#cecil/reader

[cheesepeese1017]

Dating/Marrying Cecil Stedman Headcanons (SFW)

I love how my first post isn't even about transformers, it's about a sixty year old human man who i hav been thinking about obsessively since i saw him.

Firstly, Cecil is absolutely not an easy catch, nor an easy keep. You need to understand that this man will fuck with your head regardless of how deep you stay within his good graces. His job is to reduce liabilities and his life is pretty much his job so you’re going to have be either completely removed from society and/or crazy interesting/capable/cerebral to hold his attention, much less retain it. When he realizes he’s in too deep, he will try to pull away. Any sane person would let go at this point. Make him marry you and he’s going to inadvertently make a butchery out of your life.

With that word of warning out of the way, let’s go on!!

Cecil probably doesn’t give a flying fuck about what kind of body you have – he’s more interested in how you style it, what you do to it, stuff like that. The way you treat yourself is more important to him than what’s there to begin with.

He mostly tends towards people who are functional, competent, and self-sufficient, as they’re the most compatible for long-term relationships with a man like him. God knows he doesn’t come home often. Neediness in his partners is a visceral delight that plunges him back into his teenage years, but Cecil finds that neediness gradually becomes overbearing and nagging and ultimately unsustainable. He feels bad for leaving a partner out to dry after days at work, so he avoids those kinds of people altogether.

He guiltlessly, gleefully spoils Wordles. He enjoys crossword puzzles and consistently rocks your shit at Scrabble except that one time you added a ‘rious’ to his ‘delete’ (deleterious means harmful. You triple checked it in the scrabble rulebook.) and he called Donald just to hang up.

Whoever you were in life, you are now Cecil’s therapist. Please know that Cecil hates therapy. He calls therapists ‘shrinks’. But when he collapses in bed at the smallest hour and his joints remind him exactly how old he is, he pulls you close and tells you things you really shouldn’t know. About him, about the GDA, about things he’d do to keep you safe. He needs an outlet, a sponge to help soak up the torrent of shit he has to deal with during the day. You’re the only person who knows him as intimately as you do. He trusts you absolutely (partially because he could erase your existence, but mostly because he just trusts you. Ain’t that cute?). In no way is this healthy. Does he know? Absolutely. Does he care? Jury’s still out on that one. You don’t really have a choice in the matter. He shuts you down if you try to talk about it. Cecil’s a man who not only resents weakness but can’t afford to show it, which makes him a very shitty spouse. Please go to Donald and Debbie about this; they’ve been itching to start a Cecil Hate Club.

I believe firmly in southern Cecil. He eradicated his accent after moving to D.C., but sometimes his upbringing will slip through. “The dog won’t hunt” referring to Invincible, “that went over like a fart in church” also referring to Invincible, and most embarrassingly in front of the Guardians once, “ya’ll”. Rex mocked him for a week, called him a country bumpkin and a hillbilly. Rex immediately got stuck with the cleanup crew for a month.

He’ll steal minutes away from his job to call you. He leaves dry, unassuming notes on the nightstand that tell you that there’s no eggs left in the fridge and are doused in your favorite perfume. He chips in around the house when he can, insisting you rest your feet.

Cecil’s greatest joy is also his greatest vulnerability. You are his Achille’s heel, which is why you probably live in a remote forest. The off-gridder, the better. Honestly I could totally see him going for someone so removed that superheroes and city threats have no way to reach them at all. It’s a safe pick, and Cecil is all about safe.

Cecil failed high school math. He should’ve never told you that.

“Stedman, I need help calculating the perimeter of this fence!”

His face is the paragon of ‘how the fuck’ before he yells, “Very funny, ____!”

His ability to actually do a date is severely fucked up from decades of responsibilities. He knows that he’s supposed to pick you up and take you out for a night on the town, and he has everything he needs – money, foresight, initiative – except for time. The world takes priority as it always has, as much as it pains him to watch your face drop as he tells you he has to go, that he’s needed elsewhere. You get that he doesn’t belong to you alone. But there’s a part of you that wants him to simply say “later, Donald”. To choose you over the world for just a moment.

(Spoiler: he never will… unless?)

Realistically, a proper date with Cecil Stedman would take place at a classy fine dining establishment catering specifically to heroes and their ilk, a place that understands the need for secrecy. He wines and dines you and makes every effort to catch up with your life; how has it been? How are your tomatoes? Is the pollinator garden doing any better than it was last year? Did you see Tabatha the hummingbird again? Have you missed him? He’s sorry.

As the night jounces effortlessly on, you can try to make a move on him. He thinks it’s cute and a little pathetic that you’re all over a charmless sixty year old like him, but the redness of his ears gush all about how much he loves feeling wanted. He’s so unused to it that it takes him a moment, frozen in the booth seat, to blow you off with a waspish retort. Take it in good sport. Later, he cups your face in his big warm hand and gives a half-assed apology. You demand a whole-assed one and he groans and grumbles but inevitably gives you a whole-assed, sarcastic apology. Closest thing you’ll get to genuine remorse from him.

He hugs like he’s never hugged anyone in his entire fucking life. Physical contact is the weakest link on this man, period. He’ll like, bend his arm over your shoulder and the other goes at the waist and he’ll lean out of it somehow and refuse to let your body fully touch his and you’re like ???? while he’s patting your back and going ‘yep, yep’. Awful hugger, just terrible.

You know the suit, tie, and shoes he always wears every single day? He has three walk in closets dedicated to them. Same tailored suit, same sharp-lapelled shirt, same red tie that drives you up the wall when he adjusts it. The shoes get their own section in each. They’re rich and earthy in that weird way that leather is when broken in. The suits are from the Brooks Brothers or Ralph Lauren in identical shades of deep, stratos blue, his creamy dress shirts are Todd Synder, and the ties embody the sleek Italian cotton of Hugo Boss.

(I did an absurd amount of research for that.)

He’s an old man who reads the paper, takes his coffee black, and still doesn’t understand the whole LGBTQ+ thing. Most of the time he’s gone before you’re awake, so it’s a shock to see him in the mornings. He seems so normal sitting at the little round breakfast table he bought from Germany with his foot propped up on his knee and his face shoved in the morning news, picking at the bacon he made himself. He tells you about his cholesterol levels. You discuss alternatives. The messy, fading wreath of white hair he obsesses over catches the filtered suburban sunlight, wisping soft shadows onto his head that you make fun of. He glares at you with no intensity. You comment on how shiny his cranium is. He threatens to throw coffee on you. Little human things like that. They make you want, stupidly, to offer your heart on a silver platter to Cecil Stedman like you haven’t already.

