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crossovergeek2005 · 15 days ago

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Remembering that Denahi was Kenai's father at one point in the Brother Bear development process (though that could also be a rumor. We may never know) inspired me to make 2 more Variants for my Brother Bear multiverse story, and the Variants have been made!

(Starting from 8 because my previous post listing the first 7 Variants listed them from 1-7, so these 2 are Variants 8 and 9. Also, I'm adding the year these guys came from now so you get an understanding of when they came from, plus their orientations)

(Years updated on June 7, 2025 (Reason: After doing some extensive research on what the Sun and Earth could be like in 1 billion years, I learned that the conditions would be way too extreme for human life to live in, so I changed it to where the Sun still affects the Earth...the environment is just not as extreme (but still pretty extreme))

[Variant 8: Denahi Leavey]

Age: 32

Full name: Obvious

Nicknames: TBA

Gender: Male (trans)

Pronouns: He/Him

Romantic Orientation: Aromantic

Sexual Orientation: Asexual

Personality: Same as OG, plus paranoid, caring, and selfless

Family: Kenai Leavey (son), Sitka Fowler (brother (deceased)), unnamed ex-husband

Year: 700,002,025 AD

Universe: Unknown

Extra 1:

(TWs: Mentioned apocalyptic scene, teen pregnancy, domestic violence, burn wounds, near-death experience, divorce, custody battle, PTSD, suicidal thoughts)

Due to this Variant living in a period of time where the Sun starts heating the Earth up in a negative way, worldwide disaster occurred, and crime rates rose more than ever as people fought to get the proper necessities. Because of this, more couples started to get married and have kids at younger ages. Denahi and his boyfriend ended up being one of them, having a wedding at 15 and becoming legally married at 18. Later, Denahi ended up pregnant with Kenai, and he had him at 16. But all good things must come to an end someday, because when Kenai turned 3 and started preschool, his husband started physically abusing him in their own home, and the poor guy wanted to move out really bad, but he couldn't, since he had a toddler to raise. And if he had to be honest in that time, the son of a bitch was a somewhat good father. But one day, a solar flare hit near the preschool while Denahi was picking up his son, and he ended up leaping in front of the boy and getting fit by the flare, causing massive burn wounds and the loss of an arm and eye (plus blindness in his left eye). He very nearly died, but the efforts of multiple doctors helped him to survive. But once his husband learned what happened, he divorced him and they had a very messy custody battle before Denahi eventually won the case. From then forward, Denahi prioritized raising Kenai over anything else, even getting a part-time job to help support him while still spending time with him. But that didn't stop the slew of nightmares that occurred after, and whenever he was out by himself, suicidal thoughts ran through his brain and he wondered why he continued to be on such a terrible planet. But the moment he came home to a delighted and smiling Kenai, he remembered why he's still alive and he made his daily proclamation that he won't ever leave the poor boy by himself in this world. Not in a million years.

Extra 2:

(TW: Gaslighting, murder)

Wondering about Denahi and Kenai's last name? Well, it certainly isn't the former's ex's surname. But he also refused to change his last name back to Fowler since his dad was the one who coerced and gaslit him into marrying his ex at such a young age in the first place. ("You've got no real place in society without a spouse, Denahi. Your mother and I married when we were your age, and we expect you to do the same") Oh, and since the crime rates are so high, no one dares to try and arrest anyone for any heinous crimes, and thus they casually run around and do whatever with no consequences. Hence why Denahi's father ended up murdering Sitka an hour after the latter stood up for him that day. Leavey was actually his mother's maiden surname, and since she cared for the family so much, he ended up picking said surname in honor of her.

Now onto his boy!

