pengmar

[pengmar]

many things wrong with me. well at least i'm bisexual.

[pengmar]

so, anyway, chinga la migra. fuck ICE. no one’s illegal on stolen land and hell, even if they were “illegal”, the immigration process in America is a convoluted nightmare that can take years and thousands of dollars. ICE is detaining and deporting people outside of courtrooms while they attempt to legally go through the process. They’ve detained documented immigrants and American citizens. They’ve detained and deported European tourists who were traveling to America on vacation.

And, I cannot stress this enough, even if someone did come to this nation as an undocumented individual, they believed in the American dream enough to seek the protection and freedom of a nation that is now firing tear gas and rubber bullets at citizens who are exercising their first amendment rights.

But no, go ahead and keep spitting out your fascist-fed talking points. I don’t understand how you’re struggling to find something to write when half of your page is an insult to literature everywhere.

[pengmar]

Reminder batfam canonical is pro LGBTQ+, Pro immigrant, and anti racism for those of you who forgot somehow.

[pengmar]

“i never see you at the club” ok well i never see you on ao3 at 2am reading about the same two bitches falling in love for the 1000th time in the 500th way

[pengmar]

fellas is it gay to memorise your best friends heartbeat so that you always know how he's feeling and where to find him?

[pengmar]

knock knock, the devil's at the door

[pengmar]

Well god forbid a person has hobbies

[pengmar]

i am unfortunately a sucker for “kissing practice” that escalates to making out with a little too much interest. and escalates. and escalates.

[pengmar]

Tumblr usernames are so funny, "the ghost of jason todd started following you" okay well can he stop

[pengmar]

You're Dead Everywhere But Here │ Invincible Variants x Female! Reader x Mainstream Invincible │#3

#1, #2, #3, #?

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE LOVE ON PART 2 !! I hope this one is okay <3

CW: OOC🥀, negative reference to women, small descriptions of gore, small reference to cannibalism(?)

WC: 10.3k

The Invincible that adorned a red and white suit had his arms crossed, eyeing the two other variants with a knowing smile. "We absolutely know I'm right." He stated, watching Mohawk Mark's frown deepen while the fully masked variant simply stayed silent.

"I'm not stupid, dipshit." Mohawk remarked, rolling his eyes in mild annoyance. "You don't need a lightbulb shoved in your ass to get that idea." Mohawk commented, unamused at how self-satisfied his one of his many counterparts looked.

"Then why are you angry, hm?"

"'Cause your fucking annoying, that's why." He huffed, rolling his eyes.

In truth, he was angry because his time with you was short lived. The lingering squeeze of your hands wrapped around his throat was still there, mocking the fact that you were no longer here to provide him with the touch that his body had been deprived of.

It made him upset, so extremely upset. The feelings that he had worked so hard in shoving down to oblivion were resurfacing, stronger than it ever had been before.

Up until now, Mohawk hadn't realized how much he missed you.

He tried to convince himself that your death meant nothing to him, turning his attention to ruling his empire with tyrannical fists without a care how his actions affected everyone and everything around him. He made each lower lifeform worship him like a god, the entitlement he earned from being the strongest.

He didn't stop only there—he drowned himself in luxury, women, and booze like there was no tomorrow.

The booze was merely for taste in addition to the burning sensation that it would leave in the lining of his throat. It more so tickled than burnt, either way he enjoyed the stir it caused. The viltrumite blood that coursed through his veins made it so he was immune to toxins and poisons which included every liquor known to man.

It was a bummer that Mohawk never could have the experience of being drunk, plastered out of his mind. If he did, he would be an alcoholic—or maybe he already was with how he couldn't stop his endless drinking.

Sticking his tongue down in one of the many women's throats of his harem was frequent with how much sex they had together, day and night whenever he didn't have to attend to his empire.

Though it always left their taste in his mouth after he was finished with them, and he despised how filthy they were. The wet, sloppy kisses were slimy and putrid. It made his skin crawl.

The women tasted lowly, disgusting, and like whores. The booze was strong enough to wash away the gross taste that lingered in his mouth. He became reliant on the amber liquid, becoming routine to have one in hand after he was finished with his harem.

The rare times when he didn't erase the taste of the women, Mohawk felt sick to his stomach—wanting to claw at his own tongue and rip it off. He felt ill, becoming distressed at the fact that he wasn't driving away the foul traces of their tongue by endlessly downing alcohol like it was water.

Mohawk recycled through and sought out after so many women, trying to find one that could replicate the toothsome taste of you. One that could also replicate the touch, feel, and sound of you.

So many women on Earth—surely at least one of them could hold all the qualities you had. All the qualities he wanted so badly to feel under his fingertips once again.

However, there was never one singular woman that held all the things he was looking for. The components of you were spread throughout each woman that he roped in his harem—even then, they were downgrades and knock offs to the real thing. No matter how much Mohawk tried, they were always cheap compared to you.

Each time he failed to find someone that fits into your perfect mold, a whirlwind of emotions would overfill him. Disappointment, anger, sadness, and longing that made his stupid heart ache.

He chalked up the longing in his chest to the fact you were the best sex he ever had, refusing to even think that it may been actually because he loved you.

Sex was easy to get, easy to have. Just one snap of his fingers, he'll be serviced however he fucking wanted without needing to do anything.

But love? Fuck, how could he ever have that with a girl other than you?

In denial of his feelings, he made each one of the women in his harem dressed up like highly sexualized versions of you. Cosplaying you through descriptions he would give out, ordering them to change themselves to your image no matter what. They had no choice.

The human slaves would try their best to replicate you, having the same color of hair that he loved messing around with, having the same color of eyes that would look only at him, and so many more of your physical characteristics that they tried their best to mold into.

It became easier to look at them and pretend those women were you each time Mohawk fucked them, imagining each word they moaned was you and the lustful touch that grasped at him.

Despite that, they can never have that same touch that made his body feel like it was on fire. They can never have that same warmth that made him feel like he was right at home, no matter where you two were. They can never have that same smile that made his heart swell in pride that he was the cause of it.

Most importantly, he didn't love any of them. Not like you. Never like you.

At the end of the day, they can never be you. No matter how many times he attempted to have you through them, it was never the same. It was never the fucking same.

He knew that deep down he was in such denial of everything because of what happened. Every time his mind wanders off at the thought of you, the same thought sneaked into his mind.

It would ruin his entire day whenever it popped up, putting him in a sour mood that all his subjects had to deal with. Which was basically every day.

Mohawk could've had you.

He could've had you right next to him as his queen while he ruled his empire. He could’ve spoiled you endlessly with whatever you wanted. He could’ve had a spot designed just for you in his empire, as his queen and him your king where everyone worshipped the two of you like the perfect beings you both were. Whoever objected would’ve been slaughtered in an instant, Viltrumite or human.

However, Eve stood in his way, in a way he didn’t expect. Her last act as a righteous hero.

Mark looked down at the ground, the last remaining survivor of Teen Team being Atom Eve. She was breathing hard, her ginger hair disheveled and her costume ripped all over with blood dripping down from the sides of her body. It was a mixture of hers and the others, the horror of what Mark had done stained on her figure.

He had offered the chance to enlist them into the Viltrum Empire, willing to accept them as subjects under his ruling. He had fully expected them to join but was met with a surprise refusal. It was a shock to him, but he didn't hesitate to quickly dispose of them without any hesitance.

He wasn't that close to any of them anyway.

"How could you go against humanity like this, Mark?" Eve hoarsely asked; disbelief and disdain laced in each word. Her hands were shaking out of a mixture of anger as well as fear that she was going to die from the hands of someone she had known for so long. Her mind was racing, her heart beating as Mark had a shit eating grin on his lips.

She didn't expect things to turn out this way, but looking back on it there were minute signs.

There were always signs that there was something... off about Mark. He didn't see things the same way as the rest of the Teen Team did. Some of the things that he would say made it seem like he viewed humans as a lower subspecies, always quick to say what made humans weak.

He held an unjust behavior towards humans, being straight up prejudice with his off handed comments.

There were other things that rubbed her the wrong way—but they were so small that it didn't raise any red flags for concern. The team had mostly ignored him, connecting the strange and odd things he’d say to his overly confident and hot-tempered demeanor.

A guy who acts like a jerk has jerk ideology they supposed.

It peeved Eve but she dismissed her concerns. No one seemed to be worked up about him, and she figured that Mark was just a guy with an inflated ego that would come down overtime. That had to be it.

After all, he was in a committed relationship with you, the sweetest girl she had ever met in her life.

You were a stark contrast to him, and she often wondered how such an asshole of a guy like Mark could get a girl so nice like you to be in a relationship with him. Even though you weren't so loud spoken and didn't put yourself in the center of attention, you shined brightly. Like a star.

While you were the sweetest, you still had the ability to push him back when he was being a jerk with the biggest self-importance that suffocated everyone in the room—putting him in his place.

You were always able to turn his rude outbursts into a joke, calming the tension Mark would cause with the others. Especially with Rex, the two’s booming personalities always clashing together.

It was helpful, since it seemed like he refused to listen to anyone. Anyone but you, that is.

She saw how much you meant to him, a jerk so in love.

The two of you were friends, close enough to have an honest conversation with each other. Sometimes late-night conversations would shift to Mark, and you always made sure to express how you genuinely believed that Mark was a good guy.You always hammered that Mark just needed people to be around to become a better version of himself.

Eve could always tell how much he meant to you, always defending and explaining his behavior with so much love in your voice. But Eve couldn't help but notice the rose-tinted glasses you wore whenever you promised her Mark was someone good, someone nice and loving. Someone that just needed extra patience with how his dad raised him with an abrasive and antisocial upbringing—that it wasn't his fault he was the way he is.

Eve hesitantly took your word for it; however, she had this worry that nagged her with how quickly you were to justify and defend his actions. It sometimes felt like you were trying to convince yourself that he was good, desperately refusing to think of him like how everyone else saw him: vain, cynical, and self-centered.

A laugh rolled off his tongue, "I offered humanity a chance to serve the Viltrum Empire, Eve. You all are just stupid not to submit to Viltrum ruling—to my ruling."

