down,” you bruised him as you backhanded him into the metal beam. While he had a smile on his face, momentary irritation settled across his features. The painful sting ran to his cock. “Aw, what's the matter?” he asked, standing to his feet as you both came face to face once more.

“It would be hot, but I don't want to fight, dude. I’ve missed you. I promise I’ll be gentle… at first.” The delivery was more seductive—dropping an octave—as he approached you, hands outstretched and finding purchase against your hips. One thing other variants wouldn’t admit—was the supple touch of the right woman could caress their soul.

“I’m not the me you want,” you replied. “You can just be the one I have anyway,” he said. He was indeed serious—and while less terrifying than the other Marks you’d encountered, his strength was menacing nonetheless. “Then let’s see what other talents you’ve got.” Your response made his expression brighten with a new goal in mind. At that, the grin on his face widened as he leaned down and captured your lips in a fierce, dominant kiss.

His tongue forced its way into your mouth, battling yours for dominance as he ground his hips against yours. You two stumbled around the enclosure—footsteps echoing in the empty building. Mark’s hands cupped your ass, squeezing roughly as he whispered crude compliments into your ear. "Nice ass," he growled appreciatively, his fingers caressing the soft flesh. He couldn’t articulate it well—but you were truly beautiful in every universe—and he couldn’t wait to have his share.

Your fingers traveled up his muscled back as body heat pooled across your fingertips. Eagerness unlike any other began to rise as you longed to touch every inch of him. Hero costumes were peeled from one another, and you found his groping becoming progressively obsessive. His hardened cock stood awaiting stimulation as he bit back his urges—sacrificing the time to feel you once more.

Guiding him to the floor, you seated yourself against his lap—your legs hooked over his forearms. He was always too quick to finish battles, and that even applied to sex. Just the tip. That's what you two agreed upon. Sinking onto his cock—its girth filled you deliciously. The wet sound of arousal followed by his restrained groans filled you with delight; it was amusing to see a Viltrumite struggle to contain himself.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… and 6! On every sixth shallow thrust, you would contract your muscles—gripping his dick like a vice as every vein received a kiss from the gods inside your cunt. It had him crazed—wanting more of your warmth than you were willing to give. “F—fuck, babe, you’re killin’ me,” he hissed with an unforeseen weariness shaking his voice. “Can I?” he started. “No.” His expression hardened at your words. “You’re ruining the—” Before he could finish, he inhaled sharply as his head fell back. “Am I…?” you asked with feigned curiosity. It was undulating in a rhythm that drove him wild. He groaned beneath you—his hands digging into his palms as he fought his urges to misbehave.

The sound of your ass slapping against his pelvis filled the air—mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. Anything would be worth trading; he could watch his dick disappear within your cunt nonstop. His impending release redoubled his efforts—pounding into you with a ferocity that sent you hurtling over the edge.

The excitement overwhelmed him as he sheathed half his cock inside—the spreading warmth and moisture making his thighs quiver beneath you. His balls tightened, painfully so—that alone ripped a pornographic moan from him. If he could fuck you as desired, he wouldn’t be nearly as needy. Your combined moans echoed through the infrastructure—and you were certain that with the windows gone, someone could hear—but the thought was out of sight and out of mind. Pre-cum beaded down his length as it was smeared each time he entered your warmth. “M-Mark…” you muttered; he nodded fervently behind you as his jaw locked.

“Y-You ready for it, babe?" he asked with a faltering grin as sweat tickled his brows. Leaning your full body weight against him—you felt your orgasm building quickly. The pleasure reached new heights as you both milked each other dry for the sake of proving a point. Your body instinctively began to lurch forward as your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave. The tip of his cock was bedecked with a foam ring of cum. Mark would’ve begun convulsing had it not been for him carrying you—instead, his body stiffened as he let out a tight-lipped groan. You could’ve sworn you saw his toes curl too—but who knows? His pale skin was flushed a hue of red as his body thrummed with an aftershock.

Once you’d come down from your high, a satisfied grin beamed at you. "Dude, that was incredible," he murmured, a satisfied grin on his face. "We should do this again sometime," he said—as if this was some casual fling, not that you would mind.

Before you could respond, a message in his ear interrupted the conversation. “Ugh… this always happens; I have fun, and then—dude…” he sounded exasperated as he hurriedly redressed—reluctantly wishing you a botched farewell. “I like you. You’re coming with me.”

Feel free to request more lmao

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[earlgreylatte]

Hello, You

(Invincible Variants x Reader) Of course he would come to see you. You’re the reason he’s here, after all.

After hearing the news to stay inside as the attack of Invincible copycats decimated cities across the globe, you hid under your blanket, the light from your phone illuminating your face as you watched the broadcast for any sign of your Mark.

You could only hope that he was alright, that he wasn’t blaming himself, that he knew you were waiting for him to come back safe. He already has enough problems as is.

Your distress is momentarily tempered when you hear your window slide open and your floorboards creek. When you don’t hear Mark immediately greet you or tease you for being bundled up, any concern you felt for Mark becomes overshadowed by fear for yourself as you hear footsteps near your prone form.

You can only tremble, clutching your blanket close to your body until the room goes silent. You shakily exhale, becoming confused when another quiet beat passes. When your breath returns to normal, the blanket is ripped off of you, eliciting a scared yelp.

For a moment you only stare in confusion at the sight of your boyfriend’s estranged father before realizing it’s not Nolan Grayson that stands before you, but Mark clad in a costume similar to his father’s. His face is impassive, mouth a firm line, so unlike the expressive nature of your Mark.

He calls your name. Quietly, yet there was something heavy in his tone. Something you could almost delude yourself into thinking was longing.

His hand brushes against your cheek, moving down your face before resting on your shoulder, a finger pressed against your pulse.

“You sound healthy,” he comments, deceptively neutral in his delivery, but even behind his goggles, you could feel his gaze burning into your face, “In my world, you had cancer. By the time the Viltrumites reinforcements had arrived, it was too late. All that talk about life changing technology and medicine, but it ended up being utterly useless to me.”

Your breath hitches, but he continues, “But here there’s a me that rebelled and an you that never got sick. That got to live past high school. That’s just the way it goes, I suppose.”

His hand travels lower, brushing past your collarbone before resting on your breast, your heart hammering beneath his palm.

“Do you know why I came here?” He wonders, his free hand planting itself on your bed, as he moves his body to hover above yours until the only thing you can see is him.

“No,” you whisper, staring into black lenses.

“Because even after all these years, the only heart I wish to know, to hold, and to cherish is yours. I was willing to play human for you, to tolerate the presence of the idiots that breathed the same air as us, but then they all had the audacity to outlive you. And I can’t move on. So the selfish man that I am, I’m here to take you. To have you by my side again, no matter how much blood I have to spill,” He declares before pressing his lips against yours, muffling your gasp and cries, gripping your wrist when you try to shove at him.

He only pulls away when you start to feel lighthearted, looking down at you as you struggle to catch your breath.

“You can cry and protest all you want. You loved me once, you can do it again,” he asserts, bring your wrist to his mouth, leaving a kiss against your pulse point. “This world was doomed the moment your Mark decided to rebel. I won’t let you die because of his delusions.”

“…I’m not her,” you speak up. “I don’t know you, not really.”

“I know,” he responds, “but every inch of my body is crying out to you, and I’d rather kill everyone on this planet before I let you go again.”

He releases your wrist, instead sliding both hands under your shirt, gloved hands savouring the feel of your skin, your warmth seeping through the fabric.

“…you’re shaking,” he notes, throwing a glance at your discarded blanket on the ground, “I’m sorry, I’ll warm you up. I promise.”

“Mark,” you say, out of instinct more than anything else, your mind coming to a blank.

“Shh,” he hushes you, voice gentle but firm, “Let me take care of you. Like I always do.”

A part of you is relieved that he hasn’t taken off his cowl because you knew you’d crumble under the emotion that would undoubtedly be in his eyes. The same eyes that always held so much love and adoration towards you.

His lips press against yours again, more demanding and heated, as hands travel higher and higher until—

“Looks like I wasn’t the only one that thought to come here,” an amused but familiar voice drawls out, the Mark on top of you pulling away, body covering yours protectively.

Another Invincible sat at your window ledge, black and yellow costume starkly contrasting the rest of your room. He smiles at you when you peak around Mark’s arm.

“Honestly, you were acting so high and mighty earlier, but you’re pretty desperate, huh?” He mocks as the other Mark’s face becomes stonier. “But, really, you should fuck off somewhere else because that’s my girl you’re feeling up right now.”

Before he can respond, another voice interrupts him as you notice yet another Mark, floating behind the one at your window.

“Fucking seriously? How did you even get here before me? I bet you halfassed your locations,” The Mark with a mohawk that has you raising your eyebrow complains, “I literally called dibs on this one! Find someone else!”

Feeling the tension build up, you only hope that Mark checks in and saves you from the bullshit you’re witnessing as they begin to snarl and yap at each other like feral dogs.

Why me, you lament.

Shiesty Mark: hey, babe, it’s Big Dick Friday—why the fuck are you all here??

Why is there no Omni Mark content, he and that shiesty mark were my favourite…

I feel like omni mark is the definition of ‘quite literally hates everyone but you’

Masterlist

[pastelclovds]

invincible is dragging me back by the ankles

thinking about a human!reader who has lived a pretty decent, normal existence. at least, as normal as it could be with all the hero's trying to exterminate world ending threats daily, and leaving major cities in ruins afterwards. the death of the guardians made the threats worsen over time.

one day, as you were taking your usual midnight stroll, you were stopped by the one and only, omni-man. his only excuse? he said and i quote.

“human, it has come to my attention that you’re releasing strange, aphrodisiacal pheromones; and it has become a problem for me.”

you blink once, twice, thrice, and you’re eyes widened as you finished processing his sentence. you were releasing sexy pheromones?? where was it during your days in college? your vision on omni-man’s flushed face trails down to his pelvic region, where his ragging boner was making itself known beneath his suit.

cue to nolan dragging you to an empty alleyway, stripping you both butt naked, and riding you until you left his hole gaping and filled to the brim with your cum. he let out an uncharacteristic, longing moan as he painted your chest in white.

turns out he’s been wanting you for a while ever since he first caught whiff of your scent that one afternoon a week ago as he was defeating a kaiju.

as for the “aphrodisiacal pheromones” you seem to unknowingly release daily: it only seems to affect nobody else but nolan. you don’t have a problem with it though, as long as you continue to fuck the number one super “hero,” you don’t need anything else.

that’s until mark appears before you with an embarrassed grin and a hard on of his own. then his other variants appeared like beasts in heat, and now conquest. yeah, you’re a viltramite magnet.

[stillwatervoid]

Now nothing’s the same | Alternate!Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Summary: You know it isn't your Mark the moment he steps into your room. The blood on his suit isn't his. The way he looks at you isn't right. The things he whispers aren't things your Mark would ever say. Yet, you let him stay. And more.

Pairing: Alternate!Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, frottage, overstimulation, rimming (R receiving), belly bulging, unprotected sex, spit as lube.

Tags: any Mark variant, Reader is lowkey not okay, and he’s a virgin (so prob unrealistic sex?), Unrequited love (for original Mark), Top!Mark, Bottom!Reader.

w.c: 12.2k  |  a/n: English isn’t my first language. This is the first time I write smut so it probably sucks, but hey, I wrote 12k? How did that happen? Yikes… Feedback is appreciated—as longs as is respectful. Also, I wrote this with no particular Mark in mind, so feel free to imagine your favorite variant! The only exception is Mohawk Mark, since his unique hairstyle would immediately reveal he's not the mainstream version at the very beginning (unless you prefer to imagine the reader being dense and oblivious to that glaring detail...).I guess it doesn’t really matter. IMAGINE ANY MARK! And enjoy!!!

