Maybelle's Writing

I'm a nerd who crushes on fictional men. She/Her.

[maybellewriting]

Master List

Invincible:

Full Mask/Phantom! Mark: Mark x Pregnant! Reader

Prisoner! Mark Grayson: Mark x Pregnant! Reader Sinister! Mark Grayson: Mark x Pregnant! Reader Viltrum! Mark Grayson: The Bird and The Arrow Part 1, 2, Mark x Pregnant! Reader

[maybellewriting]

Thank you for the 1000 likes! This is what I currently have on the burner for requests: Omni-Mark x Pregnant Reader, Target Mark x Pregnant Reader, Mohawk Mark x Pregnant Reader. These are the ideas that are currently consuming my thoughts: Cecil x Vampire Reader, Rex Splode x Mark's Sister Reader (with a twist), Invincible Variant x Demigod Reader.

[maybellewriting]

I write a lot of Mark Grayson fics, but that doesn't mean that this senior citizen is safe. I'm stewing on a Cecil x Reader fic.

[maybellewriting]

Mark Variant Headcanons

Note: I tend to go on tangents as I write as if you and I have already discussed what I believed happened to our precious Variant Boys. Let's take a moment to peer into the Mayb-Verse starting with the first one in my current Pregnant Reader series: Prisoner Mark. With any fics that I write, these will be the base headcanons that I keep in mind as I do. Warnings: Mentions of canon violence, torture, hints of suicide, gifs from the show are included, and there are potential spoilers. I apologize if I missed anything.

It may get a bit repetitive, but some things in the timelines are going to play out similarly.

Prisoner Mark I believe that this particular version of Mark was so close to the main dimension in terms of how events played out. He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he even scored a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader.

His life fell apart in the Destruction of Chicago.

He was dumped or put on a break, and his life hits an all time low when he's discovered that his life is a lie. His father, his hero, is a liar. A murderer! Someone who seemingly never cared about his mom or their life. Maybe Mark only really held value in Nolan's eyes when he gained powers. Every major life event? Nolan was truly waiting on one thing: Him coming into his powers. The game of house was over. The illusion was broken. It obviously hurt Mark. He's wounded, angry, but he doesn't side with Nolan or the Empire. Mark fights just like in the main timeline. And, just like in the main timeline, Mark lost.

I think that this moment is where we lose so many good Marks because Nolan doesn't feel remorse. Nolan feels as though he's failed. Swept up in loyalty, in an attempt to right his wrongs by raising Mark too softly, Nolan is going to take Mark to the nearest Viltrumite prison.

Many Marks succumb to their wounds by now or they simply stop holding their breath in space.

This Mark doesn't. He holds on. Why? Well... That's his dad. His feelings are complicated and he's still in shock. There's a hope beyond hope that things will change, that his father will change. One day he's Mark Grayson and the next he's an animal in a cage. Escape attempts don't work. Either his father or some stranger in a Viltrumite uniform beat him into submission and throw him back into the same sterile white room. Sometimes they switch it up and throw him into a cell with an alien that's just as pissed or as scared as he is. Every day since Chicago is pain. He hasn't seen what he looks like. There's no clear view without a mirror. Just glimpses of what he can see when he passes by a window or a stray monitor. His healing factor is more of a curse than a blessing. While Mark doesn't quite die from new methods of torture or being ruthlessly pummeled, his body simply can't keep up sometimes. He's not Invincible. Not here. He feels how his skin consumes his goggles and fuses them to his body. He feels his hair go from full, to patchy, to bald with the new scars that take over his face and head.

Mark also feels how he grows with strength. He's bulkier than he remembers. His captor's hands don't quite wrap around his body or neck like they used to. He uses the harsh gravity chambers that strained his body to the point of passing out to hone his muscles. He doesn't know what he looks like. He's terrified to know. However, Mark is confident about one thing. He's going to free himself and kill every last Viltrumite who'd dared turn him into this monster. His father especially. There are attempts at soothing himself. He'll think of his mom or his girlfriend and attempt to mimic their touch on his face with his own hardened hands. It's bittersweet thinking that maybe they'd still love him for all of his rough edges when he escapes. When Angstrom darkens his doorstep, who is Mark to refuse his offer to not only be free but to face off with Nolan one last time? What did being good ever get him?

Viltrumite Mark/Mustache Mark I don't normally include those with so little screen time, but Mustache Mark is such an important parallel to Viltrum Mark in the Mayb-Verse that he's being included. That and he looked hot with a mustache in the show. To me? These Marks are two sides of the same coin. Both began life on Viltrum after Debbie was whisked away as soon as Nolan found out that she was pregnant. He didn't want them growing soft after he observed what Earth had to offer. Nolan wanted to raise his child "right". There is no media on Viltrum that's recreational. There aren't the typical toys for children either. It could point to why Nolan is initially against Mark in the main timeline "wasting time" playing baseball, or why he indulges in these habits after he loosens up such as writing books or sharing a beer with a friend.

Even mating before the population tanked wasn't even about love or intimacy. It was choosing which candidates would make the best baby or whoever was strong picking someone that they thought was worthy enough to have offspring with. Then, at birth, the first trial begins: Being scanned for any potential flaws. If there's a sign of weakness? Viltrum will snuff it out. Quoting when Nolan spoke to Rudy in Season 2 Episode 1 "But you should have died at birth". Mark passed and his window for being a child was slim. Debbie taught Mark how to walk and how to talk. Nolan then began forming Mark into a soldier for Viltrum, teaching him how to kill. Any sparks of humanity were given to him by Debbie when she could while Nolan wasn't around. Talks about the tooth fairy, celebrating his birthday, or her telling him about Earth and showing him old photos of her and Nolan before she was taken to Viltrum. Being the mama's boy that Mark typically is? These two indulged her because that's when she'd gain some of her old spark back. His training was intense. Gravity chambers, combat, practicing raids on nearby planets for the Empire to get some proper experience. Mustache Mark likely enjoyed his time with his father and was proud that he was contributing, slowly leaving Debbie behind. Viltrum Mark, in my opinion, is a mama's boy. He went from bringing her back his teeth as a child to treasures from distant planets when he was old enough. She'll never be truly happy. He knows this. Debbie has been homesick for as long as he can remember and she likely will be for the rest of her life. She's treated well in the society, often wearing a variation of the Empire's uniform and something Mark had given her. I think Mark likely shaves his face for her as well. He wants to look more like his mom than his father, and he wants Debbie to see him as her son, not someone who's been entirely brainwashed. Not like Nolan. Both Marks were likely given the same task that Nolan had been given: Go to Earth and boost the Viltrumite population. Angstrom comes to each of them with the offer to conquer more dimensions shortly after. Mustache Mark sees it as an opportunity to make his father proud and better serve the Empire. Viltrum Mark sees it as an opportunity to see where his mother came from and potentially give them both a way out of their gilded cage.

Full Mask/Phantom Mark

I think we have another Mark is similar to the main dimension! He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he even scored a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader. What went wrong? Debbie. While Mark and Nolan were training and Mark had aspirations of being a hero, Debbie was home. She had her doubts, especially after Damien Darkblood approached her.

Debbie investigates Nolan herself. She finds his bloodied suit and she's obviously devastated. Her husband is a murderer who killed their friends!

She drunkenly confronts him and, instead of punching the drywall, Nolan kills his wife.

It's obviously not the best talk when Mark comes home and finds his mother dead and his father assuring him that she meant nothing. That he didn't love her. Not the way humans do. Mark is overcome with grief and is stronger than Nolan realizes due to his adrenaline. It isn't like what happened in the main dimension with Chicago. Mark is blind with rage. He keeps getting up, he uses everything to kill Nolan. There are blocks and blocks of damage, but Mark's the winner. He carries guilt and grief. People are hurt, some are killed, and Mark is now truly alone. He goes dark. The GDA claim that the Grayson house and everyone who lived their lost their lives with many others in an explosion caused by Invincible. Mark becomes reclusive and hides his face. If there are any villains, they better reform. Because he isn't funny anymore, he isn't compassionate anymore, and he doesn't want to hear what sob story is good enough that they have a right to kill someone's mother. In the dead of night, this Phantom is coming for them and putting them in the ground. His life is empty but there's heartstrings to tug. Angstrom knows exactly how to make this Mark buckle. Doesn't he want a chance to see his mom? What would he do to have that?