"What about (Y/N)? What happens when she doesn't submit to you? —You'll kill her too?!"

“No, I know she’ll come around. I’ll help her.” Mark spoke, flashing his pearly whites. A bad feeling formed in Eve’s stomach at the word ‘help,’ his eyes flashing a dangerous glint.

“She’ll never ‘come around.’ You’re hurting people, destroying lives left and right without a care in the world! She could never come around, especially with you," Eve's eyes flickered to the torn flesh of her teammates, mangled and disfigured with the complete overkill Mark had done.

She barely recognized who was who, the color of their suits soaked in blood. "Hurting the people she cares about.” She hissed.

He hesitated, Eve bringing up a good point on how you wouldn't exactly be on board with it all. Then he laughed, a sudden idea popping in his head. "There's nothing like pumping good ol' medicine to make her compliant. She won't even notice anything is amiss." Mark shrugged his shoulders, whistling.

He continued, making up the plan as he talked. "It isn't hard to replace you guys. I'll just—I don't know—get some slaves who look like the part. She won't notice the difference with how doped up she'll be!" He started laughing at the thought, finding it cute at the imagination that you'll hardly notice your friends were dead.

Eve's face contorted into horror, gasping. "Do you know how horrible that is! She doesn't get a choice in anything—she doesn't get to think normally! You plan to impair her and lie to her—how could you even think of doing that to your girlfriend?!" She yelled, her eyes welling up in tears at the thought of you mentally imprisoned from the drugged state you'd be in.

"Ugh, you’re making it seem like a big deal." He rolled his eyes, indifference in his voice.

"How could you not think it is! Don't you love her?! Your—Your fucking unbelievable! Your fucking selfish!"

As soon as that left her lips, she felt the wind get knocked out of her lungs. A suffocating pressure compressed around her neck, her hands reaching to claw the blood-soaked hands that held on to it. With how tight Mark’s grasp was, she couldn't even get a sound out.

Eve's eyes rolled to the back of her head, her legs kicking in the air as she was lifted up. "You’re the ones who refused to join. She could've had all of you. I'm not the selfish one here. She still has me." His voice was low, digging his fingers deeper into Eve's neck.

He was ready to snap it off.

A choked sob could be heard in the distance, and Mark turned his head. His eyes went wide as you were staring right at them, eyes puffy and shaking like a lamb. The things you've witnessed, the things you overheard, you were at a loss for words.

He dropped the hold he had on Eve, her body dropping on the ground as she coughed hysterically. Tears burned at the corner of her eyes as she gasped to get air in her lungs. A harsh red imprint of Mark's hand was on her white skin.

You weren't supposed to be here; you were supposed to be back home.

His eyes darted to the butterfly knife you held in your hand. It had fresh blood at the edged tip. There was a small puddle of blood that dripped to the ground from your forearm, and you turned your arm over so that he could see what you had done.

You carved sentences on your skin using the knife you held, making sure they were deep enough that it’d leave permanent scarring. They ran deep, the layers upon layers of skin visible to the naked eye.

The sentences were of you telling and reminding yourself not to trust Mark no matter the cost, detailing the things he did to your friends and the past harmful actions you stupidly chose to ignore in your guys' relationship.

"Mark, even with how much drugs you pump into me I will," you shuddered, the open wounds of the slashes in your arm were burning, "always remind myself why I hate you. One way or another." You promised, your gaze unwavering as you scowled at Mark.

"Baby, you weren't supposed to be here!" Mark spread his arms open, gesturing at the mess he created. The smell of metallic death was in the air, it made your head dizzy and your heart hurt more than it already was with the deeply embedded wounds in your arm.

He began to step towards you, his foot slamming down on a lifeless clone of Dupli-Kate that was in his path. The crunch of her skull made your skin jump, goosebumps embellishing on your skin.

"Ya know, you weren't supposed to find out about all this either. You mad at me? Don't be mad at me, babe." He grinned.

"It's better this way!" He claimed, no hint of remorse in his voice. His eyes flickered to the self-harm you inflicted upon yourself. "I knew you'd be unhappy, so I didn't want you to find out—but you don't gotta be dramatic, jeez!"

"... I hate you, Mark. How could you fucking do this? I thought we were doing good—I thought you were doing good." You asked, your voice breaking between a sob.

"Yadda, yadda—I know, I know. I'll make it up to you, like I always do! What do you want? Hm?" He chirped, "I'll have the world by my feet, and I can give you whatever you want, better than what you dream of!"

Eve coughed, lifting her head up to hazily look at you. Mark was slowly approaching you, rambling to you as he was wiping off the excess blood that was on his suit. "Your sad and overdramatic, it's whatever—drugs will be good for you! You'll feel fucking amazing! I don't want you to be all mopey in our forever honeymoon during my reign."

You stood there, clenching your fist and the bloody knife as you stared at him with hatred. You were ready to defy him every step of the way, but Eve saw how you already accepted your fate through the quivering of your lips and the sag of your shoulders.

You couldn't do anything against Mark, having no power to rival him—even if you did have power, it wasn't a guarantee you could stand against him. You knew that and Eve knew that.

Your gaze broke a second away from Mark as he continued to talk, making eye contact with Eve who was on the ground.

You gave a small, crooked smile. This was the last time you'll ever see Eve alive, and it broke your heart. She was a good friend. You'll miss her, you’ll miss everyone.

Eve blinked hard, sucking in a breath. She balled her hands into tight fists, hitting the ground puddled with blood. Her body wanted to give out, tired from the relentless abuse Mark had inflicted on her—but she refused. Not right now. Not yet.

She knew she was going to die here, no matter how hard she tries—Eve sadly knew that she couldn't kill Mark.

However, that didn't mean she was going to let you be trapped with that monster forever, incapacitated and intoxicated so that you can be easily manipulated by him. That was a cruel fate, a crueler fate worse than death.

She needed to save your life, but she couldn't do that by killing Mark. No, she needed to do it by killing you instead.

She forced her legs to move, lifting herself up from the ground. Pink matter formed on her hands, and she pushed herself from the ground as she came speeding to your direction. Eve used the last of her strength to fly to you, curving pass Mark.

You dropped the sharp knife; it hitting the ground as you took a step back from the sudden appearance of Eve right in front of you. Eve slashed the air, the pink matter cutting through the air and traveling towards you. You watched as it inched closer and closer to you, the sound of it crackling rushing to slice through you.

You had enough time to move, enough time to save yourself.

However, Eve’s last act was doing you a service. A heroic service so that you wouldn’t be stuck with a man that would drug, deceive, and lie to you to get his way.

What Eve was doing was saving you, and letting it happen was saving yourself. You parted your lips that formed a relieved smile, mouthing a 'thank you.’

Your smile shined so brightly.

You shined so brightly.

Like a star.

The pink matter met your skin, phasing through your neck. It sliced through your skin, your flesh, your hair, and your bone.

Your head went flying, and Eve felt her foot get grabbed by Mark, but she grunted—sending another wave of pink matter to your direction.

She would make sure your body wouldn’t be able to recover, no matter what.

Eve sent another wave of pink matter, warm tears flowing down her cheeks and to her neck as she watched what she was doing to you, her friend that she grew so close with. She cried out, shouting as she sent another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

Mohawk didn’t know how long he went beating Eve for. Even when she drew her last breath and the last piece of air left her lungs—he continued. His fists, arms, chest, and face were covered by her warm blood, completely drenched in the superhero’s metallic liquid.

He went punching for so long to the point where her body was beyond butchered, her flesh, organs, and bones mixed to a fine paste with how relentlessly he grounded her corpse.

He didn’t factor in the possibility of you dying, but it was too late.

You were beheaded with your body sliced in half multiple times. Your heart was beyond repair and your brain already passed its expiration, no longer viable with how deprived it was from oxygen.

It was a slap in the face to everything he planned—a slap to his ego for thinking that everything was going to go in the way he planned. Mark was untouchable—but you weren't. Eve took advantage on that fact.

“I… That makes sense.” The masked Mark snapped Mohawk out of his thoughts, breaking the silence that covered the three variants. “Up against those guys,” Viltrum and Sinister, “it’ll definitely take more than one of us to stop them.”

“Exactly! It’s better to get rid of the big fishes first.” Omni chuckled. “A temporary alliance between us does the trick.”

“… Sure.” Mask nodded hesitantly. “Even though we’re all the same person, you two aren’t the absolute worse.” He commented, recalling the short conversations he had with them in the past inside the ship.

Even though they were brief, he concluded that they weren’t as bad as the others—especially Sinister Mark.

That guy was dangerous and unbelievably fucked up, he had a hard time believing that he could have possibly been him at one point before diverging into the path of wickedness.

Even with how possibly strong you were in this universe—Sinister was bad news.

Mohawk scoffed at the masked variant, turning his head to Omni, pointing his thumb at the other variant. “Aren’t the absolute worse? Dang, all this guy does is whine and complain all the time!” He snorted, cackling. “Even in front of (Y/N)! Ah, ‘don’t talk to her like she’s an object’—what a big fat baby.”

Mask simply stayed silent, not reacting to Mohawk’s mocking. Instead, he looked over to the direction you ran off to, worry swelling in his chest. He was planning to follow after you when you sped off, Mohawk doing the same until they were abruptly stopped by Omni-Mark.

At first, Mask had thought Omni had teamed up with Viltrum with how they arrived together—but that seemed to not be the case. It was just a mere coincidence that they appeared at the same time.

Omni informed them that he was actually the first one to spot you—literally witnessing the moment the G.D.A had thrown you out in the decimated battlefield that used to resemble a part of the city.

He restrained himself from immediately making contact with you, choosing to observe you from a distance to see how different you were in this dimension.

He needed to compare you to his version of you, dissect and pull you apart to compare notes.

You were physically the same, Omni recognizing the patterns on your demeanor that he had grown so fond of. Your messy hair made it clear you were woken up before arriving, he could always recognize that bed hair that he grown used to wake up to in the morning.

The bags under your eyes told him that you weren't getting much sleep, that was another thing that stayed the same. You always had such difficulty falling asleep no matter where you were, he always had to lull you to sleep—not that he minded, of course.