[Variant 9: Kenai Leavey]

Age: 16

Full name: Obvious

Gender: Male (cis)

Pronouns: He/Him

Romantic Orientation: Aromantic

Personality: Same as the OG Kenai

Family: Denahi Leavey (father)

Year: 700,002,025 AD

Universe: Unknown

Extra:

(TW: Childhood bullying, violence, gunshot wound, victim blaming)

Remember how I said the crime rates are so high, authorities don't bother arresting anyone at this point? Well, the crime occurs EVERYWHERE...including school grounds. Which was where what I'm about to describe happened. But first, some background; After Denahi received the wounds he received, he ended up with partial blindness, cybernetics, and a ton of scars. And that led to students bullying Kenai the very moment he stepped into elementary school for kindergarten. And for 3 years after, he continued to stand up for both himself and his father, refusing to let any negative comments get to him. But one day, a student said something especially rude about Denahi, and Kenai ended up punching them in the stomach. Now, normally, when stuff like this occurs in an elementary school, the teacher pulls the students aside, lectures them about fighting, sends the wounded student to the clinic, and sends the student who inflicted the wound to the front office. But how did Kenai's teacher react to him punching another student? Not by lecturing him or sending him to the front office...but by pulling out a gun and shooting him in the neck (Mega. Yikes). Poor kid ended up hospitalized for a while, and he still has the scar from what happened. He also ended up involved in another altercation that led to the 3 other scars he has, but that happened outside of his classes. Because semi-fun fact, once Kenai stepped into his new school (Denahi ended up having him switch schools because when he tried to get that particular teacher fired for what he did, the principal shrugged and said that the "reaction was justified since Kenai started the initial fight" (Essentially blaming a child for getting shot by their own teacher. Not cool)), his classmates asked about the bandage on his neck, and once he explained to them what happened, they fell silent and refused to speak to him for the whole year; Not because they didn't like the idea of of having a gunshot scar, but because they realized that if they dare insult him or Denahi, he would end up in another dangerous situation...something they didn't want. And since then, students have been refusing to communicate with him for that reason. Not that Kenai minds too much, since he has both his father and his childhood friend Nita (who was with him in the initial altercation) to speak to. And unlike his father before him, he wasn't coerced into marrying or getting into a relationship in general at a young age, so he's still happily single. In fact, this version of Kenai would rather be happily single than be in a relationship, and he's sick and tired of adults trying to convince him that he'll be happier in a relationship. In fact, all he wants to do at this point is graduate high school, get the job he desires, and help as many people as he can leave the planet before the situation becomes too much.

That's all I got for now, and I'll update the previous Variants post to include their orientations and the years they came from as well!

Have a great day or night, wherever you guys are!

#brother bear #denahi #kenai #multiverse #oc variants #tw: death #tw: violence #tw: burns #tw: bullying #tw: past abuse #way too many tws #you know what the rest of the tws are listed in the actual post #variants from the future

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vinnyvamppp · 3 months ago

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You know that to be Desired fic you wrote? Would you be willing to write one Where Mainstream Mark finds out about his other versions wanting his childhood, he gets jealous and decides he has to have them in every way possible, and his other versions can go fuck themselves.

To Be Wanted

Note: Great minds think alike, I actually created this the day after the first one blew up and scrapped it. I'm going on a whim and making this as literal as possible before delving into everything.

Synopsis: He was wrong, he was foolish, and he's here to make up for his mistakes. Of course, you were always the better option, and no one else needs you the way he does. (To Be Desired ABRIDGED)

Warnings: Smut, Sub/Dom Dynamics, Multiple Sex Positions, Pussy Eating, Jealousy/Possessive, Porn w a Plot, Mentions of Anal, Slight Foot Fetish, Mentions of Other Variants, Switch!Mark Grayson, Switch!Reader (both are pretty subby), He needs that cookie real bad, etc.

Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,700 (Had to make it equal to the prequel)

Mark's knuckles ached from the last punch he threw— his breathing ragged as he hovered above the city, eyes locked onto him. Another him. He could charge headfirst immediately, but as his eyes landed upon the destruction and chaos wailing around him— he could only think one thing. I want to see her. You were independent and creative on the battlefield, but even he was angered and fearful. What if these versions of him convoluted your impression of him? He never had the chance to fully confess, and right now? he hated this with every fiber of his being.

The city was unrecognizable, reduced to a graveyard of twisted steel and crumbling concrete. While the screams of the dying were drowned beneath the thunderous collapse of once-proud skyscrapers. Ichor slicked the pavement—bodies crushed beneath rubble or torn apart mid-air—and through it all, the Variants rained destruction without hesitation like a merciless plague of living extinction.