Sinister Mark It has been stated that people in his dimension are "off". Whether they're more prone to violence or go beyond what they would typically do as a villain is speculative. Such as this Mark's encounter with Firebreather in the comic. "The Duncan Rosenblatt of my dimension would be ashamed of you! He's the King of all monsters- one of the most ferocious villains I've faced. What happened to you?!"

That being said! I don't think there was an event that made him a bad person. He was simply born that way. Part of him knows it and no one ever truly reigned him in. He followed societal norms like a checklist. Go to school, get good grades, make a friend. It wasn't all smooth sailing. There were a few fights in his early youth. Nothing Nolan scolded him for and none that Debbie knew how to handle. I think he'd observe those around him be good and wonder why he was rotten inside. They seemed to come across their generosity so naturally and he had to observe things in TV for it to click. That if he fucks up, all he needs to do is apologize with a grand gesture. It works for a while. He learns that he has the kind of face where he can get away with almost anything. But as soon as his powers kick in? There's a shift that we see with the main dimension's Mark as well. Such as in Season 1 Episode 1 when Mark pushes back against Debbie's authority. "Make me." In this dimension? She never really knew how to raise her occasionally violent kid, so she went back inside alone. She likely thought it was best to have Mark let off some steam and tire himself out, but that was the first and most important instance that he learned that he could do whatever he wanted. He was Invincible.

He sides with his father because it aligns with his beliefs at the time and kills his mother for going against them with Cecil. Mark sides with Nolan because it's convenient. Until it isn't. He doesn't want to be told what to do, he doesn't want orders on how to instill fear on a planet to conquer it. Because he doesn't want to conquer it, he wants to burn it all down. So he kills Nolan when his guard is down and takes Earth as his post for the Viltrumites. He's biding his time until he can take the throne for himself.

When Angstrom comes and offers power? He believes he's truly won, he deserves this, and who could really stop him from turning every dimension into ash?

Sheisty Mark This Mark probably has some of my favorite headcanons in the Mayb-Verse out of the bunch!

I look at his suit, specifically his veil, and I think that he took over the mafia. Walk with me. He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he even scored a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader. However, his shift in personality comes very early on in his hero career. He genuinely wanted to help people. When Titan betrays him? That creates a ticking time bomb. He's pissed. Mark is looking to get his lick back and he seizes the opportunity. It isn't in a moment of a double cross, it isn't even that clever. However, Mark caught a glimpse of Nolan. He was waiting for his dad to swoop in and save the day. Yet Nolan doesn't show up.

If Battle Beast wants a fight? Mark can give it to him. Battle Beast isn't interested in money so his loyalty shifts back to his own bloodthirst, leaving Machine Head's goons to the New Guardians. Mark had the best intentions. He's seen his dad fight, save the world. Nolan is the strongest person Mark knows. When the battle is done, leveling Chicago, Mark is left shocked seeing that his father is dead. He has an unexpected ally once the smoke clears and a deadline he isn't quite sure of.

Battle Beast will come back when Mark has another worthy foe or when Mark reaches the same peak as his father.

He has the brute on speed dial and a lot of grief.

He isn't a "big picture" hero anymore. Crime needed a firm hand and Mark was willing to step in. Who's going to stop him? Titan was going to give him the ins and outs as his right hand man. In exchange, Titan gets all of the resources he needs for his family. Mark helps Debbie with the mortgage, gets her gifts, runs background checks on her new boyfriends, flies her wherever she wants to go since his father used to do it on a whim, and changes his costume so that it covers his face. He adopts an accent in meetings as he postures as someone he's not. As if he wasn't a privileged rich kid from the suburbs.

The accent becomes something he can't quite turn off anymore. If someone asks if he from Brooklyn, Boston, or some other town, he simply agrees with an "Uh... yeah!" because he genuinely doesn't know what he's doing. He expands his crime empire and he gets drunk on the power that comes with it. He's blissfully ignorant about the Viltrumites that are coming, but he'd only join forces with them to further expand his own reach. He's got bottles, bottle girls, bottle boys, bottle theys. Whatever gets him the deal where he's the boss. When Angstrom comes with the promise of new dimensions, Mark sees dollar signs and he's chasing it.

Omni-Mark

He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he even scored a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader. He grew to love the domestic life more than what Nolan did as a hero. He sees it as a 9-5. Mark clocks in, saves the day, and goes home. He looked up to his father and aspired to have the same relationship that he observed at home. Passionate, peaceful, and having someone to come home to.

It could be why he has such a distaste for Eve. She doesn't seem to stop helping the world and it clashes with his own views. It's petty! But when she implies that he doesn't do enough? When he's saving the world, helping his girlfriend study, going to the soup kitchen, crunching time so he can go out on dates... Mark is livid. He's better off without a superhero girlfriend. He wants to come home and shut that part of his brain off.

I think Mark also lives by a calendar app. His significant other gets their own color.

So when his father reveals that it's all a lie? When Nolan is assuring him that Debbie meant nothing, that he didn't love her. Not the way humans do. Mark is overcome with rage and is stronger than Nolan realizes due to his adrenaline. It isn't like what happened in the main dimension with Chicago. Mark is blind with rage. He keeps getting up, he uses everything to kill Nolan.

When it's over? Mark carries the guilt that he killed his father.

His home dynamic changes and he steps in to fill the role of the man of the house. He cares for Debbie and he balances his life with his girlfriend. It's controversial that he changes his suit to resemble Omni-Man's, but that was his father. As shitty as a person Nolan was for lying to them? Mark still loved him and looked up to him.

He sees it as his responsibility to shoulder Nolan's burdens. Whether it's at home or being a hero.

Mark is burnt out. He makes awful decisions to crunch time and eventually outright kills villains because he sees that they'll never change. It'll be the same bullshit last week that threatened him being late on some special occasion with his girlfriend and he's never late.

When Angstrom comes and promises power? He's more interested in potentially seeing his dad. If Nolan is around, he won't let an invasion slide. Then maybe, just maybe, he can put the family he broke back together.

Maskless Mark

He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he comes to realize that, yeah, he likes William. It isn't his place to step in while William was with Rick. So he scores a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader. After the ReAnimen incident that puts Rick in the hospital, Mark comes out to the both of them a few months later. He's pleasantly surprised when he has a girlfriend and a boyfriend who keep each other company when his work makes him busy. It's an odd dynamic but a happy one.

However neither his girlfriend nor William expect Mark to be as busy as he was. Mark feels guilty and angry as they discuss their problems in William's car. It had been a meeting that was long overdue. Typically they all go over finances, date ideas, or even open up about what they need in intimacy with the third being a mediator. However, this time, both of his partners agree that Mark isn't around enough.

Frustrated, Mark flies away to clear his head with every intention of coming back and rekindling things with them. He'll be around more, he'll save the world only when the world really needs him. He doesn't want to be a figure like his father was. As if his absence is expected.

As the the two of them make their way home, it's Nolan who stops them. He was never really happy about the dynamic. It made Mark soft and lose track of his priorities. He's exploring facets of himself instead of embracing his Viltrumite heritage. He's worried that Mark is going to get too comfortable playing house and the two of them are to blame, so Nolan crushes the car with Mark's lovers inside.

So when his father reveals that it's all a lie? When Nolan is assuring him that Debbie meant nothing, that he didn't love her. Not the way humans do. Mark is obviously upset. But when Nolan tells him that his boyfriend and girlfriend are nothing? That they're paste on asphalt? Mark is blind with rage. He keeps getting up, he uses everything to kill Nolan.

He mourns the two of them deeply. He's angry at himself, sure, but it's easier to point a finger at Cecil who kept dumping work on him as if he wasn't a young adult who was trying to figure everything out.

It's easy to conquer the world when there's nothing holding him back anymore.

When Angstrom offers him a chance to cross dimensions? The promise of power is interesting, but he has his own motivations that have him shooting towards Upstate University as quickly as he can in the hopes of finding William and his girlfriend.

Lensless Mark

He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he even scored a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader.

Like Sinister Mark, I don't think anything bad happened to him. There wasn't a tragic event to make him shift into a terrible person that wanted to take over the world. In fact, I think his powers are what made him a terrible person. In the first season Mark explores his powers. He's testing flight, he's doing flips and tricks and everything he's ever dreamed of. I think this Mark looks up to his dad more and leaves Debbie behind. I think he spends a lot of time with Nolan and picks up Nolan's values as he's teaching him how to be a hero.

Mark eventually treats people very casually. This is about fun, freedom, and trying to absorb everything that he can in his training. He loves zipping to Paris to grab his girlfriend something and timing himself just because he can.

