#Message from Cecile

[yourbelgianthings]

"there's no loss in romance by imagining them as normal rather than the most beautiful people you've ever seen." (joseph fink about cecil and carlos on i only listen to the mountain goats episode 113)

[crowlore]

[grimbeak]

HOW DID WE GET A STORY ABOUT HIM AND THEN 250

[serensho]

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა

ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა

wings

in which mark meets someone with viltrumite-like powers — and has an angel’s wings?

invincible x fem!reader

warnings: world-building, smut fluff, not canon-compliant at all

inspired by kali uchis’s angel & igual que un angel

wc: 2800

“We don’t know exactly where she came from… but we do know she fell from an extreme height in the sky, or even space, down to Earth.”

Mark examines the hospital bed as he glances at Cecil with suspicion. He crosses his arms, puffing his chest out as he peers closer through the glass. It’s unlike Cecil to joke, much less about something as ridiculous as this.

“Do you realize what you’re telling me right now? Some girl with angel wings fell out of the sky suddenly? Is this some sort of prank?”

Cecil sighs, looking at his feet as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“No, Mark. She fell in Chicago, and left a huge mess for us to clean up. But after everything that’s happened, who knows maybe she was sent here for a reason. God knows that the city needs something to believe in after all the destruction.”

Mark turns away from the glass, fidgeting as he looks at the ground. 

“So why did you call me here? Is there some sort of problem with her?” Mark asks as he turns back to Cecil, sizing him up. 

Their relationship was never a good one, but when Mark received a message that he needed his help with some sort of situation, he felt compelled to come to the Pentagon, despite their bad blood. There was some sort of unexplainable pull – a siren’s call urging him to listen for once to see what was happening. But maybe that gut feeling was wrong, since all Cecil had done so far was present to him some poor girl in a hospital gown hooked up to countless machines, her wings held tightly together with some sort of harness or tape so that they couldn’t take up too much space. They looked to be pretty big, a mixture of ivory and white but he couldn’t get too good of a look as she shifted in the cot.

“Well, we’ve been running some tests and found out some interesting information about whatever she might be. She’s incredibly strong, and if she wakes up on the wrong side of the bed could do some major damage, even more than when she fell. And –”

Mark scoffs, rolling his eyes. Cecil gives him a look before continuing, “Mark, we believe the powers she possesses aren’t that far off from your own, or even Atom Eve’s. She can make beams of pure light, heal herself, and even though she’s unconscious has some ability to sense and manipulate the emotions of those around her. Don’t ask how we found that out.”

Mark raises his eyebrows in confusion looking back toward the girl behind the glass. 

“I see. What do you want me to do about it?” 

“Well, the reason you turned out so…you is because of your mother and the fact that you got to experience humanity. So, show her how to be human.”

Mark stutters out, “Huh!? Do you want me to play house with her and show her the ropes of being normal? I’m the last person who could do that!”

Cecil rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “What I really want is for you to let her stay at your home for a bit, let her experience some normalcy. For all we know she could be here to take over Earth. Or because it’s some sort of punishment. Just let Debbie talk to her at least. She’s doing a pretty good job with Oliver so far.”

“You want me to let her stay with my family? No way–”

“I already spoke to Debbie and she said she doesn’t mind. Even though the girl has powers, she could’ve used them in far worse ways and hasn’t yet. She just crashed here, passed out upon impact and has been sleeping since. But we think she’ll wake up soon.” 

As soon as Cecil finished speaking, Mark heard the sounds of the monitors behind the glass beeping rapidly. He watched as you woke up slowly, rubbing your eyes, stretching your arms, pushing against the restraints against your wings until you looked to your back in confusion. You examined your surroundings before landing on Mark and Cecil, walking towards the glass, tapping on it tentatively. 

Mark looks you up and down as you stare back at him with curiosity. There’s definitely something otherworldly in the way you move, not to mention your looks. Such beautiful eyes, a shine in them that gleams as he finally makes eye contact with you. There’s a strange swirling in his stomach – but that was probably just your powers. 

You tilt your head, eyeing Mark in his suit. The way his muscles ripple, material spread taut along the span of his shoulders and his sharp jawline visible – but you can’t see his eyes. You huff and turn away from the glass. 

“Where’s Donald? He always spoke to me. You just stare and this one I’ve never met before,” You say as you conjure up a beam of light that cuts through the bindings holding your wings together. 

“He’s busy. And you have someone new to talk to: Mark Grayson,” Cecil introduces, patting Mark on the back before opening up the door to your room, ushering Mark in. He bristled as the door slammed shut behind him, effectively trapping him and you together. 

The air felt different suddenly. Electric. He watched in awe as you stretched and unfurled your wings a few feathers falling and landing gracefully. They seemed to somehow shimmer despite the sterile lighting and looked impossibly soft. He met your eyes seeing a vulnerability in your gaze that hadn’t been there before. But as soon as it appeared it faded away as you spoke.

“So they want you to be my babysitter? The customs of my people are not that different from yours. But you’re not completely human, are you Mark Grayson?” You asked your eyes never leaving him as you walked around him, examining him. You went to grab his goggles off of his face before he swatted you away.

“No, no I’m not. But I’m not going to treat you like a child. Cecil just wants me to… help you adjust to life here on Earth.”

“Oh.” You looked away from his eyes standing in front of him with your arms crossed. “I may have just awoken, but I know many things. Your kind– your father’s kind are the reason I’m here. But I…I can’t remember what exactly happened to my….” You trailed off, a hand coming to your face as you turned your back to him, wings filling his vision completely. 

Mark wanted to reach out, to comfort you somehow but he didn’t know what to do. “I can guarantee you, that I am nothing like my father, or any Viltrumite,” he spat the word out in disgust. 

You turned back around, conjuring a small beam of light that reached out to him, and he froze. Were you going to attack him? Instead, the light shaped into a hand-like shape, its fingers taking off his mask and goggles and placing them gently onto your cot. You waved the beam away as you walked towards him again, finally completely face to face with him. In the silence there was an understanding and again, that pulled towards you to let you do whatever you wanted with him, to him, and he felt frozen in place.

“A heart like yours has gone extinct among the Viltrumites, if it ever even existed in the first place. And my own I think is what caused me to be sent here. I won’t harm you Mark.”

In your luminous eyes he saw his own and relief washed over him. A heart like his? He wasn’t sure if whatever you were sensing was a result of your powers or just sweet talk. But he was definitely looking forward to learning more about you. 

“You think you’re here because of Viltrumites?” he asked as he shifted under your gaze.

“I think so. Whatever my purpose is, it’s tied to you and this planet. But it’s as though a fog has been placed over my mind, I-I can’t completely remember. I do remember falling, sorry about that,” You played with the end of your hospital gown nervously. “But I feel it in my chest, in my soul that I’m in the right place.”

You smiled gingerly at him, something new in your eyes. Embarrassment, maybe from the fall and having been so close to him.

“Alright. If you’re going to live with me and my family there’s a few rules that need to be laid out.”

Mark wasn’t kidding when he said there were lots of rules for you to follow. Despite being under Cecil’s watchful eye regardless, Mark made sure to keep tabs on your whereabouts and what you were doing as much as he could. You spent a lot of time at his home, helping Debbie with dinner, watching and spending time with Oliver, becoming a role model and friend to him. You especially liked playing sports with him, and flying since he was so curious about your wings. They also fascinated Debbie, the only person you had let touch them, feeling a sense of comfortability only a mother could create. It was fleeting, but it was a sign that you were embracing this new life, something you explained to Mark after she had rubbed the space between them on a night when you were feeling homesick, not having left your bed all day.

In a way, you just fit into his home, his family so well, he couldn’t help as that pull towards you, grew into a sense of affection and fondness. And that feeling was tested one day when Mark went up against a particularly strong villain.

Mark really hadn’t expected the guy to be so strong. He was facing punch after punch, being beaten into the ground late at night when he looked towards the sky and saw… it had to be–

A blinding beam of light exploded, shattering nearby windows, the force pushing the attacker away. Somehow you had created a cell of light that he was now trapped in, hearing his shouts of pain and the sizzling of skin as he tried to get out.

“Mark! I saw what was happening and had to help–I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” You exclaimed as your hand hovered above the center of his forehead. His limbs and face tingled as he closed his eyes, succumbing to the feeling that began to roll over him in crashing waves of tenderness, softness. Your healing powers began to take effect as he felt himself finally able to sit up.

“T-Thank you, angel…” He coughed as he looked toward you, a vulnerability in your eyes that was reserved only for him. 

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, melting into him as you scratched at the hairs near the nape of his neck. That felt good…

“I was so scared, Mark. Please–Please you have to let me and Oliver help you. Don’t ever go off on your own like this again!” You let go of him as you looked into his eyes, scolding him. Your gleaming eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight, eyes shining with tears. One fell, Mark carefully brushing it away as he cupped your face delicately.

“I’m sorry. Let’s go home, angel.”

Instead of staying in your own bed that night, you ended up in Mark’s, tending to his lingering aches and pains wearing one of his shirts that you cut the back off to make room for your wings. You began rubbing his back, relaxing him further before he moved to face you.

After what had happened, he knew he had to do something, to finally act on whatever it was lingering between you. You looked at him, as curious as the first time you met and tilted your head so cutely.

“Is something wrong, Mark? Was I too rough?”

He waved his hand away, dismissing what you had said. 

“No, never angel. It’s just I was thinking and maybe I could…” He took a deep breath before taking your hand into his, “Maybe I could help you relax too? Could I touch your wings?”

You offered a coy smile, eyes downcast. You looked up into his eyes, watching as his face bloomed into a timid smile matching your own. You nodded, before saying, “I might need some help, you know,” You gestured to your–no, his shirt. You turned your back to him, crossing your arms as you moved to take it off, Mark rushing to help you. 

“O-Oh yeah, of course.” 

He helped you take it off carefully, the expanse of your back visible to him, wings unfurling and fluttering coquettishly. His hands hovered as he took in the sight before him. He could also see the soft curve of your breasts, but they became obscured as you crossed your arms. 

“You can touch me. I trust you, Mark.”

He swallowed, before rubbing the space in between your wings watching as you rolled your neck. The skin there was soft, and he moved to touch where your wings protruded from your back. You shifted, a small noise of pleasure escaping from your mouth.

He continued, stroking the feathers of your wings as he felt you relax, slumping slightly. They were so soft, so delicate and yet he could feel the strong hard muscle lying underneath. He began to massage the space beneath where your wings came out from your back and you whimpered, wings fluttering and stretching out further. You moved to clasp a hand over your mouth in shame before Mark leaned into your back whispering against your ear, his voice seeming to deepen.

“It’s okay, baby. Let me hear you, angel. Can I keep touching you? Somewhere else, maybe?” 

“Y-yes, please,” you whined quietly, music to his ears. 

Mark reached around from behind you to cup your breasts, feeling their weight between his hands. You turned your head to the side, the sensation engulfing you as he began to place soft kisses against your neck. He rolled a nipple between his fingers, pinching it as he began to nip and suck against your neck. His rough hands felt so good against your silky skin and he breathed in your sweet smell.

“You like that, angel?”

You nodded, crying out in pleasure, already sensitive from his hands on your wings.

“Use your words, sweet girl.”

“Mmmm, I love it. Please Mark, please,” you begged, unsure of what you were even chasing as his lips met yours in a searing kiss. Your tongues melded together as you brought your hand to run through his hair, your other becoming entwined with one of his hands still playing with your chest. The kiss continued, as Mark trailed his hands lower, pulling away to look into your eyes, asking for permission. The hand in his hair left, guiding it to the heaven between your legs as you began to grind against his hand. 

“Angel, you’re so wet.”

He lovingly caressed you, rubbing against your clit over your panties as he pulled you into another kiss, swallowing your moans. He rubbed faster, as your breathing became heavier, pleasure overwhelming your senses. 

“Mark–!” you cried out as a final warning before complete bliss filled your senses, wings spreading as far as they could, the downy feathers glowing. The room was illuminated as you came down from your high, slouching into his embrace as you rested your head against his shoulder. He kissed your temple as you felt something warm and hard…and wet against your backside.

“Mark, did you…?” You looked into his tired eyes as he looked to the ceiling in embarrassment.

“I-I couldn’t help it!” He stuttered out as you shifted, your bodies moving against the bed until you were on top of him, straddling him.

Your eyes shimmered as you splayed your hands across his chest, kissing him sweetly. Whatever this was– at first it felt inevitable, inescapable. But now you knew that you two were meant to be, a connection, a binding of hearts that were meant to connect in one way or another. It just happened to be like this. He looked at you as you used your powers to convey this feeling, eyes softening even further if possible, as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, placing his hands on your hips and squeezing.

You laid on top of him, your wings creating a sort of cocoon around you both as you whispered into his ear as he had before your voice sultry and yet sweet, “It’s okay, baby. Now I get to return the favor.”

You two were in for a very, very, long night.

a/n: if you made it this far, thank you for reading! this is my longest fic to date and i hope you all enjoy it!! i'd love to maybe make this a series of sorts w/ supernatural reader so lmk what you'd like to see; i'm also going to begin working on that hercules!au but please send in requests and inspo, i'd love to hear your thoughts!!

[badsopen]

You Can run, But You Can't Hide...

Yandere!Mark Grayson x Superpowered!Reader

A/N : The reader in this has a teleportation power, not interdimensional teleportation but like regular teleportation, and they can phase through walls, obviously in this dimension Mark joined his dad and he doesn't want to kill you either

Hiding with Robot and Adam Eve's group wasn't ideal. Resources were scarce. People scared and paranoid whether they got to live another day or not; but going back and forth from one part of the planet to another wasn't sustainable either, especially since with how fast the both of them can travel; it'd only be a few minutes of resting time before you had to teleport again. So, after narrowly escaping Nolan's death grip in Honduras, you made the decision to move back up north even to settle down in the sewers to have more than thirty minutes to cool down.

But you had spotted one of the freedom fighters and followed him back to the underground base, he was clumsy and loud. It wouldn't be long until they found this place. Finding Adam and Robot telling them was the best you could do for them; they were surprised to say the least. After all a hand straight through your chest should've killed you; but with the combination of teleporting and phasing an escape was granted to you. However, not without a cost, your heart was weak, Nolan had grazed the front of your heart and thinned the muscle there. Normally that wouldn't be an issue, just pop on down to Cecil and he'd have you fixed up in no time. So, your life was on a schedule, it was a rough estimate…maybe a year? Two if you were able to properly rest without the teleporting at all.

Adam convinced you to say, sweetly said it was to treat your injuries, but Robot had made it clear it was for you to help out gathering resources and getting as many people as possible out of here in case this place was found. No matter, it was nice of them to give you a place to recover after Robot had fixed up your heart. The scar was a thin long line, from the top of your throat to the underside of your belly button. It was overkill you were sure of it, but even after waking up after the pain of being ripped open, you still were in better health, than teleporting in fear of being caught and killed.

You were inside of a subway car, practicing teleporting instantly from one side of the room to the other side, it was going to take a couple of days of practicing to build up to longer distances again. It was nicer not having a time frame of when you were going to die, or having hope for the future that wasn't under the Viltrum Empire.

It was short lived however..

There was rumbling coming from the roof of the underground train station, at first it was dismissible-just buildings crumbling to the ground, but after the screaming started to pick up and then people rushing by the car it was obvious. They had found this place, and they were going to kill everyone in this place.

Rushing out of the car, you saw that they had split themselves up, Nolan was fighting Robot and Adam Eve was fighting Mark. Omni Man had made quick work of Robot and the other people who were unlucky enough to behind him after he was rushed. Teleporting to Robot after Omni Man had delivered his last words to Robot, you had told him that you would 'take care of it and not to worry'. His voice was rasped and hard to make out with the screaming, but the message was delivered a simple Don't fail.

Looking around for the both of them wasn't hard, just follow the fear induced screams was more than enough to be pointed in the right direction.

Mark had his hand around Eve's neck, they were talking to each other. Her hands are on his wrist... and then a snap...he broke her neck. Omni man is up there now he's saying something, Mark is shaking his head not as he puts Eves' body down. They're still talking to each other.

Both of their heads snap in your direction, FUCK they saw you! Before you can think of a place to teleport to Nolan rushes you bursting the people in-between you both like bloody pimples. He lifts you in the air by your neck. Mark slowly floats his way down to you and his father.

"I wasn't expecting you to be here" Nolan grimaces slightly "especially with how keen you were to get away from the city."

His voice was monotone and short. It was hard to see where this conversation would go. You try and keep yourself levelheaded knowing that one wrong move will get you killed or captured by the of them.

"I can't stay away from home for to long."

A nervous smile came across your cracked lips, hurting but not bleeding. The grip Omni Man had on your throat was tight, keeping you suspended in the air by your throat was starting to expose the scar. A flush of air meant that Invincible had come up to interrogate you with Omni Man.

Marks soft voice rang through the silence of his and his fathers animalistic brutality just minutes ago.