You're here | Part 2

Ever since the news broke about cities around the world being destroyed by multiple versions of Invincible, you’ve been hiding. It’s the only logical thing to do—for someone powerless like you, there’s nothing else to do. You can only wait for the nightmare to end, for the heroes to rise victorious. For Mark to rise victorious.

So you stay in your home, clutching your phone, waiting for something—anything—to change. A day passes, and Mark still hasn’t answered your messages. He’s busy, you tell yourself, burying your face in your pillow to stifle the ache in your chest. Of course he’s busy. How could he not be? His hands are full with the weight of the world on his shoulders—fighting, saving, surviving. The news keeps reporting on the Invincibles’ rampage, updating the world daily. A stupid text message—of course Mark doesn’t have time to reply.

(You try not to think about how Mark has been pulling away from you, slowly but surely. How, ever since you confessed your feelings and ruined everything, he hasn’t looked at you the same. How you should’ve kept your heart locked tight, your love buried deep, just so you could keep him close. But you didn’t, and now nothing’s the same.)

So you wait, trapped within your four walls, your chest heavy with worry for your friends—your hero friends—who are out there risking their lives. You cling to the news like a lifeline, watching as the Invincibles tear through city after city, leaving thousands dead, all while they smile like it’s a game.

So you wait, and pray. Anxiety coils tight in your chest, pressing against your ribs until it feels like you might burst. But eventually, hunger forces you to move. You drag yourself to the kitchen, hands trembling as you fumble with the bread. You barely register the motion, your mind drifting to every terrible, unlikely scenario where Mark—your Mark—doesn’t make it. The thought alone makes your throat tighten.

It’s not good. You shouldn’t be this negative. But there are so many Invincibles, and if they’re anything like the Mark you know, then even the strongest heroes must be struggling. People will die. People you care about. And you try—God, you try—not to think about who, who, who.

Maybe that’s why you don’t hear him.

Not that there’s any particular sound to warn you. No footsteps, no creak of the floorboards. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of the curtains by the open window.

One second, your eyes are on the bread on the counter, and the next, an unexpected voice brushes against your ear.

“Found you,” he whispers.

Your heart leaps into your throat, and you freeze, the knife slipping from your hand and clattering to the counter. Your breath hitches as you turn your head slowly.

(Vaguely, you think about Mark fussing over you like a mother hen, that familiar crease forming between his brows. “You really shouldn’t leave your window open like that,” he’d chide, voice laced with exasperation. “Anyone could get in.”

But you’d just laugh, brushing off his concern. “It’s a sixth floor, Mark. And you’re the only weirdo who does.”

I’ll always leave my window open for you, you wouldn’t say.

I’ll always be waiting for you to come, you couldn’t say.)

And then, there he is.

“Mark?” you breathe, relief crashing over you in an overwhelming wave. You don’t notice the differences—how his suit is wrong, smeared with fresh blood and viscera that drip onto your clean floor. How his eyes are too wide, too unblinking, something wild lurking behind them. You don’t see any of it. All you see is Mark standing there, safe, alive. “Oh my god, Mark.”

You rush to him without hesitation, arms outstretched, wrapping him up in a desperate embrace. You’ve been so worried, so consumed by the gnawing anxiety of losing him, that just hearing his voice, just seeing him, shatters any rational thought.

For a moment, he stiffens against you. But then, his arms lock around you with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. It’s too tight, too much, an intensity Mark has never held you with before. That should have been your first warning. But as soon as he hides his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, you forget about everything that seems wrong. You forget about the blood, the wild look in his eyes, the way his grip feels almost possessive. All you can focus on is the way he inhales deeply, as if he’s been starved of this—of you.

You shudder, heart pounding for reasons you can’t quite explain, and then he sighs, low and satisfied, the sound vibrating against your skin.

(“You smell really good,” Mark would murmur, crowding into your space, his nose nearly brushing your neck as he inhaled deeply. “Like, really good.”

You’d shove at his chest, face flaming despite yourself. “Christ, Grayson, you’re not a dog. Back off.”

He’d laugh—that stupid, sunshine-bright laugh that always made your pulse stutter—and lean against the lockers with infuriating ease. “Just being honest… Hey, you could tell me what perfume you use. Maybe then Amber would actually like me on our next date.”

Your chest would tighten, eyebrows knitting together before you could stop them.

“Can’t help you there, pretty boy,” you’d say, slamming your locker shut harder than necessary. When he raised an eyebrow at you, you’d flash a razor-thin smile. “Turns out it’s natural. One hundred percent me.”) 

“It’s you…” Mark whispers, his lips brushing against your neck. You hold your breath, trying to suppress the goosebumps rising on your skin, but it’s futile. His voice is low, almost reverent, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He squeezes you tighter, his arms like steel bands around you. “Oh, it’s you.” 

“Mark?” you ask hesitantly, confusion laced in your voice. “What is it? Are you hurt?” 

You try to push yourself away, hands pressing against his shoulders to create some space—because you can’t do this. You can’t handle him holding you like this, his voice hoarse and low against your neck, his breath hot enough to make you weak. You’re friends. Only friends. He’s made that much clear, and this—this isn’t fair.

But you barely manage to put a few inches between you before he whines, a sound so raw and desperate it catches you off guard. In an instant, he pulls you back in, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck, his grip unyielding.

“Mark?” you whisper again, voice trembling.

“Not yet,” he replies, his tone pleading. “Let me hold you one more minute.” 

And you don’t have the strength to refuse him.

Yet, as the seconds tick by and he keeps clinging to you like a child afraid to let go, you can’t help but notice the things you’ve been ignoring.

Why is Mark here? Why would he suddenly show up at your apartment when he’s supposed to be out there, saving the world? Why would Mark—the same Mark who’s been keeping you in this strange, distant limbo for weeks, who barely speaks to you beyond polite conversation, who’s been looking at you with a mix of discomfort, guilt, and something else you can’t quite place—be holding you so desperately right now?

Then your attention drifts to his clothes. His suit, but not really his suit. The blood—the thick, dark blood that, now that you’re truly paying attention, doesn’t belong to him. And it’s a lot, pooling around your feet, staining your floor, soaking your clothes.

A sickening weight settles in your stomach, curling, twisting, nagging at the back of your mind. Your arms go slightly limp around him, hesitation creeping in where relief had been just moments ago. Your brain, which had felt so light, so grateful just a minute ago at the sight of him safe, suddenly flashes back to the news. The destruction. The Invincibles terrorizing the world.

And you wonder.

Finally, he exhales—a slow, steady breath, like someone bracing themselves. Then, he lets go, his hands lingering on your arms as if he’s reluctant to break contact entirely.

“Y/N…” he whispers, a wide grin stretching across his face. It’s an unusual smile, unnatural, amused when it shouldn’t. “Here’s where you’ve been hiding, huh?”

“Hiding?” you ask, unsure. “Well—I can’t really do anything else, can I?”

Mark smiles spreads. But his eyes—there’s something in them you hadn’t noticed before. Wide, almost frantic, something raw burning behind them. The dark circles under them make him look exhausted. His hair is a mess. And yet, his expression softens as he studies you, gaze tracing over every feature like he’s trying to memorize you. It’s so intense, so intimate, it nearly steals your breath away.

“What—What are you doing here?” you ask, glancing away, flustered. “Is it—is it over? The fight?”

He coos, a gloveless hand reaching for your chin to tilt it back toward him with a grip that’s firm, almost possessive. “Oh, it’s over. There’s nothing to worry about anymore,” he says, voice light, too light, too nonchalant for someone who just came from a battle. Mark doesn’t speak like this after a fight—he’s never so casual, so detached.

(Mark’s hands would dig into his hair, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m just—I keep fucking up.”

“You’re not,” you’d tell him, hand pressing warm circles between his shoulder blades. “You save people, Mark. Every single day—”

“Bullshit!” He’d jerk upright so fast you’d recoil, chair screeching against the floor. “More people die than I save!” He’d pace, fingers twisting in his hair. “Stop—just stop telling me I’m not fucking up! Stop trying to—to make me feel better! You don’t understand how I feel!”

Your chest would tighten, fingers curling into empty air where he’d been. “I know I don’t.”

“Then stop!”

“However—” you’d stand up as well, eyes locking onto his as you caught his face in your hands, palms pressing gently against his cheeks. Mark would freeze, his breath hitching, wide eyes locked onto yours. “However, I know the world would be worse without you in it. Just thinking about the possibility of not having Invincible on our side—it scares me. Because you’re the only one strong enough to protect us. The only one who can stand up to the worst threats.”

Your thumb would brush over his cheekbone, touch impossibly gentle.

“And I’m sorry you have to carry that responsibility, Mark. But you’re not failing. Not to me.”

His expression would crumble, his eyes glistening with unshed tears before he’d pull you close, burying his face in your shoulder. His breath would shake, and you’d feel his fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt.

Your cheeks would burn, heart stuttering, but you'd swallow your feelings and offer only the comfort a friend should.

“I’m sorry,” he’d murmur, voice thick. “I’m sorry.”

You’d breathe in, closing your eyes. “Don’t be.”)

Your cheeks burn as he tugs you closer by the chin, forcing you to look straight at him. Your hand instinctively reaches for his wrist, but you don’t pull away. You should. But you don’t. Yet, you can’t stand the weight of his stare, so intense, so close, it feels like it’s peeling back layers of you, exposing everything you’ve tried to suppress.

“Nothing to worry about?” you force the words out, trying to ignore the heat flooding your face and the fluttering sensation in your stomach. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” he nods, his voice low and steady. Then, without warning, he leans closer again, his face burying into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply like he just couldn’t get enough. “Oh, shit. How I missed this.”

“Mark?” you ask quietly, voice trembling despite your efforts to steady it. His breath is hot and electric against your skin. The warmth blooming in your face spreads down, coiling through your body. “What are you doing? Jesus—this isn’t like you.”

“Oh, really?” he hums, lips ghosting over your pulse. The brush of them—so soft, so deliberate—makes you shudder. “Not even a little?”

“No…” you exhale, shivering when his arms snake around your waist, squeezing hard enough to make you squirm. “No. Mark. What—what are you doing?”

Your hands reach for the counter behind you, gripping the edge tightly, desperate for something to anchor you. But Mark—his scent, his body pressed so tightly against yours, his breath burning against the most sensitive part of your throat—makes it impossible to focus, impossible to think. It’s like everything around you is spinning, and you can’t make sense of any of it.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks, his tone amused and teasing, like this is all some game to him.

And that finally makes you scowl, the heat in your cheeks now burning with a mix of anger and humiliation. You inhale sharply, trying to regain your senses, but an ugly feeling of shame and hurt settles heavily in your chest.

You lift a hand and push him, or at least try to, your strength no match for his. Still, he complies, pulling away with a reluctant sigh, an annoyed expression flickering across his face as he finally tears himself from you.

“This isn’t funny, Mark,” you say, glancing away, unable to bear the intensity of his stare. “Stop it.” 

“Stop what?” he complains, his fingers digging into your waist as if he’s reluctant to let you go entirely.