I'm really happy to make this contribution to the cecil fans, they do NOT have enough food

[bonsubear]

You're Dead Everywhere But Here │ Invincible Variants x Female! Reader x Mainstream Invincible │#2

#1, #2, #3

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

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

WC: 6,7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is there no audio on this thing?"

"Nope."

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

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

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

"(Y/N)?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was gonna—"

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

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

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

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

"... I can?"

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

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

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

Without elaborating, he teleported with a flash of blue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You are her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoosh!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

... Skeleton?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark stayed unmoving, not reacting an inch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's yours? We can compare."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“… Shut up. Just shut up.”

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

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

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

“Just tell me where she is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crack!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-bonsubear

[invoncible]

How about Mark variants with a Cecil daughter reader? Thought it would be an interesting idea

VARIANTS!MARK GRAYSON & stedman! reader ✧˚. cw. canon typical violence/themes (ex. cannibalism)

you were your father's right hand. the perfect blend of danger and kindness, you were a rare bridge between the younger members of the guardians and the older guys at the GDA, your father included.

when the war started, it was unlike anything the earth encountered before and beyond what any country was prepared for. the GDA struggled to corral one invincible—a dozen was just overkill. if humanity did not have their indomitable spirit, surely governments would just lay down and die.

but not your dad and certainly not 🗣️🦅🤠 AMERICA 🗣️🦅🏈🗽!

so you were sent out into the field. unfortunately, you were getting the sense that they knew you... and weren't so kind to you in their dimensions...

"lookie here," mohawk mark grinned fearsomely as he floated above you. "little stedman. man, it's been so long since i've seen your face."

"why's that?" you cocked your gun, standing before him without a tense bone in your body. if cecil taught you anything, it was how to fake it til you make it.

"killed ya," he sang teasingly. "personally broke you in half for being a fucking pest. you were almost as annoying as your old man."

"mm." you hummed, ignoring the feeling of dread in your stomach. your father might have taught you to stand strong, but there was just something about staring death in the face that made a person anxious.

there was a high chance you could die here. they've all done it once before, apparently. great.

the other marks gathered over the original mark's residence. you were supposed to gather debbie and oliver, but intel was faulty and they had fled on their own. good for them, bad for you.

omnimark paused, studying you as he drew closer. his red cape wafted in the wind as he descended. it would have been majestic if he wasn't, you know... a murderer.

"i know you well enough to read you like a book. i can tell you're scared." onmimark observed you, swirling around you inquisitively.

this was bullshit. they were just playing with their food at this point, hovering around you like vultures too impatient to wait for your death.

"i call dibs," sinister shoved past omnimark, his lips curling into a salivating grin. "you were most delicious back home."

startled by the notion, you blinked and snapped, "what?"

"yeah. i ate you."

"what the fuck—"

"can it." prison mark bulldozed through his peers, aggravated by the chatter. "i'm the only one who hasn't got to kill them yet."

"so?" mohawk mark scoffed and rolled his eyes.

you shook your head, shrugging off your nerves and stepped back. aiming your gun directly between his skull, you tried to dismiss the condescending expression that you were faced with.

mohawk mark chuckled and walked forward, bending at the waist and pressing his forehead right up against the barrel.

"shoot me," he said lowly, a big smirk on his face. the more he looked at you, the more he saw the shake of your eyes, the more excited he got. it's been a while since he's gotten so much thrill from a kill, and you were the most thrilling of all. "you know you can't hurt me."

you glared at him, phasing out of sight in an instant. mark's eyes widened in faint surprise when you vanished.

you teleported directly to their sides, gun aiming down the canal of their ears. praying for all the strength and accuracy in the world, you let eight precise bullets fly, blasting their way down through their suits and into their ears.

they all stumbled through the air at the impact, shaking their head like maracas to locate the bullet.

"dumb bunny," mohawk mark snarled, brushing the blood from his nose as he grimaced in discomfort. "told you, you can't hurt us."

"i see their stupidity transcends dimensions," viltrumite mark commented plainly. he shook his head to one side in an attempt to dislodge the bullet like he was getting pool water out of his ear.

you swallowed a shaky breath and set your stance, whipping out the control for the implants. you hoped they were able to worm their way deep inside like you programmed them to.

"those aren't regular bullets, dickheads." you snapped, bringing your thumb down on the red button.

the piercing shrill of the underwater kaiju that disarmed the original mark rang through the air, pulsing into their skulls painfully. their flight stuttered before dropping completely, collapsing to the ground like flies. they clawed at their heads uselessly as the grating shriek made them go stupid.

you huffed a laugh when they all keeled over, in disbelief you managed to pull it off. then you just laughed for the hell of it. who's invincible now?

you could talk shit like your father; you just hoped his tendency to get his balls rocked right after he ran his mouth didn't pass on to you.

"big mistake leaving me breathing," you activated the dead man's switch and brought your foot down on the controller, smashing it to little pieces. "you had your chance to kill me. now it's my turn."

© invoncible

[digitald0rk]

I WANT SOMEONE BADLY

pairing — mark grayson x gn! hero reader. [ implied childhood friends ]

synopsis — after a hard [ immature laughing ] night of fighting crime, you take mark back to yours to spend some extra time with him, one of your closest friends. he is a yearner, through and through. [ end his misery pls 🙏🏻 ]

warnings — mentions of healing from nail biting / picking, mark and you paint each other's nails, he helps with your skincare, crazy pining, like two suggestive paras nothing too freaky though!

w.c — 2.2 k.

a/n — YES IT'S A JEFF BUCKLEY REFERENCE THE TITLE I MEAN :D I WANNA WRITE SMMM BUT i have two exams back to back and then my boards after them in like two weeks 💔💔 im cooked. ALSO HAPPY EID MUBARAK TO ALL THOSE WHO CELEBRATE ^_^ we getting rich this year gang 🤑🤑🤑 ALSO TYSM FOR 400 FOLLOWERS! luv you all mwah <3

taglist — @vm4879bb-blog @hihowyoudoin00 @fairii-majii @hepdeerness [ lemme know if you wanna be added! ]

“m- invincible,” your little slip up makes him chuckle, “pretty sure no one's gonna hear you on top of the highest rooftop in the city, but okay.” he teases you so he doesn't end up staring at you like you're the only person in the world.

“you can never be too sure,” you huff, playfully shoving him a bit followed by a fond eye roll when he pretends like you've punched his guts out or something, dramatically groaning and all. 

“i was just wondering if you wanna come over? i barely have time to spend with you when i’m not being a superhero,” you start, slightly hesitant.