"Why are you here?"

His tone had remained soft and understanding like he was talking to a child; it made would always make you wonder if Mark was choosing to do these horrible things, or he was going along with his father trying save thousands from his father.

Nolans eyes started to wonder down the slightly red line and a deep frown began to set on his mustache.

"Ah, Mark, that's a really st-"

Nolans grip had tightened suddenly as he dropped lower to the ground making sure your feet could barely scrape the rubble ridden concrete. A stern look strikes his face as he turns to Mark. A short look is shared between them before turning back to you, their eyes drift down your face and towards your pulsing scar. Nolan's thumb presses in deep enough to make Mark suck in air harshly and Nolan giving a somewhat disappointed grumble from some deep crevasse of feeling that you quite aren't sure is there.

A soft sigh came from Mark as a frown sets deep on his skin.

"What happened to you? What's with the scar? Is because of what happened in Honduras? You know if you'd just stayed still nothing would've happened. You pushed dad's buttons..., I'm not saying you deserved that, but still."

A shrug passed through him, he moved closer, Nolan's grip was starting to get harsher. Mark puts his hand on top of your head, he doesn't take heed of it. He begins to it upward slowly as you struggled to look up, a chuckle came from Nolan.

"He won't kill you, just make sure you won't be able to see straight. I've seen him practice works well enough."

You weren't able to at least get a sarcastic rebuttal out before his hand came down on, your head. It was an odd experience a slight pain, a sharp realization of being able to see in opposite directions, burning in of bile, and then not having sight in front of yourself.

[married-to-google-translater]

Yandere main mark grayson with a reader who forgets to eat and it’s never on purpose but they are just busy

Oooh I love this... Please send me more requests <3 I don't have enough invincible stuff

Sorry if this is OOC... I Am still learning

Yandere Mark Grayson

Mark wouldn't really like this.

He hates it when you don't take care of yourself.

Mark wouldn't blame you for this.

This is something you really can't control and as your boyfriend, he has to take care of you.

Mark should start coming up with ideas to help you.

The first idea would be to get rid of the ones that make the blues forget to eat :D

Yeah, that was a bad idea and even Mark realized it.

However, this doesn't stop him from starting to distance you from others.

Another idea he had would be a little better.

Mark would start sending you reminders to eat.

Usually it would be either a voice message or a phone call.

Mark could very well stop the fight so he can call/send voice message to you and make sure you eat.

Saving the world is important, but you are more important.

Cecil really loses his mind with him.

Mark would also cook for you whenever he had time.

He hopes this will help you remember to eat.

[cherryyluvs]

BROO i remember reading those back in 2022, dont worry not a weird request lol. 💖

Late Night Delivery !

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ── Mark x plug!reader | warning: Drug use (weed), Reader is a plug, Mark Grayson is very into you, Light Dom/sub vibes (Mark being needy)

William was pacing like a madman, final exams were cooking his brain and Mark? Poor guy looks like he hasn't slept in days. “You need to chill out before your head explodes.” William grumbled, scrolling through his contacts.

Mark barely heard him, slumped on Rick’s twin bed with his arms folded behind his head.

“Chill out how?” Mark muttered, He hasnt even been in school this semester due to being on an off planet mission thanks to Cecil.

That's when William sends you a message.

WILLIAM: Hey you still in town? We need u, finals are hell.

You almost ignore it but then a second text comes in.

WILLIAM: mark’s here too, he's stressed. Like really stressed.

You roll your eyes but can't help the smile. Finals always bring the most anxious customers crawling back. You grab your hoodie and toss your stash into the bag and some fruit snacks just in case.

You've known William since your second year of college and you have been his plug since his freshman year. Met him at some campus party, too loud, too packed. But a chill dude and he's loyal too, always comes back to you when things get rough.

But this isn't about him though. Tonight is about his best friend Mark.

You only met him once and it was a brief thing. He would tag along to pick up with William, a few months ago. He didn't say much, just stared a little too long when you handed off the bag.

He didn't know what to expect, but he definitely wasn't expecting you.

“You're the plug?” He said, almost stunned.

“You got a problem with that?” You teased. He didn't answer, just swallowed hard and paid in full. Well overpaid you actually but you never gave it back.

So when you knocked on the door of Rick’s dorm and William opens it, you walk in barely glancing at Mark before tossing William a small zip bag and a disposable lighter. “You owe me,” you said with a wink.

Mark looks up and freezes. You smile, stepping inside slowly. “Heard someone needs to relax.” Mark runs a hand through his hair. “You came fast.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That's not usually something guys complain about.” William coughs out a laugh and tosses the lighter back at you.

“Rick and I are going to grab food. Give Mark the good stuff. Like your extra good stuff.”

Mark handed you a few crumpled bills, way more than you asked for. Rich kid. And leaned back like he hadn't just emptied his wallet without blinking.

You didn't mention it and just tucked the money away and got ready.

Mark’s never been much of a weed guy. Back in high school he was too focused on his grades till he got his superpowers. But college is different and he's stressed, sleep deprived, and exhausted.

William shuts the door behind you with a soft click. Then, you pull your tray out and sit across from Mark. He's watching every moment. “Not what you pictured, is it?" you ask in a casual, teasing voice.

Already coaxing the paper between your fingers, packing it just right. Fingers moving with ease , your hands? They're poetry.

Mark shrugs. “Didn't think you’d be pretty.” You glance up. “Flattery doesn’t get you discounts, y’know.”

“Wasn't asking for one.” His voice is quieter now. You lick the edge of the paper slowly, sealing the blunt with a small smile. You hand it to him, fingers lightly touching against his.

“You gonna hit it, or just stare all night?”

Twenty minutes in, the smoke swirled low. Mark was buzzed, loose, cheeks pink, and red eyes locked on your lips as you talked about your music taste, your worst clients, and how you onced delivered to a frat house that tried to pay in beer and pizza.

He was smiling now. You take a slow hit, your lips brushing the same edge that his lips touched.

He's watching again.

And yeah, you feel that stare.

You passed the blunt back to him, “So, like.. You go here?”

“Second year.” you said, blowing out smoke. “Maybe third if i dont fail finals.”

He snorts. “If you're William’s plug and you pass the finals, I might fall in love.” You laugh, but you caught it. The way he said it, soft and too real for someone high.

His eyes lingered, half lidded and heavy, like you were something he wanted to memorize.

“You good?” you asked, watching his eyes slightly widen, “Yeah..” Mark’s voice was a little breathless.

His gaze never left you. He couldn't help it, his eyes kept wondering. Down your neck, to your lips, and back to your eyes.

“You're really pretty,” he blurted out. for the second time You smiled, taking another hit. “Thanks, i know.”

Mark chuckles but it was obvious how affected he was by your presence. You were so close to him. He could smell the sweet scent of your perfume, the faint hint of weed that lingered on your skin.

You noticed. You always noticed. You noticed the way his pupils dilated, how his lips parted and the way his breath hitched when he looked at you.

“So, what now?” You asked, moving closer. The question hung in the air, almost too heavy to answer.

You made the decision for him, leaning forward and brushing your lips against his, just a ghost of a kiss. Mark froze, his body didn't know what to do, but his lips.

His lips responded instantly.

His hand found its way to the back of your neck, pulling you deeper into the kiss. His fingers gently caressing your skin. You pulled away for a breath, eyes barely open as you stared at him.

“Thought you were supposed to be studying for finals.” you teased, your voice low and passionate.

Mark’s hands grab your waist, guiding you closer to him. “I was but i'm enjoying this more.” Before you could reply, his lips were on yours again, this time deeper and hungrier.

You feel him move as he slowly leaned back, pulling you into his lap.

Hands moving to your thighs and squeezing them gently, making you gasp in surprise. “Mark.." You whispered against his lips, but he didn't let you finish. His mouth was on you.

You could feel his lips move against yours, desperate and needy. He tasted like the smoke from the blunt, tangy, His hands gripped your thighs tighter, thumbs rubbing small circles into your skin.

You let out a breathless laugh, “You really want me that bad?”

“Yes,” he groaned, “Please.”

You leaned in and kissed him again, slow, lazy kiss now. Mark’s hands were roaming over your back, his touch so needy.

“You sure you wanna keep going?”

Mark nodded. “I haven't been high in my life.. I just want more of you.” The words made your heart race, your body following his lead, every kiss, every touch, you both liked it and it deepened the hunger that pulsed between you.

And from that night on, it wasn’t just about the weed anymore.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 21

Batsis needs a vacation but someone else will start working on making her consider it behind the scenes😇

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 21 >>next

“It’s crooked.” Mark looked at the pillar he placed down before looking back at you. “Nuh-uh.” You give him a look. “The fuck you mean nuh-uh? Look at it- it’s leaning to the right.” Mark just nudged it to sit straight with his foot. “Nuh-uh, it doesn’t.” The blank stare you gave him made his neutral expression break for a second, amusement making his lip twitch. “Markus. Do not play with me right now.” At your empty threat, he simply laughs.

Your attention was brought over to Andressa and Nolan who were calling you two over. “We’ve completed a ship to take you home.” Andressa said while handing the baby over to you as Nolan placed a hand on your shoulder. ”I’ll miss you two greatly, make sure to visit.” Your eyebrow raised at his words. “You’re coming with us.”

The statement was met with a confused what from both men. “And our son will go with you.” Andressa continued. She also was met with the same shock and confusion. “It’s time you all returned to Earth. Don’t argue with me, Nolan. Each week I’m aging more and more. By the time our son will speak his first words, I’ll be long gone.” Her hands move to caress both Nolan and her son. “You two are so special to me, but my life will run its course far faster than either of yours. I’d feel terrible keeping you here for another month just to have you leave when I’m gone.”

“But the government- Debbie-“ Nolan’s stuttered confusion was met with a smile from the two women present. “We conspired behind your back.” You shrug. “Lawyers have already been contacted, Cecil’s on our side, for now at least, and will push everyone finding out about you for a while, and mom knows. About everything.” You nod towards Andressa, who simply smiles brighter at the silence of the two men. “I had to know what type of woman would raise my baby. You chose well.”

Nolan and Mark looked at each other, both trying to process what just happened. “You’ll be stuck on feeding and diaper change duties, by the way. Think of it as your start towards paying for your crimes.” You nudge your father before boarding the ship. “I told you I’ll make sure you repent for what you did.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“I can’t believe you put us through a week of spaceship travel just to see dad change diapers and feed the baby.” Your dearest brother nudges into your mind. “Was it not fun to see him panic, fail, and look so betrayed when we wouldn’t help?” Mark huffs as he opens the front door. “Fair.”

You, Mark, and your baby brother walked in just fine, no problems, but as soon as Nolan stepped in he was met with a pan to his face, the body of it slightly molding to his face. “Huh. You were right.” Debbie’s voice was heard, making Nolan’s half-asleep mind go out of fight instinct. “I do feel better after hitting him.”

You just smiled while kissing your mom’s cheek, leaning into her hug as Mark joined. “My babies.”  She almost sings while squeezing you both, being mindful not to squeeze the baby too tight. While Mark pulled away sooner, you still lingered, only moving when your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a message. “Oh, sorry mom. I have to go. I promised to see Talia as soon as I got back.”

She doesn’t take your littlest brother when you try to move him from your wrap carrier. “No. You should take Oliver with you, too.” Marks raised an eyebrow. “Oliver? You already named him? And after grandpa, too?” Debbie just shrugs. “We can’t call him baby. And I’m not letting your father name him like he named you, Markus. You should go too. I’m sure Amber misses you.” Locking eyes, you two immediately got the memo, so while Mark flew upstairs to change and go out the window, you quickly put an illusion spell on Oliver, his purple skin changing to a more human tone, and flew out of the house too.

“Debbie-“ Nolan started but his wife wasn’t having any of it. “I don’t care, Nolan. I really don’t. I’ve realized my life can go on without you. I don’t need you to help me raise my kids, I don’t need you to make me feel good about myself. I don’t need you. Period.” The woman crosses her arms. “But I can’t protect our kids in the same way you can. That’s the only reason I let you back into my house.”

“Cecil may be willing to help now, but I don’t trust him. There have been whispers of the Guardians having an inner war, whispers of the Justice Leagues doing something behind the government's back, which isn’t new, but Lois has been awkward with me lately, especially when the two B’s are brought up. She gets this guilty look. She’s keeping something from me.” The viltrumite’s muscles tensed at the mere mention of the bat. “He’s planning something, they all are, and I can’t do what you do.”

“You won’t have to.” Nolan reassures, hands itching to wrap around her, to soothe her worries. “I’ll deal with that. With everything… But we really should talk about us.” Debbie just sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat. “We… should.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Mother. I beg of you to stop.” Damian complained as Talia ran her hand through his hair, the tips of her fingers caressing his temple. “No. I’m your mother, and I have missed you.” The youngest bat sighs at his mother’s antics. “And stop fidgeting, she won’t bite your head off.” Her teasing is only met with a glare.

“I don’t know. Mom says she likes to bite people.” Jon shrugs, not noticing his friend tensing up. Talia’s chuckle is soft as she finally pulls her hand away from her son’s hair. “I said she won’t bite his head off. I never said she won’t bite.” The teasing only made Damian more nervous, his nostrils flaring, eye twitching.

“Stop scaring the kids, Talia. I don’t bite… Hard.” Your toothy smile didn’t ease Damian, who had stood up as soon as he heard your voice. Putting the fact that he hasn’t noticed you, burying it at the back of his head as a matter of fact, it was strange to see you without your costume. “I see we both brought our kids with us.” You smile at the two boys while introducing yourself and sitting down across the other woman.

“Is that yours?” Damian didn’t even introduce himself, his eyes were fixated on the dark-haired baby, already making plans on how to eliminate the alleged father. Jon cringed at the chosen words, kicking Damian’s shin gently. “Oh, no. I should have worded that better.”

You smile brightly as you ruffle the baby’s hair, messing it up even more. “This is my baby brother, Oliver. He got adopted recently, and mom needed a break, so he’s stuck with me.” This is so much worse. Damian would have preferred a nephew over a rival to the title of little brother. Talia took over as her boy was processing everything. “Well, they are having a school trip. This is Jon Kent, my son’s friend. And this is-“

“Damian al Ghul, my mother speaks highly of you. Nice to meet you.” His hand extended for a shake as he spoke. Talia’s face remained unmoving, but he could feel hers and Jon’s disapproving look. He chose to ignore it. “Nice to meet you, too.” Your constant smile eased his nerves, sitting back down while Jon greeted you as well. You took the other boy’s shaky smile as him being shy. Lois mentioned that once. “Oh, thank you for keeping my mom active and not letting her drown in all this mess, Talia- ”

The voice of Cecil ringing through your earpiece made you stop talking, giving the boys and the woman an apologetic smile as you started speaking to the old man. “Can’t this wait-… Look, I know you’re worried or whatever-…” You sigh, rubbing at your forehead. “What about Mark?... Alright. Fine, I’ll see you there.”

“You barely got back and are off to save the world again, huh?” Talia’s joking is met with a sad smile. “Sorry- I really have to help with this one-“ Damian quickly jumped at the opportunity. “We can help.” His words were met with a confused look from both women, but Jon saved him. “With the baby! We can help with the baby! I- I’ve babysat before, and we have an adult- I mean, you can’t just leave Ollie with your mom since she needed a break-“

While Jon kept on talking, your eyes met Talia’s, who smiled reassuringly at you. “We can take care of him. Don’t worry. We can go straight to my apartment. I’ll send you the address, and you can come and pick him up when you’re done.” You relent, letting Talia grab Oliver while you untie the wrap and hand it over, too. “Oh, here’s a jar of some food for him- he’s picky. And this is a gift for you.” You set on the table, next to the jar, a Thraxan flower encased in a clear quarts. “The quarts is magically made. It’s supposed to keep it from rotting and withering.” You shrug. “I remember you mentioning you miss your garden, and I sure miss mine. So, while this isn’t a garden, it’s something that you can carry around wherever you go. And I’m sorry to you both, if I knew, I would have gotten you two something as well-“

“Love. Thank you for the gift, but you’re rambling. Go before I decide to keep you too.” You pouted at her teasing. With one final goodbye and a kiss to Oliver’s hair, you left. Damian huffed at the baby, who looked at him before his mug scrunched up, burying his crying face in Talia’s shoulder. The scowl on Damian’s face only got bigger as Jon scolded him for glaring at a baby.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Getting stuck in such a small space with the Immortal was making you crazy, especially as he kept staring at you like a guilty pup. To say you were pissed was- sigh. Your nerves were still up, the League doing jack shit, the legal shit that the whole family was preparing for, and now this. “What?!” You snapped once he opened his mouth and closed it for the hundredth time, interrupting Eve’s and Mark’s shitty dad talk. The Immortal froze, his eyes looking around as everyone in the spaceship looked at them.

Black Samson took pity on him, mouthing “I’m sorry” to the man, pointing to Mark as well. “I- I’m… sorry. For what I said about both of you. It was uncalled for and out of misplaced anger.” Mark smirked at the man, unable to stop the words from coming out. “That sounds like you’ve been to therapy.”