“That,” you snap, gripping his wrists and prying his hands off. “You can’t just—just ignore me for weeks and then suddenly show up and treat me this way. It’s—it messes with my head! It’s not fair, Mark!” your breath comes heavy, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to form the words. Your eyes drop to the floor, and you add quietly, “Just stop.” 

He’s silent for a moment, and you can feel his gaze burning into you, searching, analyzing. His head tilts slightly, as if he’s trying to piece something together.

“We’re not… together?” he asks after a beat, his voice incredulous, like the idea is absurd.

The question makes you flinch, and a fresh wave of anger surges through you.

(“I’m sorry,” Mark would mutter, his hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours. “I just—don’t see you that way.”

You’d glance away, your lips pressed together in a tight line, trying to hold back the sting of rejection. “I’m sorry too.”

“It’s just—there’s someone else I wanna try it with.”

“I get it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you sigh, wanting Earth to swallow you whole and disappear forever. But this is Mark, and you couldn’t bear living without Mark. “We’re still friends, right? This doesn’t have to change anything.”

He’d smile at you, his eyes creasing at the edges in the way you adored. “Yeah—Friends!”)

“Of course not!” you snap, voice rising. “You made it very clear you—you love someone else!”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between you and his overwhelming presence. Was he mocking you? Playing some cruel joke?

But then again, as you pace around the kitchen, trying to hold yourself together, your eyes flicker to his odd suit, to the blood clinging to him, to the confused, almost baffled look on his face. And you think again—why is Mark here? Why, really?

Is he even Mark—

“But Y/N—” he whines, trailing after you like a lost puppy, his voice pleading, “—I would never, and I mean never look at anyone else but you!”

You frown, shaking your head. “I can’t even believe you’re saying this to me right now,” you mutter, trying to keep your voice steady. “Did you hit your head too hard fighting those lunatics?”

You don’t notice the way he tilts his head at your words, don’t catch the way his eyes darken, flashing with something unreadable.

“If you don’t have anything better to do, then just leave,” you huff, bitterness lacing your tone. “I don’t wanna—humiliate myself any more than I already have. You had your fun. So go away.”

You turn on your heel, heart pounding as you stride toward your bedroom where your phone is charging. There’s a gut feeling gnawing at you, a sensation you can’t shake, and you need confirmation. You need reassurance.

Is the Mark standing behind you even your Mark at all?

Your gut twists violently, but you can’t shake it. The second you step into your bedroom, your hand fishes for your phone, fingers trembling as you scroll through your contacts and press the button.

But Mark hasn’t left. He follows right after you, moving with an easy, unhurried stride, and when he realizes what you’re doing, a slow, knowing smile spreads across his face.

“O-ho?” he hums, amusement dripping from his voice. “My, my, Y/N, why’re you calling me?” 

His hand moves, effortlessly covering yours, fingers warm and firm over your knuckles. The phone rings—once, twice—and Mark leans in, his breath brushing against your ear, voice low, teasing.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You don’t need anyone else.” 

Your breath hitches. The sound of the third ring barely registers before he plucks the phone from your grasp with unnerving ease. You don’t even resist—your fingers tremble as they slip away from the device. Not that it would have done anything, anyway. The fifth ring echoes into silence, then clicks to Mark’s familiar voicemail. Useless.

The air in the room shifts, heavy and overwhelming. You watch, frozen, as he casually places your phone on your desk, just far enough out of reach.

Then, the moment your eyes meet his, you know.

This isn’t the Mark you know and love.

Mark hums, content, utterly unbothered as he slides back into your arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He sighs, pleased, like he belongs there, like nothing’s wrong.

Maybe you’re in shock. Maybe it’s fear, or disbelief, or survival instincts.

Because you let him.

Your arms fall open, letting him settle more comfortably against you, his weight pressing into you as he nuzzles closer. His warmth, his scent, the way he holds you tight—it’s all too much. And you—weak-kneed, breath unsteady—let him.

“Are you going to kill me?” you can’t help but ask eventually, voice quiet, barely a whisper.

He makes a confused sound in his throat, the vibration brushing against your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. “Hmm—not yet.”

Not yet. You should be terrified. Every nerve in your body should be screaming for you to run, to fight, to do something other than stand there, frozen, pliant in his grip. You know he’s dangerous. You know he could snap your neck without a second thought.

Yet—a curious thing happens in your brain.

You’re not afraid. You can’t be.

Because when your eyes settle on this Mark—and he looks exactly like the Mark you know, the Mark you have feelings for—something just… doesn’t click the way it should. Fear doesn’t come. Disgust doesn’t rise in your throat. Dread doesn’t tighten its grip around your chest.

Because he looks so much like Mark. And duh—he is Mark. But not yours, and that alone should be enough to make you want to bolt. Yet—as he nuzzles into your neck, his hot breath tingling against your skin, his solid body pressing into yours with a firmness that feels both grounding and overwhelming, and the way he called you ‘sweetheart’—it all makes you want to give in to him.

The feelings you’ve buried—the ones you’ve shoved down since the day Mark rejected you, since the day you forced yourself to be okay with just being friends—are clawing their way back to the surface, stronger, faster, more consuming than ever.

“Oh yeah, you don’t have to worry though,” he says, his lips brushing against your pulse in a way that feels deliberate, calculated. “It’d be such a waste to kill you so fast. I came here for you, after all.”

His lips trail along your neck, slow and purposeful, and despite everything—despite knowing this isn’t right—you sigh, shivering at the unfamiliar, intoxicating affection. He moves upward, lips ghosting over your skin until he reaches your ear, nipping at your earlobe.

“Mark…” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut, body melting under his touch.

“Ohh, I know, baby,” he mutters, voice thick with amusement, dripping with smug satisfaction. You can feel the smirk curving against your skin. “I know everything you like. I know every inch of you. Let me show you.”

Your body betrays you.

Your mind knows better—knows that this Mark isn’t yours, that the weight of his body pressing into yours should send alarms blaring through your head. But when his fingers skim your waist, when his breath fans hot against your skin, when he sighs like he belongs here—your body doesn’t fight him.

It welcomes him.

Your hands twitch at your sides, uncertain, but you don’t push him away.

“I can’t believe this universe’s Mark wouldn’t date you,” he muses, fingers wandering, exploring, curling behind your back before cupping your ass and squeezing. A choked sound catches in your throat as heat floods through you, your knees nearly giving out. “I mean—look at you.” His voice dips, teasing, triumphant. “Barely resisting.”

You bite your lip, swallowing a sound you refuse to let escape.

He laughs then—open, mocking, and so, so cocky. “And here I thought I’d have to fight this Mark over you, but—” his grin widens, wicked and pleased. “I don’t think I have any competition, sweetheart.” His lips brush against your jaw, his grip tightening possessively. “You’re all mine.”

He starts to push against you, forcing you to walk backward until the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress. You fall onto the bed, breathless, your heart racing as he looms over you, his eyes dark and hungry.

“Just mine, okay?” he growls, his voice low and dripping with possessiveness. “I wouldn’t let anyone else touch you—not even him. Not even this universe’s pathetic version of me.” He scoffs, his hands gripping the hem of your t-shirt and tugging it off with a harsh, almost desperate motion. “Loving someone else? When I have you? He’s a fool. He doesn’t know what he’s missing. Y/N—you have no idea how much I’ve missed you, how much I’ve—” 

He groans, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark, his eyes raking over your exposed skin like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that can satisfy him. You shiver, a deep blush spreading across your face. It’s too much, too fast, and you feel utterly exposed as his gaze devours every inch of you. His expression twists, a mix of desperation and adoration, as if he’s memorizing every detail of your body, committing it to memory so he’ll never forget. His fingers twitch, hovering over your skin but not touching, like he’s savoring the moment, stretching it out just to make you squirm.

It’s too intimate, too intense, and for a fleeting second, you forget that he’s dangerous.

“Stop staring,” you weakly complain, turning your face away.

“Oooh, oh-ho-ho, yeah, baby, you’re just like I remember...” he laughs, his breathing uneven, his voice shaking with a wild, almost manic energy. “Yeah—I’ll never let him have you. Never let anyone else even look at you. You’re just mine—holy shit.” 

And then he dives.

His lips crash into yours, claiming rather than kissing, his entire body pressing you down into the mattress, forcing your legs open. It’s desperate, feverish—starving. His tongue pushes past your lips, stealing your breath, and you moan into his mouth, eyes squeezing shut as you struggle to keep up with his messy, frantic rhythm. He kisses you with a ferocity that leaves you dizzy. He groans and growls against your lips as his hands roam your body, gripping and groping every inch of exposed skin. His fingers brush against your nipples, teasing and possessive, and you can only take it, breathless and overwhelmed, your mind spinning as he claims you in every way he can.

“Yeah, baby, keep making those sounds for me,” he murmurs against your lips before diving in again, swallowing every breath, every whimper like it fuels him. “So, so good. Fuck, you have no idea—it keeps me going.”

Your breath stutters as his fingers pinch your nipple, hard enough to make your back arch, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. His free hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat as he grinds his hips down. Your legs part without a second thought, welcoming him, urging him closer until he’s right there, pressing into you, slotting himself between your thighs.

“That’s it, spread wider for me,” he pants, voice dripping with dark approval. “You’re still so good, fuck.”

Your lips burn, swollen and tingling from his kisses, and when you blink up at him through your lashes, you catch the glint in his eyes. His pupils are blown wide, the usual warm brown of his eyes swallowed by something feral. That smirk—all sharp teeth and predatory hunger—should terrify you. Because the Mark you know has never looked like this before. This unhinged and unsteady. It’s a sharp, gut-wrenching reminder—this isn’t your Mark. This isn’t the sweet, awkward Mark who you fell for, the one you trusted. This Mark is wrong, a twisted mirror image, and you should be fighting him, shoving him away, clawing your way out even if it’s futile—

But then he leans down and presses the softest, faintest kiss to the tip of your nose.

And your mind blanks.

Because holy shit—Mark, the man you’ve been pining over for months, years, is kissing you. And it feels so good, so intoxicating, it messes with your head, scrambles your thoughts into something dangerous.

You know it’s wrong. You know this isn’t him. It’s like pouring your feelings into a stranger, a shadow wearing his face. But fuck—this Mark grinds against you, slow and deliberate, and you feel him, the hard press of him against you, thick and aching with want.

You gasp, body tensing, startled by how badly he wants you.

“Ohh, baby,” he whines, voice thick with desperate need, like he’s been starving for this moment for lifetimes. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, marking you as his. “Let me—” His hips roll again, dragging his thick length against your own, and you choke on air. “Let me make you feel good. Let me make you come, please, baby, please.”

Teeth scrape along your jaw before finding that sweet spot beneath your ear—the one you didn’t even know was sensitive—and you arch off the bed with a broken moan when he sucks harshly at the skin. His lips, his tongue, his teeth—he maps every inch of you like he’s memorized you, like he already knows every single weak spot before you even realize them yourself.

“Please? Please?” he keeps begging, voice so raw, so desperate, so utterly pathetic it makes you dizzy.

And you—you’re still too caught off guard to react properly. Because Mark—your Mark—never looked at you like this. Never even wanted you like this. But this Mark? He’s rutting against you like an animal in heat, his massive cock straining against his suit as he whimpers your name, making your head spin.

It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong. Because Mark rejected you. Because you told yourself you’d be fine with just being friends. Because this isn’t even him—just the evil, dangerous version of him.

(Mark would slip into your open arms, his body heavy with exhaustion.