“ooh sleepover?”

“i mean if you want, sure.” you smile, happy to be spending time with him outside of beating people up.

stop smiling at him, please. he's already a lovesick fool, don't do this to him.

“yeah, i’m down!” he says, mentally scolding himself for sounding a little too excited, getting up he stretches a little, “let's go.”

you two fly together to your house, laughing at some stupid thing you saw, a meme or some other ridiculous thing — he wants to record your laugh and play it again and again, although his mind at night does just that so maybe there's no use of it.

he's laughing with you but his heart is beating like a drum, thank god your powers don't include super hearing or he's sure the super loud thump thump of his heart — which belongs to you and only you be concerning, 

he catches a whiff of your perfume, the one you always wear — wait your hair smells different, is that a new conditioner? or shampoo? it smells nice, awfully nice. he takes a deep breath. get it together mark.

he has to maintain a little distance before he ends up doing something stupid like burying his face in your hair and kissing your head.

soon enough he finds you two on the balcony of your house, you slide open the window to your room, leaving it open for him to follow you in.

his palms feel sweaty, he's been here countless times. you two have even slept on the same bed twice. yes, you both were like ten but still!

he takes another deep breath, he steps into your room, you're nowhere to be seen. he hesitantly sits on your bed and of course it smells like you. this isn't good, his heart is going to give out.

he's toying around with your little black cat plushie when he hears the bathroom door unlock, eyes darting to your figure coming out, you've changed into your favorite comfortable pajamas.

he's going to die.

the soft material stretches over the curves and dips of your body in a way that has him gripping the plushie a little too hard.

“you're gonna suffocate him,” you joke, your voice snaps him out of it and he relaxes his grip on the soft back plushie.

flopping down onto the bed with a tired groan you prop yourself up on your elbow to face him.

the atmosphere is unusually tense, or well at least to mark. the soft flutter of your eyelashes and the way your shirt sightly rides up, revealing a slither of your soft skin has him acting like a victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.

“heard you actually got a good grade for once in chemistry.”

he huffs, nodding with a smile, “believe me, i’m just as surprised as you are.”

the tension breaks and you two fall into easy conversation, like always. he can't keep the smile off of his face when you pull out some seance dog issue to read together and it ends up in him explaining some villain’s origin story to you.

“yeah, so honestly it's not his fault-”

“i think his biggest crime is his new outfit” he laughs at your comment.

your body would occasionally brush against his. sometimes your knees bumping or elbow nudging him when you tease him about something, he wishes he could hold you and shower you with all the affection, give you everything he has.

“i’ve been trying to grow out my nails,” you put your palm flat against the sheets, showing him your progress so far, he knows you've been trying to break the habit of picking and biting your nails. he takes your hand in his without thinking, his thumb tracing over your long nails, “looks good,” a proud smile stretching across his lips.

“thanks, I've been meaning to paint them-”

“can i paint them?” mark blurts out, he honestly just wants to hold your hand for as long as you'll let him.

you jokingly make a show of pretending to think before nodding, “sure.”

you get out of bed, opening your closet to take out a small box of all the nail polishes and other supplies you own, he excitedly looks through the box, pulling out a pretty blue shade, giddy at the thought of his suit’s main color matching with your nails.

he helps you settle your hand on a small towel so your bed sheet doesn't get stained, he uncaps the small bottle, getting to work, he'd grumble a little when he messes up, his teeth slightly dig into his bottom lip as he focuses on painting your nails and every time his hand would make contact with yours — even the slightest bit of contact leaves him longing for more.

he listens to you speak about something that happened at school last wednesday, his heart rate would pick up everytime you'd say his name in that pretty voice of yours.

he looks so proud himself when he finishes painting all the nails on your right hand, gently blowing on them so they'd dry faster, you playfully join him, blowing on your now blue nails, your breaths mingle and oh boy he's holding himself back from kissing your knuckles and telling you how beautiful you are.

you examine his painting skills, watching him put nail polish on your left hand’s nails.

he works in comfortable silence, using the crumpled up ball of tissue to wipe off any excess blue liquid that is around your nails.

“you're actually good at this, makes me wonder if you've ever painted someone else's nails before,” you mutter, his eyes dart up to hold your gaze for a moment, he'd hold it for longer but he knows it'll unravel him, it'd just end up with him pouring out his feelings — baring his heart to you.

“nope, it's actually my first time,” he admits, putting the cap back on and once again blowing at your nails, he sneaks in a small brush of his thumb against your knuckles as he helps your hand up — which is just an excuse to touch you, he folds the small towel and puts it back in your small box of nail supplies.

“do you like them?” he asks.

“yeah, looks really pretty. thanks mark,” you flash him a happy smile and he's over the moon.

“yeah, real pretty,” he whispers, except he's not only talking about your nails, he's talking about you — all of you.

the moonlight along with the dim fairy lights of your room make you look like a literal angel, he swears he can see the wings and halo.

“let me return the favor?” you ask, if only you knew he'd give you the world if you let him, he doesn't even have to think before he's nodding, a dumb lovesick smile makes it's way onto his face as he lets you maneuver his hand around and paint his nails a pretty blue — the same shade he picked for your nails.

meaning you two are matching, he finds that adorable. he also finds you adorable and wants to just bite your cheek, just a little nibble. he shakes his head slightly as if he's shaking the thought away which works, not really.

“look we're matching!” you put your hand besides his, your long nails matching his in the same blue shade. “yeah we are,” he softly mutters, wanting to lace your fingers through his but ultimately holds himself back.

he feels sad when you pull your hands away once you're done painting his nails — he would hold your hand for eternity if you let him.

he feels the tension again, his eyes lingering a second too long on your figure as you put the supplies back in your closet, with your back turned to him he can only think about one thing, you — your waist and how he'd love to grab it while he presses needy kisses all over your neck, sucking and biting, leaving marks, he wonders how you'd whisper his name when his touch gets a little rough and demanding, squeezing and groping all he can reach-

woah there, can't afford a boner here mark, calm down.

he wants to kiss every inch of your body and worship you, he wants — no, he needs to.

he shifts a bit under the sheets when a familiar feeling starts to settle in his gut, waiting for you to come back to bed. although he's almost sure it'll only increase the intensity of the heat he's feeling.

you crawl back into bed, shifting around to find a comfortable position. thankfully, your stupid jokes ease his nerves a bit. he finds himself leaning closer to you, drawn to you like a moth to a flame, so here you two are almost pressed against each other, lying side by side as you two watch tiktoks on your phone, wrapped in your balnket.