“I have been. What your father did had nothing to do with any of you. You were just the closest thing to getting what I wanted. It was wrong of me to say that you both were ticking bombs. It took a while, but it made me realize that I haven’t been okay since… I’m sorry.” You finally turned from the screens of the spaceship to face the man. “Then you better act like it. Your apology is appreciated, but it’ll mean nothing if you act like we’re the enemy. There are bigger things to worry about.”

While The Immortal walked closer to you and started interrogating Shapesmith, Amanda leaned closer to Mark. “Are you sure they didn’t date?” Her whisper brought the attention of Samson, Bulletproof, and Eve, too, their eyes following how Mark leaned in closer, his smile dropping. “If he did… I’ll kill him.” Invincible brought his easy-going smile back up, moving away into his original position, ignoring the shocked looks. Zandale, despite the look he threw to Mark, brushed his words off as him being an overprotective brother.

“So what are we supposed to do now?” Your voice brought everyone’s attention back to the actual conversation. “Shapesmith...?” The worried tone in Rudy’s voice immediately made you look back at the screens. “Yes, those. Look. Th-Those are the missiles I was talking about.” Mark’s head snaps to the Martian. “Missiles?! Don't we have shields or something”

“This isn't Star Trek. We're unarmed.” Robot furrowed his brows at Mark’s question. “Everyone, close to me. Now!” Eve was quick to act once everyone was in range by creating a bubble around them. You sigh as everyone started talking over each other. “Can’t you teleport us inside?” Monster Girl groaned, making everyone that didn’t know question that. “No. I don’t know how the inside of the ship looks like. I could open a portal in the middle of an army of Martians, in the middle of a- a vat of acid or a garbage disposal-“

“Alright, everyone who can fly push towards the ship. I have a plan.” Eve cuts through, and everyone listens. Changing the atoms on such a delicate scale was quite hard, but walking right in the middle of rebel Martians was a better option than the middle of an acid vat or being immediately crushed and minced to hell.

“I bet the others are having a better day.” Amanda mumbled to you as soon as Zandale crushed the parasite, and the rumbling of the army of mid-controlling jellyfish coming for them could be heard. “Don’t jinx it. Everyone’s luck has been shit lately.” You sigh, preparing for the fight that’s about to come.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Master Bruce?” Alfred turned towards the tired man. “It’s for you- You should hear this.” The butler insisted, handing over the landline phone. Bruce sighed but took it from the old man. “This is Bruce Wayne.” The voice of Damian’s art teacher immediately made Bruce tense, thinking of the worst. The more the woman spoke, the more his worry turned to anger. “Thank you, Miss Jackson. It’s great to hear how much Damian has been missed.” His eye twitched. “And no worries- he’ll be back by next week. Oh- How is the school trip to Chicago going? He’s been muttering about it for a while bit.”

“School trip to- On, no. The poor thing is sicker than I thought. There are no school trips this semester, Mr. Wayne.” Bruce didn’t quite hear what she said after, his grip on the phone almost crushing it. This year was getting worse and worse. “Thank you again, Ms. Jackson. I may just have to take the boy to Chicago myself. He’s been such a good student and kid- he deserves it.”

He kept the act up, dropping his smile only when the call ended. Chicago. His son lied to him, lied to Alfred, lied to the school, to go on his own to Chicago. Why would he? The only thing happening there is-… The only things he could have gone there for are his sister and- … His sister and the Sorceress… The- his… no. There’s no way- Bruce stormed out of his office straight for the Batcave, ignoring Alfred completely. No. There was no way. Is that why she left? No- she couldn’t be-

Bruce almost squished Tim, the young man barely escaping the storming man. Bruce didn’t answer Tim’s questions, his fingers moving across the keyboard faster than they ever did. Age progression photos are subject to error. They are informed predictions, not set in stone stuff- but the more the man worked on it, creating three variations, one more leaning to his features, one leaning towards her mom’s, and the other a mix of them both- the more his heart dropped into his gut.

Once the photos were done, Tim brought up the maskless face of the Sorceress, straight from her social media. “I fucking knew it…” Red Robin growled. “That little demonic brat- He deleted the footage! I knew it!” The young man opened a slightly corrupted file he barely managed to recover, but the image of the Sorceress was as clear as it gets. “Can’t believe the fuckers went through my stuff.”

Bruce dropped into the chair. His child, his daughter, was the Sorceress. The Killer of the Joker. The kid Omni-Man had taken in and probably raised as a soldier. “Damian knew! He knew! That’s why-“ Bruce just sighs. “I know…” He had a lot of phone calls to make. Starting with Jason and the Kents.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Can’t hold it-“ Eve’s grunt made you act as quick as you could. “Pots eht setisarap ni emit dna ecaps!” The surge of magic that stopped the parasites, leaving them unmoving, left you slightly drained. You groaned as your feet touched the ground. “Hurry up- that won’t stop them for long.” Bulletproof looked at you, voice shaking as he asked how you did that. “Magic. Keep killing.”

The break gave Eve some time to regain some strength and gave Robot enough time to finish while the others did their best to level the field. “Could you make a shield if the spell you did wears off?” You cringed at the question. “I- maybe? I don’t know any specific spell for them, so I’d have to be quite careful with the wording if I go the on-the-spot route.” You shrug. “Done! Get this close to Russ and then press the button!” Robot held the device above his head, letting go when Mark grabbed it. And just in time for the spell to come undone.

The parasites squealed as the transmission was heard from the main host. “Alright, let’s grab the guy and leave-“ Your groaning was cut short as the Martian leader burst through the doors with his army.  “ Halt! You saved us from the sequids, and for that we are grateful.” The alien stated. “Yeah, you're welcome. Uh, look, we got to go-” Mark was interrupted by the leader.“But we cannot permit you to leave with the great betrayer. This is all his doing.” Shapesmith’s eyes met the leader’s. “You must remain here for punishment.” Marks sighs as you groan. “ What kind of punishment?” The answer was simple. Death. Your eyes meet Mark’s. “We understand.” You both said, nodding solemnly... And then you grabbed Amanda and Rudy while Mark grabbed the astronaut and Shapesmith. “Fly!”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The noise of everyone arguing only worsened your headache, your eyes fixating on the screen of the ship… Should be good enough. “ Srekcatta og kcab emoh.” With the spell finalized, the other Martian ships stopped and returned back. “That… works.” The Immortal hummed. “You’re speaking backward. I didn’t catch that before.” Robot turned to look at you. “Yep. It’s a form of magic Zatanna taught me. It’s harder than other forms of magic for me due to actively having to think about it… Zee makes it look so easy.”

“You met the Zatanna Zatara?!” Both Eve and Amanda seemed to geek out at the newfound information. “Yeah, she trains me sometimes. Mainly when John’s too lazy.” You shrug. “Dude, what is your life?” Amanda laughs. “A mess-“ you whined, leaning your head against the closest person.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You slowly entered Talia’s apartment through the open window, immediately being met with the image of an unimpressed Talia, a terrified Jon, a Damian who seemed ready to crash out, and a purple Oliver giggling. “We are so sorry!” Jon jumped in as soon as he saw you. “We swear this just happened- one second he was ok and then he just turned purple-“

“Take a breath, hon’.” You put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “He’s an alien, we’re trying to keep it low profile. The purple is his original color, what you saw before is an illusion. You did nothing wrong.” The teen immediately relaxed. “Oh thank god-“ He slumped down next to Damian. “You look tired.”  Talia spoke, moving Oliver higher on her hip. “I am.” You whine making grabby hands at Oliver. “Stay the night. I do not trust you to fly with a baby.” You pouted. “Talia, that’s real kind of you, but-“

“Are you really willing to risk the safety of your little brother?" Damian’s words were met with a half-hearted glare. “He truly is your son. Just as manipulative.” Talia laughed at your words, knowing they’d won this one as soon as you pulled out your phone to let your mom know.

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Chapter 22 sneak peek:

“Jason..?” Roy drawled out softly. “Are you okay? Have you taken too much of Scarecrow's gas, again?” Jason turned his head towards the man, grinning widely. “This may top Joker’s death.” Roy just sat up after processing it for a bit. “Okay… I’ll go get Selina… and maybe Harley too. You just- stay put, okay, buddy?”

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

The head of the GDA sees an opportunity but things don't go as expected. [Invincible Variants x reader]

TW: Sinister is a walking sexual harassment lawsuit. Implied abuse.

I ain't calling him Sinsiter in yns head because what kind of name is that. Header art's mine, will be posted in full later.

[Part one]  [3] [Ao3] [5] [Full Piece Here - It's My work]

4 * Bomb Dot Com [5.3k]

"I'm so fuckin horny circling in for the kill,

I'm a duffel bomb wired up propane off the grill,

My throat is roadkill burger raw,

In the season of the Benadryl."

Meat Carcass Evaluation - Go Hang Music

        They collided in a hot heap. The Viltrumite's heels cracking Emperor's back. Lensless's fist twisting his jaw hard to the left. Mohawk tackling his midsection. Phantom's arms close around the space where you'd just been. 

        The fight goes out about a minute before all of them catch up like Phantom had. You're gone.

        Mohawk grabbed Shoulder Pads by the front of his suit, "What'd you do?"

        "Nothing! It was that old man." Shoulder Pad replies, blood drooling out of the corner of his lips. He shoves Mohawk, surveying their surroundings, all the zombies had dropped dead in piles of flesh. Coating the drug store ruins in blood, making a new graveyard. Puppet strings cut.

        "What old man?" 

        Phantom rises above the city. Their bickering falling away with the thinning atmosphere. Pulling up his digital map of the world, scanning for the dot that was you. It took a moment before you reappeared in the heart of the pixelated Pentagon. Your vitals were slowing. He had noticed unusual shifts after you'd drank the bottle of that substance. But he had to deal with the threats you'd thrown at him first. He was going to help you- why did you have to leave?

        With you gone, the Viltrumite uniformed version of himself floated to the sky. Hovering close, watching Phantom from behind his back. 

        Your location changes again to the middle of the Southern Atlantic. He waits, seeing if you'll be shipped anywhere else, but your dot doesn't move.

        He shot off right as the remaining screens in Times Square light up with Cecil's face. The Viltrumite follows silently at his heels. 

        The message blares through the city. To haunt the survivors as they pick their guts off the ground and try to keep their friends and family from dying in the rubble. "Invincible, the people of Earth surrender..."

        ***

        The muzzle won't budge. You press the back of your head to the pole to try and loosen the straps. They're reinforced, unwavering even as you slam your head back in frustration. The power-cuffs are just as unrelenting. Slamming them into the concrete block holding up the light pole did nothing but send vibrations up your arms. 

        Your head swims. Nose burning from the Narcan and body shaking with a cold sweat. Two bottles of codeine in your pocket but no way to drink it, no one to use your powers on. 

        You scramble to get your legs under your ass and stand. Looking up, you find the pole reaches up ten feet. Ending with a simple cage that housed a dead bulb. If you could shimmy up somehow, you could get your arms in front of you. Not like you hadn't escaped handcuffs before. However, these things trapped your entire hand and were way sturdier.

        You try. Wrapping your legs around the pole, holding it between your shoulder blades. Three inches is all you get off the ground before your boots slip and you fall. You try again. Six inches. The power-cuffs lose their friction on the pole. Again. Two inches. You're weak. Again. You don't even get your legs properly wrapped around the pole.

        You slump. Going back to banging the cuffs and trying to push the stopper out of your mouth with your tongue. 

        Minutes pass. The sun dips lower and lower on the horizon, overlooking the sea. Reds and yellows painted on rippling deep blue. So pretty, you're absolutely sure you're going to die. People don't get good things like sea breezes and private islands without dying right after. Just the way of the world. 

        Silver-lined clouds burst apart. Waning light at his back, framing him in red-gold. He comes down so quick the abandoned pavement cracks underfoot, a burst of wind stinging your eyes.

        "I was wondering where you ran off to." He prowls closer. In the light you can make out his shape, not his uniform colors so you couldn't scale exactly how fucked you were.

        His cape billowed in the breeze. Narrowed it down to two options. Sexual harassment guy or the vague head smasher. 

        Only inches in front of you, he lowered to his haunches. "Is this how your little GDA friends treat you here? Instead of a leader you're just some piece of meat to dangle in front of my nose. I mean, you were before, but this-" he gestures to your slumped form, "this is gratuitous."

        You couldn't tell if he was disgusted or intrigued by your predicament and you didn't want to know. You looked anywhere but at him, didn't move, didn't breathe in the humid mask- like he was a dinosaur in a movie. The only reason you'd lived so long under Machine Head's thumb was by shutting the fuck up (no other option at the moment) and staying still, unnoticeable, until you didn't have to be.

        His hand reaches forward, bloody fingers under your chin and forcing your head up.

         "Look at me." You only do out of fear of him snapping your neck. 

        Eyes immediately fall to his lips. The right side of them in particular. The gash deepset into his muscles, pale pink and pulling at the skin around it. Up close you could really see the damage. His mouth couldn't fully close. Sections of top and bottom lip gone entirely, exposing too-long canines and deeply rooted gums that rolled up into scar tissue down his chin and up his cheek. 

        Ah, the sexual harassment lawsuit. Somehow you felt you'd lost the really shitty lottery not getting the other guy.

        "You did that." He says, following your gaze, "Dropped all the quantum bombs your planet had right on my head and all I came out with was this kitty scratch." His tongue darts out, running over the exposed teeth and gums. "I think it's nice to have a momento of the fight you had in you before I fucked it right out." A thumb comes up from under your chin, tracing down the mask, mirroring his scar. "I killed every useless little human in your little club." His voice is deceptively sweet, sickeningly sweet. "And I was going to kill you too but you begged so pretty. Said you'd do anything." You don't see but his cock stirs at the memory. "So much for the head of global defense." His laugh is mocking. You want to scream at him, tell him you know he's lying. You'd never.

        He goes on, "I paraded you around that planet. I showed the world who you really were and you fucking loved it." 

        You don't care. You don't give a fuck if you were his sugar baby in another world. Your head reels back and cracks into his. Your own skin splits open, a single tear of blood dribbling down your forehead. 

        He is unfazed. Somehow more manic than before. "It's good you're angry. I was almost sad when you gave up and killed yourself in front of all those people. I was just about to cum too." He sighs, rolling back on his heels, "You knew I'd kill the whole audience if you pulled a stunt like that but you did it anyway. Did you think you were doing them a favor making me kill them? Does it make you feel heroic?" He's in your face now. Breath rolling over the muzzle. Not talking to you, but some sad dead thing.

        "I didn't come back for you, you know." He whispers like you're surrounded by people when you're clearly alone. You already knew he was fucking crazy but him leaning into your ear made your skin crawl, a tremor in your body. "I came for something else, but you? I was hoping you'd be alive so we could do things right this time." Cold fish lips press to the shell of your ear. He sways back, speaking normally, "So, who's head hauncho here? Cuz clearly, it's not you." He makes no move to release the muzzle. He has no idea what you can really do. Wasn't there when you killed Seventeen. He knows you can pull out truths at best. To him, you're a harmless bug. 

        "I can't kill the guy who did this to you if you don't speak up." He laughs at his own joke, at the hatred in your eyes. "Wait, don't tell me. It's Cecil, right? He's normally better at making plans than whatever this is, gift wrapping you just to drop a nuke on the both of us, so obvious."

        At that you stiffen, more than you already had. Nukes?

        His fingers crawl up your muzzled cheeks, squeezing them through the material. "Aww, poor thing. Did they lie to you? Say you'd be okey dokey?" 

        Cecil had. Offered a job even. You shake your head anyway. Of course, you hadn't fully believed him but still, the betrayal, obvious and clear as it was, stung. 

        His thumb rubs circles into the mask. Smile mocking as he acted out soothing. "Shhh, don't cry. It'll be alright. You know more than anybody bombs don't do shit to me." You pointedly look at his lip. "Please- I let that one hit me head on just to see how it'd feel." Under the black lenses his eyes crinkle with delight, "Like a kiss."

        You doubted that.

        "So, we've got a few minutes 'fore at least a half dozen of the other me's show up." His fingers moved from the front of the muzzle to the clasps. "How 'bout we pass the time," under his most feather-light touch the metal started to bend, "a little," you lean forward, faking eagerness, "bit," he grins at your compliance, "faster?"

         The first buckle is about to break when the sound barrier does. You feel the presence behind you. Only see the red glove come over your shoulder, tightly cinched over a yellow glove. 

        "Don't touch my wife." Comes the assured voice. 

        Scars (because hey, the guy needs a name that isn't Mark and it's as good as any) snarls. Trying to pull back, both of their arms shaking, pushing back and forth staying at an uneasy equilibrium. "Don't you think we should have a pissing contest where we don't accidentally kill her?" Scars says.

        "I'd prefer not to do anything unnecessary," the other Mark says, "but the way you were talking to my wife leaves me little choice."