When it's time to join his father? There's no hesitation. When there are rebellions, he's ecstatic. If Sinister is comparable to a sociopath, Lensless is like an orangutan. An animal that will pick something apart out of morbid curiosity and entertainment.

He's hot and cold and it's hard to tell exactly what will set him off.

When Angrstrom comes with his offer to conquer more dimensions, he takes it happily. It's like the saying, 'If the cat's away, the mice will play'. If Nolan isn't there to regulate Mark, he's going to have his fun.

His outfit is different in the show than the comic, but I think it was a good change!

He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he even scored a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader.

When he comes into his powers, he's confident, free, and happy. Mark also begins to adopt Nolan's attitude. Humans are pitifully weak. They're pathetic in a kind of cute way! The Earth needs Viltrum to guide it into a new era of peace. There'd be no more wars, no more famine, no housing crisis. Mark's doing them a favor.

However, with that mindset, it's hard for him to let people go. His mom, his girlfriend, and William. He really did hope that they'd grasp the bigger picture. If they don't? Mark won't kill them. They're so weak that he doesn't have to. He wants to keep those he loves, after all, for as long as possible.

He'll give them chances, sighing like a frustrated parent during a teen's rebellious phase. They don't know any better. Crippling them, like he did Eve in Season 2 Episode 1, is a mercy compared to the death that other Viltrumites would give them. He's got people that will take care of them for the rest of their days! Mark will visit when he can.

The biggest yandere vibes out of any variant just because of what happened to his Eve.

It's an entirely different story for those he doesn't care about. He sees them as a chore at best. Whether that's needing to quell rebellions or protests or giving the scared, pacified populace jobs. Mark does have a shorter fuse if they aren't someone of importance to him.

When Angstrom comes with the promise of power and dimensions, he'll accept the offer without hesitation. Angstrom was more useful than he originally thought! While he can't wait to expand the empire and make his dad proud, Mark does miss when certain people could talk to him.

Mohawk Mark

Last but not least, Mohawk Mark! He grew up in the family home, he went to school, he worked the same minimum wage job to buy his comics, and he even scored a girlfriend: Amber Bennett/Reader.

He was relatively good once. He was a hero that loved the attention. While he's proud of his Viltrumite heritage, he takes just as much pride in his cunning that he picked up while he slowly grew stronger. As soon as he learned that there was a Grand Reagent? Mark wanted that throne.

And he always gets what he wants.

That's how he began wooing his girlfriend! There's nothing like trauma bonding and saving the day to catch the eye of Amber, a cute clerk at the comic store, the barista that draws hearts on his cup, or his goody two shoes student council president. He has tunnel vision with his attraction. If he can't have what he wants? He'll bide his time or date someone who looks eerily similar until his love interest is freed up.

With his cunning, Mark comes to realize that Viltrumites tend to muscle their way through their problems after observing his Dad and a few others. As great of a race that they claim to be, they're barbaric. It's likely that they think Mark is revolutionary which is how he comes into power so early. A Viltrumite prodigy, if you will.

When Angstrom comes to give Mark a deal, he takes it without hesitation to expand his empire and to indulge his own selfish whims.

[dairyfaerie]

You’re Not Her, But You Are

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

Inspired by @maybellewriting

Warnings : Grief and loss (pregnancy-related),Multiverse trauma, Strong emotional tension, Mild horror themes (break-in, identity confusion),Physical grabbing (non-sexual, non-violent)Crying, kneeling, emotional collapse, Themes of worship/devotion around pregnancy/

previous/next

The news blared on low, the light from the screen bright and bold .

You weren’t even really watching—just listening, praying, holding your belly like it might keep you grounded. Invincible was on the screen. Also known as Mark Grayson…YOUR Mark Grayson.

Your Mark Grayson was on the screen. Bruised. Bleeding. Still fighting in the city with the other heroes.

Still Alive.

Your fingers curled into the blanket over your lap. “Just come home,” you whispered, rubbing your swollen tummy absentmindedly. “Please come home. I need you. WE need you.”

You were seven months pregnant, your days of being a hero put on temporary hold. It had three days since you’d seen Mark. Three agonizing days of praying and worrying for him, Eve, Rex ..everyone. Three days of feeling guilty for not helping save lives.

And as you prayed for a miracle… the air slowly shifted. Cold. Heavy. Familiar in a way that made your stomach twist.

Whoosh.

…Whoosh?

You blinked and a small smile broke across your face as you came to an instantaneous conclusion.

He’s home!

Mark was home!

A shadow moved across the window and the house shook on its foundation. The lights flickered slightly as you moved to get up with a soft grunt, about to waddle slowly towards the front door to meet your husband. But.. before you were even half way off the couch… it exploded of its hinges, wood splintering everywhere.

You let out a little cry of surprise and shock, your movement stuttering to a halt. Your hands flew to your tummy, eyebrows crinkling as splinters rained onto the floor.

He stood in the smoke, panting. Wide-eyed. Dirty. A little bloodied. And completely still. His body was hidden in the shadow…yet You could tell that something was wrong...just not WHAT.

“M-Mark? But why-? How-?”

And you didn’t understand. How could he be here? You turned around to look at the news on the living room TV again—Mark was still fighting. Still on screen. Still fighting for his life. For the world. For you.

You let out a little sound as you heard the man step into the house ..and finally saw him in the light.

It WAS Mark.

Only it …wasn’t. He was more ragged. Like he'd been dragged through hell. The same face ..only harsher and crueler , same body only slightly bigger and tensed with contained energy—everything was off. The eyes. Dark and all consuming. The way he looked at you like you were the last thing he expected and the only thing keeping him standing.

Your eyes looked at him up and down...your brain not wrapping around the fact that this was NOT your Mark.

You barely had time to react before he moved.

Fast.

Predatory.

He was across the room in seconds, grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you up from the couch with force that made your knees buckle. His arms wrapped around you so tightly, like he could crush the truth out of you. Like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Your breath hitched and you let out a frightened mewl.Your large stomach pressed into his rigid body as you pushed against his chest with shaky palms—.

And he froze, his expression shifting into one of shock.

Not like a man realizing.Like a man shattering.

You didn’t speak.

Was too scared to. Neither did he.

The silence was thick.He held you, stiff and trembling. You were locked against him, trapped in heat and heartbeat and something that felt like panic drowning in longing.

Then—His arms slowly loosened.

You dropped back down to the couch, scooting back against the seat and covering yourself.He didn’t chase you. Just looked down—Eyes fixed on your belly.A slow, agonized breath left him.

And then he dropped to his knees.

No words. No sound. Just him… there. Crashing down to the floor in front of you. Shoulders shaking. Head bowed in reverence.

Like he was praying. Worshipping at your altar.

You trembled and pulled the edge of your sweater down as you looked at him. He didn’t move.

Not until his hands—calloused and cracked—lifted toward you.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please let me…”

He didn’t even finish the sentence before gently, reverently, placing his palms on either side of your belly.

You flinched, too afraid to stop him because if he was anything like your Mark...You could be killed in an instant—But he didn’t press, he didn’t do anything in fact.

“M-Mark…” You said softly, fearfully.

If he heard you he made no move to acknowledge the fact…only sank forward, eyes squeezed shut, resting his forehead against the soft curve of your abdomen like it was sacred.

“You…You’re real…,” he said hoarsely. “God, you’re HERE.”

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant, still dazed and confused —but the pain in his face stopped you. The raw, unchecked emotion made your heart clench.

His fingers trembled where they touched you, holding your stomach like he thought it might slip away.

“You don’t know me,” ‘Mark’ said, finally looking up at you with those sad, sad eyes. “ But I knew you. And you knew me…You were mine…and I loved you. And you died in my arms.”

The world stopped spinning and your heart hammered heavily in your chest.

His lip trembled as he spoke softer now. He looked twenty years older than her Mark.

“You were pregnant then too,” he said. “Not this far along, but I could tell. We’d briefly talked about names...about naming the baby Debbie after mom...and Markus if it was a boy…I kept trying to get you out of the city. Away from Dad...from the dangers of it all...But you wouldn’t leave them behind. You said—” His voice cracked. “You insisted that we couldn’t abandon people who needed help. That it wasn’t right. That if we died, at least the baby would know what we stood for.”

He didn’t move. Still kneeling. Still bleeding, still breathing too fast. Still watching you like you were a memory slipping through his fingers.