“why is your whole fyp brainrot?” he'd complain and then end up laughing, although he insisted it wasn't funny.

a few more giggles and shared laughter later, he realizes just how close you two are to each other, he'd barely have to move to kiss those pretty lips of yours, would you taste like that slushie you two shared earlier? he wants to find out, he really wants to.

a small yawn escapes your lips and he swears he falls in love over again.

“tired?” he asks softly, as if speaking a little too loud would ruin the tranquility of it all. 

“mhm.”

“i'm not letting you watch tiktoks till 3am, come on, let's get you to sleep hm?”

he takes your phone away, his fingers brushing against yours, the contact making his heart skip a beat.

“i still have to do,” another yawn, “my skincare,” you mutter, desperately trying to keep your eyes open.

he sheepishly offers to do it for you, he quickly gets out of bed the second you tell him what you need and where your skincare products are because if he stays this close to your sleepy form a second longer he'll end up kissing your forehead and saying those eight letters he's been meaning to say for years.

he brushes your hair out of your face, helping you with your skincare. he rubs the sweet smelling moisturizer into your skin gently, first your hands, he smiles when he sees his nails matching yours, he's never going to shut up about this moment.

then he helps you apply it to your face, taking his sweet time savoring the feeling of your skin underneath his fingertips, his rough calloused hands working skillfully.

“mark?”

“hm?”

“thank you, seriously you're the best.” 

he's going to scream, he's glad your eyes are closed shut or otherwise he's sure you'd be able to spot the flush that adorns his cheeks.

then comes the serum, and finally the cherry flavored lip balm. you pucker your lips and glide the tube across your lips, coating them in a shiny slightly sticky layer.

great, you just made them more kissable. he's going to crash out.

you innocently offer him some, he can't say no to you, even you should know this by now.

his heart picks up again when you apply your lip balm to his slightly dry lips, going back and forth a couple times for good measure, his lips now shiny.

and then the realization hits him — he just indirectly kissed you. his heart might as well just beat out of his chest with the way it's pounding so hard against his ribs, like a drum.

his self control is hanging on by a thread, you tuck yourself and him in bed, sleepily mumbling, “goodnight mark,” you sound so sweet, his name on your tongue — sweeter than honey, it’s enough to drive him crazy.

and as your eyes close to get some much needed rest, he mumbles back, “goodnight.”

once he's sure you're fully asleep, he adds, “goodnight my angel,” stroking your head gently, reverently.

he presses a small kiss to your forehead, maybe, just maybe one day, he'll tell you how his heart aches for you, how it longs to hold you and be held in your loving arms — his love for you is consuming, his heart overflowing with it, he's sure if you cut open his chest, your name would be seen engraved on his heart and he wouldn't have it any other way, he will always love you.

even if you don't.

but he prays everyday that you do.

© digitald0rk 2025. do not repost / steal any of my work or you'll get explosive diarrhea and rexsplode! want more? click here ★

[echosage]

INVINCIBLE P!LINKS

CW. : PORN. MDNI.

♱ MARK GRAYSON.

♱. I

♱. II

♱. III

♱. IV

♱. V

♱ NOLAN GRAYSON.

♱. I

♱. II

♱. III

♱. IV

♱. V

♱ CECIL STEDMAN. (You have to hear me..)

♱. I

♱. II

♱. III

♱. IV

♱. V

♱ REX SLOAN.

♱. I

♱. II

♱. III

♱. IV

♱. V

[pinkluv29]

So how do we all feel?

[beeandthescreen]

Cecil Stedman brainrot has been ON. He is so Lana-Del Rey. I need him, carnally. Zoom-ins cause I’m a giver.

Hihi, bald old man go brrrrr.

TikTok Post

Procreate!

[earlgreylatte]

Eldest Daughter Syndrome

Where being the daughter of Nolan Grayson was a burden in itself, despite him wanting the best for you.

Of Moons, Birds, & Monsters - You start to crack under the weight your father is placing on you.

Overture - You see your father’s cracks.

Nothing to Declare - Your father’s audacity.

When You’re Small - A different time.

Another You - The person you were to another Mark.

The Weak Link - Kids always seem to sense weakness.

TBA - …

Masterlist

[lotus-flower420]

images id say describe my experience being a woman in the Invincible fandom.

[midnightshindig]

Can I request marriage proposal hcs for Cecil, Donald, Rex, and Mark? Like just quick "this is how they would propose, where, now they're feeling" thing

Cecil, Donald, Rex and Mark Proposal hcs!!

okay quick rapid fire, following a strict format!

Cecil

Where?:

either AT the GDA or some shit like a fancy restaurant he rented out just for you

either way a SUPER private proposal

After how long?:

Cecil would wait a WHILE before proposing

think 4-10 years

How?:

Cecil gets someone to custom design you a ring based on the pinterest board he found on your account

gives you a very curt speech that sounds a little like a business proposal

but then he takes a heavy, anxious breath and drops his shoulder

"Y/n, I can't do this without you. And I love you. and finding those two things in the same person doesn't happen twice. I wanna do right by you. Can I be your husband?"

(The rest under the cut!)

Donald

Where?:

Probably a nice restaurant with people populating it

or somewhere really casual like a drive in movie

he probably took you there a lot on dates early in your relationship

After how long?:

Donald, like Cecil, is pragmatic and older (hc like his early 40s) than Rex and Mark

He'd wait a sensible 2-3 years before proposing

honestly, finding out he's a cyborg is probably what pushes him over the edge into proposing

How?:

The wedding ring is forged from the specific type of metal used to make his skeleton

He gets one of those trinket boxes from like hobby lobby or smth, but not a traditional ring box

Probably opens the ring box and just stares at you

for like a good minute

before it occurs to him that duh he has to, yknow.... ask?

"...Y/n- Will you marry me?"

He just stares at you with that dumb ass placid look on his face

but inside he's SWEATING

his glasses are fogged as fuck

Rex

Where?:

Probably somewhere relatively remote

like the Teen Team tower/bridge

Or where you had your first date

After how long?:

he's impulsive but NOT commital

you'd have to be dating for like.... 4 years before he'll propose

selfishly that's because some part of him is waiting to see if he'll fuck it up and cheat

before he realizes this is for real and he really adores you

like yeah he wants to tie your ass down ofc he does

plans the proposal in a week flat

How?:

boy is broke, you get fancy Target wedding ring

cost him 20 of Rudy's dollars

he puts on a firework show for you, along with some of his cooking for a picnic date

Gets down on one knee as the firework finale occurs, makes a big thing of it

"Y/n- I know I'm a total jackass and I can be annoying- I don't know how you deal with me. But you're the best person I've ever met and I want to be with you forever. Soooo, will you marry me?"

cocky grin with a glimmer of anxiety in his eyes

please say yes

Mark

Where?:

Somewhere only he can take you

if you can breath in space, then the moon

but otherwise, the top of a mountain or the Eifel Tower is not out of reach

After how long?:

Mark is a romantic at heart

Probably between 8 months and two years?