He shot forward, propelling through clouds of smoke tickling him. Smoke settled in his mouth, tasting charred wood and something almost metallic, like blood burned to dust. It was acrid and suffocating, but now was a moment of clarity. He was bruised, costume tethered as blood seeped from cuts among his skin, knuckles bruised with his eye threatening to swell shut.

This needed to be the end of their tyranny, and soon.

As Mark’s body cut through the wind with an unparalleled determination, fist meeting bone with a nauseating crunch, the force of the strike vibrating across the man's face. The variant groaned, wiping a smear of blood from his mouth, before turning towards him with that smug, knowing grin. "You don't get it, do you?" he taunted. "I don’t blame you. You weren’t there when she finally realized she didn’t have to wait for you."

Mark’s heart slammed against his ribs. He knew what the man meant, of the power you possessed. The familial ability to pierce a tear in the universe and peak into what the future beheld. This was an opportune time for you to be dissuaded—he didn’t seem to be the only candidate pursuing you—not with them here.

"Shut up."

The Variant only chuckled, tilting his head. "They say the multiverse is infinite, but you know what every version of us wants? Her. And we don’t hesitate. We don’t string her along. We don’t let her slip through our fingers a second—"

A second time. He didn’t wish to acknowledge that he never chose you, even when fate had bound you two together. He was lovesickV that was his biggest fault. Mark grabbed him by the throat and drove him through a building before he could finish. Glass and concrete exploded around them as they crashed through another two stories. "You think I don’t hesitate because I don’t care?" Mark growled, pressing his forearm against his Variant’s windpipe. "You think I don’t want her?!"

The variant only smirked, even with his air supply cut off. "Then why am I the one she's been warming up to?" His eyes widened in pure panic and rage flashed white-hot in Mark’s vision. He reared back, ready to hit him again when—

"Mark?"

The sound of your voice cut through the chaos like a blade. His breath hitched, movements halting as if to show the hold you had on him. Your costume was worn—the usual well-manicured appearance now frazzled from wages of war, and dried blood flaked against your skin. That look on your face… was different from the ones he recalled in his childhood. The difference was that the fuzzy warmth you once had, was slowly fading into something neutral, common, amongst the glances you shared with everyone.

Mark turned, his heart lurching as he saw another variant landing just a few feet from you. This one wasn’t fighting. He was standing too close, looking at you like he already owned you. His lips are pursing to deceive you.

The Variant beside you reached for your hand. You were actually listening to him, just how many had found you by now? How many professed their love? "Come on. You don’t belong with him. Not when we—"

Mark didn't let him finish. In a blink, he was there— yanking the variant away from you and slamming him into the pavement so hard the ground cratered beneath them. "She’s mine," Mark snarled, gripping the Variant by the collar and lifting him up just to punch him back down. The variant spat blood— barely conscious, but Mark wasn’t done. "I don’t care how many of you there are," Mark seethed, throwing the variant across the street. "She’s mine. You want her? Go fuck yourself." His voice cracked with the sheer intensity.

After a long moment of silence, he turned to face you. Even after that display, you were left silenced. Truthfully, you had begun to consider their words— was it bitterness from his previous relationship with Eve? Or perhaps the feelings you forced yourself to bury? Being a hero made it easy to turn a blind eye, once you became resentful enough.

Mark’s breathing is shaky as he approaches you, his hands still trembling from the fight—from watching them try to take you, try to twist your mind into thinking they were better for you. It makes his stomach churn and his blood boil all over again. Because what if you had believed them? What if he’d been too late? When truthfully, they never stood a chance.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice lower now— steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through him. “I don’t care what the others told you. I don’t care what they promised. They’re not me.” He awaited a response. Your lips parted, hesitation flickering in your expression. Not because you didn't feel something for him—he could see it. It was the uncertainty. Maybe even a little of the possessiveness still lingering in his tone.

So he softened. Mark reached out, his fingers barely brushing over yours as a silent question before running his thumb over your knuckles. The warmth nearly caused him to shiver. "I should have told you," he murmurs. "A long time ago. But I kept holding back because I thought—I don’t know, maybe I’d ruin things, maybe you didn’t see me the same way. But I can’t do that anymore. Not after seeing them try to take you away from me." You understood what he meant. This was his apology for abandoning you. Leaving when you received your powers—when he got his first girlfriend— when you needed a friend.