        "Your wife?" Scars laughs. "You never met the bitch and now yer engaged?"

        "Do not call my wife that." A growl breaks through his even innonation at the end. 

        Scars leered at the challenge. "Or what? You'll put me in time out?" He throws out his other arm, caught by the red. You're caged in by two powerful bodies, shaking with force, barely contained restraint. "Really shows how much you love 'er if you're gonna fight me right here. Isn't the bitch dead in your universe too? Haven't you learned your l-"

        The red gloves fall away. Scars falls toward you, expecting the sudden loss of resistance. But he doesn't fall on you. A fist under his jaw launching him into the air made sure of that.

        Scars bounces on and off the ground, spinning. Whereas the newcomer hovers where Scars had just been. He turns to you, gelled hair shining in the remaining slips of daylight. "Are you okay? He didn't harm you, did he?"

        "Nowhere close to how I'm about to beat the shit outta you!" He's back. A bumblebee blur that catches his doppelganger by the midsection and sends them careening off into dilapidated buildings. 

        All you can do is watch. Hope they don't come crash landing onto you.

        They almost do. Spinning through the air, trading blows, tangled together like a human bowling ball coming straight for the pin that was the light pole. You braced for an impact that never came. At the last few feet, your savior had dug his heels into the ground, stopping the both of them two feet shy from crushing you. 

        Scars laughs, ready to lunge again but pauses when his counterpart dips down to your side.

        Mentally, the Mark bearing his father's colors beats the shit out of himself. He noticed too late. He could've lost you again. He wants to hold you. Love you. Tell you it's going to be okay, but he can't. 

        Instead, his arm comes out to the side, slicing through the air like a blade. "Apologies."

        You wait for your head to roll off your shoulders but instead the pole comes down. Cut a razor's difference above your head. Thrown to the side like it weighed nothing.

        His hands, thick and wide and gloved, come to your sides, help stand you up. "How did you get here?" He asks like there's not a guy right behind him he just tried to murder. "Who did this to you?" 

        You can't answer. Eyes sliding to the O on his chest. Remembering what you saw on TV months after the breakup. You wonder if they're on the same side. If this... Omni-Mark or whatever the fuck is just as evil as his daddy.

        "Of course." He reaches for the straps.

        You move. Not voluntarily, but because someone came barreling into you. Slow for a Viltrumite, dizzying for a human. White sleeved arms coil around your person, squeezing.

        "God." He says, head buried into your shoulder. "God, oh God." You're crushed against a wall of absolute muscle. "I thought I'd be too late."

        Your feet are off the ground. Kicking at his exposed heels. You reel your head back much as the hold would allow and deliver an awkward headbutt to the top of a warped bald head.

        The grip loosened, he raises his head. Skin discolored, stretched thin in some places, piled on thick in others. Black lenses heat-fused into his skin. He's wrong, like the others, disfigured, but unequivocally, Mark Grayson.

        He sets you down gently. "Lemme get that thing off of-"

        A hand shoots over your shoulder. Grabbing him hard by the throat with a blue-clad hand. Baldie is sent off, thrown to the sky. "Well, what do we have here?"

        ***

        "How many can you get those on in the next," Cecil checked his watch, "three minutes, Sinclair?" 

        The man's head whipped so fast Cecil was surprised it didn't crack. "Three minutes? You want all of them with these things? Are you daft?" Cecil watched him over the railing, the pimply, weaselly little man he'd recruited into the GDA ranks almost five years ago. At first working with him was impossible. Delusions of grandeur so thick he cut open fourteen people's heads with a garden saw before being caught by Invincible.

        "Not all of them, just enough." Cecil says, eyeing the tech spread across the operating tables. "We need as much man power as we can get if we're going to pull this off."

        "I'm not sure if you've noticed Cecil, but half my lab was just on fire. I have bigger problems to deal with than putting speakers on my re-animen." Sinclair spat but still, he worked away. Wiring the speaker to the corpse's mechanical chest.

        Cecil's eye twitched. "Just tell me how many re-animen we have left."

         "One, two, three, four, five," his finger bobbed and bobbed and bobbed, counting over twenty before he said, "not nearly enough. I need more time."

        "Two n' a half minutes before we need them at the teleporter."

        ***

        You were spun around to see another, unsurprisingly, version of your ex-boyfriend. This one had the sense to hide his hair under a skin tight blue swimcap- or whatever it was- he looked like a bowling ball. An evil bowling ball.

        "Man, I haven't seen you since I killed you!" He laughs, contempt boiling in eyes you can't see behind black goggles. "You really shouldn't have broken up with me."

        Many'a time after you and Mark were done, you found yourself in the shower. Acting out the breakup, flipping the script, breaking up with him instead. Being the one on top. Once the last of the water spun down the drain and you stepped out, you were back to reality. Where you were the loser who got broken up with. 

        You headbutt him hard as you can. Feeling your skull vibrate. The cut on your forehead deepening. When you open your eyes, you're hoping his lip would be busted or his nose would be bleeding. It wasn't. He grips your shoulders harshly. "Didn't work then, won't work now." Fingertips dug in, he started to pull, barely at first, then so hard your skin started to stretch. "I'm going to enjoy this." He was going to rip your arms right off your body. Let them drop, still attached by the power-cuffs and you couldn't do shit about it.

        You're dropped before any real damage can be done. A white blur rams into Swimcap. Ramming him so hard into the ground, they shattered abandoned foundations. You don't wait to see who it is, you get your feet under you and run. Slowly, awkwardly, arms heavy behind your back. Weighed down by the cuffs.

        You get maybe five feet. Before someone swoops from above and lifts you off the ground by the midsection. "Let's get you to safety." You recognize the even tone, the red gloves.

        "Where do you think you're going?" You know it's coming. Another wave of violence, because that's all the last hour had been. You're braced for impact but it's still a shock. 

        Someone punching your savior in the back, cracking something inside him. The arms holding you give involuntarily. You drop, wind whistling in your ears. He'd climbed so high so fast, a hundred feet, two maybe, either way, when you hit the ground you were going to paint it red.

        The aggressor snapped down, catching you like a fairytale princess before you could crack open your skull. "Can you believe that guy?" Scars sneers, "Trying to take you away before the bombs even launch?" He lands, dirt kicking up in a ring around his boots.

        You worm wriggle in his hold. Chewing on the muzzle bit, trying to tell him to die. 

        "Say we've got about a minute before things get party girl crazy and I don't want you to miss that." He cradles the back of your head. Cape swirling around you both. "You used to love dropping bombs on all your problems, it's only fair you have to stay for the show."

        ***

        Cecil watched a handful of the other Marks reach the island. Some hovering ahead, assessing. Some searched, (Y/n) no longer on the pole. Some touched down, curious. Looking to the sky, waiting for the very obvious bomb to drop.        

        The plan didn't hinge on just the nukes.

        Still, he said, "Send everything we've got." Tech's entered in codes at their computers, opening missile silos across the world. Some hidden in barns, some underground, others in plain sight. Air quality around the globe dropped a percentage, but Cecil couldn't care. This was their best shot.

        The remaining re-animen stood in line before the teleporter. Sinclair fussing over them one by one. Psychopomp waiting as the techies ironed out the kinks. 

        "Can you revive them remotely?" Cecil asked.

        "No," she said, "I'll have to be there as well."

        He was expecting an answer like that. A well-rehearsed request was on the way off his tongue when she said, "I'll go, but you better pull me out before those bombs go off."

        "I'll need you to get a hold of (Y/n)," Cecil said.

        Psychopomp frowned. That Dregs bitch was lying about her brother, she could feel it. She also stole her cat. There was no reality in which she wanted to save Dregs from a nuclear blast but there was only one way to get the truth about her brother. For Dregs to face justice, much as she enjoyed watching you squirm on screen. "Fine, but I won't guarantee she'll be alive when I do."

        "Is that a threat?"

        "I'm not so stupid to kill the best shot the planet has." She says, "But they are trying to destroy it- so."

        ***

        "The fuck are you doing with my girlfriend, piss boots?" 

        You were swung around, still in Scars arms. Bound and gagged. 

        "Piss boots?" He says, "Is that the best you can do?"

        Mohawk hovers above the earth. Hair wild on his head with the speed he had to use to get from New York to the southern Atlantic. Fingers twitching to fists. "I can do a whole lot worse if you don't put her down right fuckin' now."

        Your captor grins, scar stretching on his cheek. "What're you gonna do if I don't, tough guy?" Which was a much better jab than piss boots. Sure, his boots were yellow, but come on. 

        Mohawk's knuckles crack. Chest heaving with exhaustion. Muscles rippling under his skin tight suit. 

        "Cracking your knuckles won't kill me, you know. Which I doubt you can- I'm better than you. All of you."

        They were going to wind up fighting, killing you in the crossfire. So you do the only thing you can. Lean your head on Scars shoulder and look at him with batting lashes. Rubbing the side of your head into him so he could feel the straps. A quiet suggestion with a hint of affection to soften him up.

        "See, even she knows it." His arms shift, going for the buckles. You breathe in the last of the humid, leathery air inside the muzzle. Finally.

        Scar's wrist is seized by a hand over shoulder. "It's on her for a reason." Emperor looks down at you from over his doppelganger's shoulder with mingled disgust and disappointment. At least he's not trying to pop your head off anymore.

        "Let him take it off," Mohawk says, "let 'er tell this dick how much she really likes him." He catches your eye, his own glittering with mischief and malice. "Won't you, babe?"

        You don't nod or shake your head. The whole point of the ruse is for Scars to feel bad. To take the mask off without thinking. Now he was thinking, looking down at you through his lenses, gears turning.

        "I was so excited I forgot what a manipulative thing you can be." Scars hand falls from the clasp. "Did you really think you could bat your eyelashes and make me forget what you made me say?" You don't react, don't move. Terrified that if you do, they'll converge on you like hungry animals. 

        "I like this look on you anyway." Scars says, "Makes you look as pathetic as you really are."

        "What look?" A new voice, cherry when the situation was anything but. Lensless came from the sky, landing in a trot that stopped him by Mohawk's side. He tapped the throbbing wound in his head, "This one?"

        You look anywhere but at him and his cum-stained suit. Finding more of him in the sky, looking down at you. A pair, Swimcap and Baldie, duking it out by the shore.

        "You." A hand grabs Scar's shoulder, veins pulsing.

        "Me." Scars doesn't let you down, doesn't even look at the man bearing Omni-Man's sigil on his broad chest. 

        "Let her down and let me take her to safety." Omni-Mark reasons, another fight brewing in the air. More being passed around like a ragdoll to come, oh joy.

        You wondered when this prolonged torment was going to end, when the first missile head pierced the clouds.

        Many Marks surge for the bombs. The air splits in blue-white wounds over their heads, dropping machined flesh atop them. Thickly, muscled, mostly skinless monsters that took them to the ground with a crash. Then they were everywhere, coming out of holes in reality. Battle cries an unholy screech. 

        Scars drops you on your ass. "Stay here." He hisses before shooting forward. Splitting one of the monsters in two with a single punch. The rest of your company had already started to shred. Keeping the closest monsters away from you through death. 

        The Marks taken to the ground ward off their aggressors. The Viltrumite uniformed warrior and Phantom try to shoot into the sky to stop the bombs, curb them away but the re-animen leap. Grappling their feet, hanging. They could keep flying, deal with the threat no problem, even with the re-animen clawing at their ankles. Except- for the piercing sound that came out of their torsos.

        The men drop like flies, hands clamped tightly over their ears. World-ending strength or not, all of them drop like flies.

         Groaning, backs arching, kicking at the ground uselessly. The bombs fell. So many of them, the sky could be a connect-the-dots puzzle. The re-animen pounced. Two per Mark, sometimes three. Pistons hissing under their muscles. 

        You don't run because there's no fucking chance you'd get anywhere. You were done. No shitty apartment. No cat. No job at the GDA. No life.

        The best chances you had for living were all getting beat so bad that-

        The screeching lessened. Your eyes shooting around, searching for the cause of the partial quiet. You find it in a gloved hand punched through a metal chest. Mohawk was still being walloped by another re-animen, but he didn't seem to care much now. His personal speaker-shrieker dropped dead. 

        The other speaker-shriekers, two by the sound of it, went on. Weakening him and his counterparts, but far enough away he was able to understand. Was able to dislodge the other re-animen atop him. Barley, but at least he wasn't about to get his brains splattered anymore.

        The others didn't see, but caught on. If the thing on top of them was shrieking, kill it. They did. Alone at first, then together when there was only one left. Just barley able to manage moving. Sighing in collective relief when it stopped. They'd be fine, just had to toss the bombs into space like it was any other weekday.

        Across the planet, Cecil Stedman frowned. He didn't want it to come to this but he knew it would.

        Not all the re-animen came out. Some sat in reserve waiting for this exact contingency. They came now, zapping into existence right behind you. Arms thrown overhead ready to come down and crush you into putty. 

        "No!" You don't know who said it. Don't know who was flying to your rescue because again, your ears were being assaulted by the horrible ringing coming from the monster's chest. Your potential saviors fall to the ground, groaning, but this time with a twinge of hysteria. This ring louder than the others, so high pitched you could barley hear it, but it made your ears twitch.

        "You think this can stop me?" Scars peels himself off the ground, muscles pulsing in his arms, coated with blood so old it'd gone black in the re-animen's bodies. He flew toward the thing, cringing, nose bleeding, much slower than before, but certain to take the cyborg down. "I'm fuckin-" A re-animan rose from the ground, grabbed him by the leg and smashed him face first into the concrete. With the sound weakening him, he couldn't get up. 

        You jump barely out of the way as the re-animen's arms come down for your skull. Knocking into another re-animen who'd come into existence behind you. The Mark's notice. The Mark's that can move, move. The Mark's that can't, try. The bomb relocation missions is abandoned in lieu of saving you.

        Phantom was on his way. A device laced in his suit's ears able to block out the noise. He knows he can save you. Knows he can withstand just the one remaining shrieker.

        Beside you the air split apart. Psychopomp stood, arms out, palms glowing. The dead re-animen rise again. Grab ankles of moving Mark's. Slam them down. Pounce, tackle, bite, distract. All the while you're running from the sole re-animen set on killing you. Versions of your ex give the best chase they can before being tossed aside or thrown into another fight. The bombs are going to go off any second. None of them can get away to move one, let alone the whole fleet. 

        Despite death on it's way, the pain and inevitability of it all, so many of them look to you. Wishing to burn your face into their eyelids. Wanting to see you one last time before you're gone, again.

        The first bomb goes off, setting off a chain that lights the night sky all the way from Madagascar to the coast of Chile. 

        You're not there to see it. To get your skin burned off your bones. Because you're on your knees in the control room of The Pentagon. Psychopomp's hand falling off your shoulder. 

        You watch as all the screens monitoring the detonation go white. Most lost connection. 

        Behind you, the weight around your hands and wrists falls away. Clinking to the ground. Followed by the feel of the muzzle tipping forward. Falling off your face. Spit congealed white on the bit. Your lips chapped, indents on your wrist. 

        You turn, ready to kill, to get revenge for whatever the fuck that was. 

        "You can't talk faster than my boys can put a bullet in your head, so save it." Cecil says, hands in his pockets. Black and green clad armored men on either side of him. The fool wasn't wearing his noise canceling headphones. You swallow nothing, mouth gone dry. "After getting Narcaned you're definitely too weak to control more than one person. Think, kid, it's not gonna work."

        You nod, shallow and slow, just so the gunmen know not to shoot when you open your mouth. Still, their safety are off, muzzles pointed between your eyes. "What was that?"

        "The best we could do given our current situation." Cecil says. "Hopefully all that radiation'll kill the little bastards but-" he looks to the screen and sighs, "God damn it. Somebody zoom in."

        Your attention follows his. To a sole camera capturing dissipating dust and atmosphere. Silhouettes float above where the island had been. Now just a hole with ocean water rushing to fill it. Some shapes wait for the debris to clear. Some are rushing through the wreckage, diving into the hole. 

        "They're looking for you." Cecil clicks his tongue. "Somebody get that cuff off her ankle."

        An energy pulse fired from the guard's gun cracks against the metal. Pushes it hard against your ankle but the bracelet Phantom had thrown at you falls away. Lights inside ceasing their blinking as soon as a solider crushes it underfoot. 

        "Sir," a half-man, half-robot approaches, "what are we going to do?" You don't ask but he helped you up. Leads you to lean on an unoccupied desk for dignity's sake.

        "I don't know, Donald."  

        You watch the screens clear. Watch them search the island, whooshing around, landing momentarily. Flies on shit.

        It makes you think aloud, "Where's the real Invincible?"

        That gives Cecil pause, "Come with me."

[alive-gh0st]

˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

….ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ���ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨.ـ…

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

⛨ summary: you’re here to teach, not manage a walking concussion with charm issues. but he keeps looking at you like you hung the stars—and asking questions like you owe him answers. it’s temporary. it’s professional. it’s absolutely not personal. right?