I DOUBT longer than that

I only say 2 years because of Debbie

How?:

He proposes with Debbie's wedding ring

Which, in and of itself is a family heirloom from her side of the family

He goes out of his way to take you on the most fantastical date

An activity and then dinner and then dessert and then he flies you around, laying on his stomach as he cruises backwards through the air

Its some "a whole new world" type shit

He takes you to-- we'll assume the Eifel Tower-- and gets on one knee

pulls out notecards

"ahem- Y/n-" ass mf

Literally the lengthiest, corniest speech ever

"I'm so grateful for that day, the day I met you and you changed my life forever."

this goes one a WHILE

"Marriage is the bond between two people who make each other better. I am better in every way with you in my life. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

Pure anxiety in his face, you can see the crinkle of self doubt in his eyes

[teddie-bear420]

IM CONQUERING IT SO HARD RN

So I love love LOVE conquest so that means Tedd gets to climb all over that brick house. Only way this works is if conquest sees Tedd and is like, I’ll keep you around cuz you make me smile

thank you Cecil server for being the best in the world and encouraging my madness

[cheesepeese1017]

more Cecil dating/marriage HCs (sfw)

Cecil's issues, how you deal with them, and the ways he compensates.

I feel like the old hag is super conservative about dating. He’s not a very eligible bachelor and he knows it. It’ll take a good three years before he considers dating, then another year to confirm and officialize it, then you’ll date for five more as he debates proposing towards the last two, THEN he gives you the Netflix password, and you finally get married at the decade mark.

Cecil’s style of attachment is avoidant 100%. He struggles immensely to bring down the self-protective walls he’s built up over the years even when you’re twenty years into marriage. In the weird middlemost lull of your initial dating phase, it often felt like he was just there to lick the icing off the cake. He wanted the humor, exclusivity, intrigue, and emotional crutch of a romantic relationship without putting the in the effort. When you got sick, he didn’t bother to come visit. Rather, he sent store-bought soup. When you told him about how a particular problem was slapping the shit out of you, he would listen stone-faced and offer painfully obvious advice on how to fix it, not understanding that you’d already figured it yourself and just wanted him to be there and nod along.

When you told him that, he snorted. “Go get a shrink if you need someone to listen to you that badly.”

Yeahhh, the seven year mark of dating Cecil was highkey insufferable. I’m sure at this point you were mostly staying for the money, and even that might not have been enough.

One night after another aborted date, you issued an ultimatum before he could leave. Either he started genuinely investing in the relationship or it was over because quote “I can’t stand the way you treat me like an emotional cumrag, Cecil.”

Firstly, pop off! Secondly, slay! He stood there blinking for a moment, jacket in hand. Then he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Not in the ‘God that’s the fifth time Invincible screwed up today’ kind of way, but in the ‘No, no, you’ve got a point goddamnit’ kind of way.

“I don’t want this as a concession,” you continued. “I want it as a fullhearted effort. I want you to deal with all the aspects of this relationship that I have to deal with – the hard times as well as the good times – because it’s not fucking fair that you can walk it off like a high school fuck and I’m left bitter over a fifty year old.”

That got him good. You were too frustrated to laugh at how he gaped like a fish, then got more frustrated that you couldn’t find humor in it, that you should even have to be in this situation with a full grown man.

“No, you’re right. You’re right. I’m… I should’ve paid more attention to you.” He tried to play it cool but you could hear the waver in his voice. “I was busy with work, and I neglected to consider your end of the deal. I’m sorry.”

You nearly rolled your eyes, this was so overdue. “I accept. But it doesn’t mean shit if you don’t follow through.”

He shook his head heavily. “I will, I promise. God, I’m sorry to have put you through all that. What was I thinking?”

He actually sounded pained. “Hey, let’s not make it about you now, Mr. Director,” you half-joked half-warned. “Now go save the world.”

As he walked out, you slapped his ass for good measure. His aloofness and unavailability have stayed constant fixtures in your marriage, but both of you have learned to work around them as a unit, designating times to talk or eat or play or just be together. Later, he told you he appreciated you standing up to him.

“It’s a quality I appreciate, conviction.” You wiped the sweat off your brow with a gloved hand. Summer had descended on your garden with a vengeance. “Yeah, is that so?”

“Yeah,” he sipped lemonade, his shades mounted high. “It seems so.”

Don’t even mention work around him, he’ll explode. There’s about a dozen things for him to worry about at any given moment to the point where most nights for him are spent at the GDA putting out fires. He counts snatching three consecutive hours of sleep as a win. At least if you somehow have a baby, he’ll be ready for the night shift.

Speaking of babies, this man does not want a freaking baby. Last thing he can afford to worry about. Encourages you to get on the pill if possible and uses protection like a priest wears his cross.

It’s such a struggle to get him in anything but his formals. You guys regularly vacation in Geneva and Cabo and he SLAYS various bodies of water with his suit and tie. As a surprise one time you packed a loud Hawaiian shirt and khakis for him in his suitcase. As the days went on without a hint of flowery orange, you grew more and more dismayed. You found them in your luggage at the end of the trip with a note.

“Not in a million years.”

(You got him to wear it for your most recent birthday. You snagged a picture. He deleted it off your phone with his super secret government powers.)

(He keeps it on his own phone for your next birthday present. He knows how much it means to you)

Cecil doesn’t feel sorry for like 90% of the things he ‘has’ to do. But he really really really overthinks the rare things he does regret. That’s when the Immortal-age wine gets broken out from his private study retreat (man cave). He’ll duck and weave but when push comes to shove he goes to you like he always has, his sanctuary, his rock. On the unfathomably rough nights, when he gets lost in his own head and he stares bleakly at you like he’s stuck in the worst moments of his life, you’re the one who bears the burden of being the most important person in the GDA. It’s not Donald who washes Cecil’s unmentionables, it’s you.

A bath is in order. You worried he’d try to drown himself the first few times but it turns out he’s actually incapable of slumping that low because his shoulders automatically lock up from old scar tissue. His eyes widen when they do. You can tell it scares him a bit in this state to not have control over his body, and it seems he knows as well. He just watches you quietly as you shake unscented bubble bath solution into the tub, scatter sweet honeysuckle from the garden, check the warmth of the water, gently rub his aging body. He sighs from time to time.