“I held you in my arms after I found your broken body in the rubble,” he whispered, voice splintered. “You had used your abilities to save civilians from a crumbling building…but you couldn’t save yourself. Had ran out of energy….I arrived only in time to hear your dying breath. There was so much blood. You wouldn’t stop apologizing. You just kept saying, ‘I’m sorry. I wanted you to meet her. I wanted you to be a dad.' "He choked, both hands gripping your thighs. Rubbing them like he was worried you’d be in pain.

“I told you I was proud of you. That you were brave. That you saved them. That you had given it your all and done the very best you could…But you just cried and told me you were scared.”

A beat.

Two.

You reached out. Slowly. Fingers brushing through his hair—matted and rough and too familiar. You hadn’t realized that you were crying, tears falling down round flushed cheeks, your body shaking with emotion. His whole body shuddered.

“I held you,” he whispered. “I held you until your body went cold and the light faded from your beautiful eyes..and I said your name..Begged for you to wake up. But you were already gone.”

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of his breathing. Deep. Labored. Strangled with grief.

“ Angstrom came then,” he said. “And I soon found myself and other versions of me being hurled through dimensions. Ripped worlds and universes apart ..all of us trying to find you again. I thought—maybe—if I just kept going, I’d find a version of you who lived. Who still had the baby. Who didn’t die because I wasn’t fast ..wasn’t STRONG enough.”

His fingers gripped tighter around your stomach. Then instantly loosened, like he was afraid to hurt you. He looked up again—face wrecked and raw.

“I don’t want to take him from you,” he said. “But… I needed to know you existed. That somewhere, you were safe. That you didn’t die in pain...And now that I’ve found you...I don’t want to lose you again.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t as you sobbed softly.

You just...were.

And you wrapped your arms around him. Pressed ‘Marks’ head back to your belly. Let him shake..

He kissed your stomach through fabric. Again. Again. Gentle. Reverent. His lips moved with the kind of worship that didn’t ask for permission because grief had stolen consent a long time ago.

You stayed there for a long time.

No time. No world. Just breath and tears and two people who'd broken in different timelines but still ended up here—together.

[maybellewriting]

Mohawk Mark isn't even my favorite variant, but this fic had me kicking my feet.

[dairyfaerie]

Home Invasion

[‼️Warnings‼️]: Impersonation, Non-consensual touching / Dubcon themes, Pregnancy tension ,Obsessive behavior Stalking / Emotional manipulation, Identity confusion / Multiverse horror, Alternate! Mark Grayson, Psychological + light body horror, Delusional possessiveness, Implied violence & dread

-If any of these themes upset you, skip this one, babes. Don’t say I didn’t warn you-

INSPIRED BY @maybellewriting

(SHES AWESOME!!)

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Next Variant

The sauce was starting to burn.

You didn’t notice.

Mark had told you to stay inside. Said there was something brewing—big, dangerous, world-ending big. His tone had been different this time. Scared, almost. You hadn't seen him scared since the Viltrumites showed up the first time.

He left with a kiss on your forehead and a trembling, “Wait for me.”

That was three days ago.

So when the knock came—firm, purposeful—you rushed to the door without a second thought.

And there he was.

Or… something like him.

“Mark?”

He nodded once, slow. His suit wasn’t the one he’d worn last. It was yellow and black, sleeker, almost tactical in design. Harsh lines where there used to be curves. It looked like something someone wore to hunt gods.

And the goggles.

Opaque black. No eyes. No reflection. Just your stunned face looking back at you in tiny warped pieces.

“…Where’ve you been?” you asked with a soft smile. “You look like you came out of a war movie.”

He stepped inside without a word, and you took a breath as he passed. His scent was different—same cologne, but… colder. Like he'd been flying through ash and fog for hours.

“I was just cooking,” you said, closing the door behind you. “I made spaghetti. With too much garlic, because apparently I’m trying to kill you slowly.”

Still nothing.

You glanced at him. He was standing in the living room, looking around like it was foreign. Like your home was a museum exhibit he used to live in.

You forced a laugh. “Okay, I know the silence thing is new. Did you lose your voice? What’s with the mysterious vibe?”

“I’m just tired,” he said finally. The voice was close, but a shade deeper. Rougher. Like gravel under honey.

“Yeah. I figured.” You walked over to him and gently reached for his hand. “You want to talk about it?”

He didn’t pull away. His fingers closed around yours slowly, testing the shape of you.

“We’re safe now,” you said softly. “You can rest.”

He nodded again. “Safe.”

Your other hand rested on your belly. “She kicked today.”

At that, his head tilted slightly. Like the word "she" was a code he couldn’t crack.

You smiled. “Hard, too. Like she was mad you were late.”

A pause.

“…She?”

You nodded. “I haven’t gotten it confirmed yet, but it feels like a girl. Deborah. After your mom. What do you think?”

He didn’t answer. His head dipped slightly, the way Mark did when he was overwhelmed. He stepped closer, slow and reverent, until his hands were resting gently on the swell of your belly. You could feel the tension in his arms.

“She’s strong,” he whispered.

“Like her dad.”

A strangled sound left him. Maybe a laugh. Maybe a sob.

You smiled and leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You hungry? I think I scorched the sauce but I can salvage it.”

You turned, heading back toward the kitchen, but his hand caught yours and pulled you gently, firmly, back toward him.

His hands slid around your waist. His lips brushed your neck, jaw, cheek. It felt… familiar. Comforting.

Until it wasn’t.

“I missed this,” he murmured. “You. All of you. No one else ever mattered. Just you.”

You smiled softly, cheeks turning a pretty red. “You’re so sweet baby...”

Flustered, you turned away from him and spoke again. “Hungry? I may have burnt the sauce, but I can fix it.”

You turned toward the kitchen, but his hand caught yours. Firm. Insistent.

Mark's arms circled you, pulling you close. You felt his lips, his mouth as it traced your neck, warm and familiar.

You closed your eyes, breathing in the scent, the closeness. Relaxing into the hard, firmness of his muscles underneath his suit.

His hands slid beneath your shirt slowly, fingers pressing softly on your skin as if afraid to hurt you…Then they grew bolder, sliding up to your swollen breasts, kneading them underneath your bra. Your pulse raced as you let out a small whimper of enjoyment.

He bit into your neck then, sucking your flesh and bruising it as he pressed his hips into you, the outline of his cock rubbing between your butt. You moaned softly and he growled into your ear, turning you around and kissing

You responded eagerly, your hands weaving into his hair, savoring the moment. It had been a minute since the two of you had REALLY engaged in anything too intimate.

The world narrowed to heat and touch, your shared movements becoming more urgent, more insistent and intense. Whispered how much you'd missed him those three days he was gone..how much you loved him… Then, slowly, the kisses slowed—became calculated.

His grip tightened—not on your waist, but around your throat. When had he gotten there?

Your eyes snapped open and you let out a chirp of uncomfort and slight confusion as you looked at him. Because Mark would usually ask before trying something new while they were being intimate.

And as the dizzy high faded she began to realize that… something in his kiss felt…off. Like he wasn’t savoring, but studying. Memorizing. "O-Oh Mark..?"

He didn’t lift his head. The black lenses hid his eyes, his lips parted as he panted softly in front you.

His fingers dug in your neck just enough to claim, not kill.

A voice, low and harsh, whispered in your ear, a quiet giggle slipping from swollen lips, “Oh Baby…How gullible you are…You've always been like this..so cute and naive..I guess some things never change”

Your breath caught and you looked up at Mark.

"W-What..?"

“But here? Here you’re weak. Pregnant. Devoted.”

His hold crushed, steady.

“And you’re mine.”

His voice turned cruel, unhinged.

His lips pressed harder against your neck and you mewled, frightened.

"Mark, what's the matter with you? You're s-scaring me! A-And holding me too tight-"

You struggled against him, heart hammering as Mark's crazed smile slowly vanished upon hearing the fear in your voice.

The goggles reflected only your terror.

Then he said it.

“You’ll never leave me again. Not this time.”

You froze.

Your heart stuttered.

“…What?”

His hand tightened on your hip. “You’ll see. It’s better this way. I’ll keep you safe this time. I swear it.”

The voice was wrong now. Not just deeper. Unstable. Cracking under its own weight.

You slowly pulled back, his hands loosening on you.

“Mark,” you whispered. “Take off the goggles.”

He didn’t move.

“Take them off, Mark,” you pleaded, louder this time. "Please.."

Still, he stayed still as stone

You stepped away, slowly, heart pounding so loud it drowned out the bubbling pot behind you. You felt your heart hammer in your chest as something in your mind screamed that this man in front of you was NOT Mark.

“W-Who are you…?.”