Though while you stayed the same in appearance, he did note how fit your figure was. Your back muscles, glutes, and hamstring were more developed, a sign that you were relentlessly active.

He applauded you for taking care of yourself, he knew humans had difficulty doing that with how they recklessly put their gluttonous wants above their needs.

It was an accomplishment that deserved recognition—but you no longer needed to bother doing all that self-care.

Mark was here now.

Mark was all that you needed. He'll take care of you and more, everything you could possibly need is provided by your one and only. You didn't need to lift a finger for anything because he would be right there to look after you.

As he continued to watch you from afar, he was unpleasantly surprised to discover that you had powers in this dimension. Watching you jump and fly around in the air in search for something, the strength you displayed clearly out of the ordinary for humans.

He supposed it wasn't your fault that you were unfortunately blessed with powers, it would just prove to be a hassle to get you under his control and domesticate you. It was clear that you were going to fight back, much harder and rougher than his (Y/N) with your abilities.

Making you submissive was going to be tiresome and difficult, but not impossible.

He done it once, and he can do it again.

Omni followed after you, watching you spot Mohawk who had just finished killing a random civilian. You jumped at him, kicking him backwards while beaming. He heard you talk to yourself, taking in your words as his ears listened closely.

"Those G.D.A suckers kept me in their basement for way too long, my body is all tense. Happy to be out, but sucks I got a shock collar on me."

Oh?

That was certainly interesting. He had figured you weren't just a normal volunteer thrown into the war with how you had a thick metal collar enveloped around your neck—however to be such a nuisance Cecil had to toss you into one of the many security prisons of the G.D.A?

Wow, you must be an annoying brat.

The Mark in this world really failed at everything, especially towards you. Through your interaction with the mohawk variant, he learned that you didn't even know the civilian identity of Invincible—had absolutely no idea who Mark was until now.

That made him upset—how shortcoming was this alternate version of him to be this bad? He was confident your general impression of Mark was terrible, and he clicked his tongue with how much of a fool this world's Mark was to not establish any connection to you.

However, maybe Omni should take his counterpart's failure as a blessing.

Having you completely untouched, untaught, undisciplined was exciting when he thought about it. You were like an unopened gift box, having no touch of a puny version of him soiled on your skin. All of your first experiences would be with him, no need to rewrite old memories.

At that revelation, he couldn't wait to open you and wrap you around his hands

You wrapped around his fingers like how it used to be—how it should be.

He just hoped that when he trains you again, bringing you under his control as his pet once again, you wouldn't cry as much as you did.

It wasn't your fault that you were a victim of human nature that was in your genetic makeup. Human beings were animals that couldn’t help but default to their instincts, having a hard time resisting the feeble emotions and wants that acted as a barrier between you and him.

That was why he had to whip them out of you, rewiring and fixing human nature that screamed that he was a threat to you. Screamed at you to resist and defy him in exchange for useless things like independence, bodily autonomy, and self-rule.

You were like—no, are a pet that he needed to discipline and teach that he was the only thing you should listen to. Training you to go against your human nature that plagued your brain with petty wants.

He filled your head with the only thing you truly should want. The only thing you should truly need.

Him.

He felt a presence next to him, and Omni turned his head to see that Viltrum was staring down at the scene unfolding in front of them.

Mohawk was slammed to the ground with you choking him, clear enjoyment and pleasure written on the variant's face.

"My wife..." Viltrum whispered, his eyes wide as he was taking in that you were alive and well. The image of your lifeless corpse haunted him each time he closed his eyes, each time he entered the empty shared space of the bedroom, each time he caught a glimpse of himself in any reflection—but here you were, alive and well.

"You’re alive..." He lamented, eyes trained solely on you, erasing Mohawk from his sight.

Omni sweat dropped, raising his brow. The way Viltrum stared at you was like how a dog stared at a long-awaited treat, eyes wide and sparkling.

He could practically imagine the drool rolling down his chin.

Does he not see I'm also here?

"She was my wife too. We married."

You had gotten off of Mohawk, listening to Mask talk to you after he had just tackled the punk variant to the ground.

"My marriage is true, yours is void." Viltrum bluntly replied, not sparing a single glance at Omni. "If you think for the tiniest moment of anything different, you're wrong. I'll kill you if you get in my way." He warned before descending down to you.

Omni-Mark clenched his jaw, crossing his arms, a brooding expression on his face as he let his silence be the reply to his threat.

While he hated to admit it, it was true if he were to fight Viltrum Mark alone he would be in quite a tough spot. That variant had left Earth to go to planet Viltrum early, thanks to developing his powers more quicker.

Nolan brought his son to Viltrum to receive the grueling training he received, turning him into a decorated and perfect Viltrumite soldier.

He had received hard training, much harder training than a lot of the variants since it was on the planet Viltrum—as well as earlier than so many of the other Mark Grayson variants.

In exchange of being a devoted workaholic to the empire, he assumed into power much sooner than his counterparts.

His accomplishments were too great to ignore, only a fool would dismiss them as nothing and go straight into fighting like a cave man who didn't think ahead of time what consequence would be waiting for him.

Omni was not a fool.

"We're all in agreement, I assume. We can discuss who gets the girl after, no need to fight like rabid animals." The red and white variant smiled, a superficial one that Mask and Mohawk could clearly tell was fake.

"Yeah, yeah, who cares." Mohawk mumbled, placing his hands on the back of his head as he looked away.

He knew that stuff Omni was spitting was straight bullshit, it was clear as day that what he was thinking about was far different than was he was suggesting. He can see the gears ticking in the guy's head, turning like a wheelhouse.

No matter how calm and collected Omni tried to appear, he was angsty just like the rest of them to get you. It was almost funny how he was trying to play cool and indifferent, like he was the exception to how crazy you made them all feel.

The small twitches of his hand, while subtle, was obvious he was itching to get you and have you all to himself.

Not like Mohawk was going let him, or anyone for that matter, get their crummy hands on you—you were his queen, his empress—his. Eve stopped him once, but she couldn’t do it again.

He was not going to let anyone get in his way like that again.

"Sure, bro." Mask nodded hesitantly, not believing Omni's words either. He knew that this alliance was going to break as fast as how it was made, and he wasn't going to stick around to see it fall apart.

As soon as they were distracted by fighting each other like wild animals, he was going to run off with you in his arms.

He couldn't bear the thought of leaving you with the rest of the variants—not that he was ever going to let that happen. In this dimension, you were healthy and strong—not sick and frail like in his dimension. You deserved to be treated with respect, with love, with devotion. Not like a piece of meat by the others.

Mask could hardly believe that at one point they were all the same person. At one point they shared the same thoughts, feelings, wants, and dreams. Yet, even with the truth they shared similar pasts, appearance, people in their lives—they all left their humanity behind in the dust to fade away in the wind ...

... Or they held it with a smile, dampening it with gasoline and lit it, watching the flames burn away at it. The crackling flames consuming away at their humanity as they watched with amusement, joy, and pleasure.

He knew that he didn't turn out to be the most best person with the things he had done, the things that he was forced to do.

But Mask knew that he was not like them, he wasn't like those monsters that just wanted to eat away at you.

He was by far the better option for you, he can show it, he can prove it. The entire fiber of his being was made for you and designed just for you, and he only wanted the best for you.

They all collectively knew they were lying to each other. Even with how poles apart they were, they held one thing in common that they all knew they possessed.

You—needing you for themselves. The thought of having a having a ridiculous debate on who had to have you was out of the question.

The sound of a building collapsing into itself rang in the distance, and they were all became tense as they whipped their head around to the direction of the noise.

It was the same direction you had run off to with Viltrum Mark trailing close behind you.

The variants didn't waste time jumping off the ground, flying towards you. The floor beneath their feet cracked apart with how much force they had used to launch themselves in the air, dust particles floating into the air and falling back down.

They weren't going to hold a debate on who was going to take you for themselves. No person would argue about taking what was rightfully theirs, they just take it.

You were theirs, and hell would have to open up and swallow them whole before they even toyed with the idea of having another man take you for themselves without fighting them first.

"You’re a sore to look at." Sinister complained, rubbing his neck as he looked at the white variant in front of him. The electric waves that sprouted out from your collar zapped him pretty bad—and he wasn't about to let you hurt him unscathed. That would be unfair, mean even.

Relationships were 50/50, right? It was only right to hurt you back, watch you and feel you squirm against him as he dragged out your punishment as long as he could, making sure to savor each look, sound, feel, smell, and taste of your suffering.

However, what punishment was appropriate for you here?

How embarrassing for him—it's been so long since he was able to think about doing anything to you. At least, anything that you could feel anyway with how you died and all.

Maybe sinking his teeth in that lovely, now exposed neck would satisfy the unjust treatment he just received. Nipping at the most sensitive place of your neck before tearing it apart with his canines, warm blood rushing down your neck.

Just imagining running his slick tongue at the hurt he'll cause made him feel thrilled. Tasting the iron that'll seep out of your body flesh was making him have quite an insatiable appetite.

How badly he wanted to slurp up the blood coursing through your pumping heart like it was a delicacy was more than a want, a need, it was a yearn. My god, how much Sinister wanted to just suck the holes he'll create with his fanglike teeth was beginning to make his head feel dizzy, the intoxication of his thoughts driving him up the wall.

You know, he really deserved to chew and suck on something that was a part of you that was soft and firm, like your flesh and muscle, not something hard and solid like your bones.

He would mindlessly gnaw on them when he was bored, each corner of your skeletal anatomy littered with his bite marks back in his dimension.

"You’re just confusing to look at." Viltrum reflected, his face unchanged. His Viltrum uniform was dirtied from the building debris that collapsed on him, though he seemed unbothered as his hard stare was focused on the variant in front of him.

"I was in the middle of a great time—you already had yours, so what gives? I gave you plenty of time with bunny," He asked, a sickly grin on his lips. "I hadn't even got properly started with her." He chuckled to himself, a rush of adrenaline flowing through his veins as his mind wandered to you underneath him—your teeth sinking into gloves so hard they broke as his fingers were diving into your throat.