You try not to let him drink too much; justify it with the risks of high temperatures and old age and alcohol and such, but it’s mostly because you’re worried about what would happen if he did.

After the bath, you help him out and wipe him down. It’s clumsily unromantic. His leg hair alone could reforest the Amazon. It’s funny because he does nothing but sit around all day and still manages to get the thickest callouses on his heels. You frequently joke about him strutting about in high heels to achieve this level of dermal encrustment, which earns you an exasperated groan. You quip back. You’d rather have this weariness than his self-inflicted horror.

Once, he spoke.

“It helps.” He mumbled thickly.

It startled you from where you were pressed against his front. “What?”

“The baths,” you felt his throat quaver as he swallowed. “They help.”

A heartbeat later, he finished with, “Thank you.” And pressed a weak kiss to your temple.

The next morning, Cecil is gone as usual. He leaves a Post-It dusted in perfume letting you know that the Whole Foods near you has a good deal on essentials and ‘the early bird is able to buy more eggs in this failing economy’. You snort and roll back over, lazing in the sun as you write a response which you snap to the fridge, ‘birds lay eggs grandpa’.

Mandatory Debbie appreciation!!!

Debbie is supremely used to dealing with grumpy, overworked, stubborn old men. She actually sends you care packages every Christmas as a thank-you for being Cecil’s emotional chew toy, and they always make you laugh because it’s filled with things only a mother would pack: high SPF sunscreen for the garden, cute notes tucked in between instant noodles, plenty of Asian snacks, buns, and chocolate, an outfit or jewelry she thought would look good on you, emergency care supplies (even though you’ve got emergency private care), a journal or two, good pencils/pens/erasers, and books she’s finished already and wants you to read so the two of you can discuss them at length. The ramen comes in handy when Cecil’s private chef gets his paid time off and the snacks readily disappear throughout the year.

In response, you schedule times to meet with her between her familial obligations and work. At first Cecil was more than a little combative about his spouse spending time with the divorcee of Omni-man – nothing against divorcees, he said, just Omni-man – but you wrestled him into agreeance by threatening to withhold cuddles. You and Debbie talk about mundane things that you both miss, back when the biggest issues in your lives were what to make for dinner. You talk about how hard it is to live in the periphery of superpowered spouses. Her life has been shattered since Nolan left, and your presence has begun to fill in those cracks. You get the feeling she enjoys your company as much as you enjoy hers.

Back to our regularly scheduled bitchy old man media!!!

This goes without saying but he’s extremely accommodating of your hobbies. Do you like writing? A fully set up typewriter, new laptop, and paperback Scrivener tutorial show up on your bed. He’ll sign you up for workshops if you want. Got a thing for skydiving? 24/7 private jet just for you, baddie. Do shelves upon shelves of Funko Pops please you? Fuck it, drain his paycheck.

Cecil will do damn near anything to keep you happy. He tries his best to spend as much time with you as possible even with the GDA’s vice grip on his balls. As you’ve seen before, he leaves notes for you around the house as an endearing way to communicate with you, even if the contents aren’t all that endearing. He encourages you to see your friends under the condition that he’s always got your location – otherwise your imperceptible absence bugs him all day.

He fantasizes about just dropping it. Running away with you into some corner of the world, a sundrenched treehouse hideout looking out over seas of rustling, rolling prairie grass and creeks cold enough to steal your breath, the same way as it was when he was young. Before he got tough, before he got smart. Just two people in love sharing air and laughter and dreams.

Then his alarm goes off or Donald barges into his office. Cecil comes unwillingly back to reality, a dog collared every which way.

here's something wrong with this man and i really, really like it.

[theartofsimpatry]

Invincible characters and their favorite parts about you

NSFW🔞

Mark Grayson: Tits, he cant help but love them. Small, medium, large or XXXXL, he loves them!!

Omni-Man: Ass, he loves to see your ass bouncing against his body when you ride him.

Rex Splode: Ass AND tits! He loves the female form and is classy enough to appreciate both.

Conquest: He’s not picky, he’s an older man and knows that he can appreciate all the parts of your body. But if he absolutely had to pick one? Ass.

Thragg: PUSSY. He’s a breeder for goodness’s sakes! He loves pussies of all sizes, shapes and colors, the only thing he cares about is your fertility.

Cecil Stedman: Another old man that looks past the flesh and cares about whats on the inside… his favorite is thighs.

Allen the Alien: Tits. He likes to compare them to his massive hands, if they don’t fill up his hands, they’re cute. If they do? Its hot as fuck.

[st4r-th0ughts]

I need to fuck them both and get them impregnated.

[invoncible]

♡ THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER ... ! (CECIL VER.) cw. suggestive towards the end

— as requested. i've gotten a few asks for some cecil, conquest, and nolan stuff so i'm gonna make this a mini series! the next part will probs be conquest ? i imagine you're controversially young for them in comparison. because lets be real these guys are fossils. — i probs got him ooc IM SORRY

cecil is a private man. nobody knows about your relationship, and that's how he liked it.

you were a secretary at the pentagon, a well-to-do front line desk worker that loved your low maintenance job that allowed you great pay, easy hours, and lots of benefits. 

the first time you met, he came in to work grumbling as usual about all the shit he had to deal with... until he saw your bright smile over the counter. 

"hiii!" you sprung up from your seat, offering him a coffee. "director stedman, good to see you today."

his name and 'good to see you today' rarely coincided. being the guy that made all the hard decisions didn’t leave much room for camaraderie—no one got buddy buddy with the guy in charge (except donald). 

he accepted the coffee on autopilot while scrutinizing you. you were a new face, at least to his knowledge. first day, maybe? wanting to make a good impression on the boss?

"thanks." he muttered, taking a sip and trying to hide his surprise when it was made just how he liked it. he was too picky for it to be a lucky guess, so you probably asked around... for information on him... interesting. he had to be careful with you. 

he caught your eyes over the rim of the cup; you were watching him with an equal intensity, searching for any microexpressions that would affirm you did a good job. your lips quirked up in a smug little smile when you managed to pull approval from his facade, smoothing down your pants as you dropped into your seat again. 

"have a good day, sir." you hummed, eyes flickering up to him as he walked away. 

"yeah." he cleared his throat, more confused than anything. 

he brushed it off as a fluke—again, he thought you were new and wanting to make a great first impression. which you did, by the way, but his intrigue grew when you just didn't stop.

every morning without fail, you had his coffee ready, a sweet little greeting, a warm smile. it became a comfort for him, but he didn't even allow himself to go down that road of ... affection. because you were you and he was him. 