“I just—I’m scared,” he’d admit, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Scared of turning into my father. Scared of hurting people. And after everything with Angstrom…” his voice would trail off, fingers twitching against your back like he’s afraid to hold on too tightly.

You’d run a soothing hand along his spine, grounding him. “What do you mean?” you’d ask, gentle, coaxing him to keep talking.

“He—he talked about me like I was a monster,” Mark would whisper, voice tight. “Like there’s a version of me out there who destroyed everything. A version of me who’d kill everyone I love. A version of me who’d… destroy you.”

A slow, quiet exhale would leave your lips. “But you’re this Mark,” you’d remind him. “You’re my best friend. And you’d never do that.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, slowly, Mark would sags against you, burying himself deeper into your warmth.

“Yeah,” he’d murmur, barely more than a breath. “Never.”)

But when you move—when you grind up into him, your body answering before your mind can stop it—he makes a noise, something between a groan and a sob, and it’s so wrecked, so full of relief it makes your stomach twist.

Your arms loop around his neck, dragging him closer, pressing your bodies so tight together you can feel his heartbeat hammering against your own. And when his teeth sink into your throat, sucking so hard you know it’s going to bruise, a sharp, broken sound escapes your lips.

The room burns around you, filled with the obscene sounds of his desperate whines and your shaky gasps, the slick friction of fabric between your joined bodies.

“Yeah—” you gasp, nails raking down his back as pleasure coils tight in your gut. “Fuck, Mark, just—Do it. Do it.”

He groans, deep and guttural, a sound so full of possession it sends a sharp pulse of heat down your spine. Then his teeth sink into your neck again—hard enough that you know he’s breaking skin. And when his tongue licks the wound, sucking the blood like he owns you—you know he’s got you.

Your mind fractures into white-hot static as every rational thought—the blood crusted on his suit, the madness in his eyes, the thousands he’s slaughtered, the fact this isn’t your Mark—dissolves into primal need. Nothing exists but the electric pleasure coiling tighter in your gut with each desperate grind of his hips.

“Mark,” you sob, voice breaking as your body arches against him of its own volition. Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him closer. “Oh god, Mark. Fuck. Mark.”

A guttural snarl vibrates against your throat as he claims your mouth again, his tongue pushing past your lips in a violent mimicry of what his hips are doing against yours. The growing dampness between your thighs should shame you, but all you can focus on is the delicious friction, the way his teeth scrape your bottom lip when you moan too loud.

But it’s still not enough.

Not with these fucking clothes between you, not with the way you’re both rutting against each other like wild animals, frantic and insatiable. It’s maddening. You need more.

Your nails claw at his back, at his suit, needing to feel his skin the way he’s feeling yours.

“Get it off,” you manage to gasp between feverish kisses. “Please, Mark.”

With a dark chuckle that sends shivers down your spine, he rears back just enough to grip his suit’s collar. The fabric shreds like tissue paper beneath his strength, revealing sweat-slick skin you immediately map with trembling fingers. His pupils blow wider at your touch, chest heaving as he crushes you back into the mattress.

“Oh yeah, Y/N...” he purrs, his voice thick with satisfaction as his fingertips trace the dark marks blooming across your neck like bruises. Proof that you belong to him. “Bet this universe’s Mark never made you feel this way, did he? Never touched you like this?” his grip tightens suddenly, making you gasp. “I’m the first, aren’t I? The only one who’s ever had you like this?”

You whimper, nodding without thinking, legs locking tight around his waist, keeping him close, keeping him there.

His grin stretches, wild and triumphant. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he murmurs, his hand trailing down with agonizing slowness—down your neck, across your heaving chest, brushing over your sensitive nipples, gliding down your stomach... Until, finally, his fingers settle between your legs, pressing against the thick, aching bulge in your sweatpants, squeezing just enough to rip a needy moan from your lips. “Look at you,” he breathes, eyes wild with possessive hunger. “So fucking perfect for me. So ready to be mine. Does your Mark know what a desperate little thing you are? How easily you fall apart under my hands?”

His smile tilts, both awestruck and predatory. Then, he leans in until his lips brush yours, his hand working you through the fabric with rough, perfect strokes that have you trembling.

“So hard just for me,” he murmurs against your mouth. “He could never make you feel like this. Never touch you like I do.” His teeth graze your bottom lip. “He could never compare. I’m better, I’m stronger—”

He peppers kisses along the corner of your mouth, your flushed cheeks, tender and teasing, a sharp contrast to the way his pace quickens—faster, rougher.

“—I could make you feel even better,” he purrs, pressing his lips against your ear, voice so low, so filthy it makes you shudder. “Make you scream my name, so loud and clear, maybe the other Mark could even hear you.”

Your breath stutters, a deep moan slipping from your lips, body twisting under his touch.

“Ohh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he chuckles, breath warm against your neck, teasing, taunting. “You’d love to let him watch. Love to let him see you break for me. Let him realize what he’s lost—what he’ll never have again.”

His voice dips lower, sinking into something darker, something twisted.

“You’d let me fuck you in front of him, wouldn’t you?”

Your body jolts, heat flashing through you in a violent rush, shame curling in your stomach like a vice.

“N-no—!” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut, face burning with humiliation. “No, I wouldn’t—”

But your body betrays you. Trembling, surrendering, completely giving in—your hips rut desperately against his hand, your pre-cum soaking through the fabric, staining it.

“Liar,” Mark breathes against your swollen lips before crushing them again in a kiss that’s hot, rough, and bruising. “I can feel how much you want it. How much you need it.”

His thumb presses cruelly against the head of your cock, rubbing slow, torturous circles through the fabric, making you see stars. Your whole body jolts, a strangled gasp tearing from your throat.

“Maybe I should drag him here,” he whispers, grinning against your lips. “Make him watch as I fuck you so good, you forget he’s your Mark Grayson. Make him see how perfectly you take me—how you were always meant to be... ours.”

You shake your head frantically, words lost between your ragged gasps. “No—”

But your back arches, cock throbbing obscenely against his palm. The more he whispers these filthy fantasies, the harder you get, hips stuttering, desperate and eager, seeking more, more, more, as his words sink deep into your brain, filling you with something forbidden, something wrong—something you like.

The pressure builds unbearable. His fingers move with ruthless precision, stroking, squeezing, dragging you to the edge, pulling sounds from you that should be humiliating—but you can’t stop.

Then you think about it. About your Mark. The one who’s still out there, fighting, struggling, exhausted and worn down. You think about what would he think. What would he do if he saw you like this. You imagine your Mark’s confused face watching—the horror in his eyes as he sees you come apart under his doppelgänger’s touch, moaning and whimpering like some cheap slut desperate for any version of him.

“Mark,” you sob as waves of shame and pleasure crash over you. “Mark, Mark—”

Mark exhales a breathy chuckle, eyes dark with fascination. “Oh-ho-ho. That’s it, baby. I’m here. I’m right here.”

And then it hits you.

White-hot pleasure blinds you completely as you spill in your sweatpants like some untouched virgin, his name tumbling from your lips in a broken prayer. Your body arches violently, convulsing as your legs clamp around his waist like a vice. Your hands claw at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him, to this moment, to reality itself.

“Jesus…” he exhales, almost in awe, his grip tightening possessively. “My god… so perfect.”

You’re reduced to a trembling, gasping mess—shaky legs, toes curling, vision whiting out as the aftershocks rip through you. Mark watches it all with a smug, hungry smirk, his eyes locked onto your face, drinking in every twitch, every quiver like he’s trying to memorize it, to brand it into his mind.

“Yeah—let it out, Y/N,” he whispers, voice thick with satisfaction. “I did this to you. I made you feel this good.”

(“Does that feel good?” Mark would mutter into your ear, his hands still working awkwardly at the knots in your back.

You’d groan, face mushed into the pillow. ”Yup. Feels good. Really good.”

“I still can’t believe you’re making me do this,” he’d grumble, brows pinching together.

You’d stifle a laugh, eyes fluttering shut. ”You lost the bet, Grayson. Now keep massaging my back. My muscles are still wrecked from all the damn work you put me through covering you at Uni.”

“William never complains.”

“Because William sucks at covering! The only reason you’re not suspended is because I’m just too good at lying—Oh! Yeah! Right there, don’t stop,” you’d sigh, melting into the mattress. ”Oh my god, yes…”

His hands would freeze, fingers pressing hesitantly into your skin. ”…Can you stop making those sounds?”

“What sounds?” you’d murmur, half-dazed.

Mark would be quiet for a beat, then resume with a sigh. “Never mind. How about this? Does that feel good?”

“Mmmh, holy shit—yes!”)

Finally, you sink into the mattress, chest rising and falling in desperate, uneven breaths as your climax wears off. Your head falls back against the pillows, glazed eyes barely tracking Mark’s movements. His fingers leave the bulge in your sweatpants, moving to your waistband, fumbling briefly before tugging your sweatpants and underwear down, inch by inch.

“Just let me take care of you,” he mumbles, dazed. “Always gonna take care of you.”

The cold air bites at your oversensitive cock as he yanks it free, his pupils blown wide as he stares at what’s his. Before you can even process the exposure, Mark flashes you a wicked grin before his lips wrap around your cock, hot and wet and devastating. Your hips jolt, body convulsing at the sensation. His tongue swirls, savoring, exploring, a deep groan rumbling in his throat as he tastes you. The overstimulation is unbearable, electric. A strangled, pathetic cry rips from your throat as your hands fly to his head, fingers tangling in his hair, trying—failing—to push him away.

“Mark!” you jolt, thighs snapping shut around his head, trembling, squeezing, clutching. “Oh my god. Oh my god—oh my god. No—”

A deep, satisfied groan rumbles through him, vibrating against your cock and making you yelp. His hands pin your thrashing hips down, holding you there, making sure you take it.

“Mark—”

“Mine,” he snarls between filthy, wet sucks. “Gonna taste every fucking drop.”

The overstimulation borders on painful as he works you ruthlessly through your sensitivity, your cries growing increasingly broken. And yet, somewhere beneath the overwhelming pleasure, a traitorous part of you preens at being so desperately wanted.

Wanted. By Mark. Not your Mark, not the one who’d gently rejected you, but a Mark all the same. A version from some twisted reality who’d torn through dimensions just to claim you. And it sickens you—the satisfaction curling in your gut, the twisted pleasure of knowing that somewhere, in some reality, Mark has always wanted you. Craved you. And if he’s here, willing to ruin you, to unravel you with nothing but his mouth, then who are you to stop him?

His tongue works you over with filthy precision, hot and wet and perfect in ways you’d never dared fantasize about. You writhe beneath him, sheets twisting in your fists, as your gaze drops to where he’s sucking you off—Mark Grayson, on his knees for you, eyes close in joy. The sight alone punches a broken noise from your throat.

“F-fuck—!” you arch violently, tears spilling as pleasure crests into near-pain. “Fuck, I can’t—Mark, please, I can’t—!”

Finally, he lets you go with a slick, obscene ‘pop.’ He pants, breath heavy, lips red and wet as he leans over you. You’re gasping too, your chest rising and falling in erratic bursts, your body trembling like you’ve run yourself into the ground.

Mark watches you, gaze trailing over your flushed skin, your wrecked, tear-streaked face. And then he grins.

“I love you like this,” he murmurs, voice rough. His thumb swipes at the wetness on your cheek. “Love it when you cry.”

(“I hate when you cry,” Mark would say, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. ”I hate it even more when it’s me who made you cry.”