His knuckle that your teeth sunk into was pulsating, the pain persisted with how hard you bit. It was an addicting sense to have, and his body and mind were screaming for more of you.

He forgot how fun it really was to play with you when you were alive, and now it was even better with how hard you fought back better than before.

"You don't get to start anything with her, she's mine." Viltrum cautioned, narrowing his eyes at the black and yellow Invincible. "Only her husband can touch her." He scorned.

The almost practically helpless state you were in when he finally picked himself up from being thrown under that falling building enraged him.

This putrid alternate version of his had the audacity to hurt you, touch you the way he did thinking that there weren’t any consequences to that behavior?

Though what really made him act so fast was how Sinister had grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you back to him when you tried to crawl away from being electrocuted from your shock collar. The—close to needy—whine that escaped your throat on instinct made his mind go haywire.

It's been so long since he heard that familiar whimper, the one that drove him mad to keep going during intercourse no matter how much you begged that it was too much—too overstimulating for your human mind to handle.

Mark didn't mean to monopolize the way he did, but could you blame the man? You drove him crazy with whatever you did, no matter how innocent or indecent—on purpose or not.

Locking you away was the only way he could keep you from escaping but to also keep you away from everyone laying their eyes and ears upon you.

It wouldn't hurt to cage you up again when you both go back to Viltrum. Mark won't repeat the same neglectful mistake he did—he'll make sure to keep a closer eye than you and keep you constantly looked after.

He'll feel guilty, yes, but he spent too many cold nights without you. He rejected all of the viltrumite women offered to keep him 'company' to replace you as his mate. It was only fair to release the hidden frustrations he had kept at bay for so long onto his wife.

Even if you don't remember him, that doesn't mean your body won't. He knew each of your curves like the back of his head, all the right buttons to press and feel to make your body feel like it was on cloud nine like his was constantly.

Perhaps when he brought you back, you both could renew your wedding vows to each other in celebration of reuniting. Then, you and Mark can have a second wedding night, and he'll make sure it'll go considerably longer than the first with how much he missed you.

“Pfft,” Sinister Mark snorted, finding it terribly cringy the words that rolled of Viltrum’s tongue. “That’s just corny, man.” He shook his head, swatting his arm at the variant who looked unamused. “Seriously! Now I need to kill you for that.”

“Try it.”

“Not before touching our cute little wife in front of you.” Sinister licked his lips, his voice lowering and turning husky. It was a mixture of a jest, a threat, and a promise—not totally closed off to the idea of actually doing that.

He howled an eerie howl of laughter, watching in real time as the white uniformed variant’s face slip into anger. “Ha-Ha! Now I have to do that! Tell me, which position do you prefer? Just for you buddy, I’ll take requests.” He roared, side stepping in the air as Viltrum had dived at him.

Sinister moved left and right, continuing to yap he dodged the punches that the other one was throwing at his way. “No, no, let me guess—you’re a vanilla type of guy, huh? Missionary?”

“I’ll kill you and rip you limb from limb!”

“Not before I fuck my bitch on your corpse.” He bellowed, raising his leg to kick Viltrum’s torso. The other male stood still in the air, softly grunting at the impact. He grabbed Sinister’s foot, digging his nails in and swinging him around in a circle to gain momentum before releasing.

Sinister spun in the air before turning himself upright, bending his knees to push himself to the variant with a wild grin. Viltrum clicked his tongue, striking at the Invincible who was coming towards him fast.

Their fists collided together, the impact of their knuckles causing a shockwave to reverberate in the air.

One attack from the other was met with a counter, and a counter was met with an attack. The flurry of punches and jabs kept coming, and on an outsider’s point of view who didn’t have the capacity to see exactly what was going on—it just seemed like the two were standing there as rings of shockwave came from their blurry fists.

Their punching streak came to a stop as each other’s fists both made contact with each other’s cheek, the strength and speed catching each other off guard as they were sent flying in opposite directions.

The two of them stumbled to regain their standing, but they felt a sudden scruff of their suits behind them. They were thrown at each other, their bodies slamming at each other.

Sinister and Viltrum fell to the ground, a hole like crater forming as soon as they touched their ground with a smack!

Viltrum recovered fast, snapping his head up, seeing Omni-Mark looking down on him with a pleased. "I told you I'll kill you if you get in my way." He growled, wiping away at the small centimeter of blood that dripped from his nose.

"The neat thing about that is that you can certainly try." The red and white Invincible taunted, his arms crossed as his cape flowed against the light wind.

Sinister Mark groaned, slamming his fist against the cracked concrete that him and the other white variant had crash on. "Oh, I hate you all." He barked, not happy that more versions of him came to interrupt his play time with you.

Viltrum Mark was funny, but this? This was just a miserable joke—and not the one that made him laugh.

The corner of Mohawk's lip curled as he glanced over at Sinister Mark, eyes flickering with both contempt and curiosity. "Aw, we interrupt something for you?" he drawled, voice low and mocking.

"You have no idea." He responded, his voice burning with venom.

Viltrum Mark's eyes glanced at your lying silhouette, you were unconscious and knocked out of it as you lay on the ground. The ends of your hair were slightly raised from the static fused into your strands from the electricity of the collar.

In a blur, he sprung over to you, his arm extended to reach for you. The other variants yelled, screaming as they leapt to grab after the white variant who was making a break for it towards you.

If he got his hands on you—or any one of them for that matter—it would be like playing keep away. Or maybe more like playing tag, but whoever tagged the other would probably kill the them and steal you from right under them.

Viltrum was just a few feet away from you, his hand reaching to grab your hand until a black and blue blur rammed a fist into his jaw, tackling him across the ground.

The two Marks skidded and rolled on the ground, the one suited in black and blue thrashed at Viltrum with extreme gusto while they skipped like a rock on water.

The white variant used his arms to block the blows as they came to a rolling stop against a large pile of rubble, craning his neck from the white knuckles that were close to making contact to his face—instead kissing the cement bricks that once resembled a walkway.

Viltrum used his legs to kick the male off of him, cursing to himself at how close he was to having you in his arms.

Mark caught himself in the air, quick to make himself hover as he looked behind his shoulder.

Your still body was on the ground, unresponsive but clear you were still breathing by how your chest gently went up and down.

The lower part of the prison attire you wore was soaked by a red liquid, a gaping hole inside your pant leg. Mark could only assume that was your blood, sustaining some sort of injury to that leg. However, your body had healed the bodily harm with how there was a smooth surface of untouched skin.

You had regeneration, your body healing itself from any injury that was inflicted on your body. He gathered that through his fights with you, you always turn out brand new and shiny every time he saw you again no matter how long it had been since you two last encountered each other.

Mark sighed a breath of relief that you weren’t physically injured—at least, not anymore.

Even then, that didn’t mean you didn’t get hurt and you weren’t still in pain, your eyebrows furrowed in permanent discomfort as you lay unconscious.

Mark hovered as he turned to face the five men before him, his hands gripping into tight fists. They looked exactly just like him, the only difference was their modified suits that had a different design and/or color palette.

“How did you all get here!” Mark yelled, taking a defensive stance. He stood between them and you—and he wasn’t going to be leaving your side any time soon.

A bitter taste entered his mouth as he unintentionally remined himself of Eve, how he was cooped up in the medical room by her bedside, refusing to leave her.

Mark had so much worry and concern over her well-being to the point where he stubbornly glued to her side.

He refused to leave and help Cecil when he tried to get him to help in the beginning, adamant at staying by Eve's side. He rejected the idea, at the thought, at the action of leaving and going outside.

Even when Cecil pointed out the fact that the people he loved were still out there, his family, his friends, were susceptible at getting hurt—worse, killed, was through the roof.

They weren't Invincible like he was. And they needed help.

His mom, Oliver, —shit, his best friend William. The people in his life that he cared about were out there in the world with danger right around the corner, waiting to slaughter them with how powerless they were.

Yet, he didn't budge.

He couldn't bring himself to move out of his spot and go looking for them, rescuing them from the potential shit they're in because Eve was injured—hurt and unconscious.

Nothing that Cecil could've said would have made him move.

At least, that's what he thought.

Cecil walked into that room and teased the fact that you were out there, throwing you out in the battle field from the safety of a cell under the guise of more man power.

As soon as Mark heard that, it was like he couldn't breathe. Suddenly the shackles that attached him to Eve's bed broke, making his move faster than he ever has.

The concern and worry he held for Eve vanished and instead appeared onto you—but it was different.

It was ten times worse, one hundred times agonizing, and a million times more desperate to know you were okay. He was panicking to know that you weren't hurt—dead even!

He was panicking to know where you were so he could drop everything to come rushing to you, running after you like you were the sun, and he was a moth enamored by the light that was so miserably far away.

He was panicking to know you weren't with other versions of himself, ruining the image that he tried to perfectly create for you so that you can find him desirable and want him like how he so badly wants you.

He was panicking to reach you first, rescue you from whatever situation you were in like a damsel in distress so that you can finally view him more than a heroic superhero that saved the lives of civilians—instead, viewing him as your heroic superhero that saved your life.

Mark should feel guilty. Mark should feel disgusted and in complete disbelief at himself that he chose to leave his girlfriend's side over a practical stranger. He should feel appalled that the one thing that actually tore him from Eve's beside wasn't his mom, Oliver, and William being in potential danger—it was you.

The everyday villain that used to terrorize the streets before your capture. The everyday villain that made his heart jump whenever he caught wind you were out there, doing you cute crazy antics again.

He dropped Eve like it was nothing when Cecil dangled you in front of him.

The worst part was—he didn’t. He didn't feel guilty.

Mark felt... ashamed at the possibility of Eve finding out about this—if his mom and William found out he came rushing to you instead of them.

He could see clear as day how embarrassed he would be if Eve found out about this, if his mom and William found out that he came running to you over them, an everyday villain that used to terrorize the streets before your capture.

But that was just it, nothing else.

"Oh, shit! It's the us from this world!" Mohawk pointed out. "Your pathetic, man! Leave (Y/N) to the big kids. You didn't even have the balls to have anything with her." He shrilled out, a bubbling laugh in his throat.

Sinister Mark's ears perked up at that, turning to the variant with the punk hairstyle with curiosity.