⛨ contains: sfw. slow tension. hospital-grade sarcasm. emotional constipation. accidental pining. reader being done™. mark being so not subtle. vending machine cameos. background bureaucracy.

⛨ warnings: mild language. cecil stedman. lingering looks. golden retriever energy. mild secondhand embarrassment. one scalpel-related flirtation if you squint.

⛨ wc: 2839

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: honorable mention to donald for surviving government-grade stress, doing 99% of the admin work and getting 0% of the appreciation. chapter three is happening. probably. don’t look at me like that.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The hum of fluorescent lights should’ve blended into the background by now. So should the low thrum of activity—boots echoing against concrete, the shuffle of files, hushed conversations between medics and masked vigilantes. But somehow, everything still feels a little too loud.

Maybe it’s the migraine brewing behind your eyes. Maybe it’s the fact that he won’t stop staring at you.

You shift your weight, cross your arms, and resolutely pretend you don’t notice.

That Invincible is standing three feet to your left, burning a hole through the side of your head with an intensity that shouldn’t be allowed from someone who wears goggles.

You’ve been ignoring him for seven minutes and counting.

You’ve acknowledged literally everything else in this sterile, underground chaos bunker—someone called Sea Salt (you can’t be bothered to care enough to remember properly) pacing in the background, a superhero with a dislocated shoulder yelling about insurance coverage, the world’s most suspicious vending machine—but not him.

And still, he stares.

You exhale slowly. Sharply turn your head.

He flinches like you threw something at him.

“Can I help you?”

The words are flat, clipped. The tone you use when a patient insists they know better because they once watched half an episode of ’Grey’s Anatomy’.

Invincible stammers. Actually stammers, like he doesn’t know what to do now that you talked back.

Your brows lift. “You’ve been standing there like an underpaid mall cop—gaping at me like I’m the last donut at a police briefing. Do you mind?”

He fumbles for a reply. You regret asking immediately.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

A few days earlier.

You were on your fourth cup of coffee and hour three of mid-insomnia spiraling when the email came in.

A subject line so vague it practically screamed delete me.

“URGENT: National Heroic Outreach Program — Personnel Request.”

It sounded like someone stitched together LinkedIn buzzwords with a glue stick and a dream.

You almost deleted it without opening. Fingers already moving to close the laptop.

And that’s when your eye caught the numbers.

A full contract breakdown, bolded in crisp font at the bottom of the message. Enough zeroes to make your exhausted brain glitch.

You squinted. Re-read. Laughed.

Then read it again.

Field medics, trauma therapists, stabilization specialists…

Working directly alongside sanctioned heroic units. Teaching them.

Short-term. High risk. Higher pay.

You were already muttering “absolutely not” as you clicked Reply.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

And now here you are.

In the middle of a hidden operations center that smells faintly of iodine and military-grade deodorant, trying to keep your expression neutral while Invincible looks at you like you invented sunlight.

You narrow your eyes.

“Seriously man. What is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem,” he says almost too quickly. “I just…”

Didn’t think I’d ever hear you again—he wants to say, but the words die in his throat.

You groan like a middle-aged man.

“Fine, whatever—keep your staring fetish a secret. But you’re still in my space.”

And somehow, despite the sarcasm, despite the walls you’re already rebuilding brick by brick—he smiles. Like you just handed him a sunrise.

Weirdo.

The silence stretches.

Finally—finally—he stops staring. You can feel it.

Like the sun setting. Like freedom on the breeze. You don’t know what bliss tastes like, but you’re pretty sure it’s this exact moment.

Invincible turns his head. Doesn’t say a word. For the first time in almost ten minutes, you can breathe.

The air tastes clearer. Your shoulders lower half an inch. You feel like Eren Yeager looking out at the ocean, finally glimpsing the other side of the fence—finally, the taste of freedom.

You close your eyes, let your arms fall just a bit looser, and begin to reach for that fragile, sacred—

“So… what’s your name?”

You shut your eyes tighter. Channel the serenity of that dog meme you saw once—some old lab basking in the light like he’s ascended to a higher plane. That’s you now. Resigned to whatever curse has chosen to follow you. Accepting the inevitable.

“…Hello?” he tries again.

You breathe in. Deep. Steady. And swallow a curse.

“It’s not important,” you finally say, voice flat.

He blinks.

“Uh—it kinda is? We’re working together, technically. It’s basic team-building. Knowing names builds trust. It’s psychologically proven—like in war movies or HR seminars. I feel like not knowing your name makes it hard to build rapport. Or connection. Or, you know, that dramatic tension where I save your life and you cry over me in slow motion.”

He’s rambling now.

You open one eye. He’s serious. Or, worse—he thinks he’s funny.

You tune him out.

Just completely power down. Close your eyes again, channel the dog meme—serene, resigned, ascended. Accepting your fate as a woman destined to be cornered by a golden retriever in a super suit.

But of course—of course—luck hates you.

Footsteps echo behind you. Measured. Heavy. Government-issued.

Invincible’s voice finally stops.

You open your eyes slowly, carefully.

Cecil Stedman stands a few feet away, looking like someone who’s been awake for forty-seven hours and hates it less than he hates incompetence.

He looks at the hero. Then at you. He exhales like he regrets every decision that’s led to this moment.

“Invincible,” Cecil says, deadpan. “It’s not your job to harass new personnel.”

You smile. A flicker of victory warms your chest.

But it’s short-lived.

“And you—” Cecil turns to you, voice sharp and gravel as he states your full name and last name, “…stop ignoring people when they’re trying to learn from you.”

Invincible’s head snaps up.

Your smile dies on impact.

“…yes, sir.”

You hate him now. Fully. With your entire soul. You will refer to this man as Sea Salt until the day you retire, but only behind his back (you have bills to pay).

Cecil nods. Done with this interaction.

“You’re both assigned to Medical Rotation C for the next three hours. Report to briefings on time, don’t destroy anything, and for the love of god—try not to bleed on each other.”

He turns and walks away like he didn’t just detonate a small emotional warhead and bounce.

You blink slowly.

The superhero grins. Way too close to you.

Invincible repeats your name. Softly. Like he’s trying it on. Like he’s going to wrap it around a sentence any second just to hear it out loud again.

You don’t look at him.

You stare at a crack in the ground and plot how to fake your own death.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

This is fine. Totally fine. No one has died yet.

Except maybe him. Internally. Repeatedly.

You’ve been working together for exactly twenty-three minutes and some change, and Mark is dangerously close to pulling a muscle from glancing at you too often.

It’s not subtle. He knows that. He’s just hoping you haven’t noticed yet.

Mark Grayson—Invincible, world-class puncher of bad guys and part-time public disaster—is on assignment. Medical rotation. One-on-one.

With you.

You haven’t said more than three words since you got here.

Okay—technically, it was four if you counted “Don’t touch that,” which he did. Emotionally. Spiritually. Like a prayer.

He glances sideways. Again. That’s… what? The fifteenth time?

You’re focused. Like laser-cut precision focused. You haven’t looked at him once since the briefing ended, and that alone is doing something catastrophic to his brain chemistry. Your sleeves are rolled up, fingers moving quickly as you sort through supplies and assess whatever half-broken med bay gear they shoved into this basement. And he—

Technically, he’s supposed to be learning. Technically.

He commits the angle of your jaw to memory. He might need to sketch it later. For science.

A cart wheel squeaks. He jumps.

Smooth. Reeeal smooth Mark.

Mark’s dropped the same tool twice. He’s reorganized the same three items five different ways. And when you leaned over earlier—just for a second—he forgot how to breathe.

He thinks he said something to you. Maybe. You didn’t respond.

You probably didn’t even hear him.

Which is fair. You’re working. This is work. He should be working too.

Instead, he’s cataloging every tiny thing about you like it’s the last time he’ll get to. The little crease between your brows when you concentrate. The way you tilt your head when you read a label. The way your lips move slightly when you mutter to yourself. It’s ridiculous. He knows it’s ridiculous. But it’s also—

He nearly knocks over a tray of syringes and freezes like a man in a minefield.

You just say, “Don’t,” without even looking up.

That’s it. One word. And he listens.

Like his soul has been stapled to your command.

He exhales slowly. Starts organizing gauze packets like they’re puzzle pieces and not the only thing keeping him from going absolutely feral with nervous energy.

You’re right there. You’re right there. And not in the middle of some catastrophic collapse or stopping someone’s bleeding from a stress wound. Just—here. Breathing the same recycled air. Wearing scrubs like they’re armor. Not looking at him.

Mark resists the urge to break something—anything—just to make you look at him.

He peeks again.

Yeah. Still perfect.

“Invincible.”

He startles.

You don’t even look at him. Just gesture vaguely at the scalpel in his hand. “That’s upside down.”

“…Right,” he mutters, flipping it. “Just testing you.”

“You failed.”

You don’t say it with heat. Not quite. But not nicely either.

He clears his throat and tries again, forcing himself to focus on literally anything that isn’t the fact that you’re within touching distance. That you smell like antiseptic and cheap gum. That you’re here, and for some reason—still kind of talking to him.

He wants to say something normal. Something clever. But everything that comes to mind sounds like it belongs in a YA novel or a fever dream.

Instead, he peeks at you again.

You don’t notice. Or maybe you do.

But you don’t look back.

And still—he grins.

Because this? Being close enough to reach, even if you never turn around?

It’s more than he thought he’d ever get.

It’s not enough.

Mark lied.

All that pretending—organizing, fixing, standing next to you for three and a half hours like it didn’t matter—like breathing the same air wasn’t scrambling his brain chemistry?

He thought it would be enough. Just this. Just being near you.

But now you’re packing up.

And suddenly, it’s not.

You toss a roll of gauze into your bag like it keyed your car in a past life. Peel off your gloves with the grace of someone absolutely done with today.

The neckline of your scrubs shifts when you move, collarbone catching the light, and he has to look away.

You’re leaving.

You’re actually leaving.

He thought he’d be okay with it. He’s not.

You stretch your neck like it’s stiff, roll your shoulders with a sigh, and Mark swears it’s the most captivating thing he’s ever seen.

Which is insane. It’s a shoulder roll.

But you’re doing it. And it’s happening five feet from him. And he doesn’t know when—or if—he’ll see you like this again.

Normal. Off guard. Not covered in ash and dust.

You zip your bag shut.

And that’s when panic hits him.

It spikes in his chest like a bad punch—jarring and immediate and almost embarrassing. Because if you walk out now, that’s it. You’ll vanish again. And he’ll be stuck wondering if he imagined all of this. You. The way you said his hero name like it was a dare.

His fingers twitch at his side.

He has no idea what he’s going to say.

He just knows he needs to say something before you’re gone.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You clear your throat. Loud enough to be polite. Dismissive enough to make a point.

“I’m done here.”

He blinks. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

You wait for him to move. He doesn’t.

You arch a brow. “Door’s behind you.”

Invincible stares at you like you’ve just committed a federal crime. “You’re—leaving?”

You frown. “Yes? That’s what normal people do when the job is finished.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Frowns.

“I just—” The hero shifts, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “I figured we’d—maybe—uh, debrief?”

You blink.

He looks panicked now. “Not like a real debrief! I meant like… decompress? Debrief-light? Low-stakes post-mission rapport-building?”

You pause. Then snort. You can’t help it. It slips out before you can stop it.

He looks like he just won the lottery.

You sigh, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “If this is your way of asking to walk me out—”

“Yes.”

“…I didn’t finish.”

“Still yes.”

You stare.

He fidgets. “Is that okay?”

You hesitate for a breath. Then roll your eyes. “Fine. But if you get weird again, I’m tasering you.”

Invincible grins. “I’ve survived worse.”

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

A few days later.

You look like shit.

Not in a poetic way. Not in a cool, morally-gray antiheroine way. Just in the deeply human, overworked, underpaid, sore-back, I-haven’t-slept-since-Tuesday kind of way.

The ER lights buzz too loud. The coffee machine’s broken again. There’s a spot on your scrubs that might be blood or ink or maybe just your will to live leaking out.

It’s a Tuesday. Maybe.

You’re half-asleep at the nurses’ station when Carla walks up with a folder. She chews her gum like it’s keeping her tethered to this plane of existence.

“Room 9’s yours.”

You blink up at her. “Seriously?”

Carla shrugs. “Guy’s already in there. Looks like he could pay off my student loans in one go, but what do I know. File’s clean. Probably just here to flirt or die. Those are the only two kinds we get.”

You sigh. Take the clipboard. Totally miss Carla’s knowing expression and lazily stroll down the hallway.

Your pen’s already clicking as you push through the long corridor, shoulder nudging the door open without thinking.

You flip through the back pages first—vitals, allergy list, something about minor lacerations. The usual.

The door clicks shut behind you as you scan the first page for the name.

“Mark Grayson…” you murmur, before finally looking up.

He’s already watching you.

Smile crooked. Sheepish. And oddly familiar.

You blink. Shake your head. Tap your pen once against the clipboard.

“…What can I do for you today?”

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⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚❤️‍🔥˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

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Before the bunker. Before the clipboard. Just burnt coffee and bad timing.

The room smells of government-grade stress and poor decisions. Fluorescents hum overhead. Somewhere outside the door, someone’s arguing with a vending machine again.

Cecil Stedman doesn’t look up from the file in his hands.

Donald stands nearby, half-glancing over his shoulder like he’s expecting someone to call out his name and ruin his night any second now.

“I don’t need someone who wants to save the world,” Cecil mutters, flipping a page. “I need someone who knows how to keep it breathing long enough to do that.”

Donald doesn’t answer at first. Scrolls through his tablet with the dead-eyed speed of a man two cups past his caffeine limit.

Cecil drops the folder on the table.

“Her.”

Donald glances down. Sees your name. Frowns.

“She’s not exactly—uh, team-oriented.”

“Good.” Cecil leans back in his chair. “We don’t need another idealist who thinks CPR is optional. We need someone who’ll tell a cape to stop cauterizing wounds with laser vision.”

Donald shifts. “She’s got a record of pushing back on authority.”

“Yeah. So do I.” He picks up the file again, thumbs through it like he’s reading between the lines. “Field trauma specialist. Surgical certs. Five years ER, three years private contract, and one particularly colorful incident involving Invincible.”

Donald raises a brow. “You want her for the hero-medical crossover?”

“Yeah. Not full-time. Just this once.” He thumbs through the file again.

”She’s not exactly a fan of the spandex crowd.” Donald reminds him.

“Which is why she’s perfect.” Cecil taps the edge of the folder. “She doesn’t worship them. She knows how they break. And better—how to keep them from bleeding out on asphalt.”

Donald crosses his arms. “You really think she’ll say yes?”

Cecil shrugs. “Send the contract. Let the pay do the talking. If that doesn’t work… remind her how many heroes think gauze solves internal bleeding.”

A beat passes. Donald exhales slowly.

“We’re asking her to train them. Teach them medical response. Basics. Field aid without powers.”

“Exactly,” Cecil mutters, eyes back on the file. “We’ve got too many weapons and not enough medics. Time we taught the kids how to stop the bleeding before they cause it.”

“And you think she’ll go for it?”

“Temporary contract,” Cecil repeats simply. “Send the numbers. Dangle the autonomy. No long-term commitment, no spandex worship, just her and a bunch of capes learning how not to be idiots for a few hours.”

Donald nods once and turns to leave.

Cecil stays where he is, flipping back to the front of the file.

A photo clipped to the corner. Dark circles under your eyes. Expression flat. Hands gloved, steady.

Unimpressed with the world and clearly not afraid to let it know.

He smiles, just barely.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t kill anyone.”

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ongoing TAGLIST: @pickledsoda @f3r4lfr0gg3r @bakugouswh0r3 @katkirishima @delusionalalien @bellelamoon @monaekelis @feminii @sketchlove @lilacoaks @cathuggnbear

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taglist sign up: 𓉘here𓉝

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[realmcflurry1]

Tinder mark

Pair: mark Grayson x F!reader

Warning & tags: corny words used?? Slow burn kinda, marks powers lwk cockblocking, nerdy flirtatious mark, fluff

Summary: your love life has been quite lonely awhile trying to look for the right man until you see him.. Mark, 19 on tinder swiping right on him at 2am.

Taglist: @augustsblossom

[A/N] first ever published written work, testing out the waters, nervous but constructive criticism will be accepted🥲. Tried my best into making mark seem like mark I hope you like and enjoy this, debating if I should continue this😭

It was late at night mindlessly swiping on tinder face on the side planted into the pillow one eye barely open until you see him. Photo of his big goofy smile and his brown dreamy eyes holding a mug of some sort of coffee maybe??

Feeling flustered at his appearance unlike other men on here trying to act tough or intimidating no, no, no he’s.. different..kinda nerdy in a absolute cute way

looking down at his name and introduction mark, 19 comic book lover especially seance dog🐶❤️. Without looking further into his introduction scrolling back up inhaling a deep breath smiling your heart absolutely fluttering into your stomach deciding to swipe right as you do dropping the phone to the side shrieking into a ball screaming into the pillow body heat rising as your tired self disappeared calming down minutes later.