You’d slap his hand away, face twisting into a scowl. ”Shut up, Grayson. How dare you—how dare you act upset.” Your voice would shake, anger sharpening every word. ”You can’t even say sorry. Can’t even fake an excuse for why you’ve treated me like this, ignoring me for months… And don’t try to deny it—William noticed too!”

He’d wince, eyes darting away. ”I can’t—I can’t say it.”

“That you’re sorry?” you’d scoff, disbelief dripping from the words.

Mark would bite his lip, shaking his head desperately. ”No! Of course not. It’s—the reason.”

“The reason you’ve been pulling away?” you’d snap, swiping the back of your hand across your wet cheek. Then, it would hit you—heart lurching. ”Is it… because I confessed? I thought we were past that. That we’d still be friends no matter what…”

Your voice would crack, gaze dropping to the floor.

Mark would flinch, shoulders slumping in defeat. ”It’s part of the reason.”

“I don’t understand,” you’d murmur, voice breaking. ”You said it didn’t matter. You promised it wouldn’t change anything.”

“I don’t understand either,” he’d admit, hand scrubbing roughly through his hair. ”Just—just give me time. I need to… figure some things out.”

“You won’t even tell me?”

Mark would press his lips into a tight line, guilt flashing across his face as his gaze caught on your tear-streaked cheeks. ”I can’t.”)

A helpless sob rips from your throat as he surges forward, capturing your bruised lips in a desperate, feverish kiss. He moans into your mouth, deep and needy, and you can taste yourself on his tongue—hot, salty, intoxicating. The realization only makes you burn hotter.

Then, a moan rattles in your chest as his free hand trails lower, fingers teasing where you’re most sensitive. Your gasp is sharp when one presses against your entrance.

“W-wait—” you huff, shaky hands pressing against his broad shoulders. “No… I’ve never—never done this…”

Mark freezes, his expression shifting from surprise to something terrifyingly euphoric. “Oohh, Y/N can you get any more perfect for me? My god—not even in my universe were you a virgin.” He chuckles, low and dark. “Were you saving yourself for him? Hoping he’d finally see you the way I do? He’s such a fool—But I will make you feel good. I’ll make you feel so good.”

As he speaks, his hands roam, gripping your thighs with an iron hold before pushing them up—forcing you open, leaving you vulnerable beneath him. Your face flushes with embarrassment and arousal, your hands instinctively gripping the sheets tightly at the sheer obscenity of the position. He flashes a playful grin, his breath warm against your ass, causing you to gasp and breathe unevenly.

“What— What are you doing?” you stammer weakly, squirming uncomfortably, peering down with shame as Mark leans over your hole, a wide smirk across his face. You realize a second too late was he’s up to. “Wait, wait—Oh my god!”

Your back arches, mouth letting go a deep, throaty groan and your eyes rolling back when Mark inserts his tongue, licking and lapping at the inner walls of your hole, sucking and nibling and kissing. Your head throws back against the pillows, skin burning so hot you swear you’ll melt into the sheets. The sensation is overwhelming—Mark’s hot tongue delves between your cheeks with shameless enthusiasm, licking and probing with obscenely wet sounds that make you squirm uncontrollably. You writhe in delicious contradiction, torn between pulling away and pressing deeper into his merciless mouth.

“Mmh, look at you—” Mark pants between greedy licks, his voice thick with arousal. “That’s it. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You’re beyond responding, your hips stuttering and your asshole clenching and unclenching with the unfamiliar, yet intoxicating sensation. The pleasure is so intense you bite your lip raw trying to contain the filthy sounds fighting to escape. It’s useless, though, because Mark keeps eating you out and it only takes a few minutes of this sweet torture until you start whimpering and mewling like a little whore.

“F-fuck—!” the curse tears from your throat as your toes curl and back arches off the bed. Your cock stirs back to full hardness, dripping pathetically against your stomach. “Fuck—Mark, my god! Don’t stop, fuck—Oh my god—”

You’ve never been touched like this before—it never even crossed your mind, not even in your wildest fantasies. But damn, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Who would have thought that being pleasured like this could feel so incredibly good? You might just climax right then and there with Mark’s warm, skilled tongue working its magic, and you’d die happily. Your erection is unbelievably hard, leaking pre-cum onto your stomach, but you don’t dare touch yourself because you’re too busy gripping the sheets for stability.

But then Mark pulls away, and you moan and whimper with need, trying to tighten around him in an attempt to draw him back.

Mark smirks and chuckles, and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at your own lewdness.

“God, baby, you’re so perfect for me,” Mark rasps, pulling back just enough to loom over you. His lips glisten with your taste, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “Look at you—already falling apart just from my mouth. Think you’re ready to take me, sweetheart? Think that pretty little hole can handle my cock?”

You hadn’t noticed before, too lost in the haze of pleasure—but Mark’s hips have been moving restlessly the whole time, fucking the air with desperate, instinctive thrusts as he devoured you. Now, as he looms over you, you can feel him, hot and throbbing, grinding against your thighs through the thin fabric of his suit. And fuck—he’s massive. Even through the material, you can feel the sheer size of him, the way he twitches with every needy thrust. And yeah—his mouth has left you slick, loose, ready to be filled—but shit. Viltrumites have monster cocks, and it scares you.

And yet—and yet, as Mark moves against you, teasing, testing, making sure you feel the sheer girth of him even through fabric, all you can feel is hunger, a desperate need.

So, huskily, with glazed eyes, you whisper, “Yes, Mark. Yes.”

He doesn’t make you beg twice. One hand tears the remaining suit away like tissue paper, his cock springing free—thick, veiny, and already leaking. The flushed tip bobs against your thigh, leaving a sticky trail as your breath catches.

“Fuck, Y/N—” Mark’s voice breaks as he strokes himself, his wild eyes drinking in every tremble of your body. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. How many nights I dreamed of this moment. You—here, with me again.” His breath shudders, his grip tightening. “Had to find you. Had to make you mine again. I missed you. I missed you.”

His feverish rambling sends your pulse into overdrive, and for one fleeting moment, you wonder about that other life—what version of you could make a man this desperate, this feral with need? What was their relationship like? How did it end? How did Mark end up here, in your universe, searching for you? But then Mark’s strong hands are spreading your thighs wide, his body settling heavily between them, and all coherent thought evaporates in a rush of dizzying arousal.

Shit, shit—Mark Grayson, the boy you’ve been in love with since eighth grade, is about to fuck you. And shit—that thought alone makes your cock ache, your hole clench with anticipation, even as your mind screams that this isn’t your Mark. Your real Mark is probably fighting for his life somewhere. Maybe even dying. And here you are, letting his evil counterpart have you—willingly.

That makes you a horrible friend. You’re disgusting. A traitor. You’re giving in to every dirty fantasy you’ve ever had, every longing you’ve buried for years, all because this Mark—the wrong Mark—looks at you with the hunger you’ve always dreamed of seeing in your Mark’s eyes.

It’s sick. It’s twisted. You’ll never be able to look your Mark in the eye again. Guilt twists in your gut, heavy and suffocating.

You should stop.

You should have never let it go this far.

But then—

“Shh, baby, I got you,” this Mark whispers, shattering your spiraling thoughts. His voice is soft, almost reverent, as he lines himself up. “I got you. Gonna make you feel so good.”

You shiver, heat flushing your skin as his cock presses against your entrance, thick and hard and real. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, locking behind him, pulling him in.

Mark groans, deep and satisfied, his fingers pressing into your thighs as he grins down at you.

“Fuck, yes,” he hums appreciatively, running possessive hands along your trembling thighs. “You’re so good, Y/N. So good.”

His fingers dig deep enough to leave bruises as he drinks down every gasp, every shudder of your oversensitive body like a man starved. And just when desperation coils in your gut—when the teasing pressure at your entrance becomes unbearable—Mark sheathes himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

“Fuck—!” your cry shatters the air as your body bows taut, back arching off the bed. The stretch burns, his thickness forcing you open in ways that make your vision whiten at the edges. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He’s massive, painfully so. You can feel every ridge, every vein as your body struggles to accommodate him. It’s too much—you’re certain he’ll split you in two.

And yet... The fullness is intoxicating. It burns. It aches. But it also satisfies something deep within you, a primal need you hadn’t even realized was there. Tears prickle at your eyes as you clench the sheets, overwhelmed by the sheer reality of Mark Grayson buried inside you.

“Fuck...” Mark’s voice is guttural, dripping with satisfaction as he bottoms out. “God, you’re tight.” His hips grind deeper, wringing a broken whimper from your throat. “Taking me so perfect—fuck, you feel incredible. Like you were waiting just for me.”

And then, slowly, oh so fucking slowly, he begins to pull back out, dragging a wrecked moan from your lips. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, desperate for something solid, something to hold onto as he sets a rhythm, each movement sending heat curling through your veins.

“That’s it,” Mark pants against your neck, his breath scalding as he inhales your scent like an addict. “Just like that… you’re perfect. Nobody else could take me like this.” His teeth graze your pulse point possessively. “Only you. Only mine.”

The next thrust is deeper than the last, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your hips jolt up instinctively, a surprised sound catching in your throat.

“Oh god, Mark,” you whine, nails digging into his back, voice breaking on a breathy moan. “Ah—ngh—fuck—”

The agonizingly slow drag of his cock has your vision swimming, pain and pleasure blurring into one overwhelming sensation. He’s so thick, so long, so heavy inside you. Every time he pushes in, it feels impossibly deeper, stretching you, filling you—until it makes your stomach bulge slightly, a small bump appearing in the flat plane of your abdomen.

Mark groans, eyes going wide, his hand settling at the base of your belly. “God, look at you,” he breathes, awed. His fingers press into the bulge, tracing the outline of himself inside you. “Fuck, I’m buried so deep in you. Right here, Y/N—you feel that? That’s me claiming you. Oh-ho-ho, goddamn, look what I do to you.”

His dark chuckle vibrates against your skin even as awe colors his voice. He punctuates each word with a punishing thrust, fingers digging into the visible outline of himself inside you like he wants to brand the shape of his possession into your flesh. And you can’t look away either—because holy shit, this is the first time you’ve ever felt anything like this, and it’s almost too much. Too intense. Too consuming.

Tears streak down your flushed cheeks as your legs tremble violently. The initial pain has melted into overwhelming pleasure, your body adjusting to his impossible size with desperate, shameful eagerness.

“More,” you rasp between gasps, arching up shamelessly. “Faster. Harder. Please—”

Mark chuckles darkly, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice thick with hunger. “Gonna make you feel good. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

The dark promise in his words should terrify you. Instead, it sends another pulse of white-hot pleasure straight to your aching cock. Then he moves—harder, faster—tearing the air from your lungs, leaving you breathless and reeling. Your body clenches around him, every nerve alight as a broken whimper escapes your lips.

“Mark—Mark—” you mumble his name between gasps, unable to form anything else. “Mark, ah—Mark—mmh—fuck—”

A sharp cry rips from your throat as Mark shifts his angle, hitting a spot inside you that sends a violent shudder through your entire body. Heat surges down your spine, forcing you to arch off the bed, toes curling, every nerve alight with raw, electric pleasure.

“Fuck! There! Mark—ngh—fuck!” you moan, biting down on your lip so hard you taste the faint tang of blood. Mark growls, his movements deep and unrelenting, each thrust pressing you further into the mattress. The bed creaks beneath the force, your skin burning where his grip tightens. “There! Keep going! Fuck, it feels so good—Mark!”