From the corner of his eyes, Mohawk noticed, and he jumped to elaborate, almost proud of the fact he knew what was going on with you two—well, what wasn't going on between you two.

"(Y/N) didn't even know who we were! We're not her boyfriend, we're not some friend, we're not some guy she broke up with—just an insignificant stranger."

Mainstream Mark stopped breathing.

What?

Sinister erupted into manic laughter, clutching his stomach as he began to hit the ground repeatedly. A prickle of a tear edged at the corner of his eye from how hard he was laughing, his stomach beginning to hurt with the booming nature of his laughter.

"Pfft—Haha!—Ah—Hahaha!" He choked on his laughter, standing up and covering his mouth using his hand.

Mark tight fists lost their hardness, his mind wrapping around what he had just heard. They—They all had something with you in their worlds?

The masked Invincible spoke up, he was farthest from him since he was in the back of the group. “She’s the only one still alive.” He brought up, feeling bad that Mainstream Mark couldn’t experience being in any sort of relationship with you.

You were the best thing to happen to him, the best thing to happen to the others too.

“Your right but doesn’t mean I’m going to leave her in this sorry excuse of a world. This kid to too immature to properly handle her.” Omni jumped in, tilting his head as he looked at Mark with a condescending glare.

“’I’m?’” Viltrum cut in, standing up. “You’re all dead men for thinking you have a chance with her. I’m not losing her again. I’ve killed for her, and I’ll easily do it again.”  

“ —You’re all delusional! I’m not having any of you have (Y/N)!” He retorted, “Over my dead body I’m letting any of you lay a finger on her.”

“Heh, it’ll be over your dead body alright.” Mohawk smirked, his fist hitting his palm.

The fight was erratic, fast, and constant swings in the air and grabs to try and kill each other. The shockwaves that created from their blows and hits reached the surrounding structures that were still standing, decimating them into nothing but crumbs.

All of the Marks were at each other's threat, the one closet to who would be the target of their attacks with no discrimination. Aside from Omni, Mohawk, and Mask, however.

It really helped having each other, letting their focus be on the two other variants and mainstream Mark. When one of them was in a choke hold, one of them would jump in and save each other then resume duking it out with the other Marks.

It was pure, disorderly chaos.

Chaos that Mask can use.

They were all engrossed in murdering each other like a pack of starved wolves fighting over a piece of meat. They hadn't noticed how Mask slowly began to pull away from the fight, stealthily removing himself from the fight.

He had made sure to lower his heartbeat over time so that it could mix into the sounds of punches in the air and the wind that howled in their ears, turning into an unnoticed ghost.

The transition was seamless, no one even batting an eye at what Mask was doing—not that it was easy to with the disarray states they were in.

He silently flew to you, still unconscious. Crouching down, he draped a gentle hand onto your forehead, using his thumb to rub small circles.

Your forehead was smooth and cool, and he quietly smiled at this. You had cancer in his dimension, and whenever he brushed a hand or kissed your forehead, it would have a thin layer of sweat.

You experienced frequent hot flashes and terrible night sweats that you would always complain about leaving you sweaty—but that didn't stop him from kissing you so sweetly.

Something as small as sweat wouldn't bother him—nothing pertaining to you never bothered him.

"You're going to be okay, honey." He whispered, brushing away at the stray hair that was resting on your eyelid. The blood that soaked on your leg and pant leg were dry as he slid his arm underneath, cradling you to his chest. "I got you. I always got you."

He pushed himself up, one arm underneath your legs as the other arm propped up your head to his chest. Mask took a glance behind him while he held the weight of your body in his arms, the other Marks still distracted from fighting amongst themselves.

Mask quickly beelined out of there, you safely in his arms.

He had been flying for a while, creating an incredible distance between the you two and the others. Mask would've flown faster but you were still sleeping, and he didn't want to interrupt the rest you were having.

He remembered you telling him before you developed cancer you always had a terrible time sleeping, any shed of sleep was a rare occurrence. The illness only made your poor sleeping habits worse.

In case you were also like that in this world, Mask stayed cruising in a breezy pace as he felt you in his arms.

Your steady breathing felt like music to his ears, especially without the white noise of the hospital machines hooked up to you when you were alive.

"Mark, why are you staring at me like that?" You called out, raising a brow as he was putting a fresh new bundle of flowers inside your room.

You never opened up much about your past, but you mentioned how your parents never really took you out of the house. You never had the chance to develop a favorite flower—so Mark made it his personal mission to bring you a new type of flowers every day.

"You're beautiful, that's why."

"That's such a romcom thing to do."

"Is it a crime to stare at my beautiful girlfriend?!"

You snorted, turning away from him. "What time is your mom coming here again?" You asked, changing the subject as Mark walked over to you, planting a kiss on your forehead.

"Twenty minutes, I think. She texted me a second ago that she just left the diner." Mark mentioned, eyeing you. "Don't tell me you already want to change your order again?" He joked, and you weakly punched his arm.

"No! I was just wondering." You pouted, before your expression suddenly fell flat. Mark quickly noticed, frowning as he cupped your chin, fast to ask what was wrong. "I just—you and Debbie don't always have to eat here. Eating in a hospital sucks—not exactly a good setting for weekly dinners."

"She's more than fine with it, (Y/N)." He reassured, trailing his hand to squeeze yours. "I'm more than fine with it too. Having my two favorite girls in the same room, having dinner and laughing—we could be eating at a dumpster with the mice, and I'll be happy."

"You—ugh, why'd you have to phrase it like that! Eugh, I should hit you in the face for that!" You jokingly fumed, pushing his hand away. "I'm calling the nurse to drag you out of here! Me and Debbie can have just have dinner together."

"Hey, you're kicking your dessert out!"

"You're such a corny dork!"

Mask smiled softly at those memories, replaying them in his head. It was his favorite thing to do, replay his favorite memories. The good ones.

He didn't notice that small stir in his arms, you slowly but surely waking up from being knocked out.

You blinked hazily, feeling the wind softly kiss at your cheeks as you were beginning to regain consciousness. You were trying to properly remember what happened before passing out, only recollecting the painful surge of electricity that jolted throughout your body.

You blinked and then blinked again.

...

Your entire body became tense as the events that happened to you before being knocked out came rushing in—yelling at you about those crazy, so fucking crazy Invincibles that declared nonsense after nonsense.

That did nonsense after nonsense.

One of them got off at being choked, the other put you in a sexual compromising position, and the—eugh.

The phantom taste of rubber and metallic flooded your taste buds, and your stomach twisted as you remembered that perverted psycho. You swallowed thickly, your throat seemed like it was still stretched from that wasp-colored Invincible fingering your esophagus with that twisted, perverted grin.

At least your leg was healed and fixed, having regenerated while you passed out. And you seemed to be far—wait.

You caught your breath as you finally felt that you were being carried.

It didn't compute until now, but now it did. Tender arms were cradling you, carrying you with warmth while your chest was brushed up against a strong chest.

Your eyes turned sharply upwards, an Invincible with his face fully covered by a black mask looking ahead. You recognized him, the variant who had tackled the mohawk one.

He was lost in his thoughts, and you didn't hesitate to smack him on the face. His goggles broke, shattering as he yelped in surprise. The firm hold on you loosened, and you didn't waste a second to worm your way out of it—jumping.

I was supposed to write this much earlier and posted, but I got diddled by 3 big projects this week... my professors sensed I wanted to goon and goonblocked me I fear😭😭😭

Was going to add more to this part, but decided to just let it naturally stop and didn't want it so lengthy that it became a bore lol

Thank you so much for the love and excitement on part 2, it’s been amazing!! I hope this chapter was alrightooo! 😜

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[pengmar]

how i feel after opening tumblr in the middle of class and there's a 4k image of a very ripped very shirtless jason todd

[pengmar]

Invincible Variants x Female! Reader x Original Invincible │#2

#1, #2, #?

tysm for the comments on the previous post, it was a blast seeing the traction it got !! I hope update is satisfactory, decided to make this a full fic series so more to come

CW: OOC Cecil(?), mention/talks of suicide, violence, slight freakiness but eh not really

WC: 6,7k

@weaponxgames, @martinys-world, @lagataprrr, @lizurich, @katsukiswiife, @oxymorondemon, @sweetb3rry, @ashleeytrx, @pixviee, @pookiei-bookie, @cheesycheddarr

Cecil approached the big screens, his hands in his suit pockets as he narrowed his eyes. "Donald, what is this? What going on with now?" He asked, his voice stern but confused. The dots on the map indicate that multiple Invincible variants were gathered at one place—and you were smacked in the middle of it.

He had given orders to throw you out there in hopes to help the war effort, strapping you with an electric dog collar with a tracker embedded into it. With Evil Invincibles causing havoc all over the world, everything was getting stretched thin. He needed more manpower to pour into this war, and he wasn't against using a criminal to achieve that.

Cecil had seen multiple times you hold your own against their Invincible, hell, even had the upper hand a couple of times with how you left Invincible riddled with injuries.

Whatever reason why you chose to injure him than kill him wasn't something Cecil was going to do gymnastics to understand. Donald's running theory was that you more so enjoyed causing destruction than killing anyone. There's been times where you have, but they were so rare it's been assumed to be more of a 'last resort' thing for you when cornered.

Honestly, all of that didn't matter to him, you were still a destructive piece of shit at the end of the day.

But having collected data about you, he was confident that you could at least remove one or two of the evil variants when push came to shove. The 'shove' being a shock collar and the threat of never seeing daylight again.

Though it appears you were surrounded by four variants, and while you were one tough cookie, you should certainly be dead. There was one of you and four of them, it was a no brainer to guess who would lose. However, the blinking green dot on the screen indicated you were alive and well.

"It seems like they're not fighting her. She's been more of the aggressor so far, actually." Donald noted, pushing his glasses up. "She was fighting this one," He pointed at a red dot on the screen, "then these three showed up." His finger drifted to the other circles.

"Pull up the cameras around there." Cecil ordered, and Donald's fingers were quick on the keyboard to pull up the surveillance around the area.