Leaving the bedroom, phone on the covers walking downstairs grabbing a cup of water unbeknownst to you mark had messaged.

Mark: what’s a lovely girl like yourself up so late?

Sent 2 minutes ago.

As you finally reach the bedroom rubbing your eyes about to climb into bed sitting on the edge grabbing your phone as your heart skips a beat mark?!? oh god oh GODDD!! Unlocking your phone opening immediately to tinder opening marks message.

You: i can ask you the same thing handsome stranger, ya looking for an adventure? Because if you are you looked in the right place LOL

Smiling at your phone as you lay back in bed waiting for marks response suddenly time seems to be going by slowly when your waiting for something exciting.. thinking deep into thoughts suddenly hearing a commotion down in your apartment near the alley way getting up to check it out as you look scanning suddenly seeing I..invincible carrying the elephant by his..trunk?!?? Your eyes looking in utterly disbelief and confusion but letting out a little laugh then looking at invincible really looking at him in his goggles something about him makes you shudder like you know him but from where?

Finally laying back into bed as you sigh seeing the delivered 8 minutes ago.

Must have fallen asleep.. muttering to yourself placing the phone onto the nightstand closing my eyes drifting away slowly into the abyss until.. TING.. your eyes shooting wide open as you yawn grabbing your phone lazily starring at his message

Mark: I'm not usually one to seek out adventures at this hour but for you then.. yes.

your mouth opens as if you were gonna say something but no words came out a smirk filled your lips as you chuckled at his dummy idiotic response you quickly open your phone typing and responding back

You: well if it isn’t the comic book nerd making a move.. I like that.

Marks pov

Late at night in bed starring at the ceiling both arms behind his head thinking in the moment until he hears a BZZZ his hand immediately grabbing his phone unlocking it pressing the tinder notification starring at your profile his heart sinks at your beauty.. the way you pose in every selfie, breathtaking, stunning, mark feels the heat creeping into his cheeks as he smiles without even knowing.

As they were both a match in arts, mainly arts and crafts for mark some comics the two liked mark gulps hesitantly typing you a message.. as mark messaged you Cecil immediately called him in about the elephant in a sketchy alley.. mark putting on his suit and flying out immediately reaching the destination of the sketchy alley with the elephant.

After dealing with the elephant mark flys home as Cecil on the other line of the earpiece good job kid I’ll keep you updated. Mark finally taking off his suit putting back on boxers from before mumbling to himself good job kid.. I’m not a kid.. sighing as he rolls back into bed groaning grabbing his phone starring at your message his smile immediately pops up opening to tinder messaging you back seeing your response making his lips quiver in excitement

Mark: it’s not everyday you get to see a beauty like you with common interests haha

As you lay down in bed cuddled up in your warm blankets smiling at your screen seeing his message half asleep

You: well thank you it’s nice to know someone finally admires my beauty

Mark: your welcome [Y/N] I adore a girl who knows her beauty

Shrieking In excitement as you let out little giggles about to type back until you see

Typing…

Mark: how about a coffee date this friday by the one near dahlia ave? I’ll be free and we get to know each other more.

Your eyes widen at his message mouth fully smiling as you get startled by something clattering on your balcony deciding to not investigate it (must be a cat) as you thought to yourself

You: this Friday? Heck I can absolutely do it your lucky I’m free haha

Mark let’s out a chuckle as he stares at your message smiling hands hovering over the keyboard deciding what to type

Mark: great don’t be late! it’s nice to go out with a pretty girl comic lover at that to

You: that goes for you to you know mark? LOL

As the night wears on you and mark have talked about each other’s interest where he fully geeked out on seance dog, villains, and traveling as you geeked out on music, art, and paintings etc.

Suddenly looking up at your balcony through the curtains sunlight peeking out damn.. mumbling to yourself as you check the time on your nightstand

5:30

You: well it was fun talking mark but you know I gotta head to bed thank god I have work off..

Mark feels a pang in his chest as he stares at your message frowning but hiding it sighing as he relaxes in his bed his body sinking into his covers

Mark: of course [Y/N] pleasure was all mine honestly. Goodnight and as for work.. I have to work dreadfully if I say so myself..

[spearsillustration]

°[Younger Cecil Stedman X Secret Wife/Hero Reader]°

Summary - This takes place immediately after Cecil gets hurt, following all the intense surgery and necessary medical procedures to patch him up. The wounds are still fresh, and the lingering ache from the ordeal is a constant reminder of how close things came to going horribly wrong.

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Notes - Okay since this is my first time writing for him it might be ooc, but I’m trying my best. Though after reading all the other fanfics about him (which isn’t enough) I think I did enough research. Plus rewating every scene he’s in I think I’m ready. Alright, enough ranting I hope you enjoy. 

P.S. I rushed to finish this after work so there might be some small mistakes here and there. I'll edit it in due time.

Word count: 2,510

Page number: 7

It had been two weeks since I’d heard anything from Cecil. I called and texted him till my fingers went numb. We might go weeks without seeing each other due to work but he’d always try to call or message me so we knew the other was alright. Last I knew he went on a solo mission when they got a tip, but I was sure he would be fine. If it was something life-threatening they would have sent me in to assist as his partner. 

After I hadn’t heard back from him I knew something was wrong. I had to keep our marriage a secret for both our safety, but It was hard to keep a level head not knowing if my husband was okay. I made calls asking about his whereabouts in a way that didn’t scream desperately worried. 

It was another week before I got any information and…It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I was told the entire mission was confidential information. But was told that Celil got hurt pretty badly.  They reassured me of his excellent care, and their voices receded to a faint hum in the back of my mind, the shock numbing my senses. He had been in the medical facility for the past two weeks and I hadn’t been told a single thing. I had to control myself as my blood felt like it was boiling. But the anger quickly passed and despair followed. I thanked them for finally getting back with me.

I asked if I could see him. I joked that I needed to make sure my favorite partner wasn’t dead yet. I worked with most of the higher ranked agents but I worked with him the most. Noone needed to know the real reason, to any if them we just worked well together. It was hard to put on the fake smile and laughter that followed. 

They weren't sure if he was ready for visitors. I have to ask someone higher up to get anything done around here. I rubbed my temple in frustration and with a deep sigh thanked them before hanging up the phone. 

I had to make an appointment with the medical facility desk the following day and fill out paperwork explaining why I was visiting and so forth. The process was excruciating as it was time-consuming. Guess being a hero who works for the GDA doesn’t get you ahead of anyone else around here. I rushed through everything making my handwriting sloppy as all hell but I got it finished and quickly gave it back so I could see him as soon as possible. 

“In a hurry (Y/N).” The person working at the desk joked with a smile. 

“Y-Yeah plenty of work to get done, people to save all that,” I responded as normal as possible. 

“I understand that. I’ll get these sorted out as quickly as I can for you. But for now, I’ll need you to wait over there for me.” She said gesturing to the seats where I just was.

I held back an annoyed sigh as I thanked her. I returned to my seat in the corner. Every minute dragged on making me worry even more. After a while, I pulled out my phone looking for a distraction so my mind didn’t wander too much. But that made it worse when I ended up opening my gallery and looking at the few pictures I had of Cecil and me. I had some cute selfies of us together, a picture I took when he fell asleep at his desk that he thinks I deleted, date photos, and things he sent me from work. 

“(Y/N),” She called from the desk. 

My head quickly shot up as I heard my name.  

“You can see him now. The doctor says he’s well enough for visitors”

“Thank you,” I quickly responded and I calmly walked to his room, well until I was out of sight then I practically ran. 

Once I got to his room I froze unable to move for a moment. It took me a good minute before I brought my hand up to knock on the door. I heard a strained voice.

“Come in,” Cecil said voice sounding deeper than the last time I heard him. 

I slowly opened the door expecting the worst. 

When I opened his door his face was inflamed and raw from previous reconstructive surgery, marred by a prominent scar that ran across half of his face. Despite the shock and pain, a surge of relief washed over me—Cecil was alive, albeit heavily sedated. 

"Cecil..." I mumbled as my eyes watered in relief. 

A hoarse, gravelly whisper escaped his lips, his voice cracked and rough. "(Y/N)...?"

I slowly walked over the the hospital bed he was lying in and sat down on the chain that was beside his bed. I gripped his hand with both of mine lovingly as if I was gonna lose him now. 

“Yes, I'm here,” I said with a smile as tears fell down my face.

His fingers trembled ever so slightly, but he managed to squeeze my hand. "Don't...cry." he rasped, his expression tightening with effort. "Look...at me."

I looked into his eyes weakly unable to stop the tears from streaming down my face.

His gaze softened as he noticed my tears, a pang of anguish flashed across his eyes. He slowly raised his hand, movement restricted by lingering pain. He gently swiped his thumb against my cheek, attempting to comfort me.

"I'm okay," he whispered, his voice hoarse and laced with weakness. "I'm... here, (Y/N)."

I leaned into his touch and caressed his hand. “I-I could have lost you. I don’t even know what happened to you for two weeks I’ve been driving myself insane not even knowing if you were alive.” I said between weak whimpers almost unable to stop myself from sobbing.

The sound of my voice, trembling and filled with sobs, pierced him deeply. He squeezed my hand again, a silent act of reassurance. Even in his pain-muddled state, he loathed seeing me this distraught.

His gaze bore into me, unflinching and intense. "You...didn't lose me." His voice, though rough, held a steely resolve. "I'm here...I'm not going anywhere."

“I should have been there. You might not be stuck in this damn hospital bed if I went with you.” I said sorrowfully, deeply regretting my absence. “It's never safe to go on missions alone, why were you alone?” I wined out painfully.

His grip tightened on my hand, a mix of annoyance and concern crossing his expression. "Stop." His voice held a touch of firmness. "Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault."

He sighed, looking away momentarily, his gaze fixated on the sterile, blank hospital wall.  "I...went...alone because...it was supposed to be...low risk. The intelligence was wrong."

I looked away in shame. “I still wish I was there for you.”

"Stop," he repeated, his voice stern but not without a note of vulnerability. "You...can't always be there."

He shifted his gaze back to me. "I don't want you...risking your life...just for me. I need you...safe."

“I know, but I was so scared. They didn’t even tell me you were hurt till the other day. I was worried to death.”

He winced at my words, his expression etched with pain both physical and emotional. The intensity in his eyes softened as he realized the depth of my concern.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I...didn't consider...how scared you would be...waiting for me."

“Of course, I was worried. I’m not just your partner Cecil, I'm your wife. It's my job to worry about you. On and off work.” 

The corner of his lip lifted in a small, tired smirk.

"Worrying isn’t on the list of your marital duties," he retorted weakly, trying to infuse a hint of humor into the situation.

“Well with you it's at the top of the list.”

His smirk broadened ever so slightly, his eyes softening with affection.

"You're hardly the stereotypical doting housewife," he pointed out.

“Well, a stereotypical wife couldn't handle you.”

A chuckle, low and rumbling, escaped him, though it was followed by a wince of pain. "Ain't that...the truth," he agreed, his eyes gleaming with affection.

Seeing him wince in pain made my smile fall. “How are you feeling... really?”

His expression sobered, the amusement in his eyes fading as he sighed heavily. "Like... I got hit by a goddamn truck," he admitted. "Whole body feels like it's on fire. And my head hurts like a sonofabitch."

“Even with all the painkillers they most likely got you on?”

He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Painkillers...take the edge off," he muttered, his gaze distant. "But they don't...fix everything." He shifted uncomfortably, wincing again as the movement aggravated his already sore body.

I scooted the chair I was sitting in even closer to his bed. I’d be in the hospital bed with him if I didn’t have any self-control. 

“Are you gonna tell me what happened or is it to confidential?” I asked turning to look him in the eyes. 

“Look you know I can’t tell you, and…you don’t want to know.” He answered the way I expected him too.

“Then it’s probably for the best then,” I responded meekly but pushed past that feeling. “How much longer till you can leave the medical facility and I can get you some real food?” 

“Probably another week before they finally let me go.” He sighed in annoyance. 

“Well guess I’ll have to come visit you every day till they finally release you.” I teased knowing he hated sitting around doing nothing in a bed all day. 

His gaze fixed on me, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I know you will," he murmured, his voice gruff but lacking any hint of annoyance. "Can't get rid of... you that easy."

“Oh, so you thought getting hurt and almost dying would get rid of me. That some facial scar would bother me. Hell, you married me, and it's gonna take far more than that to run me off. Till death do us part is literal with me sweetheart.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile as I continued. “You’re too stubborn.”

“Well, I have to be when It comes to you or you’d never listen,” I said with a smile before gently kissing the new scar on his face.

He flinched at the touch of my lips against his sensitive scar, though his expression softened as he felt the love in that tender gesture making his cheeks turn a light shade of pink that was almost too light to notice. 

"Careful," he murmured gently "It's still a bit tender."

I bit my lip playfully with a wink, “It's kind of attractive.” 

He let out a huff of amusement, his smirk returning. "You always did...have peculiar tastes," he said, a slight edge of teasing in his voice.

“Well, I married you if that tells you anything.”

"You must've...lost your damn mind,"

“Maybe a little,” I responded before hearing a knock at the door. I quickly shot up and made myself presentable since our marriage was a secret to almost everyone else.

His attention shifted to the knock on the door, his expression slightly alarmed. Despite his injured state, there was a guarded wariness in his gaze. He discreetly gestured for me to step back, not wanting outsiders to witness the intimacy of your relationship.

 I moved the chair back and stood up to answer the door. A GDA nurse entered, her expression professional and her voice courteous.

"Good evening, ma'am. I just need to check on Mr. Stedman's vitals." She briskly moved to the side of his bed, affixing the blood pressure cuff to his arm without sparing either of us a second glance.

"Of course." I stepped back so I wasn't in her way and continued speaking to Cecil but only about the stuff he missed at work while he was gone so we wouldn't give away our relationship.

He nodded, shifting slightly to allow the nurse access to his arm. As the nurse proceeded to take his vitals, he engaged in the conversation with you, keeping up the pretense of a casual work update. His gaze flickered between you and the nurse, aware of the need to maintain discretion.

Once the nurse was finished and left us alone I let out a sigh. As the nurse departed, closing the door behind her, the room fell silent once again. He relaxed slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing now that she was gone.

"Close call," he murmured, his gaze flickering from the door to me. 

"It not like we were making passionate love to each other." I teased.

"That's not the point," he retorted gruffly, trying to maintain a stern demeanor. "We're trying to keep things... under wraps."

"Trust me I know more than anyone," I responded before my watch started beeping alerting me of trouble. I sighed in annoyance and looked up at Cecil painfully.

He noticed the beeping of your watch and the expression of annoyance on your face. A frown creased his brow as he recognized the sound.

"Duty calls?" he murmured, his voice tinged with resignation.

"At the worst times, as usual, People always need saving at the most inconvenient times I swear," I mumbled. "But I'll be back as soon as I can. And don't almost die on me again while I'm gone please."

His expression softened, his gaze fixed on you intently. "No promises," he said with a hint of a smirk, though his words held a note of sincere concern. "Be careful out there."

“Always am. But let's not forget something.” I quickly remarked before walking back over and leaning in for a loving goodbye kiss.

He leaned into the kiss, his hand gently cupping my chin. When I pulled back, a ghost of a smile played on his lips.

"Don't do anything reckless," he murmured, his gaze locking with mine.

[bunji-enthusiast]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚠 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎

Chat noir!reader

Summary || now as a classified asset, you got more than you bargained for.

Note // YAYYY, part 2—RAGHHH

You heard the shift in air pressure before you heard the sound.

A low, pulsing thrum—the kind that tickles the back of your neck, makes your instincts sit up and pay attention. Plagg’s ears twitched, his chewing slowed, and he glanced upward.

You sat up slowly, not transforming. Not yet.

Then the silhouette dropped into view.

A soft impact. Boots on concrete. Not loud. But deliberate.

You blinked, heart skipping a beat.

It was Invincible.

Not in full battle mode—just his suit, not a scratch on it tonight. His posture was relaxed, arms loosely crossed, but his eyes were focused.

“You’re Cat Noir,” he said, voice quiet but firm.

You didn’t move. “You’re… later than I expected.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Expected?”

You stood, brushing off your jeans. “Yeah. GDA's golden boy. Figured they’d send you eventually. To talk. Or spy. Or recruit me again.”

Mark shook his head. “Cecil didn’t send me. He doesn’t even know I’m here.”

You narrowed your eyes.

Plagg hovered warily behind you, muttering, “Okay, I vote we bolt. Like, right now.”

But you didn’t move. You waited.

Mark finally spoke again. “I saw your file. Just… caught my eye. A kid who doesn’t want to be a hero but won’t stop saving people anyway.”

“…So what, you’re here to give me the pep talk?”

He smiled faintly. “Nah. I hate pep talks. I just… wanted to meet you. On my own terms.”