Then—through the haze of heat, through the sinful sounds of skin against skin, of your wrecked moans and his low, animalistic groans—something intrudes. A sharp, buzzing vibration. Your ringtone.

Your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, flickering toward your desk—just a few feet away, where Mark tossed your phone. You’re aware the screen glows, the sound ringing in the background, before another brutal thrust wipes all coherent thought away. Let it ring. Nothing matters except the way Mark’s splitting you apart, remaking you as his with every snap of his hips.

The phone rings and rings… then stops. And you don’t even notice when it goes silent, too preoccupied with the drag of Mark’s cock inside you, the way your nails sink into the broad expanse of his back, leaving behind deep, angry marks.

“Perfect,” Mark rasps against your ear, his voice wrecked and reverent, “Taking me so fucking good, Y/N. Made for this. Made for me.”

Your thighs shake violently around him, toes curling as his filthy praise reduces you to nothing but lustful moans and pleading whimpers.

Then—your phone starts ringing again.

This time, Mark notices.

He stills inside you with a low snarl, his body tensing as he straightens slightly, casting an annoyed glance toward the device. But when he reaches for it—his cock still buried deep inside you, making you whimper—his expression darkens with wicked amusement as he reads the caller ID.

“Well, well,” he purrs, looming over you once more, planting one hand beside your head while the other dangles the phone just inches from your flushed, dazed face. “Take a look at this.”

Your stomach drops at the familiar name flashing on screen. It’s Mark—your Mark—calling you.

“Should we answer it, baby?” he muses, tilting his head as his lips curl into a smirk. “Let him hear what you sound like when you’re properly fucked?”

“No—!” you gasp, wrecked and breathless, your heart hammering against your ribs as you reach for the phone, desperate to snatch it from his grasp. “Mark—”

But he’s quicker.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, lifting a single finger in mock reprimand, effortlessly keeping the phone out of reach. His other hand tightens around your hip, keeping you pinned. “You need to get your shit together first, Y/N. Wouldn’t want him to know what you’re doing, now would you?” His eyes gleam with wicked delight. “With that pornographic little voice of yours—so wrecked, so needy for my cock…” He leans in, his breath fanning over your ear. “I bet he’d figure it out immediately.”

A shudder rips through you.

Your vision blurs—tears welling at the edges, cold fear twisting deep in your gut. But worse—worse—is the way your body betrays you. The way you clench around him involuntarily at the thought. At the sheer humiliation of it.

Of your Mark listening on the other end. Unaware. Oblivious. As his variant fucks and ruins you.

“See? I know you,” he murmurs, his voice syrup-thick with satisfaction as he strokes your cheek with unnerving tenderness. His free hand cups your face, his thumb dragging over your lips. “I know exactly what kind of fucked-up little thing you are.”

His grin widens as he watches your lips tremble, your breath coming in quick, uneven pants.

“I’m glad you’re the same here as you were in my universe, Y/N. I adore you like this.” Then, his tone dips lower, velvet wrapped around something dangerous. “Now—try to keep him distracted while I take my time with you, yeah?”

Before you can react, he thrusts—sharp and sudden—just once, but it’s enough to steal the air from your lungs. A strangled gasp escapes you, body reacting on instinct, pulse hammering as he stills once more.

Mark leans in, his breath hot against your parted lips, his amusement dripping with warning. “Otherwise, he’ll keep calling,” he murmurs. “And I don’t want him interrupting us.”

Your stomach twists in knots of anticipation and dread. The phone is still ringing, still just out of reach—Mark’s name flashing on the screen, a second away from being answered. And all the while, this Mark remains inside you—hot, solid, pressing deeper with each second of silence.

“Okay...” you breathe, forcing air into your lungs. “Okay.”

Mark’s smirk turns predatory as he brushes a featherlight kiss to your nose before tapping the answer button, offering you the phone back—and as soon as you grab it and press it to your ear, he immediately resumes his slow, deliberate thrusts that make your toes curl.

“Y/N? Y/N!” The real Mark’s voice—familiar, concerned, kind—crackles through the speaker. He sounds breathless, frantic. “Are you okay? You called and I couldn’t answer but then—but then I called back and you didn’t pick up, and I’m—I’m worried—”

You squeeze your eyes shut, teeth sinking into your lip, fighting so hard to keep quiet. But the Mark above you doesn’t make it easy, his hips moving with cruel precision, his smirk deepening as he watches you struggle.

“…Y/N?”

“I’m here,” you choke out, voice miraculously steady despite the way your body arches into each thrust. The not-yours-Mark’s eyes glint with dark amusement as he increases his pace. “I’m... okay.”

Your voice wavers. You can’t help it. A shaky sigh escapes when he ducks his head to nip at your throat, his hot breath raising goosebumps across your oversensitive skin.

“Thank God,” your actual Mark exhales, the relief in his voice almost painful to hear. “Listen, Cecil just— he lost track of a variant. Said he was heading your way, Y/N.”

The not-yours-Mark stills inside you, his expression shifting to something dangerously intrigued. “Oh?” he murmurs against your pulse.

“Y-yeah?” you blurt too loudly, praying the real Mark didn’t hear him.

Your fingers dig into the sheets as the not-yours-Mark begins moving again with renewed purpose, each thrust calculated to wring helpless sounds from your throat while you struggle to keep your breathing even.

“Yeah,” your actual Mark replies through the phone, his voice strained. “I’ll—I’ll come your way. Or the GDA will pick you up, but—it’s dangerous to stay in your apartment! Please, just—just leave. Right now.”

You choke back another gasp, barely holding yourself together. No—you can’t let Mark come here. You can’t let the GDA get involved either. The humiliation would be unbearable—agents witnessing you like this, being taken apart by the same monster who probably leveled cities and slaughtered thousands before claiming you in your own bed.

“No!” you blurt out, voice cracking under the weight of too many emotions. “No, nngh, fuck—you can’t!”

You’re losing control. This Mark—the wrong Mark—is hitting your prostate with every brutal thrust, his teeth sinking into that sensitive spot on your neck while his fingers twist your nipples mercilessly. Stars explode behind your eyelids as another lewd groan escapes you. Virgin or not, there’s no way you could stay quiet under this assault. You realize with dawning horror that he doesn’t want you quiet—he wants you loud, to moan, to let your Mark hear you. To let him know.

That yeah—he’s here.

And yeah—he’s fucking you.

For a moment, there’s only silence on the other end of the call.

Then finally, Mark speaks again, slower this time. “This—this isn’t negotiable, Y/N,” he says, though there’s something off—a hesitation, a shift in his tone as your breath stutters audibly. “Are you… okay?”

No. You’re not okay. You’re overwhelmed, wrecked by pleasure more intense than anything you’ve ever known, losing your virginity to a twisted version of the man you love. Hot tears of shame spill down your cheeks as a sob tears from your throat.

“...Y/N?” Mark’s voice sounds distant now. You can barely hear him over the rush of blood in your ears, over the slick sound of skin meeting skin, over the obscene, broken whimpers falling from your lips.

“Mmmh, fuck,” you gasp as the pressure builds unbearably inside you. “Fuck—Mark—”

“That’s it, baby,” not-your-Mark whispers in your ear, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “You wanna come, don’t you? Wanna scream my name?”

The dam breaks. “Yes! Fuck, yes, yes!” Your voice shatters with each punishing thrust. Dignity forgotten, you arch desperately against him, meeting every movement as you beg mindlessly. “Mark—I can’t—oh god, please, please...!”

The line goes silent for an agonizing moment, the static crackle carrying more weight than words ever could. You squeeze your eyes shut, shame and guilt and disgust warring with the pleasure coiling tight in your belly—but it’s too late now. Far too late.

“Y/N...?” his voice comes through the receiver—your Mark’s voice—strangled and low, thick with realization.

Your stomach drops. He knows. Oh god, he knows. He fucking knows.

Not-your-Mark lets out a pleased hum against your neck, his fingers lazily plucking the phone from your trembling hand while his hips snap forward, forcing a needy moan from your lips. The wet sound of skin on skin is unmistakable. There’s no way your Mark could mistake what’s happening.

Not-your-Mark’s eyes glint with something wicked as he presses the phone to his ear, smirking.

“Too late, dickhead,” he says, just as breathless as you, his voice dripping with smug victory as he punctuates each word with another brutal thrust. “He’s already mine.”

Mark’s furious roar bursts through the speaker. “You—!” you close your eyes, mortified, tears falling down your cheeks because this is the moment Mark realizes you’re a horrible friend. “I’LL FUCKING KILL YO—”

But the sound is cut off with a sickening crunch as not-your-Mark’s fingers tighten, phone shattering, fragments falling like dust.

“Oops,” he pouts mockingly, tilting his head with feigned innocence before his expression darkens. His hand snakes around your throat, not tight enough to hurt but firm enough to claim. “Now where were we, sweetheart?”

When he slams back into you, you arch off the bed with a broken scream, your legs spreading wider of their own volition. He chuckles darkly, hands sliding under your thighs to fold you nearly in half, opening you up so completely that each thrust punches the air from your lungs.

“Fuck,” he growls, pace turning erratic as his control fractures. “Look at you—taking me so perfect. Tell me. Tell me how much you love this. How much you love taking my cock.”

“I love it,” you gasp without thought, your mind obliterated by pleasure. “Fuck—I love it. I love you.”

A deep, guttural moan tears from his throat, his grip on you tightening as he nods frantically. “Yeah? Love me? Fuck— I love you too, baby. I love you so fucking much.”

And you know he’s not your Mark. You know your real Mark is probably flying at full speed right now, minutes, or even seconds from bursting through your window. But Christ—hearing those words, in Mark’s voice, from his lips, with his face twisted in raw, desperate worship—it makes you dizzy. It makes you happy.

“I love you,” you say again, fingers twisting into his dark hair, dragging him down until your panting mouths brush. “I love you. Always have—fuck—since—since before you even got your powers, Mark!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes! Ah—fuck, yes!” The words dissolve into moans as you kiss the corner of his mouth, your lips sliding messily against his. “When you were such--a nerd! Loved you since we were kids. Love you now. I always will—”

He groans, swallowing your words with a feverish kiss, his hands squeezing your cheeks until your mouth falls open, surrendering completely. Tongues tangle, breath mingles, and he moans right into you—

“I love—” he pants, his movements growing erratic. “I love you, Y/N. Fuck—Gonna take you home with me. Gonna keep you forever. Steal you from that idiot...make him see what he threw away—”

Then—suddenly—his hand wraps around your cock.

It’s been untouched this entire time, leaking wildly against your stomach, and the moment his fingers curl around it, a sharp, broken whimper escapes you. Your hips jerk helplessly, legs trembling as pleasure rips through you.

“Fuuuuck,” you sob, shuddering against him. “Don’t stop—don’t stop. I’m gonna—”

“I got you, baby,” he growls, stroking you faster, fucking into you harder. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good. Gonna take you away. Gonna own you!”

And God help you—his words don’t sound like threats when you’re drowning in white-hot ecstasy. In this moment, you’d let him drag you through dimensions, would beg him to claim you completely—because he wants you. He loves you. He craves you in a way you’ve always ached to be craved. And right now—you’d let him take you. You’d let him do whatever the fuck he wanted.

“Ah—ah, Mark—” Your body locks up, stomach tightening, hole clenching around him as the pressure on your cock becomes unbearable. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

“Yeah, baby, let it out,” he growls against your lips, his hand working your cock in perfect sync with his punishing thrusts. “Come for me. Now.”