A window appeared on the screen, and while the lens was cracked it was clear to see that you were surprisingly not beaten up and battered as he would expect. He watched you leap into the air, bolting through the sky and an Invincible dressed in a white uniform followed suit, the two of you becoming a blur in the distance.

An Invincible dressed in a similar fashion as Omni-man crossed his arms, speaking to the others. Whatever he said made the others upset, the one with a fully covered black mask shaking his head while the variant with the mohawk rolled his eyes as he stomped his foot.

"Is there no audio on this thing?"

"Nope."

"Great." Cecil popped his lips, his grainy voice filled with sarcasm. He continued to observe the three variants—they obviously didn't like each other, their body language tense and ready to pounce if one of them moved yet held the conversation anyway.

He squinted, trying to decipher what they could be discussing about. The men would occasionally glance over at the direction you had sped off to.

Donald spoke up. "I think they're discussing (Y/N)."

"(Y/N)?"

"(Y/N) (L/N) is Vandal's real name." Donald mentioned, looking over at Cecil. Vandal had become your nickname since you never proclaimed a villain identity for yourself. From the heaps of destruction and damage you caused to property before your capture, it was a fitting name. Albeit a little lazy.

He let out a sigh, turning around to step away. His mind was turning gears as he thought about you, his mind drifting to Mark who was still by Eve's bed side.

What he was thinking of was an... odd idea, but it couldn't hurt to give it a shot. Mark Grayson always held this odd air towards you. It was hard to not notice how he practically jumped at the chance to be the first to respond to a scene that had something to do with you, always butting heads with other superheroes that tried to respond first.

The weird behavior was subtle, but Cecil noted a few things.

Whatever harm that he'd inflicted would conveniently be places where it wouldn't hurt too badly.

You would always somehow end up escaping from his grasp after each fight. Even with how Mark had improved, you always seemed to run off.

When you were finally captured thanks to a G.D.A agent, Mark threw quite a fit.

"I had it all under control!" He yelled, glaring at Cecil with so much anger. Possessiveness seeped into his voice as he spat his words, and Cecil was taken aback with how worked up he was over you. "You guys didn't have to step in like that."

"Talking to her, throwing a couple of punches and letting her escape each time is not you having it 'under control,' Mark." Cecil rebutted. "She needed to be contained, and you were doing a lousy job at doing that."

"I was gonna—"

"If I had let this ridiculous method of yours play out, she would've continued to destroy more property. That means more tax dollars are being poured into rebuilding the constant messes she leaves behind." Cecil lectured, stern and logical. Not giving him a moment to defend himself. "That money is better off spent on better things, not Little Miss Vandalism."

His logic and common sense only seemed to fuel Mark's anger. Cecil paused, before releasing an exhausted sigh as he flickered his gaze away from Mark to stare at a wall.

He needed to calm him down, having him upset would get in the way of calling him for help. Cecil's eyes flickered back to Mark.

"Kid, she'll be in jail at the G.D.A. Fed, clothed, and away from being a menace." He continued, and he noticed how Mark seemed to become calm about you being fed and clothed than the fact your destructive habits would now come to a halt. "You can... even visit her."

"... I can?"

He was a little too happy to hear that, his anger completely evaporated.

"Yeah. After we deal with everything first, I'll authorize how many visits you want."

"I'm going to pay a visit to Mark. I'm sure he'd love to hear what his favorite villain is up to." Cecil turned his head to Donald who only stared, clear he didn't understand what telling Mark about this would achieve.

Without elaborating, he teleported with a flash of blue.

You took another glance behind you, the wind rushing past you. It howled in your ear as you met the intense stare of the evil variant in white. His features were unmoving as the wind pushed his hair and his eyes hard.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer!" You shouted. His eyes were unblinking as he was unresponsive to your words, and you just rolled your eyes as you tore your eyes off him.

Even though you would love to continue being in the air for longer, if you do it was evident he would catch up to you. With each glance he was inching closer and closer, and there were a number of things that would go against your favor if this White Invincible got ahold of you in the air.

You scanned up ahead, seeing a large building. The path you were on currently would've made you slam your head against a solid wall. Shifting to the right, you brought your arms to your head as you braced for impact.

The glass window immediately shattered as you rammed through it, different sizes of glass shards falling. You dodged the walls of the office floor, breaking through windows and passing by cubicles.

Breaking out of the other side of the building, the sunlight basked on you as you pushed yourself to be above the building. Not a minute later, the building vibrated widely as the sound of walls breaking filled the air.

You let out an amused scoff. He continued the flight path you were previously on and busted through the walls.

The white variant broke through the final wall, leaving a gaping hole on the side of the building. He looked to the left and right of him, searching for a sign in which direction you went.

"Up here!" You sang out, diving down with your hands raised together and joined together to make a ball. You brought it down, sending him flying downwards to the road. The Invincible's reflex was incredible, his arms quickly rising to protect his head before being slammed to the ground.

The harsh impact made a big crater on the ground, with him in the middle. The abandoned cars near the crash site began blaring, the headlights flashing crazy.

"You're strong." He flatly commented, his eyes gazing up at you as the dust settled. With Mohawk, his laugh lines were prominent and bold. Yet with this variant, his face was completely smooth with no form of wrinkles in sight.

His arms tingled from your attack, and he tilted his head. A corner of his lip raised slightly. "You were never strong in my dimension."

"Does that burst your bubble, Whitey?" You fake whined, copying the tilt of his head as you stared down at him. "Disappointed I'm not a damsel in distress? Not the perfect little girlfriend for you?"

"I'm not disappointed." He shook his head. "You were always perfect, (Y/N). Perfect for me and I made Viltrum perfect for you. You're still perfect, no matter the differences across universes." He replied, hovering towards you. There was a deep-rooted longing in his eyes.

You gritted your teeth as you heard his monologue. You hated how he was speaking to you as if you were the version he knew personally. It was already becoming insufferable.

"I've missed you, my wife. The spot I carved out for you remains empty since the day I lost you." He whispered, looking like a battered dog lost without its owner. "You miss me too."

"Is that a question or a command?" You rolled your eyes. "I'm not her. Do you hear yourself?"

"You are her."

"I'm not. And I'm going to put that through that thick skull of yours." You didn't hesitate to dash towards him, your hand grabbing a hold of the top of his head as you slammed it down—the back of his head hitting the cracked concrete of the crater.

You dug your nails inside his scalp, lifting it and smashing it back down repeatedly. The hole inside the ground deepened as you continued.

Viltrumite Mark let his head be slammed against the pavement, your fingernails digging inside his scalp. The dulling pain at the back of his head ached at him, but he didn’t care. How long has it been since he last felt your touch? How long has it been since you committed suicide? How many long nights did he go without you?

It’s been so long since he felt your fingers through his hair. The throbbing pain didn’t mean anything with the sensation of your hand holding him. It was always blissful when he would come back to you after having to deal with the responsibilities of the Viltrum Empire, welcoming him home with open arms.

Oh, how he loved laying his head on your stomach while you massaged his head—running your delicate fingers through his hair as you asked all sorts of questions. Usually about what he did, Viltrum, and what was happening outside the walls of the home you two shared. Mark didn’t like to think about the outside world when he was inside the haven of the bedroom, but indulging in your curiosity was always cute and made you happy.

You were also eager, albeit more than he liked, to learn any updates about Earth. Even if it was something minor, you always liked hearing about the planet you once lived on. Sometimes you'd ask if you could "finally go out" and be somewhere else on Viltrum beside the house, even hinting the idea to go visit Earth—but Mark always shot it down.

He guessed he understood in some capacity why you would ask that, it was natural for any species to think about home and long to go back to it. Though, that doesn't mean Mark didn't find it ridiculous—you shouldn't want to go back to Earth even for a visit. Viltrum is your home now and a much better suited place for you because he was here.

Mark would've granted permission for you to walk around Viltrum alone, but when you had first arrived at this planet you had such antsy feet. You would go run off, trying to escape from the planet and it was always a hassle to bring you back. You could've gotten into danger and if he hadn't been alerted each time you ran off and arrived at the nick of time. You could've hurt yourself.

You cried, you begged, and you pleaded whenever you were caught. It hurt to see you like that, he couldn't bare for those situations to happen anymore so he had momentarily removed those privileges.

He was going to give them back, he swore he would've at one point. However, he hadn't noticed so much time had passed.

For him, it seemed so short—while for you it had been excruciating years. You couldn't take it anymore; Mark's monopolization was suffocating.

So, one day when Mark arrived back home after a mission, your lifeless boy awaited him. Pale, empty, and unresponsive—but free.

For what happened, Viltrum Mark will let you hurt him as punishment for being such a neglectful husband. Being pummeled was what he deserved for being forgetful.

You go of your hold of the white variant's head, snatching a hold of his arm and standing up. You lifted him off the ground only using the arm you had just grabbed, throwing him at the loud line of cars. During the process you had twisted his arm, causing him to wince as he felt his bone dislocate before he collided with the line of blaring vehicles.

The obnoxious honks stopped, and you huffed as you straightened your back. You sneered in disgust as you realized a small smear of blood that made its way to your fingertips, being quick to wipe it on your clothes.

However, in the blink of an eye, a white flash appeared before you. Arms wrapped around your torso, and you were shoved into a wall.

As soon as your back hit the wall, you grunted, the wind being knocked out of you. You felt the Invincible nestle his face to your stomach, his arms tightening around you and you shrieked.

Even though there was a clothing barrier between your bare skin and his face thanks to the prison uniform the G.D.A had you worn, it was thin. This act was clearly intimate, and you flushed in anger as he was taking an opportunity to feel you?

“Get off of me you bastard!” You demanded, using your elbow to dig inside his back, striking down rapidly.

His grip loosened with each hit but would recover, returned to holding you. With how hard you were hitting, it was a guarantee there would be multiple splotches of bruises stretched along his back, the muscles soon to have developing colors of purple.

You repositioned your elbow that was nearest to his twisted shoulder, slamming it. A grunt howled from the variant’s throat, his arms untangling from your waist. He fell to the ground, on his knees as he hurriedly grabbed his shoulder—popping the dislocated shoulder back in place.