“I am yours,” Not-Mark hissed suddenly, the calm, cruel facade fracturing. “ As you are mine. In this universe and the next.”

Your blood ran cold. 'This universe?' What the fuck??

“What—”

“In my dimension,” he cut in, stalking toward you slowly, “you left. Or TRIED to leave. After I did what had to be done. After I made us safe. You said I scared you. Me. After everything I sacrificed for YOU. After I HELPED you when Dad tried to kill you.”

You backed up until your spine hit the counter, your eyes wide with fear.

“I loved you,” he said, the words shaking, voice filled with raw and bitter emotion. “I killed Mom for you. Killed Nolan. Killed everybody. EVERYBODY for US. And after all we'd been through… You said I wasn’t Mark anymore. You said I was sick. Crazy…EVIL.”

You grabbed the knife from the cutting board where you'd been cutting garlic.

“And maybe I was,” he breathed. “ Maybe… B-But I got better. I got better, Baby. Had only killed about 0ne hundred people before Angstrom came and captured me and the other variants. And when Angstrom told me you were alive out here, that your Mark had managed to keep you alive and even MARRIED you? I knew That I could have you…WELL, I almost believed there was some higher being up there… And who would've thought I'd not only find you…But here you are… Pregnant. Alone. Waiting…Just for ME~”

His voice broke into a twisted, malicious grin and giggled gleefully.

The pot beside you began bubbling over, the smell of burnt marinara sauce filling the air. You trembled with anxiety and fear as you brandished and held the knife in front of you. "P-Please…I'm not…I don't know what happened to you…or who I..I was to you in your…ah.. dimension…But I…I'm not yours…M-My Mark is going to come home and if you…if you hurt me…I guarantee-"

You were interrupted by the sound of him giggling again before exploding into full blown maniacal laughter. Like you'd just said the funniest thing in the world. When he finished he sighed and watched as you trembled, one hand holding the kitchen knife and the other holding your belly protectively. So cute…And so dumb.

“ I wouldn't dream of hurting you…Not again…Not when I've been granted a second chance to claim you…No…No…I think I'll be taking you now… Because at the end of it all..You're mine. And you'll ALWAYS be mine. In every universe. No matter what… And Your Mark? He's probably dead by now..The other variants aren't as calm as I am...In fact..If he isn't dead yet..he'll wish he was soon."

You didn't have time to respond, the smell of burnt food filling your nostrils and making you weak. Weak and distracted enough for him to act.

Didn't have time to react as he lunged, a maniacal smirk painted on his face.

You screamed.

Idk guys...Between college and panic attacks.. I gotta hyperfixate on smth-

Should I do a part 2?

[maybellewriting]

I loved this!

[maybellewriting]

Sinister! Mark x Pregnant! Reader

This blurb was inspired by @michaelmyerspersonalslut and their post that I came across. Thank you i_think_ill_die_soon and angelcorus for requesting Sinister Mark! I attempted to make him more human without really deviating from his character. Warnings: Angst, mentions of death and violence, blood drinking, slight dacryphilia, Sinister is a disturbed individual. If I missed anything, I apologize.

Word Count: 800 plus

He had everything he wanted right here. It was a bit of a surprise to find you pregnant. Mark didn’t know if it was an unpleasant one. However, you were sobbing. He hadn’t bothered wiping the gore from himself. He knew who he was, what he was. It would only be right that you did too when he brought you back home. He cupped your face. Everything about his motions were mechanical. It lacked something that you couldn’t quite place. The closest word on your tongue was ‘care’. Yet that wasn’t quite right, knowing what he could do. It took him back to when you both were kids. The moment that it had clicked for him, that you were his person. He remembered how you’d scraped your knees and hands while riding bikes in your youth. Putting a bandaid on a wound was something that a normal person would do, and he would eventually. The shock, pain, and sting had brought you to tears then as you waited on ‘Doctor Mark’ to patch you up. His mouth had been hot as he sucked the blood on your palm. It was warm like you. There had been a hope that he could be like you. Absorb what made you so good to try and correct all of his bad. The odd sensation had stunned you out of your hiccupped sobs. He decided then that not only were you practically an angel, you were particularly pretty when you cried. Now wasn’t any different.

“I have nothing for you. Please. Please.” One hand grips his wrist. It would never be enough to pry him away, but he enjoyed the contact all the same. His thumbs smooth over your cheeks. “Shh. I’m not gonna hurt ya. I just want to see my girl. C’mon, lift your head up.” You do with a shaky exhale as you attempt to compose yourself. “There we go.” He coos. Mark tastes your tears with a quick suckle on his thumb. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?” “No. It wasn’t.” You manage to grit out the words despite the fear gripping your chest. You feel the painful pitter patters against your ribs. You suppose that this is what it feels like to stare down the barrel of a gun, waiting on someone else to decide whether they should pull the trigger. You aren’t sure what will make that theoretical trigger finger itch. You can’t see Mark’s eyes. It’s likely for the best. The curve of his smirk unsettles you already. “I thought so.” You were as pretty as the pictures he kept. The image of your smile was as burned into his memory as your charred figure had been. Villain attacks weren’t uncommon in his dimension. Though, once he became Invincible? He never thought that someone would be stupid enough to target his family home. You and Debbie had at least had each other. Firebreather’s stunt had lit the match that would burn down the rest of the world. You had orbited him. The weird, violent loner. You’d had a pull he couldn’t describe that had pacified him just to be in your vicinity until you were gone. It sent him to fly like a comet that destroyed everything it touched until there was an opportunity to hold you again. This time? He would orbit you. Finally, he takes in the rest of you, eyes resting on your prominent baby bump. “Are they mine?” You take advantage of the soft hold on your cheeks to nod furiously after a beat of hesitation. Mark was born rotten. He knew it. There had been something festering inside of him for as long as he had understood that everything he touched, he ruined. Admittedly, as much as you were a key part of his life? He’d never thought of anything more than putting what he’d observed from TV and other seemingly stable people to practice. Say ‘I love you’, make grand gestures, hold your hand. It was all in a sort of checklist that made you happy. That had made him happy. If there had been a child? It would have been an accident that came with Mark attempting to be a decent enough person fulfilling societal norms and pushing down his own violent tendencies that would have lost you. He stares long enough to spark that nervous shake in you again. “She’s yours. I promise.” As close to this Mark’s as the baby could be. “I’m not as angry as I thought I’d be.” It was hard to tell if he said it to you or himself. Usually? He’d want to rip out whichever poor soul’s spine it was to have touched you at all. He sighed, stroking your cheeks once more. “It might be the only good thing I could ever make.” He left you overwhelmed, confused, and scared. Bloodied footsteps stained the carpet, there were smudges on your cheeks. Yet you were whole, unharmed. It was a far cry compared to the world. As if an invisible circle around your apartment was a safe zone that you and the population weren’t privy to. He also left you unaware of the thoughts that steeped in his head. Perhaps if his own babe didn’t turn out as rotten or as fucked up as himself, then maybe Mark wasn’t entirely bad.

[mochidonuts]

can you tell i rewatched the original lilo and stitch recently

[maybellewriting]

Thank you all for the 500 likes! I'm happy that you're enjoying my works. There's more to come! :)

[maybellewriting]

Full Mask! Mark x Pregnant! Reader

This blurb was inspired by @michaelmyerspersonalslut and their post that I came across. Thank you Sanex Me for requesting Full Mask/Phantom Mark! Warnings: Angst, mentions of death and violence, mentions of reader struggling with how their body has changed during pregnancy, Baby as a pet name is used, Full Mask! Mark grieving his reader. If I missed anything, I apologize. Word Count: 800 plus