You shatter with a strangled scream, body jerking violently as you spill across your stomach in thick, hot stripes. Your vision whites out, every muscle locking and spasming as pleasure tears through.

Mark groans like a man possessed, his thrusts faltering as your hole flutters and clenches around him. “Fuck—fuck—” He slams into you one final time, burying himself deep, and then he’s coming too, hot and thick, filling you to the brim. His grip tightens as he grinds himself deeper, prolonging every last spurt, wringing every aftershock from you until you’re trembling and spent beneath him.

You can’t move. Can’t speak. All you can do is lie there, trembling, as he keeps pumping into you, dragging out your orgasm until you’re sobbing from oversensitivity. His hips grind against yours, forcing every last drop into you like he’s determined to make sure you remember this.

When he finally pulls out, you whimper at the loss, your body limp and wrecked. Sweat and come cling to your skin, your chest heaving as aftershocks wrack through you. Every inch of you is marked—bruises blooming where his fingers, his teeth, his lips claimed you.

You barely register the mattress dipping as he lays beside you, his arms wrapping around your exhausted frame. A soft, lingering kiss presses to your forehead, his voice a soothing murmur against your damp skin.

“Shh, shh, Y/N,” his fingers trace lazy circles against your back. “Go to sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”

Even in your dazed, post-orgasmic haze, you understand what “everything” means.

It means your Mark—your universe’s Mark—is on his way. It means a fight is inevitable. It means blood, destruction, the clash of two forces that look the same but could never be. And when that moment comes, you’ll have to face him—face the shame that will devour you whole.

Because how dare you?

How dare you moan his name for someone else? Whisper desperate I love yous to the wrong version of him? Come undone beneath a man who wears his face but isn’t him?

And after you told him it was fine—that you were fine—staying just friends. After you swallowed every aching, desperate feeling just to keep him close. But in the end, you gave in. You let temptation pull you under. You let yourself have him—or the closest thing to him. And now, there’s no taking it back.

You know you’re wrong.

You know time is running out.

And you know that when he says he’ll take care of everything, this Mark intends to kill your Mark—just as your Mark wants to kill him.

But your body betrays you—mind foggy, muscles lax with satisfaction, the afterglow pulling you under. As consciousness fades, this not-quite-Mark draws you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. His breathing steadies, his solid frame surrounding you in deceptive safety.

(And vaguely, you think about your Mark. About how he’s been pulling away from you, slowly but surely. How, ever since you confessed your feelings and ruined everything, he hasn’t looked at you the same.

“I promise I’ll tell you,” he’d say, a week ago, his eyes avoiding yours in a way that pains you. “I promise I’ll tell you the truth. All of it. And—”

Then he’d looked up, and something in his gaze pinned you there—fervent, almost feverish.

“I’ll—” he’d stop himself, cheeks coloring faintly, and yet he wouldn’t relent his steady gaze. ”I’ll tell you the reason I’ve been acting like such an asshole to you. And I hope...you can forgive me after.”

“Why not now?” you’d ask, puzzled, fingers curling into your palms. ”Why not when I’m asking you, Mark? Right here, and right now.”

He’d flinch, his eyes closing for a fleeting second before opening them again. ”Just—gimme one more week,” he’d rasped. “One more week and—I promise I’ll tell you everything. I’ll—confess everything.”

And as he’d turn around, his broad back to you as he’d take off—not before glancing at you with troubled eyes, an intensity in his eyes you can’t quite place—you’d only guess he’s gonna say he hates you. That he’s gonna say, now once and for all, he can no longer be your friend.

And how you should’ve kept your heart locked tight, your love buried deep, just so you could keep him close. How you should’ve never, ever opened your big mouth and let your feelings spill out.

But you did, and now nothing’s the same.)

“I’ll take care of it,” Mark murmurs again as you drift away, his voice a dark promise. “Never gonna lose you again. Never.”

The last thing you register before sleep claims you is the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek.

And in the final flicker of consciousness, a single thought drifts through your mind— You wished Mark had told you the reason.

Now, he never might.

[kirietown]

Charmless Morning | Ch. I

Pairing: mark grayson x f!reader

Summary: before there was the hive, there was only you.— or perhaps before there was you, there was the hive? it hurt your head to think about it, but all you knew for certain was that now you were one in the same, and if the hive wanted mark grayson, then so did you.

Content: mentions of domestic violence, memory loss, mind hive control, neglectful parents

18+

Word Count: 1.4K

[chapter one] [chapter two] — ongoing series

a/n: a lot of mystery for this fic, a lot of background to the reader, I’m very excited to hear theories lol

Ever since the merge, as the hive liked to call it, you didn’t know when you began and where the hive stopped. It had been an accident really, you had been playing outside with your sister when you were only children at the time. If you shut your eyes tightly, and thought back to the time, you could see yourself through her eyes and it always startled you into dropping the memory entirely. 

You breathed a deep sigh, your fingers picking at the mess of stickers on your laptop next to the mouse pad. Usually you gave up on approaching the memory, but this time, in the calm of your backyard, you shut your eyes once more, and the scene played out vividly— through your sister’s eyes. She watched you, stumbling behind her, your knobby toddler knees swayed with each step. You felt her joy, her pride at watching you follow along like a little duckling. She watched as your expression shifted as though transfixed. She turned to see it, glistening in the woods, gushing like a fountain. 

You felt her open her mouth in shock, the pain of her inner lips catching onto her braces completely ignored by the sight of it. 

Honey.

It was surreal, it gushed out of the tree-line and had sunk to the ground and spilled all over the nearby plants. It glowed in the sunlight that peaked between the tall pines. Its scent had been so strong too, it was a wonder how no animals had come across it. 

She stepped forward, her brows creased in curiosity, as she continued her pursuit until she was directly in front of it. Absentmindedly, her fingers reached toward the substance, the honey, the sweet smell of it consuming all her senses. She didn’t notice you following closely behind, you only knew this because you remembered your own actions that day.

She reached forward and touched the honey. 

And it touched her back. 

The memory ended there. 

….

For the most part, The Hive didn’t ask much of you. Throughout most of your childhood, it kept quiet, though you felt its joy whenever a bee was near— they tended to gravitate to you. Your mother had been worried by it, but cooled off over the years because not once had you ever been stung despite the countless bees that made it a habit to rub against your soft cheeks and hair. It wasn’t until you hit puberty that you learnt you could do things. 

All you knew was that five days after your 13th birthday, your father suddenly stopped drinking his pain away. He started smiling again despite your sister’s disappearance all those years ago. At first you didn’t understand the change, and neither did your mother. At least that was until The Hive told you about the bee in his skull. 

It wasn’t until you were fifteen that The Hive taught you how to do it yourself. You’d gotten your dad to plant flowers and build structures for local bees to occupy in the backyard— you’d asked this all non verbally, realizing he didn’t need you to speak to understand him. 

Soon after, The Hive told you to plant one in your mother’s skull too. The Hive was worried that she wouldn’t react well to the new changes. It took a few tries, countless days of you sitting amongst the many hives in your backyard. Eventually, they accepted you, and with that came their will to listen, and their choice to follow. 

They had no names, they had no disputes either. The Hive was part of you, and so the bees respected you. Eventually one found its way into your mother’s ear after you asked it to make its home there. 

After all, it was what The Hive wanted. The Hive knew best.

Your mother became compliant soon after she was given her bee. She no longer argued with your father, nor did she linger in your sister’s room sobbing late into the night. She simply followed orders; she built the structures alongside your father in the backyard, helped him make the greenhouse to keep it concealed, and went to her job and outperformed her previous self.

It was the same for your father; he excelled in his office quickly after his implant. Some nights, you would lay in silence and ponder if the bees hurt them, but The Hive reassured you that wasn’t the case. The Hive told you that now you and your parents had a bond, stronger than blood, stronger than anything. If you shut your eyes, and thought hard you could see what they were seeing, and feel everything they felt. You heard their worries too, their fears, but above all you felt their love for you and by extension The Hive too.

The Hive connected you; you were closer than any family was. Why did it matter that you hadn’t spoken aloud to either of them in years? The Hive was your company, your parents were your workers. They loved it, and if they didn’t, The Hive would know. 

You were all happy like that for a while. At least until The Hive started making demands. It spoke differently as you got older, I turned into you by the time you were fifteen, and you turned into we by the time you were sixteen. 

We need to feed, was a common thought. But who was thinking it? The Hive did not say more, but instead only gave you a name, it was no one special, no one important. Though when you saw him, you felt you recognized him. He was a tall man with quite a large build, but the more deeply you tried to remember him, the louder The Hive buzzed and buzzed. 

The bees told you that he would strike his wife when he thought no one was watching. Windows wide open, curtains drawn back, assuming no one would see his fist crack against her bruised face because he resided on the twelfth floor of his building. But the bees saw, and The Hive saw what they saw. 

After he disappeared, you made a point to have a few bees trail his wife, and you were glad to see she had gotten better over time. The Hive said she needed more structure, she had a history of relationships with men like him. A bee implant would help to ensure that she wouldn’t fall into that pattern again,— and that you’d be able to keep an eye on her. 

The Hive never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. You never asked about your sister. The Hive knew best, and you knew how to listen. 

You lived your life normally for the most part, you went to school and kept to yourself. Some people tried to get close, but you didn’t let them. The Hive said all you needed was each other and your family. You lived a perfect life, you worked a few odd jobs throughout high school (The Hive said it would help grow character). 

You didn’t really even need the money, as your parents had soared in their respective fields and no longer spent their earned dollars on anything that didn’t serve a purpose. The Hive made you perfect, The Hive knew how to fix all. 

The back patio was chilly, but you sat out and worked on your laptop anyway. Several college application portals were opened on your browser as you sorted through each, unsure of where to go. The Hive rarely interfered with your school life, you weren’t sure if that was out of lack of interest or a need to provide you somewhat of your own autonomy. The Hive had always expressed that all your decisions were your own. 

Your mouse hovered over Upstate University for a moment, contemplating but before you could close the tab you heard it. 

That one. We want to go to Upstate. 

You furrowed your brows, confused at the sudden interest. It sensed your hesitation, and you could feel its hesitation before it continued. 

We need to get close to Mark Grayson. 

You looked up, your eyes locked onto the green house that had now filled up nearly the entirety of your backyard. 

“Who is Mark Grayson?” 

The Hive did not reply. It did that sometimes, and it infuriated you to know it kept secrets from you,— especially when there was nothing you could hide from it. 

Someone useful. It did not elaborate, nor did you need it to. Instead, you sighed and clicked through the Upstate application portal instructions. Whoever he was, it didn’t matter, after all, The Hive knew best. 

[swightops]

"i can take him! oh, can you now? can you take on all of him?" cw: smut

You just always had to have the last say, didn't you? While some (most) people tell you that you should stop while you're ahead, something about your smartmouth always charmed Mark. And, well, it seems it wasn't just your Mark that liked your sass.

"Uugh!" you cry as your face is shoved into the mattress. Mohawk Mark behind you laughs at your pathetic cries before winding his arm up and slapping your ass. Another cry falls from your lips as Mohawk Mark shushes your cries and rubs his hand over the now-growing red hand mark on your cheek.

"I guess even in this world, you don't know when to shut up," Sinister Mark teases, his fingers brushing away the tears that fall from your eyes before licking them. "Even your tears are sweet, dolly," he giggles.