You crossed your arms, sizing him up.

“You ever get tired of it?” you asked. “Of everyone expecting you to fix the world when you’re just trying to survive it?”

Mark looked at the stars for a moment before answering. “Yeah. All the time.”

The silence between you stretched—not awkward, but heavy. Like two sides of a cracked mirror staring at each other.

He finally stepped closer, his voice softer now.

“You’ve lost things. So have I. And the GDA… they don’t really teach you how to live with that. They just give you more missions.”

You said nothing.

“But if you ever need someone who gets it,” Mark added, “I’m around. Not as a handler. Not as a teammate. Just… someone who understands what it feels like to carry power that doesn’t always feel like yours.”

You looked at him for a long moment.

Then—just barely—you nodded.

Mark turned to leave, but paused mid-hover.

“Oh, and… if you ever wanna spar sometime? No claws.”

You smirked. “No flying.”

He laughed, then vanished into the sky.

Plagg floated back to your shoulder, chewing the last of his cheese. “Well. That was weirdly wholesome.”

You sighed and dropped back onto the rooftop.

“Yeah,” you murmured.

“But for once… maybe I needed it.”

It was less than an hour after Invincible left.

The stars were still out. Your rooftop had just started to feel like yours again. You were lying on your back, thinking about maybe sleeping under the sky for once instead of in a bed that never really felt like home.

Then—your ring pulsed.

A sickly green flicker, like your heart skipped a beat.

Plagg jolted upright. “That’s not normal.”

You sat up fast.

Your phone lit up. Encrypted message. GDA code. Not from Cecil this time—this one was from Donald Ferguson. His name barely meant anything to you, but you remembered the file: GDA assistant, often seen in Cecil’s shadow. Quiet. Dangerous in the way chess players are dangerous.

The message was short.

“Field-level emergency. Midtown. Coordinates pinged. Immediate response authorized. Level-3 clearance granted. You’re closest.”

You didn’t hesitate.

"Plagg, claws out."

The transformation slammed through you like a lightning bolt. Fur, leather, power. That sharp weightless moment between being human and being more. Your boots hit the rooftop like thunder, staff clicking to your back as your mask tightened around your face.

Plagg vanished inside the ring. “I hope this emergency involves cheese. Or something easy to hit.”

You sprinted and vaulted off the roof.

Midtown was chaos.

Not Lizard League chaos. Not purse-snatching or bank-robbing. This was bad. You landed atop a flickering streetlight and stared down at the scene.

A biotech transport truck had flipped—split down the middle.

Black, silver-cored ooze leaked from the shattered containment tanks. People were running, some screaming, some stuck in place, frozen with fear.

The real problem?

A man—no, a thing—made of living metal stood in the center of it all.

Tall. Shifting. A humanoid body coated in plates of black-chrome steel, constantly reconfiguring itself. His arms were blades, his face a blank polished mask. His movements were too smooth. Too intentional.

He wasn’t rampaging.

He was hunting.

And you had a terrible feeling you’d just found what he was hunting for.

A GDA drone zipped by overhead, scanning, and pinged your comms line.

“Target confirmed: Codename METALLIK. Rogue cyborg from failed D.A. Sinclair prototype batch. Experimental mind-machine merge. Extremely hostile. Objective unclear.”

You muttered, “Fantastic.”

Then he turned and looked right at you.

A whir of gears. His chest split slightly—revealing something pulsing inside. A heartbeat made of wires. A targeting system.

Plagg’s voice buzzed in your ear. “You’ve got maybe six seconds before this turns into a real problem.”

You leapt down from the light, landing hard on the cracked pavement, claws flexing, tail sweeping behind you.

“Guess we’re skipping round two with Invincible,” you muttered, eyes narrowing.

“Time to dance, tin man.”

You charged.

The second your boots hit the pavement, Metallik’s head snapped to track your movement—smooth, fluid, unnatural. His body spun into motion like a weapon system waking up, every movement calculated. But you were already closing the distance.

Staff in hand, claws out.

The first hit was meant to test him—a fast jab to the midsection.

It bounced.

The impact rippled across his metal plating like it was absorbing the blow, rerouting the force through joints and rebar-like tendons. He didn't even flinch.

“Okay, cool cool cool,” you muttered, flipping back just as his blade-arm slashed through the air where your face had been. “He’s made of cheat codes.”

Plagg’s voice echoed in your mind. "Those joints! Under the plating—look for weak spots. Think spider legs."

You dove forward low—sliding under a second sweeping strike—and jammed your staff into the crook of his knee, claws slicing under the shifting armor.

That one landed.

He staggered, just for a moment, and snarled—not with a voice, but with sound—a distorted digital screech that grated like bad feedback and metal twisting inside your skull.

He reconfigured.

His arm turned into a cannon. A literal cannon.

You flipped sideways midair as it discharged—a blast of plasma heat carving a molten gash into the asphalt behind you. The shockwave knocked you into a parked car, but you landed in a crouch, panting.

You couldn’t just fight him. You needed to know why he was here.

And you needed to know fast.

Your eyes scanned the wreckage around him—broken biotech crates, fluid leaking, scattered containment tags.

One fluttered nearby, charred but mostly intact.

You lunged, grabbed it mid-roll, and skidded behind a flipped van.

Barcode… subject ID… name—

‘Subject: SCION.’

Your blood ran cold. Plagg whispered in your mind. “That’s not just a name.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a failsafe designation. Genetic anomalies. Power potential flagged off the charts. GDA has a habit of locking those away.”

You glanced over the edge of the van at Metallik. He wasn’t here for the tech.

He was here for whoever—or whatever—Scion is.

And now?

He turned. Sensors glowing red.

He saw you holding the file tag.

A new sound came from his chest—something like language, half-garbled through static:

“…Asset… defective… replace…”

And then he charged. You barely got your staff up in time.

The impact threw you through the van like tissue paper. The sound of your bell echoed in your ears as you hit the pavement and rolled, armor scuffed, body aching.

He was above you now, blade raised—ready to carve you in half.

You caught it. Just barely.

Claws against steel. Sparks flying. Your ring glowing like fire.

You gritted your teeth. “You’re not replacing anyone.”

With a twist and a roar, you drove your feet into his chest and launched him skyward.

He flipped midair—machine grace—and landed in a crouch.

But something flickered behind his head.

A shadow.

Not yours.

Another figure was on the field now. Small. Frightened. Leaning against a broken crate.

A kid. Maybe ten. Pale, glowing veins beneath their skin. Eyes bright as your ring.

They locked eyes with you. And suddenly—you knew.

Scion wasn’t a weapon.

Scion was a person.

And Metallik had come to claim them.

Plagg whispered, low and deadly. “We have to get to the kid before he does.”

You stood, cracked your neck, and twirled your staff into a ready stance, tail lashing.

“Then let’s finish this.”

Round Two didn’t start with a punch.

It started with a bell—your bell.

You reached up, unclipped it from your collar, and whispered, “Plagg, give me a little show.”

Plagg emerged with a flicker, a grin forming around his fang. “Oh, I love this part.”

You hurled the bell high into the air. With a burst of green energy and a low hum of Kwami trickery, it split mid-flight into a dozen glowing projections—each one a perfect illusion of you.

Metallik's optics flared.

He scanned. And twitched. Confused.

“Target… multiple… anomaly…”

You didn’t wait.

In the blur of flickering Cat Noirs, you sprinted for the kid—Scion—your staff contracting back into a baton so you could scoop the kid up in one arm.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked, voice low, trying to stay calm.

They looked at you, eyes glowing faint green. “I heard him in my head,” they whispered. “He says I’m broken.”

“You’re not,” you said firmly, hooking your staff to your back. “You’re just new.”

The illusions danced—taunting, dodging, mirroring every one of your fight patterns.

Metallik roared and launched a blade into one. It flickered, then vanished in a pop of green light.

You were already leaping over cars, sprinting through alleys, putting distance between Metallik and Scion.

You ducked into a construction site two blocks over. Quiet. High ground. Steel frame, unfinished walls—a temporary battlefield.

You set Scion down and knelt, gripping their shoulders. “Stay here. Don’t move. Don’t glow.”

Their lip trembled, but they nodded, eyes wide.

Then they surprised you.

“You’re not afraid of him.”

You paused.

“Not enough to run.”

You smiled faintly. “No. I’m just smart enough to pick the right ground to finish a fight.”

And then the steel beams began to quake.

You turned slowly—just as Metallik tore through the concrete wall like paper.

His blades glinted in the dark. The plating along his arms twisted, reshaping into spears, tendrils of tech snaking behind him like extra limbs.

But now?

You were ready.

The confined space would limit his range. The height gave you options. And the silence?

That was yours.

“Let’s finish it,” you muttered, claws extending, stance low.

Plagg’s voice echoed in your mind. “For once, I think he’s the one out of his depth.”

You launched forward—fast, precise—claws sparking against his armor, each strike aimed for the joints, the gears, the soft parts.

Metallik swung wide with a blade—you ducked and drove your baton into the base of his spine. The lights on his chest flickered.

He shrieked in digital rage and stabbed—you caught it between both claws and twisted, snapping the blade’s edge.

You saw an opening. A core, beneath his chest plate. Glowing. Beating. A heart made of stolen power.

You leapt high, spun mid-air.

And drove your staff into it with every ounce of strength you had.

BOOM.

A pulse of green light exploded outward.

Metallik convulsed—his limbs spasming, metal shrieking against itself, body folding inward. The core shattered, sparks flying in every direction. His voice glitched, static screeching—

“BROKEN—BROK—BROK—”

Then silence.

His body collapsed, steaming.

You landed hard, panting, ring dimming as Plagg’s voice rasped, “Okay, now I need cheese. A wheel.”

You walked slowly back to Scion, who hadn’t moved.

They looked up at you. “You didn’t kill him.”

You shrugged, claws retracting. “Not my job. I’m not the reaper. I’m the cat who protects the people monsters hunt.”

Scion nodded slowly. “…You’re not like the others.”

You smiled, exhausted but steady. “You either.”

Mission complete. One saved. One shut down. One step deeper into a world of secrets.

You didn’t go back through the front door.

You dropped in through the window.

Boots silent on hardwood, adrenaline still lingering in your limbs. The city was quieter now—Metallik was down, the kid was safe (for now), and the only thing left to do was wait for the inevitable.

You hadn’t even fully de-transformed yet.

The shadows in your apartment moved before the light did. That faint distortion, like heat off asphalt. The flicker of teleport tech.

Then—Cecil.

He stood near your table, hands behind his back, eyes like quiet knives. No expression. No preamble. Just—

“You kept the kid alive.”

You nodded, cautious. “Scion’s not what you thought they were.”

“We weren’t sure what they were,” Cecil said flatly. “The file was redacted above my clearance. I had a feeling this might be something… unique.”

You crossed your arms. “So you used me.”

“No,” he said. “I tested you.”

You frowned. “Tested me?”

Cecil stepped forward, just once. His voice stayed low. “We’ve had our eye on you since the Lizard League. But we needed to know what kind of player you are. A weapon? A wildcard? A liability?”

“And?”

His eyes narrowed—almost approval. “You saved the kid. Neutralized a failed experiment without leaving collateral damage. Protected a civilian asset without orders. You made your own call, and it was the right one.”

You looked away, jaw tight. “So what, you want a thank-you?”

“No,” Cecil said. “I want you to understand something.”

He took out a small device, placed it gently on your table.

“You’re in this now. Not officially. Not publicly. But you’ve stepped into the game. And this? This game doesn’t have sidelines.”

You stared at the device—black, palm-sized, blinking faintly.

“What is it?” you asked.

“A line,” Cecil said. “Between you and me. Use it when the world stops playing fair.”

He turned to go—then paused at the window.

“One more thing.”

You looked up.

“Scion,” he said quietly. “Don’t try to find out where they are. Trust me when I say… you don’t want to know.”

And then, without a sound, he was gone.

You de-transformed slowly, skin crawling with residual charge.

Plagg floated out, tired and cheese-hungry.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

You picked up the device. Rolled it between your fingers. The blinking light was steady, constant, like a heartbeat.

And for the first time all day… you felt completely alone.

Not because no one was around. But because you were in it now.

Officially unofficial.

Cat Noir… agent of nothing. And maybe, just maybe, protector of something bigger than you can see.

Night falls. The city breathes.

The world isn’t saved.

But it’s safe—for now.

The next morning came without sirens.

No calls. No explosions. No GDA pings or secret files or bleeding-edge murder machines stalking city streets.

Just the sound of birds outside your window and the gentle hum of morning traffic.

A sunrise that wasn’t backlit by fire or debris.

You cracked one eye open.

Plagg was snoring on top of your chest, curled up like an actual cat. A tiny bit of camembert clung to his mouth like a dream he'd never left.

You blinked up at the ceiling.

And for the first time in what felt like weeks…

You didn’t feel like Cat Noir.

You felt like… you.

You took your time that day.

No suit. No transformation. Just your hoodie, headphones, and beat-up sneakers.

You grabbed a scarf on your way out—not to hide your identity, just because it was chilly and kind of matched your vibe.

You got your favorite açaí bowl from that little shop on 5th. The one with the bored barista who now knew your order by heart but still pretended like they didn’t.

You sat by the fountain, spoon in one hand, sunlight in your face. Watching people walk by. Laugh. Talk.

Be normal.

No one looked twice at you.

No glowing ring. No claws. Just a kid with messed-up hair and a tired kind of peace behind their eyes.

It felt… good.

Later, you walked into a comic shop. The dusty kind. Old posters, creaky floors, the smell of ink and nostalgia baked into the walls.

The owner gave you a nod. Didn’t recognize you. Didn’t care.

You thumbed through the bins in silence.

Pulled out a well-worn issue of Silver Claw #14.

One of your favorites.

The hero loses, hard. Spends the whole issue figuring out how to pick himself back up.

You bought it. Left with it tucked under your arm like something sacred.

The bell above the comic shop door jingled as you stepped out, bag tucked under your arm, that faint musty ink smell still clinging to your hoodie. The Silver Claw issue was resting easy against your ribs—like a quiet anchor to something simpler.

You were halfway down the block when you felt it.

That subtle shift in the air.

Like the oxygen itself went taut. A ripple just beyond sight, like something about the world had blinked wrong for a second.

Then came the sound.

BOOM.

Not distant—right around the corner.

You stopped. Turned.

Just in time to see a man flying backward through a glass window, shattering it like paper. He hit a parked car, dented it, and slid off with a groan.

And above the wreckage?

Titan.

Muscles like concrete, fists like wrecking balls. Covered in his signature armor-skin—cracked and steaming, like he’d taken a hit.

You knew him. Not well, but enough.

A hero trying to turn over a new leaf. Used to run with crime. Now he ran toward it.

Someone you’d quietly admired.

But he wasn’t alone.

Hovering above him, flickering in and out of view like a glitch in a game, was Phantom Slash.

A low-tier villain, but dangerous. Hard-light blades. Cloaking. Ex-military with a grudge. Loved collateral.

Civilians screamed, scattering.

Titan pushed up off the car, blood at the corner of his mouth.

"You really don't know when to quit, huh?" he growled.

Phantom Slash hissed, voice glitchy through his visor. “I was trained not to.”

Another blade flicked out of nowhere. Titan barely blocked it—ripped a parking meter out of the ground and used it like a club.

They fought right there on the street.

Power against precision. Brute strength against sharp edges and flickers of invisibility.

And you?

You just stood there, watching.

Not frozen. Just… choosing.

Because today, you weren’t Cat Noir.

And this? This was someone else’s fight.

You slipped back into the crowd. Not out of fear—but out of trust. Titan was holding his own. And you? You weren’t needed this time.

Sometimes, being a hero meant knowing when to stand down.

Later, hours later—after the noise had died down and the cleanup had started—you pulled out the comic book again, back on your rooftop.

Silver Claw #14.

Your eyes drifted to a single panel.

The hero sits on a bench, watching another hero save the day. A little girl asks him, “Why aren’t you helping?”

He says, “Because sometimes the world doesn’t need my claws. It just needs me to believe in someone else.”

You closed the comic.

And for the first time in a long while, you smiled to yourself—because maybe, just maybe, you were learning how to do that too.

As the sun started to dip again, you found yourself on the same rooftop you always came back to. Your spot.

You didn’t suit up. You just sat there.

Feet dangling over the edge. Hoodie pulled tight. Head leaned back.

No missions. No pressure. Just… sky.

Plagg floated up beside you, a piece of gouda in hand.

“You know,” he said around a bite, “you could’ve transformed. We could be doing flips off cranes or shadow boxing against satellites.”

You smirked. “Nah. Today’s a ‘me’ day.”

He paused, then nodded.

“…Good call.”

And the two of you sat there.

A kid and his chaos spirit. Watching the world turn quietly for once. You weren’t Cat Noir today.

You were just you. And it was enough.

However, there was a time that sentiment didn’t seem to ring as loud. Where you were even smaller, smaller than you are now. Your mind faded away to memory lane.