If it hadn’t been for the mask? You would have wholeheartedly believed that he was yours. You were both equally surprised to see each other. For you, it was the shock from seeing one of the violent strangers on the news. For him, it was seeing you alive, well, and very pregnant. His hands were as soft as your Mark’s when he cupped your face. “Thank God.” He whispered more to himself than you. He almost got too close. Even though his suit was damp, you could smell something that made your stomach twist. There were hints of something metallic and sickeningly sweet that mixed with what you assumed was from a distant burning city. It broke the illusion of the man that was treating you so well and reminded you exactly what he was up to. His forehead nearly touched your own, but you managed to jerk your head back. “I don’t know you like that.” You don’t know what caught you off guard more: The fact that he took a step back or how he paced. “You’re right, you’re right! I just-” His hands smoothed over where his mask covered his hair. Mark stopped once he caught wind of how tense you were with him accidentally cornering you in your room. He was buzzing, riding the high of relief and excitement, then expelling it all in a sigh. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you, Baby.” He looked away from you and really took in the room. It isn’t exactly what he’d pictured when you had made mood boards or sent him links to furniture. His father had insisted that he was getting too comfortable despite how happy his mom had been. When Mark had been naive? He assumed Nolan meant that the two of you were young, dumb, and moving too fast. Not that Nolan had seen you as someone who was going to hold Mark back. It left him in an empty apartment that he didn’t have the heart to decorate. Not like how your decor breathed life into the same space. There was something that warmed his heart about how the Seance Dog comic collection was on a shelf next to your things, or how the room that the two of you thought would be a nerd den in his dimension was now a nursery here. Mark approached you slowly, accepting how you scooted up further along the bed. He knelt down at the edge of it. There was an awkward beat where you both looked at the other. His thumb dragged along his neck and hooked into his mask before he pulled it off. Mark’s hair was disheveled from how he'd seemingly combed it back before he’d suited up. He was pale. It contrasted the circles beneath his eyes. It was something more than being run ragged, as though he hadn’t slept well in ages. His five o’clock shadow certainly didn’t help this Mark look more rested. It took you back to how your Mark’s facial hair would scratch your neck or shoulder when he'd hug you close before he’d shave in the morning as you’d both get ready. Mark’s chin rested on the edge of the bed, looking up at you with familiar brown eyes. It was then that you learned how weak you were for your boyfriend. There was a wonder if love travelled between dimensions, or how devastated you would have been if you had truly lost Mark after the Destruction of Chicago. “Are you happy?” His voice is soft.

Despite the walls you’d initially put up, despite knowing that he was a bad person, you reached out to smooth your hands through his hair. He melted under your touch. “I’m happy, Mark.” His hand settled over yours as he breathed in the smell of you and him mixed with your laundry detergent. His favorite sweater that he’d been too scared to wear or wash didn’t smell like you anymore after he’d gotten it from your old closet.

He shuffled closer on his knees. Mark moved to hold your hand. He very nearly kissed your knuckles yet stopped himself. “Baby, you can hate me. You can never forgive me. That’s okay.” Soft brown eyes drank you in. You felt many things over the last few months. You’d felt huge, uncomfortable, sick, needed to look up your symptoms more often than you’d like to admit, and you had despised your stretch marks more than your Mark would ever know. In this moment? The man at the edge of your bed made you feel like an angel. “I wanted to see you again. I wanted to see mom.” He left out that he wanted to whisk the two of you away, to selfishly hoard you instead of playing old voice memos to get out of bed.

“Mark, I-” He’d left you speechless. “You know I can’t forgive you for hurting people.” His somber nod and smile made you feel worse. A part of you wanted him to get angry instead of going through the motions as if he’d rehearsed this. Maybe he had.

Mark straightened himself, ready to head out to fulfill his deal with Angstrom. There was a pep in his step that he hadn’t felt in too long. “Stay here where it’s safe. That’ll be enough for me.” He fidgets with his mask for a moment. “I love you.”

[quoicore]

[maybellewriting]

Thank you for the 250+ likes and for enjoying my work. :)

[maybellewriting]

Viltrum! Mark x Pregnant! Reader

This blurb was inspired by @michaelmyerspersonalslut and their post that I came across. Thank you angelcorus for requesting Viltrumite Mark! Warning: Contains angst, mentions of death and violence. If I missed anything, I apologize. Word Count: 900 plus

You’d seen the news, yet you couldn’t imagine this Mark destroying Chicago if you hadn’t witnessed it for yourself on TV. You stayed in the city, wanting to be as close to the hospital that you’d agreed to go to if you’d gone into labor. You were sore, your feet ached, and now you had a man with Mark’s face inspecting the nursery. You had texted your Mark. There wasn’t a doubt that everyone in the world needed him right now. More than you. The worst that had happened was this one helped you to the couch and propped you up with a pillow against your lower back. He didn’t quite hide how his face scrunched up at the book in his hand. Mark flipped through pages that were colorful, meaningless. “Not a fan of Dr. Seuss?” He perked up at your voice. His gaze was a tad softer before he snapped the book shut. “If rhyming about green foods is what a human doctor expects of a growing child, then it’s a miracle you’ve made it this far.” He doesn’t quite understand why you smile, but he’s glad to see it. Mark has seldom played the part of a fool. Only to entertain his mother’s few secret expectations of childhood in his youth and for you when you were alive in his dimension. You were beautiful. You lit up the room when you were happy. But now when you are glowing with child? He’s more than a tad weak. If you wanted something? He felt obligated to fetch it. So when you move to bend to get your cup from the coffee table, he’s there faster than you can comprehend handing you your drink. “Thank you.” He doesn’t reply with a ‘you’re welcome’. Mark merely watches you drink before setting the book on the coffee table. He seats himself beside you. His hands rest awkwardly in his lap, lost in thought about what he should do. The plan was to find you again, yet there’s the complication of your pregnancy that bogs him down.

The promise of a Viltrumite child would get him more resources to ensure you’re taken to Viltrum safely. It’s his baby, after all. “Are you going back out there?” You ask, unsure of just what you could do to keep him here, to keep this particular Mark happy. Every moment that he was with you gave others the opportunity to hide or run. It was stupid. You knew it. Though you had probably stalled him the longest out of anyone so far. Life had grown more precious for both you and your Mark once you realized that you were bringing someone into the world. You were powerless, pregnant, but one thing couldn't be denied. You were helping. Mark mulls over his words with care. “The destruction of this dimension isn’t ideal.” He murmured slowly, as gently as he could in the hopes that you’d understand why he accepted Angstrom’s offer. “However,” Mark continued, “I would have given anything to live the life that this dimension’s Mark is living. A life where you’re happy, content, and creating a life together.” The Viltrumite jerks his head towards the nursery. “My existence is to fight and conquer.” You nod. It’s odd hearing your fiance’s voice so smooth and speaking so eloquently. It’s difficult to hear him say such things. Even if he isn’t yours.

“So when the offer came with the opportunity to see you again, to do things that were as easy as breathing as a price? How could I refuse?” When his hand rests on your belly, it’s not as jarring as you thought it would be. You’re a bit used to people reaching out to feel your belly by now. As if being pregnant made you a spectacle. You swallow down your confusion and apprehension. His sincerity catches you off guard with the misguided affection and devotion he felt. “Mark,” The warm hand on your belly slows in its careful circles as he meets your gaze. “You can’t think that this is right. I live here. Those people did nothing wrong. They don’t deserve to die.” His lips purse for a moment. “You’re kind.” His tone makes you feel like he’s talking to a child. There’s an anger that blooms in your chest with that as your hormones begin to rear their ugly head. “But these people were nothing to me, and I refuse to cry over an anthill when it’s in the way of the sole person that showed me how to live instead of simply surviving.”

Just like that your anger fizzles out as a fear takes you. This man looks like your Mark, he sounds like your Mark, but his heart is so different. Or is it? When your Mark missed a date, it’s as if he’d move Heaven and Earth to fix it, or how he’d go out of his way to fulfill your pregnancy cravings despite his work running him ragged. What could push this one over the edge to see you as another ant in the anthill of your dimension?

Your eyes drift to the coffee table, silent with his confession. Tears sting your eyes. His hand lifts from your belly to your cheek in a single caress before you pull your head away. “Please don’t.”

“You can shed tears for the both of us. I think your compassion will make you an amazing mother.”

The whir of the drone that waited outside of your apartment door is loud as Mark leaves and follows him to observe the carnage he was willing to commit in your name. It leaves you in the deafening silence of your home, unable to turn on the news with the new guilt that hangs on your shoulders.

Was this your fault?

[maybellewriting]

I didn't expect my Prisoner! Mark's fanfiction to be so well received. It makes me happy because he's one of my favorite variants. <3 Also! Going back through images as I was writing the Pregnant! Reader fic, I'd forgotten how beefy this Mark is. Ah! I love him. Viltrumite! Mark is the next requested and is a WIP.

[maybellewriting]

Prisoner! Mark x Pregnant! Reader

This blurb was inspired by @michaelmyerspersonalslut and their post that I came across.

TW: Angst, scars. If I'm missing anything, I apologize. Word Count: 800+ Which Mark is next?