"so, how about that secretary, sir?" donald asked him one day. 

"what about 'em, donald?" cecil sighed, but he was itching to talk about it, too. his thoughts drifted to you more often than he’d like, and it was becoming a biiit of a problem. 

“nothing.”

“you brought it up. clearly you had something to say.” cecil pinched the bridge of his nose. “so talk.”

donald’s lips quirked up ever so slightly. “are you aware they only prepare coffee for you?”

no, he wasn’t aware. it’d become so normal that he hadn’t even considered that. he might as well be hyper-aware, now. breaking people down to their innermost desires and principles were his trade, and his analytical mind was not lost on you. and so, every morning without fail, he talked a bit. went beyond the ‘have a nice day’ thing you’ve both grown comfortable with.  

you perked up in your seat upon seeing cecil walk in, another thing that endeared you to him. “director—”

“how do you like your coffee?”

you blinked, thrown off by the change in routine. “um… i like to try something different each time, i guess..?”

“if you had to choose.” he murmured, delicately accepting the warm cup from your outstretched hand. “humor me.”

that was where it started. from then on, he showed up with your coffee, performing an amicable exchange of sorts (he had ulterior motives, of course) and while you two sipped on the hot invigorating brew, you talked about how you ended up here, what you did outside work, places you’ve traveled… emphasis on you because he wasn’t going to spoil this slice of heaven with his troublesome past.

“it’s a good deal, you know?” you hummed, swirling the cup in your hand. “nice desk all to myself, easy admin work, no one annoying to handle for the most part.”

“for the most part?” he inquired, leaning over the counter. 

you waved him off as you sipped from your cup. he frowned and chucked his empty cup in the garbage behind your desk. 

“tell me.”

you laughed softly, tossing your cup along his, licking your lips of the residual taste. “mm. you have bigger things to deal with, director. things that needed your attention…” you trailed off, glancing at your screen. “what, an hour or so ago?”

“is it the end of the world?”

“no.”

“then the team can handle it.” cecil’s lips parted in a smug smile, his words holding a finality you couldn’t help but listen to. you couldn’t suppress the warm feeling pooling in your gut. “tell me. that’s an order.”

“oh?” you reacted verbally, your eyes widening, the firm command making your heart flutter. “since when do you give me orders?”

“since i care about harassment in my building.” he shot back before allowing himself to be impressed with your audacity. since i care about you. 

you giggle softly and he takes a moment to commit the sound to memory. 

“i’m just kidding,” you stand and jog your papers against the desk surface, preparing to make your rounds with the freshly printed documents. “you are my boss, after all.”

yeah… he is your boss. but with you, he often felt like you were in charge. 

you’d be lying to say this wasn’t your plan all along. you saw him when you came in for your job interview and decided to try your luck. you didn’t expect it to work, much less work well. you had him wrapped around your finger! at first, it was just a fun way to pass the time at your desk; now it was something you looked forward to everyday.

“it’s just some analyst from upstairs that comes to bug me.” you shrug with a roll of your eyes. “just stands there and talks for hours.”

“isn’t that what i do?” the question left his mouth before he could stop it, and he instantly regretted it. the more he talked to you, the less of a filter he had, rarely thinking things over before speaking and impulsively saying what’s on his mind. 

your lips spread in a small, mischievous smile, a glint in your eye. “you’re different. i like you.”

you’d become more and more forward and it was getting harder for him to dismiss the hints you dropped. the man’s been around, and he wasn’t so dumb to be blind to what you were doing. what you were trying to get him to feel. although considering that he was your boss, he was simply content with the song and dance you had right now.

he watched you walk away until you disappeared from his sight with a heavy sigh.

side note, you never saw that analyst again. 

there was one day you weren’t at your desk, and your absence rang some alarms in his head. he’d been sneaking looks at your records and would know if you requested time off. more than that, you would have told him.

he was about to walk off when he heard the doors behind him burst open and the rapid clack clack clack of shoes racing across the floor. 

he turned to watch you, looking deliciously disheveled might he add, with a raise of his brow. “y/n—“

“i’m sorry!” you stop in front of him to catch your breath. “i didn’t get your coffee today—“

“that’s fine,” cecil said lowly, his expression amused. “you run a fucking marathon or something?”

“—i got up late and… and… damn, that’s the first time i’ve sprinted in a while. fuck.” you bent over your knees, panting. “there was traffic and a whole line at the coffee shop—someone knocked it out of my hand when i was leaving—“

“hey.” he set your coffee down on the counter behind him, putting his hands on hips. “you don’t have to apologize. it was nice you even started to do that in the first place, doll.”

your eyes snap to the cup he got you, a frown tugging on your lips. “but you—“

“don’t worry about it.” 

“okay, but—“

“i said don’t worry. that’s an order.”

you huffed a breathless laugh as you straightened up. “i’m beginning to think you just like telling me what to do.” (he did.)

your odd relationship with the director came to a head at a workplace get together. a rare moment of respite which was really a space for the entire department to wallow in their misery together rather than alone.

cecil never came to these things until he knew you’d be at them. he figured he’d drop in just to scope things out, and he wasn’t sure what he expected but he definitely did not expect you, and many others, to be piss drunk. 

you recognized him through the dim light, brightening up as you usually do. you stumbled over, jostled by the packed bodies pushing and pulling you through the crowd.

“easy.” cecil murmured, coaxing the glass out of your hand. “damn, you’re wasted.” he commented more to himself than you, a short incredulous laugh slipping through his lips. 

“mhmm.” you slurred, head thumping into his chest. 

“okay.” he whispered, downing the rest of your glass and setting it aside to free up his hands. can’t let good wine go to waste. a thought passed through his head as he swallowed the beverage: this must be what you taste like right now. pump the brakes, loverboy.

he propped you back upright by your shoulders. “how ‘bout we lay off the drinks?”

“whatever you say, boss.” you hummed, a buzzed smile on your lips.

“you want a ride?”

your clumsy hands wrapped around his tie, pressing into him and tugging him forward by the loose fabric. “you offering?” 

holy shit. his eyes flickered to your delicate fingers, the same ones he’s watched type away at a keyboard, walk up and up and up his red tie. “no.” he said curtly.  

“‘nd i don’t mean a car.” you hiccup.

he paused, wondering if you realized you were talking to him, not some other co-worker. “i know.” 

you sigh dramatically, leaning into him. “you should give me your number.”

cecil groaned, shaking his head. now he knew you needed to get some water in you and sleep your intoxication off. you were saying nonsense. “let’s get you out of here, kid, i’ll call you a cab.”