He picked himself up, swiping at your shin. Caught off guard, you wobbled and the viltrumite didn't waste time to place your leg on his shoulder—the one that he had corrected the displacement of the bone—and leaned forward to you.

Being off balanced and your leg being pushed up with your back against the cracked wall, you slid down. His height towered over you as you were in a compromising position. You cursed, your hands reaching behind you to grip the wall.

"That was enough to atone for my neglectful mind. Your death alone already served as punishment for how blind I was towards time." He spoke, staring down at you. A small line of blood traveled from his scalp to the back of his neck. "I'll be a much better husband for you, I swear to it, (Y/N)." the Invincible breathed out, turning his head to your leg that was lifted to his shoulder.

Even though his voice was monotonous, there was a scratch of pleading behind his voice. He said it in hopes you'll believe it and in turn that he himself would believe he'll actually be better towards you.

It wasn't hard to piece together that whatever happened to his version of you, you had died, and he played a role in it.

He exhaled; his lips parted slightly as they were just centimeters away from your leg.

“You can’t be a better one if she’s dead.”

“Don’t say that.” He snapped, pushing your leg further up, making you suck in a breath. “You’re right here. Even if you don’t remember me that doesn't mean you can't be my wife once again.“ The grip he had on your raised leg was firm, and his hand snaked up to your knee.

His hand squeezed, feeling the muscles and bone. "I'll take you back home. Back to Viltrum. Back with me."

Your breath hitched, the mention of being taken to another place caused goosebumps to crawl all over your skin. The fully masked Invincible had mentioned something about bringing you 'home’ as well, and now this one mentioned taking you somewhere else too.

Something nagged at you that this would be a pattern among the other copies—and your survival instincts screamed at you to not let any of them take you. You were better off dead than with any of them.

"I will rather die like her than ever go anywhere with you." You spat; venom laced with each word. "Whatever way she went was probably a blessing in disguise." You smirked, watching how his eyes dulled at your taunt.

Clenching your jaw, you wheeled your head forward and then slammed it behind you. The building shook behind you, cracks branching out from the point of origin. You used the back of your head to hit it once more, pooling all your strength together.

The thick wall crumbled, and no longer being shoved against a wall you wrapped the leg that was on his shoulder around his neck and your other leg around his torso, seizing his whole body and throwing him over you.

The viltrumite burst through the multitude of walls, making the building unstable. Sounds of the building cracking and falling apart filled the air, the structure collapsing. You scrambled to run, the building collapsing in your direction. Though your foot slipped on a piece of debris, causing you to trip onto the ground.

Whoosh!

The office building collapsed, and you blinked. You were looking down at the collapsed structure that once stood tall now closer to the ground than ever.

Your legs dangled in the air, and your eyes traveled to your chest as there was an arm was slung underneath your breasts—holding you loosely.

"Ha! Now that was a funny sight to watch. You really got some sweet upgrades to you—fun." He commented, pointing out the superhuman strength you possessed, a dangerous edge embedded with his words. You whipped your head around, an Invincible with a black and yellow suit grinned wildly at you.

Sinister Mark looked deeply in your eyes as he used his exceptional hearing to focus on your heart. He had memorized the way your heartbeat, pumping blood through your system. It was a window for him to decipher how you really felt at any given moment, and listening to the beating organ was like music to his ears.

He hated how he missed it. He hated how he immediately recognized it from a miles away. He hated how his ears subconsciously trained itself to zone in on that beautiful beating heart of yours, your heart so distinct that it was a melody that drew him out.

He hated that he came as quickly as he can at the first beat, knowing that it was you. This dimension's version of you, anyway.

"Another one?" You snarled, not happy to see another variant.

This dimension's version of you was feisty, just like his—though more powerful considering you did some damage to Viltrum Mark having watched from afar. Though he didn't pay much attention to that guy, more swooped up on the fact he was on cloud nine with how he was able to hold you like this again.

He let out a deranged laugh, throwing his head back. "Ha! Ha-ha! I forgot how much better you felt with your flesh still intact." He laughed, rearing his head back to shove his face to your cheek. "Soft, squishy—so much more different compared to your skeleton."

... Skeleton?

"Jesus, I went insane after I killed you." He took a large exhale, the memories of the temper tantrum he made after accidentally going too rough on you, breaking you, resurfacing.

Everyone and everything weren’t safe from his rampage, the rampage fueled with the rage of killing you. "I kept your body, watched the stages of your corpse bloat then decay—leaving the dry remains of your skeleton behind." He spoke of it with a smile on his face, but you felt the hand that was wrapped around you flinch, tightening.

"It wasn't as fun when you were alive, but it was still you, so I made do." He vaguely referenced, and your skin crawled at what he could possibly be implying. All sort of things popped in your head, and whatever you brain conjured may have been tamer than whatever this... thing did to his alternate version of you—dead or alive.

"I don’t have to know more to know you're a sick fuck."

"And I made you like it." He hissed, his hot breath hitting your skin. He tilted his head away, his eyes wandering to the electric collar around your neck. Cecil throwing you in this war and forcing you to work for him meant you were tough, and Mark was excited to see how exactly tough you were. "And I can do it again. Just this time, you won't be so easy to break.”

Cecil sighed as his eyes fell upon Mark Grayson still near Eve's bedside, having not moved an inch since the last time he saw him. Both of his hands were cupped onto Eve's hand that lay motionless on the bed.

"What do you want, Cecil?" His tired voice called out, not having to turn around to know that the old man was behind him. "I told you I wasn't working with you ever again."

"I heard that loud and clear, Mark." Cecil continued, "I figured you weren't against updates, though."

The young man merely stayed silent, his whole body language screaming that he didn't want to hear him speak anymore. Cecil grimaced, biting the inside of his cheek. The idea he had seemed like it wasn't going to work, only made up with a few clues then and there, but he was already here so it would be a waste to not try it.

"There's a lot happening out there. It's difficult to keep up with everything."

Mark stayed silent, unresponsive as his eyes were staring only at Eve.

Cecil carried on, "I had to come up with creative solutions to the issues of not having resources, people, superheroes to go out there and protect the world."

Mark stayed unmoving, not reacting an inch.

"Do you remember the criminal you helped capture? Vandal? —"

"It's (Y/N)." Grayson jolted, turning to look at Cecil with stern eyes. His hands were still on Eve's, though he noted the small pull away. "Her name is (Y/N)."

"That's interesting, I didn't find out until today that was their actual name." The older man was quick to point out, raising a brow. "How did you know that? Didn't care to share with the rest of us?"

Mark hesitated, his eyes flickering away from Cecil. "She told me it the first time we fought. Must've slipped my mind." He vaguely dismissed, clearing his throat.

He had accidentally crossed your path when he first started out his journey as Invincible. He was still getting a hang on things, training to be a great hero just like his dad.

It took him a little bit too long to register that you were a villain—a criminal that he should've jumped to stop as soon as his eyes laid on the path of destruction you caused without a care of who you hurt.

Then it took him even longer to move from his spot with how strangely enamored he was with you. Mark was overcome by this rush of attraction that he had subconsciously held his breath. If it weren't for his viltrumite make up, he would've passed out with how much oxygen he deprived from his lungs.

Did villains usually have this effect on heroes? Fascinated, interested, curious, enamored? (Mark later found out that no, villains did not have this effect—for whatever reason, it was only you).

Once he finally snapped out of it, he was quick to try and stop you. Though with how inexperienced he was with fighting and your brawniness, you won. Beaten to a pulp, his body was sore and tired as he laid on the ground, groaning from the punches.

"Ah—shit." A whine escaped his throat. Was being a superhero going to be this painful?

You crouched down to his level, eyeing his costume that hugged his body. "It isn't a good idea to jump at a girl wrecking the place while being a baby super." You commented, your eyes filled with pity. You didn't take amusement in practically beating up an infant. "Downright idiotic."

"Idiotic and invincible shares the same starting letter," he coughed, shifting to look at you but a sharp pain jolted up his spine. "Ah, that hurts—so I guess they go hand in hand." He let out a nervous smile, giddiness budding at the pit of his stomach as he wiped off the blood that had dried out his upper lip.

It's wrong to feel so... so excitedly nervous about how close you were. Sure okay, you got close so you could punch and throw him around while you two fought—but right now Mark had the time to take you in fully.

You snorted, a giggle jumping out your lips. You weren't expecting him to crack a joke like that while he was beaten to a pulp and wow—that giggle of yours was beautiful. That made his heart dance and his stomach sick with how many butterflies there were.

You quickly covered your laughter, rubbing a hand over your mouth. "Invincible is a stupid name."

"What's yours? We can compare."

"… I earned the name Vandal, it's a stupid name too." You shrugged, pushing yourself to stand.

He tried to sit up, though shots of pain riddled him to fall. He didn't want you to leave so quickly—not out of fear you would go back to destroying stuff but out of fear he may not ever see you again.

"Is there another name I can call you? I-I mean, I would like the villain who beat me up to at least like their name." Mark stuttered out, a strained smile on his face.

You eyed him, raising a brow. Unimpressed at his lame reasoning. "What kind of reason is that?"

"Uh, I—well you know, erm—" His cheeks flushed a baby pink.

You sighed, finding yourself pitying the new hero. "Fine." You’ll humor this. Giving you his name wouldn't hurt, besides even if he told others, it wasn't enough to track you down. “It’s (Y/N).”

"Hm. Okay. Moving on." Cecil hummed, not convinced. “I had her be taken out of her cell. She's out on the field."

Now that got a response out of Mark. He let go of Eve's hand, his body moving in the blink of an eye as he appeared in front of Cecil. It caught the older man by surprise, taking a hurried step back.

“What do you mean out in the field? She shouldn’t be out there. She’s supposed to be in a prison cell. She’s supposed to be safe. I remember you saying that she will be!”

“That was after this shitshow started. Prior arrangements had to be moved around and changed.” He defended himself, narrowing his eyes at how quick he was to anger when you were handled in a manner he disagreed with. This pattern of possessiveness he had over a criminal was wrong.

Cecil had chosen to ignore this, chalking it up to some petty rivalry over the fact you had beaten him a couple of times—but now it was clear as day that it was definitely way more than that.