"How about we put that mouth to good use," Viltrumite Mark says, his hand grabbing your hair and lifting it up. Before you can say anything, your mouth is shoved open, and all you taste is Viltrumite Mark. Moan after moan falls from your lips as you try to suck, but your eyes quickly roll back as Mohawk Mark picks up his pace.

You're losing yourself. You're losing yourself in Mark, and there's nothing else but him—all these versions of him— and yourself. "Focus, dollyyyy," Sinister Mark giggles again, his hands playing with your boobs and pulling at your nipples.

And, oh, Mark feels so good. So undeniably good that before you can even process it, your clenching around Mohawk Mark and coming loudly, your moans reverberating on Viltrumite Mark’s cock, and he's coming in your mouth with a hiss.

The hand that was wrapped in your hair before makes its way to your throat, and you're forced to look up at Viltrumite Mark with teary eyes. "Swallow," is all he says, and without another thought, you are. And just like that, simply feeling you swallow his cum, he's already hard again.

"Alright, cucksuckers, move it," Sinister Mark growls, pushing Mohawk Mark over and slipping himself into you with no restraint. "Our girl's got a full house," he laughs, forcing you to look up and past Viltrumite Mark as you catch sight of Omni Mark, No Goggles Mark, and Full Mask Mark.

this kinda sucks :( ill do a redo sometime soon dw

[stareiiez]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[invoncible]

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

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

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

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

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

you were flying beside your mark, the only good one apparently, when cecil barked in your ear.

"y/n, i need you." your comm buzzed to life with cecil's instructions.

"kinda busy, cecil." you muttered under your breath.

"please, i know you're done with me. i know both of you are. but don't turn your back on the people who're in danger."

"what does he want?" your mark snapped, the distaste evident on his face.

"help." you answered him with a sigh, your moral compass guilting you into seeing where you were needed. you promised mark you'd be back soon.

"just tell me where the problem is." you shot back at cecil.

NOGOGGLES!MARK

"i need you at guardians' HQ."

you narrowed your eyes in concern. "the guardians are down?"

"it's a batshit crazy version of mark, what do you think?"

you rolled your eyes and rerouted your flight path to guardians' base. within minutes you warped right in the middle of the action.

"what the fuck..." you whispered in horror. kate and her duplicates were out, shapesmith was ripped in half—immortal was the only one still going and even he was struggling.

"nice, they sent someone else!" mark stopped immortal's punch nonchalantly with one hand, grinning down at you from where he hovered in the air. he squinted then gasped, throwing immortal to the ground.

"y/n? why would they send you?" he floated down to you, approaching you like a wild animal.

"you know me?" you stalled, eyes darting around your periphery to make sure that the others were at least alive.

"do i know you?" he laughed, figuring that was a good enough answer to your question. he circled around you with an approving hum. "aww, you playing dress up? i like this color on you—"

activating your power, your tendrils of chaos magic snaked around his body, picking him up and throwing him across the room. you flew to where he landed, lifting the debris of his prior battle telekinetically and sending the slabs of concrete crashing into his body.

your feet touched down on the ground as you walked calmly towards his fallen body squirming under the projectiles. he shot up and out of the pile of rocks with a feral grin on his face.

"holy shit. you're nothing like my y/n." he set his fists and accelerated towards you.

you stopped him with the raise of your hand. his punch stuttered in time and space as he tried his hardest to push past your power and land a good one. you ducked under him, yanking at his ankle and slamming him to the ground so hard he bounced.

"yes," he chuckled lowly, wiping the blood dripping on his chin. "yes. can i take you home with me?"

"no."

"i'll fight you for it," he stood up, rolling his neck. you cringed when you heard the cacophony of cracks that followed. "wanna fight me for it?"

"s'not gonna be much of a fight." you smiled, shifting your weight before taking off again, gaining altitude and using your power as a jet engine to collide your leg with his face.

to your shock and horror, he just stood there and took it with a smile, his body skipping across the floor like a rock over a lake .

"oh..." he grinned, sliding to a stop and licking the blood off his teeth. "oh. i love you."

you blinked in confusion, tilting your head. your body warmed as you channeled your power again, a ball of energy accumulating over your palm. "i'm... going to kill you."

"i know!" he laughed, punching his fist into his palm as he got hyped up again. "that's the best part."

"you're actually enjoying this." you meant it as a question, but there was no room for debate. this mark was 100% delighted by the fact you were trying to kill him.

mark swayed on his feet, blood dribbling from his split lip. his breathing was uneven—you couldn't tell if it was from exertion or excitement—and of course that fucking grin was still there.

"you’re so fun," he groaned, licking his teeth. "i love my y/n, but i bet they could learned a thing or two from you—"

you didn’t let him finish. with a flick of your wrist, your energy surged forward, wrapping around his throat. his words choked off into a strangled gasp as you lifted him into the air.

"i'm not them," you said, voice steady even as you watched him gasp for air.

then, with a sharp twist—you snapped his neck. his body dropped to the floor, limp. you stared for a second, waiting for any signs of movement. nothing. finally, you let out a breath and turned away.

"ugh..."

you froze and spun around. his voice was wet, choked with laughter.

"you're not making it easy to stay away from you."

MOHAWK!MARK

"the penitentiary. prison's getting ransacked."

you were at the scene within the minute, zapping into existence just to see mark with a fuckass mohawk fighting off some heroes tasked with taking him in. they were unsuccessful of course, as when you arrived they were in piles of limbs and blood on the concrete.

his eyes flickered to you, widening in recognition. "y/n..?"

you raised your eyebrow. guess he knew you, or a version of you in his world. it didn't matter to you.

he lit up and tossed a severed hand to the side. "oh, hey!" he walked towards you. "what're you doing here, babe? i know you love when i go crazy but this is a biiiiit dangerous—"

you restricted his movement, pulling him towards you with your magic. you squeezed and squeezed until you heard his breath hitch. "i'm not your y/n."

"yeah, i can see that." he crooned, feigning an impressed tone. "you got a little power now? if you wanted me close, you don't have to be rough. just ask. i'm happy with any version of you." he failed to hide his little grunt, squirming in your hold.

if your grimace was any indication of your sentiment, he didn't take it to heart. he took it as motivation. he broke through your magic, pummeling through the air towards you. unfazed, you slapped him off course with a bolt of magic. he crashed into the wall with a groan.

mark stood up, the dust and rocks falling off his back. "my y/n was a sweetheart."

"i can be sweet," you mumbled more to yourself, brows furrowing as you strategized how to finish him off quickly.

"just not for me, though." mark grinned. "i see how it is. is it the hair?"

"kinda." your eyes flickered up to his hair and you couldn't stop the little smile on your face. all you could think about was your mark with that style. it worked on him, not that you'd admit it.

you picked him up and slammed him down, picked him up and slammed him down again, over and over until he was hanging limp in the air.

satisfied, you synthesized restraints from imagination and fastened them over him. you barely climbed out of the sunken crater you carved with his body when he coughed up blood, eyes fluttering.

you pressed a finger to your ear. "cecil, send someone else to bring this guy in. i've got to get back."

"you just gonna throw me around and leave?" he scoffed, words slurring together from the beating.

"someone's gonna take you in, and you're gonna tell us everything about how you got here." you sigh and barely spare him a glance over your shoulder.

"i won't talk." he sang teasingly.

"you will."

"i'll do it maybe if you come a little closer." he egged you on, a stupid little smirk on his face. "got something real special to say to you."

"shut up."

he groaned petulantly and started to push against your magical binds.

"stay." you narrowed your eyes.

his eyes darted up to yours, staring for a moment before huffing a short laugh. he leaned back against the caved-in pavement, man-spreading and getting comfy against the slope. "yes, ma'am."

VILTRUMITE!MARK

"he's off fighting spawn. the poor guy's probably already dead."

"got it."

"watch out for this one, y/n, he's..." cecil sucked in a breath. "i dunno. full viltrumite indoctrination?"

"i can handle him." you reassured him before phasing over to the variant's location.

you watched as he ripped the hero apart, flying him into the highway below for good measure. you soared down behind him, saving all the cars that were launched from the road and setting them down at a safe distance.

mark watched as the cars were gently rescued. he turned around like he had all the time in the world and looked pained upon seeing you.

"please no." he sighed softly. "they shouldn't have sent you."

"why not?" you humored him, stepping gracefully over the rubble.

"i won't stop all this. not even for you, my love."

"i'm not your y/n..." you pursed your lips, getting a faint sense of deja vu. you felt like you said this a few times already.

"don't worry, it'll be over soon. why don't you wait all this out—"

you teleport before he can finish, reappearing behind him mid-air. a surge of energy coils around your hands as you slam a concussive blast into his back. he stumbles forward, muscles tensing from the impact.

he spun around in a flash, hand gripping your throat as he shoves you back-first into the nearest building. the collision sent shockwaves rippling through the complex, glass shattering, debris crumbling to the ground.

"cute tricks." he breathed against your ear. "this is new. but don't make me fight you."

you stabbed your fingers into his pressure points, channeling your power through his nerves. his grip faltered for a fraction of a second, enough time for you to flip, plant your feet on his chest, and kick him off you.

mark spiraled back, barely catching himself mid-air. he wipes the blood from his lip from being effectively electrocuted, chest rising and falling.

"join me," he whispered, watching you in awe. "join me. we can rule the universe together."

"the fact that you think you can ask that and get a good answer proves that you don't know me at all."

"i do."

"you don't."

"we could have everything." he floats towards you. "power. control. be reasonable, won't you?"

you phase behind him again, placing one hand on his back and charging up your energy. he tries to turn around, but you're a second faster, releasing the pent-up force directly into him. mark grimaces in pain as the blast sends him spiraling into the air, flipping and tumbling before crashing into the ground below with a deafening thud.

you crashed onto the ground, unwilling to let him have another opportunity to get up. he saves you the trouble and holds a hand up in surrender.

"i won't fight you." he says simply.

you shake your head incredulously. "it's not a choice."

"i'll come find you when this is all over." he dismissed you easily, walking off your attacks.

"what—?"

he took off at supersonic speed, leaving you in the dust.

THE SURVIVORS

"they're all hovering over mark's house."

"what?! is—"

"debbie and oliver are fine. they're safe elsewhere." cecil cut you off.

you groaned and teleported over to mark's house. unfortunately, they were in your usual spot, hovering over the roof. you hung there in the air for a split second before they all pounced on you.

"we can't all have a y/n, can we?" full mask mark exclaimed, being the first to grab you and spin away from the group with you hidden safely behind him. "i'm taking them and mom back with me."

"you lost mom and y/n?" omnimark shook his head, like a father disappointed in a child. "how can you be trusted with this one?"

you narrowed your eyes. "i'm literally right here—"

"shut the fuck up." prison mark snapped at full mask mark, pushing past omnimark and jabbed a finger at the soft one of the bunch. "i'm tired of your bitching and whining. keep mom, i guess, i don't fuckin' care. but give 'em back."

"i hate you guys." sighed omnimark.

"who said you were getting them?" unmasked mark scoffed and crossed his arms.

"no one's getting me." you broke up the fight, momentarily forgetting that they were all mass murderers just cuz they had your pretty boyfriend's face.

"yeah, cuz you'd rather settle for that stupid fucking mark from this world."

"why'd you say his name like it's a slur?" you deadpanned. "aren't you all technically mark?"

"we're getting off topic." omnimark held out a hand to calm the congregation. "for what it's worth, i have my y/n safe and sound back home—"

"oh for fuck's sake."

© invoncible

[seacuppy]

Mohawk knows how to use that tooooooooongue