“no. m’serious,” you pushed, lips pursed in a pout. “i want your number.”

his steely blue eyes narrowed at you, searching your face even as you swayed from side to side. “no, you don’t.” 

you scoffed and knocked your head against his shoulder, clinging to his arm for support as he walked you out of the gathering. “whyyyy…” you mumbled.

cecil dialed someone on his phone, holding it up to his ear as it rang. “you’re drunk, y/n. you’re not thinking straight.”

“i am!” you retorted petulantly, tugging on his arm and pulling the phone away from his head. “i’ve wanted it for a while, just took a little liquid courage to ask…” you trailed off, eyes drooping. “we have coffee dates all the time, what’s so different if—”

“woah, woah, woah.” he stopped you, “dates?” he echoed incredulously. 

you bite your lip, peering up at him while his response buffered in your inebriated mind. after a moment, you nodded. “uh-huh.”

“those aren’t dates, kid.” this bitch was lying through his teeth. he considered them dates, too, but anything to keep a semblance of control over the situation. 

“might as well be. ‘nd stop calling me that.” you scrunched up your nose in distaste. he’s never called you ‘kid’ before this and you’re beginning to think it’s his way of putting distance between you. 

“i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want.” he snapped, growing defensive. he liked your little game, the fun will-they-won’t-they thing you two had going on, but now that it was becoming real to him… now that you were forcing him to confront the feelings he knew he had for you, he had to build his walls back up again—even if it pushed you away in the process. 

“yeah? cuz you’re my boss?” you managed to shoot back, still gripping onto him for support. 

“look at that, you got it. was that so hard?” he scoffed, turning away from you to prevent himself from caving. your shiny eyes in the darkness and tinted lips from the drinks made him want to throw caution to the wind. “i know you think you want something from me… trust me, sweetheart, i’m doing you a favor.”

you roll your eyes. “cuz you’re so noble like that.”

cecil’s eyes narrowed, getting into your space. he walked into you, unintentionally guiding your back into a wall. “mock me all you want, doll. the moment you lie in bed with me is the moment you’re erased from existence. i won’t allow anything to happen to you, and i’ll do everything to prevent that from happening.”

“okay?” 

he put his hands on his hips. “i don’t think you understand. i don’t do anything half-assed.”

you giggled drunkenly. “and that’s supposed to be a threat?”

“you know i love when you talk, but shut up for a second,” cecil closed his eyes like he was trying to gather himself. you always had a knack for undermining his authority. but in retrospect, he made it way too easy to do so. when he looked at you again, something had shifted.

“this isn’t a game to me,” he muttered, voice quieter now, but no less intense.

you blinked up at him, suddenly realizing how close he was—not just physically, but in a way that made your heart stutter. you were finally on the precipice of what you’d been building up to since you met him. 

cecil exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face like he was trying to keep himself in check. “i’ve spent months convincing myself i should keep you at arm’s length.” his hand curled around your wrist, not hard, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “if you push me…” he trailed off, leaning in closer… and closer… his nose brushed against yours and that singular touch sent a jolt of clarity into him. 

he pulled back, stepping back and shaking his head with a click of his tongue. “this is reckless.”

“cuz you’re my boss?” you offered, finally finding your voice, your mind no longer occupied by his proximity or the scent of his cologne. 

“uh-huh. and i can’t be your boss if i’m with you like that.” cecil adjusted his tie and shirt. “also. you’re drunk.”

“i’m not that drunk.” 

“drunk enough.” he shot back with a raise of his brow. 

“cecil.” you step towards him, reaching out to him. your heart swelled when he didn’t try to evade you. your hand fastened around his wrist. “i’m telling you i’m not. scrub me from your records for all i care. keep an eye on me. i know you do that already, anyway. the only thing that’s changing is that we’re both getting what we want. i don’t want you to just be my boss.”

he groaned, turning away from you despite the tether you had on his arm. “don’t say that shit.”

“what? that i want you?”

“will you stop?” cecil turned to you, a scowl on his face. 

your lips split into a grin. his instructions never really worked on you. “do you want me to?”

cecil rolled his eyes. obviously the answer was no. “...fuck.” he cursed before dragging you outside, storming across the parking lot.

he stood next to his car. “last chance to back—”

“fuck no.” you scoffed with that stupid grin of yours and cecil wasted no time ripping the back door open and shoving you into the back seats. he quickly followed you inside. 

his breath hitched as you clambered onto his lap, hands landing on your hips. for a brief moment, he hesitated—just a fraction of a second before he kissed you. 

it was rough and desperate and months in the making, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he couldn’t pull you in fast enough. his hands slid down the curve of your ass, pulling you up further on his lap as he let his legs shift apart. your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him deeper.

“you’re so fucking annoying,” he growled against your lips, his grip tightening around you contrary to his declaration. 

you laughed brightly. “you're taking me to coffee tomorrow. but for now... still up for that ride?”

© invoncible

[thewritetofreespeech]

Marc Grayson with 💗

send a heart - 💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft [Mark x f!reader]

“…8…9…10. Ok. Set it down Mark.”

Mark groaned as he sat the weight down. Making sure to hear it lock into place before he rolled out. He’d made that mistake before. “So this is where you’ve been all day?”

Mark smiled as he heard [Y/N]’s voice, along with the sound of the sliding doors behind her, jumping up to greet her; despite how tired his legs were with the new training. “Hey! Yeah, this new training regiment is kind of talking up all my time. What are you doing here?”

“What? You didn’t think I came all this way just to see you, did you?” [Y/N] teased. Laughing a little at Mark’s pout. “You’re not the only one the boys are making all the new toys for.” She glanced up at the observation deck where Cecil and Donald were watching.

“We’re wasting tax payer funding here people.” The superheroes groan as Cecil’s dry voice came over the intercom.

“Oh, come on Cecil!” Mark whined. “Can I take a little break? For like, a minute?”

The older man rolled his eyes and then came back on the intercom. “Give me another 3 sets of 10, and then you can go play with your girlfriend.”

Mark beamed. He could do that no problem! He leaned in to give [Y/N] a quick, gentle kiss, then went back to the machine to do more presses.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Donald asked, once they were back in the cone of silence of the observation deck. “Encouraging their relationship like that?”

“The more ties Mark has to Earth the better.” Cecil answered. “I want him tied down as much as possible to make sure he doesn’t fly off the handle like his father.” The men watched as Mark pressed the huge weight above his head. Seeming effortless now, when a moment ago it was a strain on him. “And, you know what they say. If you want a horse to work, sometimes you gotta give him the carrot."