You stare at him, searching his face, your breathing uneven from adrenaline. He leans in, close enough that you can feel the way his breath trembles against your lips. "Tell me you want this," he demands with desperation. Your fingers trace along his jaw— voice a hushed whisper. “You threw a guy into the pavement for me, Mark. What do you think I want?”

Your voice is low but firm as you yanked him against you. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Mark knows he should be careful, knows he shouldn’t let his emotions swallow him, but then you’re pulling him closer, your fingers threading into his hair—body molding against his like you’re giving him the permission he so desperately craves.

And just like that—his restraint snaps.

Your back is against the nearest wall before you can process it, his lips crashing into yours with a fervor that nearly steals your breath. It’s messy, desperate—his hands gripping your waist like he needs proof that you’re his. He makes a noise in the back of his throat—something between a gasp and a holy shit again—before his grip tightens.

He groans into the kiss, his fingers sliding under the torn edges of your costume, skimming over bruised skin. "God, you’re so—" He exhales sharply— lips trailing from your mouth down to the curve of your jaw, then lower— ghosting over the pulse at your throat. He couldn’t stop touching you. He wouldn't stop.

You shudder as his teeth scrape lightly against your skin. "Mark—"

"No, seriously," he mumbles between kisses, words muffled against your collarbone. He found you to be perfect. The light in the muddled mess of his life. He could barely let you speak— just wanting to prove to you that he would always be the better option.

His voice is wrecked now— breathless with want, and when you roll your hips against his just to tease, his breath hitches.

"Oh, my God," he chokes, pressing his forehead against your shoulder for a second. "Okay. Okay,—we should probably go home now because if we keep this up, I won't be stopping.” He was right; it was probably best if the news didn’t catch wind of the actual Invincible getting frisky in public during such a time. You bite your tongue, teasing, "You sure?"

Mark groans, lifting you effortlessly, his hands firm against your thighs as he takes off, propelling you both through the sky in a blur. "I have literally never been more sure of anything in my life," he says, his voice tight as he tries not to focus on the way your body is pressed against his—or how obvious his erection is right now.

But you do notice.

And when you grind down against his lap mid-flight, he lets out a noise so strangled and needy that he nearly forgets to keep flying. "Oh—shit, that’s—okay, wow, you’re evil. You’re actually evil. Holy shit, I’m gonna crash us into a building."

Once you two clumsily entered the sliding door of his home, your clothes were quickly strewn across the kitchen floor. He didn’t waste any time—his lips were on yours like a magnet—the taste of you intoxicating like he’d imagined. At this moment, he realized he would’ve never reacted the same for another woman. Excitement swelled his veins as you two collapsed against the couch. The renewed energy powering his body through its injuries.

Every part of you was his. From your knuckles to your shoulders, to your neck and collarbones, breasts— down to your toes. He’d make sure of it as every part of you was riddled with his saliva-ridden kisses. "I should’ve done this sooner—I should’ve made sure you knew you were mine before they even had the chance to try." He heaved— muscled body appearing from the crevices of your flesh. “No one else gets to touch you like this." His voice had a slight rasp, nearly distracting you from the harsh yank against your panties. At the sight alone he groaned— hands moving at inhuman speeds as he stripped himself of his boxers and the tight confines of your bra.

He moves lower, his lips tracing over your stomach— tongue dipping into your navel. You feel a rush of anticipation as he moves lower, his lips claiming your thighs. He parts your legs, his tongue tracing over your skin, his fingers moving to touch you. That’s when it happens— His tongue, almost hesitant, licks your cunt. Oh. You’re sweet like sugar all over. The realization dawned on him as his pupils dilated— lips messily smushed against your labia, and the rough texture of his dry tongue raked against your clit. The arousal that pooled from you was like water— his tongue seeking hydration. Your hips slowly rolled against his face; the soft mewls vibrating against your throat spurred him further.

It was almost sensual, slow as a reminder of who was between your legs right now. His muscular arms locked your hips into place as his tongue grew brutal. Its rapid— pleasurable lashes had you seeing stars. Just as you approached a quick orgasm, his tongue delved inside you, tongue-fucking you as far as his tongue could possibly reach. His nose nudged rhythmically against the bundle of nerves as his fingers glided up your abdomen— mapping out every curve to his memory. His hips rutting desperately against the now-damp couch cushion.