He’d come to this dimension full of rage. Mark had sworn that he’d burn it all down and rip this Earth apart from the roots. His dissection had been careful and cruel, like a child plucking a butterfly’s wings just because they could. Yet the wind was knocked out of his sails when he saw you. You were panicked, not quite able to get to the bathroom to try and call Mark. Your Mark. One hand clutched your phone, the other held your gravid belly. He’d come here simply on a whim. That perhaps there’d be a memento. Something he could hold to remember why he was doing this outside of the pain that shot through his temple when his heart beat furiously against his chest, or what he saw when he looked in the mirror. Mark was just as shocked as you were. His head tipped enough that you could see how he looked from your face to your pregnant belly, and then back. The dumbfoundedness evolved into elation. His marred features didn’t show his snowballing joy. Not yet. There was probably only one person in the universe that could make him raise his hands as gently as he did. “I’m not here to hurt you.” “Okay.” Your voice was soft as fear gripped your throat, nodding despite a part of you not quite believing him after what you’d seen on the news.

He took a step forward and you couldn’t press any further into the bathroom door.

“Are they mine?” The question comes out choked as you catch the more scarred side of his face redden. You pick up your fiance's cadence, his tone. It held the same joy of your Mark’s ‘Are you sure?’ when you’d flashed the pregnancy test. It had filled you with the reassurance that while you both were young and dumb, that he had you. It makes your chest ache.

You know that he isn’t yours and that this baby isn’t his, yet looking at him as he begins to crumple has you nod. “She’s yours.”

She. That’s what floors him. You were so put together in his dimension. He was ready to be a hero and had looked forward to starting a life with you. You see his lip wobble even if he would never admit it. His jaw is tight and his hands ball into tight fists at his sides before Mark slumps in one big, shaky exhale. He closes the distance one step at a time.

Maybe it’s just a love for Mark in general that has you drop your phone when he kneels in front of you. His mantras of ‘please’ are a whisper. His hands are soft, softer than your Mark’s, when he holds your belly. As if you’d break and he’d be to blame. Again. Another sick joke from the universe to rub in that he was simply too strong this time instead of not strong enough to stop his father.

Your hands smooth over his head, wondering just what could have happened to scar someone like Mark so badly. He’d looked worse for wear, sure, but he always bounced back. “Do you… have a name for her?” He asks.

An embarrassed chuckle bubbles up your throat. It’s corny, it’s lovely, and a surprise for your soon to be mother-in-law. “We were thinking about naming her Deborah.”

“That’s perfect.” His forehead meets your belly. The way Mark kneels before you is almost reverent. As if you would cleanse him, as if you would pardon him of whatever sin he’d committed before he was dragged into the white walls of the Viltrumite prison.

You both sit like that for a long moment. You, smoothing over his rough edges. Mark, attempting to compose himself. He clears his throat and stands. He looks up. You assume it’s to blink away the tears, yet you can’t see where his goggles end and where his skin begins. As if they were fused. Feeling his scars? They likely were. “Do you want a picture?” You ask a tad sheepishly.

He simply nods at first, unable to speak just yet.

You take the moment to break away, waddling over to the fridge. There’s an array of photos. You’d told yourself over and over that you’d begin scrapbooking once you simply couldn’t work anymore, but prepping for your baby had consumed your life. You pluck two pictures carefully from the fridge. One that your Mark had taken of you during the date for your first anniversary and one of the copies of your latest ultrasound.

You place both in his hand.

Mark stares for a long moment at them. Rage blooms in his heart along with a bitterness and a jealousy that he hates. This version of him has everything. You, your apartment that he’d obviously moved into, and a child. “Thank you.” He folds his new and only treasures and places them into his uniform sleeve, tucking the fabric around them tight for a makeshift pocket. “You were- are everything, you know.”

That’s the last you hear of him before he’s gone just as suddenly as he’d broken through your door.

[maybellewriting]

We've officially hit 100 likes! Thank you all for your support. The likes, the reblogs, the follows... It really warms my heart that you like my works. My updates tend to be slow for my longer works such as The Bird and The Arrow. I have a list of songs that inspired me to write for my/our favorite variants. The slow burn, angst playlist that is just *chef's kiss*... Because they just didn't get enough time. The current list: Hayloft 2 - Mother Mother, The Bird Song - Noah Floersch & Em Beihold, Ma Meilluere Ennemie - Stromae & Pomme, Ghost of Chicago - Noah Floersch, Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys, Time in a Bottle - Jim Croce, Seamstress - Dessa, Million Years Ago - Adele, Like Him - Tyler the Creator, Romantic Homicide - D4VD, Arsonist’s Lullaby - The Amazing Devil, The Calling - The Amazing Devil, Do It For Me - Rosenfeld, Karma - AJR, In My Room - ICP Feel free to message and geek out with me in between updates!

[maybellewriting]

The Bird and The Arrow - Part 2

The Bird and The Arrow | Viltrumite Mark x AFAB! Reader/Previous Viltrumite Mark x Viltrumite! Reader Explored WARNINGS: Canon levels of gore and violence, Viltrumite! Reader death, character death, OC death, angst, and grief. If I missed anything, I apologize.

Word Count: 2700+ words

He recognizes the sterile white halls behind his lids as he dreams. Mark used to fight it. Sleeping, that is. He learned long ago that fighting the Empire was futile, and becoming Grand Regent was so far away from his grasp that he had better luck harnessing a star with his bare hands. Viltrum lacked personality. The first pops of color in his life were pictures that Debbie had been allowed to keep. He saw the light in her eyes, how her smile made the corners of them crinkle as she clung to his father’s arm. Nolan seemed happy in those pictures, too, oddly enough. Even if he hadn’t admitted it.

The second pop of color was you. It wasn’t what you wore, like his mother’s old outfits, but how you carried yourself. There were three children that trained under the watchful eye of Kregg. Mark, Anver, and you. Anver was big for his age, even as a child, looking a few years older despite the three of you being born within the last year of each other. He’d gotten his powers nearly at birth while the two of you were delayed until you were nearly five.

Mark thinks it’s why the two of you grew close. You both looked enviously at Anver as he entered the gravity chamber before running laps as Kregg instructed as if your lives depended on it. Because they did. Mark remembers that this is where he learned to push himself. If he felt tired? He ran a bit further, attempting to be faster than yesterday, with your footfalls right behind his own. His face was indifferent when Kregg logged his progress but worry always prickled in the back of his mind. Had he been good enough?

He doesn’t know where your “illness” stems from at first. It’s what he assumes is wrong with you as you both greedily drink water. You hand him a flask before you take one most of the time unless you pushed yourself too hard and needed a drink. Kregg noted that as well. Mark knew it.

His hands shift from holding a flask as the scene changes. Mark’s palms are sweaty as he’s crumpled in the gravity chamber. The weight pushes on every muscle in his body. You aren’t doing any better with your first week. Your youthful, pudgy cheeks are red as you puff out a few breaths, struggling to even steady yourself on your hands and knees. You just want to lay flat. He does too. However, seeing Anver making slow laps around the chamber, being pushed on by the sight of how weak the two of you look? It makes Mark mirror you, bracing his body on his hands and knees despite the sweat that drips from his brow and hair, wetting the floor beneath him. “Do it, Mark.” He can still hear you gritting it out as clear as day. Your voice, as small as his own had been, trembled with the gravity three times as strong as Earth trying to push you into the floor. There’s a connection between you both as he offers a barely there nod. One. You and he prop yourselves up on one knee. Two. He feels as if his body is going to crumple as you both work up into a squat. Three. He straightens. Your gaze meets his. You smile with your triumph and he very nearly does the same. You walk like a newborn deer in the mud over to Anver who can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Mark’s sight breaks from you to the mirror that he knows Kregg and potentially his father stand behind, out of sight as his own reddened face stares back. He’s Mark Grayson, Nolan’s son, and you both accomplished what it took Anver three years to do in one week at a mere five years old. He hopes Kregg notes that too.

Mark blinks in the face of a different mirror. The one in the washroom, still dressed in combat gear. He can see as you kick your feet on the bench idly, waiting for him to finish cleaning up his face. You’d bruised his cheek pretty good now that your group had been instructed to fight each other in one-on-one combat. The trio were five years older, after all. It was as expected as breathing. He got you today, tomorrow he’d fight Anver, and then the winner would fight you the next day.

The sight of your swollen lip catches his eye. He’d knocked out one of your teeth before you forfeited. Something gnaws at him. Guilt? He walks over and moves to dab your lip with a cold washcloth, catching how your tongue smoothed over and played with the new gap between your teeth. The words sound ridiculous before he even says them. He doesn’t even know why he says them. “My mom told me about a tooth fairy when I lost my first tooth.”