It starts with rain.

Not the heavy kind that pounds windows or floods streets—but the soft kind. Gentle. Constant. The kind that slips between tree branches and fogs up café windows.

You were maybe ten. Maybe eleven.

Still small enough to lose your hoodie sleeves in your fists. Still young enough to believe everything would work out, even when it didn’t make sense.

And you were waiting.

On a bench outside a tall glass building, shoes wet, comic book pressed tight against your chest to keep it from wrinkling.

You’d been there a while, waiting for your dad.

Again.

The receptionist had told you, in that polite-customer-service tone you would come to resent, “He’s in a meeting.”

Said it like it was an apology.

Said it like it mattered.

But you’d waited. Because he said, “I’ll be there, kiddo. Just give me an hour.”

It had been three.

You remember watching the umbrellas pass by. The different colors. The strange rhythm of grown-ups walking fast like they were all late for something important.

And then—someone sat down beside you.

You didn’t look at them at first. You were focused on your comic. Something familiar.

But then a voice broke the silence.

“You know, Silver Claw doesn’t get enough credit. Most people just think he’s all edge and no heart.”

You blinked, looked up.

The guy was older. Not old, just… tired in a way that felt permanent. Leather jacket. Stubbly chin. A bandage on one knuckle.

He smiled a little when he saw your surprise.

“Don’t worry, not a creep. I just know a good comic when I see one.”

You looked at your issue, then back at him. “He’s not my favorite.”

“Oh yeah? Who is?”

You hesitated. “Honestly? I don’t know yet.”

The man nodded like that made perfect sense.

“That’s fair. You got time. But for what it’s worth…”

He pointed at the cover. “This one’s a good pick. It’s not about winning the fight. It’s about what you do after you lose one.”

You looked at him again—really looked.

There was something in his eyes. Not pity. Not concern.

Just… familiarity.

Like maybe he knew what it was like to wait on that bench, too.

He didn’t ask where your parents were.

Didn’t ask why you were alone.

He just pulled something out of his jacket pocket. A granola bar. Slightly squished.

“Trade you,” he said, holding it out. “That issue for the snack.”

You smirked. “Not a chance. First print.”

He laughed. “Smart kid.”

He stood up. Patted your shoulder once—light, careful—and then walked off into the rain, vanishing between umbrellas like a ghost.

You never knew who he was.

But that comic? You still have it.

Taped-up spine. Faded cover. A corner bent from where it got caught in your backpack zipper.

It’s the one you were reading the day your ring found you. And maybe that’s not a coincidence. Because deep down?

That was the day you realized something: Heroes don’t always wear masks.

Sometimes, they just sit down next to you on a rainy bench and remind you that you matter.

Even when no one else shows up.

The next memory rings in mind, the first time you met Plagg. Admittedly you weren’t very proud of your self for the way you acted; embarrassed about the thought even.

You weren’t expecting magic that day.

Just a really weird ring.

You found it in your dad’s office—long after the meetings had stopped, long after his phone calls had grown shorter and his eyes colder.

It was sitting in a velvet box, shoved behind old contracts and dusty plaques.

Jet black. Smooth. Like obsidian but light as air. With a strange green paw print on its face.

You tried it on out of boredom.

It clicked onto your finger like it belonged there.

And the moment it did—Everything changed.

Your vision blurred with green static. Your pulse hit double-time. You stumbled back against the desk—papers scattering, heart pounding, something hot and ancient flickering behind your eyes.

Then—light.

Not blinding. But alive.

And from that light… a floating black cat.

No—smaller. Stranger.

A Kwami.

Eyes glowing. Body light as smoke. A grin carved by centuries of chaos.

"Finally," the creature said, stretching like it had been napping for a decade. “Took you long enough.”

You screamed.

Okay, not screamed. But like—yelled in the awkward, choked, panicked way only a kid caught stealing something can yell.

You stumbled back and hit the desk again. “W-what are you—what is this—what are you?!”

The little creature blinked, then yawned. Then floated right up into your face. “Name’s Plagg. Kwami of destruction. You’re my new holder. Congrats.”

You blinked. “Of… destruction?”

“Yep.”

“Like… boom destruction?”

“Boom. Chaos. Ruin. The usual.”

You looked down at the ring on your finger. It pulsed faintly.

“I didn’t sign up for this.”

Plagg shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You put the ring on. That’s the bond. Fate’s weird like that.”

You sank into your dad’s office chair, breath shaky.

“But I’m just a kid.”

Plagg looked at you, and for the first time… he didn’t smile. “Exactly,” he said. “That’s why it matters.”

The rest of the day was a blur.

Plagg tried to explain the Miraculous. The history. The responsibility. The power.

You only half-listened—still staring at your hand, wondering how the world got bigger while you stayed so small. But by nightfall?

You stood in the mirror. Ring on your hand. Hoodie hanging loose. And whispered, “Claws out.”

The green light swallowed you. And when it faded? You weren’t just a kid anymore. You were something else.

Something fast. Something strong. Something hidden behind shadows and bell chimes and a smirk that barely hid the ache beneath it.

Cat Noir had been born.

But you—

you were still figuring out what that meant.

Morning light crept into your apartment like it was sneaking a peek, not quite brave enough to wake you up fully.

You sat up slowly. Shoulders sore from the fight with Metallik, mind heavier from the kid—Scion—and everything Cecil didn’t say.

Plagg hovered near the fridge, stuffing his face with aged gouda. “You know, for a guy who got tossed through two cars and punched in the kidneys by a living tank, you’re moving pretty well.”

You stretched, wincing. “Pain builds character.”

“Yeah? I’d like to return some of mine.”

By noon, you were back at the GDA facility.

Unmasked. Hood up. Ring hidden under a glove.

Cecil had left no instructions, just a one-line message on your encrypted line:

“Be here. 12 sharp.”

As usual, the building felt like something out of a clean future nightmare. Glass, steel, corridors that whispered secrets even when no one was talking. You passed guards. Scientists. Some of them glanced at you, then looked away like you were a loaded gun.

You were almost at the elevator to the upper debriefing levels when—

“Hey. Alley Cat.”

The voice was rough around the edges. Young, but carrying weight. You turned.

There she was.

Amanda. Monster Girl.

Her hair was pulled into a messy braid, tied with what looked like a sparkly pink hair tie that didn’t match anything else she was wearing. Green shirt, cargo pants. A scowl she’d probably been born with.

She crossed her arms. “You’re the new maybe-prodigy Cecil’s got whispering through back channels. Didn’t expect you to look like…”

She trailed off, giving you a slow once-over.

“…well, like this.”

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Like a kid trying to cosplay ‘brooding.’”

You smirked. “Says the lady built like a Funko Pop who could crush me into drywall.”

Amanda didn’t laugh—but the corner of her mouth almost twitched.

She stepped closer, voice dropping just a notch.

“You good? After the Metallik thing?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “I’m breathing. That counts.”

“Yeah. It does.”

She looked at you a beat longer, her expression unreadable. “If you need someone who’s been through Cecil’s wringer and lived to complain about it… I’m around.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to say thanks, maybe something dumber—but then a door hissed open beside you both.

A cold GDA voice echoed: “The Director will see you now.”

Amanda gave you a nod, then turned to head down her own hallway “Good luck, Alley Cat,” she called over her shoulder.

“Try not to get used to the quiet.”

You stepped into Cecil’s office and the doors slid shut behind you with a metallic hiss.

And just like that—Playtime was over.

Cecil’s office was cold.

Not physically—though the sleek metal and black glass didn’t exactly scream warmth—but cold in that clinical, calculating way that said nothing in this room is an accident.

He was already waiting, leaning on his desk like he’d been there for hours, arms folded and scar lit by the thin beam of light coming from the holographic interface at his side.

“Cat Noir,” he said without looking up, his voice gruff, dry, and too calm for your liking.

You stepped inside, hands in your hoodie pockets. “You always this dramatic, or is it just for me?”

Cecil smirked faintly, then tapped something on the panel. A hologram sparked to life in the air between you—blue and flickering. A planet. Not Earth.

“Tell me what you know about the Coalition of Planets.”

You frowned, stepping closer. “Not much. Intergalactic alliance. Tries to keep Viltrumites in check.”

“And failing,” he muttered. “Badly.”

He waved a hand and the hologram zoomed in on a specific system. Three planets. One dark and scorched, one bustling with city lights, and the third—green and gold, covered in jungle.

“That last one is called Velthar. One of our deep-space listening outposts picked up a garbled signal from a scout. It didn’t last long. But the few words we decrypted…” He tapped again.

The audio played, crackly and broken, but clear enough:

“Viltrumite… not alone… weapon—no, host—”

static.

“—black ring, green eyes—he’s here—”

Then nothing.

Your heart started hammering before you could even process why. Cecil turned toward you, his gaze sharp. “Sound familiar?”

“…You think that has something to do with me?”

“I think someone out there just described you.”

You stared at the image of Velthar. Dense. Alien. Untamed.

Cecil continued. “We’re sending a stealth probe to collect hard data. But the Coalition’s too bogged down in internal conflict to move quickly. So until then…” He looked at you.

You already knew what he was going to say.

“I want you ready to move.”

You raised a brow. “So what, you think there’s another ring out there?”

“I think there’s something older than the Miraculous system whispering through the cracks of space. And I think if there’s a link between you and whatever’s waiting on Velthar, we can’t afford to wait for it to come here.”

Silence fell for a beat. Then Cecil added, quieter, “And if it is another like you… you might be the only one who can stop them. Or talk to them.”

Your throat felt dry. “…When do I leave?”

Cecil smiled grimly. “You don’t. Not yet.”

He tapped the screen again, bringing up a different file.

“Before that, you’re heading into a joint training op. Earthside. Amanda will brief you. Some old-school Guardians, a few new recruits. I need to know how you really work with a team before I drop you into deep space.”

You sighed, half relief, half tension. “So a warm-up lap before the apocalypse. Cool.”

Cecil looked back at the star map. “That kid—Scion. Metallik. They weren’t random. Something’s shifting. You feel it too, don’t you?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.” And in your gut, something twisted. Like a storm on the edge of your senses. Something big was coming.

And your claws?

They might not be enough.

[repairheartzz]

what if there was a mark x reader….. with the love loyalty and in-syncness of the wonder Greek mythological couple Odysseus and Penelope? Mark’s out saving the world—hell, the galaxy at times, and we’re always waiting patiently for him, just as he always is thinking of us as he’s away.

awhh I love thinking about this dynamic with mark it’s so in character!!

•AH YES 🙂‍↕️

•This is so creative !!!!!!! I love Odysseus and Penelope dynamic, so like I reimagined that with Mark Grayson (Invincible) and a female reader in a modern/sci-fi twist. This will lean into emotion, loyalty, longing, and reunion — much like Odysseus and Penelope, but in the Invincible universe 💋.

•this has 4 chapters and it's a bit short tehhe 🫠

---

Title: "Across the Stars, I Waited for You"

Setting: Years after the Viltrumite War. You and Mark had been together before he left for a distant galaxy with Allen. You stayed on Earth—waiting, defending, surviving. Everyone told you to move on. You never did.(I made that shit up)

---

Part I: The Departure

Mark had kissed you one last time on the rooftop, your fingers tangled in the fabric of his suit, knuckles white. His forehead had pressed to yours.

"I’ll come back," he promised, his voice raw with emotion. "No matter how far I go. No matter how long it takes."

You smiled through tears. "And I’ll be here when you do."

Then he was gone—vanishing into the sky like a comet. Just like that, you were alone.

---

Part II: The Waiting

The days bled into weeks. The weeks into years. News from the Coalition was scattered, fragmented. Messages from Mark came less and less frequently as he plunged deeper into the war effort across galaxies.

People moved on. Eve rebuilt. Debbie tried to be strong. Nolan sent word from time to time. But you?

You stayed.

Your apartment became a quiet vigil. You never dated. Not once. Suitors came—some were charming, some were kind, some were persistent—but your heart had already been claimed by a boy who flew into the stars.

You kept your mind busy. Studying alien tech, working with Cecil, training. But every night before bed, you sat on the rooftop where you last saw him, scanning the sky for a blur of gold and blue.

People whispered. Said you were foolish. Said he was dead.

You never believed them.

---

Part III: The Return

It was nearly midnight when the sky split open.

You were sipping coffee on the rooftop when you saw the flash—a blue streak, like a meteor breaking the atmosphere.

You stood slowly, heart pounding.

No. It couldn’t be.

But then you heard it—that sound—a sonic boom, followed by the flutter of a cape. And when you turned, he was there.

Mark.

Older. Tired. Scarred. But his eyes—those soft brown eyes—were exactly the same.

Your mug slipped from your hand and shattered on the rooftop.

You didn’t speak.

He crossed the space between you slowly, cautiously, almost reverently.

"You waited for me," he whispered, voice cracking.

"You said you’d come back," you answered, tears falling freely now. "I trusted you."

He dropped to his knees in front of you, resting his forehead against your belly like a prayer. You tangled your fingers in his hair, trembling.

"I thought of you every second," he murmured. "You were the only thing that kept me going."

---

Part IV: The Reunion

That night, you didn’t sleep.

You lay together in bed, limbs tangled, breath mingling.

Mark traced the curve of your face like he was memorizing it. You held him like you were trying to remind him he was home.

He told you stories—of planets he liberated, horrors he witnessed, the friends he lost. You told him about Earth—how it changed, how you changed.

But through it all, the golden thread remained: you waited. He returned.

When he kissed you again, it wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was slow, sacred, as if time had stopped just to give you this moment.

"I love you," he said into your skin. "I never stopped."

"You never had to say it," you replied. "I always knew."

---

Final Line: And somewhere in the distance, beneath the bruised-purple sky, the stars blinked softly—witnesses to a promise kept.

Fin

---

Author's notes: how'd you like it 🧚🏻‍♀️ I did my best, I was in a hurry writing this hope it sounds like what you imagined.

[cozymochi]

“Gosh, I wonder what kind of day my birthday will be… Please, please have things go my way for once...!”

happy [redacted] birthday Cecil Mugwort here’s a makeshift “cozy loungewear” iteration. but with 60% less quality control because i had second thoughts on nearly every aspect halfway through, but i was too far in and already made a commitment publicly 🫠

pretend voiceless lines were collaborated on with @/oddberryshortcake under cut. If that’s anyones speed.

Summon: “Being able to tend to my plants at the end of a long day is my favorite part of my dorm room, I can’t think of a better way to spend the night before my birthday.”

Groovification: “There goes those clocks again…It’s practically telling me to get up and start another day.”

Home: “Late nights are so peaceful.”

Swap Looks: “Ugh, I need to get my unruly hair out of my face!”

Home Transition 1: “Having Silver as a roommate isn’t so bad… If you forget the whole ‘sleeping through five alarm clocks’ thing he does.”

Home Transition 2: “It’s a little embarrassing, but I love how soft and fuzzy these pajamas are. They keep me warm all night.”

Home Transition 3: “THE Vil Schoenheit gave me eye cream for my dark circles. Does he think they look really bad? I was so nervous I dropped the bottle right after getting it…”

Home Transition - Login: “My birthdays are usually spent celebrating my twin sister’s birthday too. But here at NRC, I can celebrate my birthday just by myself. It’s nice not having to share for today.”

Home Transition - Groovy: “Nyoka Wadjet gave me some fancy looking cup as a gift. I told him it’d make a nice new home for my Ice Lilies , but he almost seemed upset I’d be using it that way. Did he just want me to let it collect dust?”

Home Tap 1: “I mustn’t let Ollie trick me into feeding him his dinner twice. Tricky ol’ bird.”

Home Tap 2: “I made sure to send my twin sister a card for our birthday. I actually got one from her today too! For once, she didn’t brag about herself in it… She even pressed a small flower into the envelope.”

Home Tap 3: “Housewarden Malleus Draconia approached me earlier. He just wanted to tell me happy birthday but I was so scared I nearly collapsed where I stood… Ahem! Of course, I still said thank you!”

Home Tap 4: “Just one more page of this ancient magical relics book and then I’ll turn in for the night. Oh, but next chapter is on amulets. Maybe a few more pages then…”

Home Tap 5: “Do I dye my bangs? No, its just a condition I was born with. It spreads a little further every year. At this rate, I’m gonna go gray before I graduate…”

Home Tap - Groovy: “I try not to stay up too late, but I can’t help it! Everything is silent, it’s just me, my bird, my books and my plants. It’s such bliss at night.”

Duo:

[CECIL]: “T-Thanks for celebrating, Nyoka!”

[NYOKA]: “It's no trouble, Cecil.”

Birthday Login Message: “Oh, you’re wishing me a happy birthday? I didn’t think you’d remember. You know, the science club pitched in and got me a new plant today. It was a pleasant surprise to know my seniors had been paying such close attention to my interests. …Hm? Is this your present? You made a card all by yourself? …This is much more thoughtful than the ill-fitting sweaters and mugs I normally get, thank you.”