The quiet sound of the kitchen faucet dripping made your moans sound eerily loud. Your fingers roughly travel across his muscled forearm as your back arches into his mouth. With harsh gasps, your fingers roughly tapped him as he finally ripped the climax he so desired from you, his mouth covered in your scent. Divine.

Bringing himself up, his lips captured yours once more— your groans responding to one another. “You’re mine too, you know. But I like watching you get all worked up about it,” you mused breathlessly. He chortled quietly to himself— reddened and pulsing cock waiting readily in his grasp. Stroking it a few times between gasps, he spoke almost darkly amused. "They thought they could steal you from me, but they don’t know you like I do. They don’t know what you like. But I do." Before you could question him further on his remark, his hips snugly snapped against yours. His dick parted through you with ease as you both whined. The rhythm started slow, purposeful—punctuating with each thrust until he grew consumed with lust. Driving himself forward, the couch rocked from the unnatural movement. He had you completely beneath him, knees tucked against your chest and spread wide as his body pressed flush against yours. The wind was knocked out of you with every pummel, leaving you nearly salivating at the sensation. The raw sensation of your nipples rubbing against his chest adds a pleasurable sting to the mix, your hands now clawing at his shoulders.

"Mine. Mine. Mine," he muttered against the shell of your ear, his jaw unnaturally tight as he fought the urge to cum here and now. You were his—not theirs—just his alone in his suburban neighborhood when he should be putting an end to this. This was his moment to be selfish; to him, his need to defend was over until he devoured every inch of you. "God, I—fuck, I can't stop touching you. I don’t want to stop. You feel too good; you’re—oh my God, you’re everything." He rambled, abruptly pulling out, and a schlick sound echoed from between your legs. Suddenly, you were in his lap—pressed firmly against his torso, his hands wrapping around the width of your shoulders as he resheathed himself once more, his hips pistoning deeper into you. All you could manage was to bounce dumbly against him, the meat of his neck being your sanctuary as the skin absorbed the pornographic sound of your moans. He was breathless, barely able to contain himself as his skin became crowded in a red flush.

Then again—another position change, your bodies tangled together effortlessly, one of his legs hooked over your hip while the other remained stretched out beneath him. The angle was deep, intimate—allowing him to press closer, his body half-wrapped around yours as if he couldn’t bear to let go. Every movement sent a slow, rolling wave of pleasure through you, his hands gripping your waist to pull you even closer. His breath was warm against your skin—lips brushing against your shoulder as he murmured your name between each heated thrust. He slowly came up, hands spreading your ass cheeks as he watched himself be sucked into you willingly. The sight of your puckering hole clenching with each rock made his dick weep for its release. One hand melded against the fat of your ass, the other running up your sculpted calves until his lips mark your ankles and feet, his tongue swirling around your toe. "S... Say it again. Say you’re mine. Please—just say it." He pleaded, more so demanding as his movements became rougher— the couch shifting forward a few inches. “They don’t matter… I’m yours, Mark.” Your words were cut between burying your head in the couch pillows. “T-They don’t matter…” He echoed, a pleased groan vibrating against your foot.

Again. You were suddenly flipped as he stood, his feet backing into a wall as his knees nearly gave out from the sensations. You were hoisted into his arms as he bullied himself inside of you, both of your combined voices growing weak and raw. His neck craned lower as his tongue delved a nipple into his mouth—your skin was cold from a combination of sweat and his saliva. Creamy fluid leaked down his shaft as he unknowingly came from overstimulating himself. His hands gripped you hard enough to bruise, as you scratched up the length of his back, causing him to yelp. His canines finally blossoming their first hickey against your chest. Soon, his lips found yours, the rugged ends of your teeth nipping his lips hard enough to draw blood.

Not that it mattered—every scratch, bite, and pull only cemented one undeniable truth: you were his. And he wasn’t done. Not after feeling the slick warmth of your tongue against him, not after the way his thumb teased your rim while he moved inside you. Not even when he leaned you against the couch— having your legs straddle his as his tip prodded the entrance of your ass.

He seemed truly hellbent on caressing every inch. For further context, the previous two parts are listed in the MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

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