There isn’t quite childlike wonder in your eyes as he continues to dab at your bloodied lip. It leaned more towards confusion and curiosity as you let Mark fuss over you. “What’s a fairy?”

“I don’t know. A little creature with wings? She tried drawing me a picture.”

“It needs wings t’ fly? Sounds dumb.” You say simply. “Think it’d make a cool pet?”

“Apparently it only visits when you sleep to collect your teeth.”

This earned a huff from you. “If I can’t play with it, what good is a fairy?”He shrugs. His mind went down the same path as yours when his mom attempted to impart the wonder of the tooth fairy. It was one of the few times that sparked life in her since she’d been brought to Viltrum. Mark had slept, pretended not to wake up when his mother’s hand snuck under his pillow, and left one of his favorite snacks wrapped up neatly for when he awoke. He indulged her and said that such a thing was ‘neat’. It was high praise coming from him. He collected his discarded teeth for her often afterwards so she’d get that same joy.

The scene shifts as he blinks. It’s the same washroom but you’ve both grown into strong, young adults. It’s likely going to be the last time you both walk into here with The Moon Trial coming up. His mind is far away as you both peel off your gear and change into more comfortable uniforms. Mark didn’t think that the sight of your bare back would be so burned into his mind and yet, sometimes, that’s all he sees when he sleeps. Strong muscles and soft curves that are oh so different from his own lithe frame. He wasn’t as big as Anver or Nolan, but he was quick, and Kregg had him lean into that strength.

He hums as he can feel your eyes on his face. When did you turn around? “Hm?”“I just noticed that you shaved your mustache! Did Anver rip some out?” You admire the youthfulness that it gives back to his face. It was certainly an odd sight: A young Viltrum man without a mustache when this is typically the time that they try to find a style that suits them.

He mirrors you, wiping the sweat from his now clean-shaven face with a cloth. Mark is slow to respond. His mother hadn’t really looked at his face since his facial hair had begun to fill out. He remembered Debbie sobbing in the bathroom after learning about Mark’s impending trial. It was one of the few places in the house that she wouldn’t be bothered. She’d nearly jumped out of her skin when she’d opened the door to see him standing outside stoic and awkward. “Mark!” Debbie had exclaimed with a hand over her heart. She’d glanced at his face briefly before looking beyond him to the wall just past his head. “Sorry. You startled me. You looked like your father. How about I make dinner, hm?” It was an easy excuse to brush past him.

It was then that Mark made a decision. He wouldn’t look like his father. Not when his mother looked at him like that. As if his coming of age was going to upheave her life again. Or worse. “Yeah.” Mark lied. It was smoother than he’d like. “I wanted a clean slate for it to grow back again.”Your gaze meets his when he tosses his towel in a bin. He couldn’t quite read the smile you had then. It was different from your grins of triumph or the one that looked as though you were baring your teeth when you were fighting and determined to win. Even the soft one that seemed to come to you so casually. One corner of your mouth curved upwards in a smirk as you floated a bit aimlessly. “It’s a good look for you.” Mark had realized too little too late that he’d been an idiot. You’d fancied him and it never really sunk in until you were gone.

The confusing twists in his belly suddenly drop like lead when the white of the washroom morphs into the pitch black of space staring at him from the outside of the dome. He’s sweating, he’s bloody, and he doesn’t want to look down. As if the fabric of space would tear open and give Mark a different answer. As if the rules of The Moon Trial would change. He knows he’s going to look down and see Anver after the both of you had teamed up to kill him. He knows that beside Anver, there will be you. He can hear you wheeze through a punctured lung. His dream doesn’t grant him the mercy of seeing you as beautiful as you were before. Mark sees you for how you were in the moment: Bloody, bruised beyond recognition, and faltering as you curl in on yourself from the pain of having your arm mangled. Anver had nearly ripped your forearm off. Mark was bruised. He’s sure his ribs are broken and so is his nose. He’d spat out some teeth earlier, so he’s sure that he hardly looks better. But you look so pitiful. As if you’d expected to die in your brawl with Anver before Mark found you. Would he have felt less lost if he had been your avenger? “Do what you need to do.” Mark has always had trouble pinpointing what he’s felt, but he’s sure that he hated this. If he wasn’t the quick one? Anver would have grabbed him instead. Mark has played this day in his head over and over again. If he hadn’t gotten lost, if he’d gone right that day, would you have won instead of him? If he’d found you at the start and you both looked formidable in your battle, would your observers outside of the dome have bent the rules and let the both of you live? Instead, Mark grips the collar of your uniform as he did then. His fingers are straight as he cocks his arm back. All of this seemed predetermined. As if his arm were an arrow and the Empire was pulling it back against the string that was heavy with dutifully culling the weak. He’s surprised how soft your sternum was as it gave way to his jab. Mark is there, motionless. He’d gone from dabbing as your wounds to being your angel of mercy. He’s there until he’s sure you’re gone. His dream won’t let him move. The pitter patter of your heart is weak like a bird against his hand until it slows into nothingness. You were too weak to keep your head upright. He remembers the last puff of air as it was released towards the roof of the dome. If Viltrumites believed in souls? He’d think there was a purpose. That your exhale had set your soul free into the vast embrace of space to fly wherever you wanted. Somewhere as colorful as you had been in the backdrop of sterile white.

His dreams go through the motions just as he’d done. He sees your parents next to Anver’s. Their stoicism doesn’t hide their disgust at the sight within the dome. His back is straight as Nolan’s hand claps it, proud with a hint of relief. “You did well, Son.” When Mark merely nods, Nolan’s face softens a hair. It separates the man from his father. “I know that this is hard, but if they were weak, those two would have been no good to us.” When Nolan floats, ready to go home, Mark does as well. He’s checked out. The blood on his hand is starting to dry and he’s unsure if he wants to wash it off or keep it to remember that you existed. After today? It would be like you were never born. “Your mother’s going to be relieved.” Mark doesn’t hear the dinner plans before the both of them fly back. If there was anyone who’d notice his mood? It was Debbie. The months have gone by and he’s completed task after task. This new task is different. He doesn’t want to do it, but he’s a soldier and life wasn’t fair. Mark finds himself watching training videos with Viltrum’s lack of media. He knows it line for line, but he doesn’t pay attention. He doesn’t quite acknowledge Debbie when she joins him on the couch. His chest aches despite that his ribs had healed long ago. There’s a part of him that wants to push her hand away when she rubs his back but another wants to hold her and shed a few tears. She planted this weakness in him and now it’s blooming into something he can’t pinpoint. Something that’s pointless. “I thought you’d be more excited to go to Earth.” His jaw is tight as he swallows his sickening need to sob. “It’s just a job, Mom.” Debbie looks as if she’d been kicked and, in another show of weakness, Mark attempts to soften the blow. “I’ll get pictures for you while I’m there. I’ll try to find a girl like you.” Debbie’s hand continues to rub over his back despite how his own sit awkwardly in his lap. “But you don’t want a girl like me.” She murmured.He hates that she’s right. He wanted a girl like you. No… He wanted you. Mark balls his hands into fists. It’s getting harder to swallow down the need to cry.

“Oh, Honey…” He lets her pull him in as his eyes sting but he refuses to let his tears fall. “You loved her, didn’t you?” Mark hesitates, searching his mind for the examples that he’d been shown through Debbie and his father. He wanted to come home to you, tell you about his day, hear about your own, protect you as you protected him. He then attempts to put a name on the flutters your compliments gave him. “I don’t know.” He admits. Mark looks on numbly at the training video. Out of all of the knowledge Viltrum provided, why was there nothing about this? “I don’t know if I’ll ever know.” His eyes adjust to the pitch black of the room when his body begins to ache from the awkward position he’d slept in. Mark scrubs his eyes, frustrated by the wetness of tears that had gathered there. He stumbles into the bathroom, the backpack that he’d plucked in hand. The cool water brings him back to reality as he splashes it onto his face. He agreed to lay waste to this dimension in exchange for exploring others. Mark just hadn’t expected to find you so soon. He dons his uniform and lets the bathroom light spill in just enough to illuminate you.

Your chest rises and falls with your breathing, no doubt tired after such a stressful first day. Your shirt is colorful with drawn characters in dynamic poses, just like the sticker on the back of your car. This place suits you. He’ll dissect this world and absorb as much of it as he can before taking you back home. It’s what you deserve.

When you do wake, Mark is gone. He had been since before the sun rose. The backpack is gone and any trace that he’d been here aside from the pulled out chair.

Part 1