Just how much more was what Cecil was curious about. He needed to see exactly what you meant to him and if he could use that for his own gain. “If she can handle fighting against you, then hell, she can certainly handle herself against one of those variants. I needed all the manpower I can get, and she was the perfect option.”

“That still gave you no right!” He screamed.

“It does when the guy who can go head to toe with those invaders out there won’t leave this goddamn room.” Cecil retorted.

“So—So what?! She can die, Cecil.” He huffed, his fists clenching at the idea you were out there in harm’s way.

“Why does that matter so much to you, Mark? What exactly is she to you for you to be worked over this? I don’t have to omnipotent to know she doesn’t give a damn about you—not a single thought. Yet you’re here caring for her as if you’re her friend.” He paused, “Are you?”

Mark hitched breath, a lump in his throat as he brought his hands to hold onto his face.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you, and he knew that he shouldn’t be thinking about you as much as he should, but he couldn’t stop. His mind always wandered. Day and night without fail at some point his thoughts would be consumed by you, someone he barely knew anything about—someone that he shouldn’t be thinking of.

Mark tried to stay away from you—at least that’s what he told himself to make him feel better. He always jumped at the chance to go to you whenever you were back on your rampaging antics. Other heroes noticed, offering to take his place instead but he sternly refused.

He was territorial about being the one to stop you, being the one to fight you, being the one to be with you.

Mark told himself that he thought about you so frequently because of that pitiful ‘kindness’ you showed him at your guys’ first encounter. From that, you must be much better being a reformed criminal than a villain who took pleasure in seeing destruction.

 So, he tried to convince you to change your ways.

That’s what a superhero does, right? Not just help distressed citizens but everyone, even villains. He offered to help you lead a better life than the one you are right now, guide you how to use your powers for good rather than bad.

He also offered you companionship, friendship—a chance to have a deeper relationship than the close to nothing relationship you two currently had.

Though he was hurt every time you rejected him. Not hurt from the fact you rejected turning a new leaf but hurt that you rejected his friendship. Fine, you turned down being a good guy, but why turn him down?

Couldn’t you see that Mark ran to you each time? Couldn’t you see that he had got stronger, faster, better, each time you fought just to impress you? Couldn’t you see that he craved to know you more, the girl who he knew nothing about yet haunts him every day?

The bruises that you left on his body were the only thing you gave him that held a part of you—and he would stare at them in the mirror as he traced over them remembering the fists he came to memorize.

The bruises were the only thing you didn’t reject to give, and he hoped they never faded so he can carry the ghost of your touch on his body.

Mark Grayson tried to drop it—drop you. He was driving himself crazy over a stranger that wanted nothing to do with him. He tried tearing himself away from the idea of you, but he came back running whenever he heard you were out there.

Cecil voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Well, Mark, are you?”

“No, we’re not friends.” He responded, his torn voice muffled by his hands.

“Then what is it? What is it ‘cause with how I’m seeing things no one should be caring about a stranger as much as much as you are right now.” Cecil bombarded, continuing to pile more questions on him relentlessly, pushing the boy’s buttons.

The half-viltrumite ran his hands to his hair, his fingers intertwining with his black locks as he let out an exhausted groan.

“Mark, say something. Say something Mark. For the love of God, fucking say something—”

“No! No, I don’t know her at all, I don’t mean anything to her! I’m not her friend. I’m nothing.” He snapped, his voice raised and shouting, his mouth running wild.  “That doesn’t mean that I don’t want her safe! That doesn’t mean I don’t care about her! That doesn’t mean I don’t want her.”

A tense silence fell on the room, the only sound was of the machines next to Eve’s bed.

“So that’s it. Your whipped for (Y/N).” Cecil finally broke the silence, scoffing in disbelief at what he had just discovered. “What twisted fascination do you have with her? A villain who never gave you the light of day, yet you hold this …” His face contorted, looking away from Mark. “I don’t even know what to call this. Sick? Twisted? Pathetic?”

“… Shut up. Just shut up.”

“Can’t do that because I’m not done talking.” He side eyed, “Your little crush is being jumped by multiple variants. Last I checked she ran, but got a suspicion it won’t be easy for her to get rid of them.”

Cecil felt himself slammed to the wall, the white collar of his shirt being tightly gripped. “What? Why didn’t you lead with that!”

“Sorry, kid, didn’t expect your type to be bad girls.” He grunted, staring into Mark’s brown eyes.

“Just tell me where she is.”

“Thinking of joining the fight now? Don’t want to stay here by Eve anymore? All I had to do was dangle something you can never have in front of your face to finally leave this room?”

Mark raised a fist and hit the wall behind the man he had pinned. “Tell me where (Y/N) is.”

Cecil dug his hand into his suit pocket, pushing an earpiece to his chest which Mark quickly caught. “Plug that in and Donald will tell you.” He stated. The grip Mark had on his collar loosened, pushing him aside as he went to grab his mask from the end of the bed.

As always, he comes running when he hears you’re out there.

"I am having a blast," This sinister version of Invincible smirked, his breathing heavy as he had you pinned to the ground. You made him work up quite a sweat, and he was getting quite thirsty. "You're so new, so fun, so entertaining, so enticing. I'm working up an appetite."

It felt like it has been ages since you were stuck fighting for your life against this man, but it has been only a couple of minutes.

Your face distorted in disgust. A hand of his was holding your two legs together so that you couldn't kick him away even though you were desperately trying to squirm your legs away from his tight grasp.

"Eat shit." You cursed, collecting the saliva that accumulated in your mouth and spitting it to his face—the wad of spit hitting the corner of his lips.

His smile faltered, before grinning again as he cooed at you. "That bitch of a mouth of yours needs work, though." Sinister Invincible parted his lips, his tongue licking the side of his face, collecting the saliva you had thrown at him and swallowing.

"You gross sick fu—hhmp!" You quickly got muffled as he had snaked his gloved fingers inside your mouth with his free hand, the taste of rubber filling your taste buds as you thrashed under his hold. You used your hands to scratch and slap his face, though that seemed to only entertain him further.

His fingers moved to feel your teeth, your tongue that tried to escape the taste of his gloves, and the soft as well as hard palate. You yelled muffled profanities, biting down on his fingers.

Your canine fangs broke through the rubber material of the glove, and he let out a small—was that fucking moan?—sound as that only served to give him more reason to push his fingers deeper down your mouth, his fingertips scooting to the entrance of your throat.

"Bite harder, cunt." He demanded, and you instinctively listened.

Your teeth pressed down on his skin, the bite breaking it as a metallic taste seeped into your taste buds joining the taste of the rubber gloves.

"Ouggh my god." Sinister Mark moaned; the pain brought by your fangs serving to be pleasurable. That hand he used to hold down your legs he shifted over to one, squeezing hard against the muscles and into the bone.

Crack!

"HHMP!" Your scream muffled into his glove, and you gagged soon after from his fingers hitting the back of your throat. The scratch and hits to his head were doing nothing to him, and you grimaced as your eyes darted around to find any way to get out of this.

You noticed how your broken leg wasn't immediately healing, like how it should be, and your eyes widen as you remembered the collar the G.D.A had placed around your neck. You had forgotten about it, and you closed your eyes as you knew what to do.

Your hands reached eagerly to the shock collar, digging your fingers between the metal and your neck as you began to tear away at it. It instantly began sending electricity through your body, riddling your body to the seizing and overwhelming pain that resembled the same sensation when you were hit with that gun. Your eyes opened, rolling to the back of your skull from the intensity.

You clenched your jaw as you continued to rip it from your neck, trying to keep your eyes open and not lose consciousness as the metal began to rip apart—the wires being revealed.

Whatever was sending the electricity was no longer contained to just your body, zapping in the air and reaching to the black and yellow Invincible that was on top of you.

The electrifying pain met him too, and he yanked his digits out of your mouth as the bolts traveled up to his entire body. You felt his weight lift off as you ripped the collar in two, gasping for air and rolling to your side.

Your body twitched as there was still electricity coursing through your body—and you felt an intense wave of exhaustion flood you.

No, I can't pass out, I need to get out of here. No, no—

You tried to resist, though black spots were already filling your vision as shapes and colors became a blur. Even then, you tried to crawl to distance yourself from the Invincible, but a sudden tight grip to your hair pulled you toward his direction.

"You disobedient bitch. Who told you to do that?" You heard a growl, the pull of your hair making you whine.

Your hair was suddenly released, feeling a strong gust of wind behind you as Sinister’s Mark voice off to the distance. You didn’t care to look back, trying to squint to see what was ahead of you.

Although your vision became increasingly blurry and you gagged from having his hand shoved down your throat a few seconds ago. You tried to sit up but failed, you head feeling heavy as it hit the ground.

You internally screamed to stay awake, but darkness hugged you. Before that however, you felt someone crouch next to you, a hand draped over your forehead as they said something to you. Whatever they said, you couldn’t tell, and you just prayed they were more of a friend than a foe another crazy Invincible.

sorry if this was boring, wanted to focus on Mainstream Mark in this one :P !!

Am I cray cray to think Sinister Mark loves dishing out and receiving pain

UMM anyway, we ignore how you can tell I’m new to writing action scenes tyyy 🫣🙈 oh also the plot holes shh

-bonsubear

[pengmar]

just sink your fangs into my neck, man. it won’t be weird. i promise

[pengmar]

“barbara gordon getting paralyzed for the sake of bruce wayne’s development was misogynist, but oracle is a better mantle for her and she should still be a wheelchair user.” i say into the mic.

the crowd boos. i begin to walk off in shame, when a voice speaks.

“she’s right,” they say. everyone turns to the 5th row, but no one is there. then on the screen behind me: barbara gordon herself.

[pengmar]

“Jason is rash, impulsive and reckless!!”

Jason Todd:

[pengmar]

someone on twitter is trying to claim that use of an em-dash is an indication of AI-generated writing because it’s “relatively rare” for actual humans to use it. skill issue

[pengmar]

He’ll just say this unprompted they won’t even be fighting Thank you Judd Winick for making this canon 🙏 under the cut:

(Batman and Robin 2009 #25)