I couldn’t choose which variant... I tried to make it possible to imagine whichever variant you want, so it’s a lil surface level.
Kinktober 2025 masterlist
Okay, so. Imagine the variant of your choosing. Imagine him somehow ending up in your universe, doesn’t matter if you’re from the same universe as OG Mark, or another universe in general.
All that matters is that you now have a Viltrumite boyfriend. Or husband. Or pet. Depends on whatever you guys wanna do. That’s for yall to decide yourselves.
I like to imagine that Viltrumites have an extremely hard time putting on weight. They're a species made for fighting, and they have to burn a lot of calories because of their power, and all the energy they have to go through. Especially if you are dating a variant that’s extra violent or energetic.
This also makes he think that gaining weight is a bit of a privilege for Viltrumites, and would be attractive, in some cases. Not for other Viltrumites, but like, if you were another species.
But, imagine your Mark variant being so pleased and comfortable with you, that he starts putting on weight. At first your Mark wouldn’t notice, he’s just happy to have a hot partner that likes to cook him good food.
Imagine cuddling with your Mark, feeding him snacks or whatever you’ve cooked. Mark groans at how good it tastes and how nice it feels to be pampered, even when he’s full he can’t stop, that just means all your work would go to waste, right?
And now, imagine. Laying with your Mark draped over your lap on his back, so you can rub his belly because he’s full. It’s only when he starts doing this regularly that it kinda clicks for him that he’s putting on weight.
At first your Mark wouldn’t know what to do about it, since he’s never actually been chubby before. Some Mark variants might even get insecure about it, where others don’t care.
So, you gotta show him you don’t mind. Actually, you really like it. It ends with you just kinda pavloving him by accident. You don’t mean to, you just like rubbing his belly or grabbing his lovehandles when you guys are humping or making out.
Gaining weight won’t make your Mark any weaker either, he still has the Viltrumite strength and speed, it’s in his blood after all. He’s just... softer now. Hell, that might even be useful in battle cuz he’s got extra padding.
And, it just makes him very nice to lay on top of and cuddle. Theres something nice about grabbing his pecs after he’s started gaining weight too, cuz there’s stuff to jiggle and squeeze.
Angstrom wouldn’t be able to get your Mark on his side, he’s too busy getting fed treats, cuddled and rubbed to go be evil. If he does meet other variants, well, your Mark make other Mark variants realize they wanna chub up too.
Characters: Arrogant!Mark Grayson/Invincible or Stripevincible/Variant!Mark Grayson x Reader
Warnings: Narcissism, NO USE OF Y/N, SMUT, rough smut, Dub-con, slight Dom/Sub dynamic, PinV, protection, slight Dark!Mark, low-key stalker!mark, Dirty Talk, Dirty thoughts, barely proofread, Minors DNI.
Synopsis:
blurb, mark lets his powers go to his head, thinks he can do whatever he wants!!!!!!
Word Count: 647
“Shiiiiiiit,” Mark groaned, pushing your thighs further apart, eyes locked in on the place where you sucked him in. Your pretty pussy was glistening, skirt shoved up, framed by a perfect rip in your tights. Your chest heaved above, back flush against the desk below you—the one you’d been working at only moments ago.
Mark was a good guy. He was a hero. Being a hero came with a few perks. This was one of the unspoken ones.
The way women fell to their knees before him. With open mouths and spread legs. You, for example, moaned like a common street whore underneath him. Mark suppressed a laugh as he bucked into your sweet cunt, growling at the sheer tightness.
Guess your husband didn’t fuck you right, he thought as he glanced at the ring on your left hand. He could fix that, he mused.
Mark was a good guy, an even better hero. The figure with knives for hands that had tried to rob this place earlier now lay in a heap on the floor, out cold. Light work for Mark, really.
Mark had taken one glance toward your desk, where you’d been cowering underneath, and it was game over.
He'd heard your breath catch, your heart race, and had smelled the arousal that had gathered in your core. It was too easy, really.
In the smoky haze, he’d flashed his white smile and had dragged you over the top of your desk, pictures and pencils clattering.
Being balls deep in someone else’s wife was a feeling like no other, Mark thought as he pounded in and out of you.
You cried and writhed and arched, making those pretty sounds that Mark wished he could memorize and keep with him always.
Your pussy was so good he almost debated losing the condom. A dumb idea, but if you felt this good now? He couldn't even imagine bagging you raw.
His hand shot out as his balls began to tighten, fingers locking around your jaw.
“Look at me,” He growled, his other hand gripping your hip. God, he wasn’t even sure where he wanted to come more. Your face? Maybe smear that mascara…
Or over your tits, peeking out through the satin blouse you wore.
But inside that perfect pussy—Jesus Christ. Maybe you and your husband weren’t serious…
You came, because of course you did, whimpering his superhero identity like it was your God.
Invincible, invincible, invincible—
Mark made you come again and again, just for the hell of it, savoring the look in your eye. That dread through the haze.
Yes, he’d ruined all other men for you. No one would ever be as good as he was.
He’d done it to many women before, but somehow it didn’t please him like it did now.
Mark grinned like the devil, leaning over you until his nose brushed yours.
“This pussy,” he grunted, nudging against that sweet spot inside of you. Tears gathered in your eyes from the delirious sensation. “...Is mine.”
He came a minute later, in the condom for once, imagining he was filling you up. Breeding you. Claiming you as his.
And then he was gone before you could blink, leaving you a mess of clothes and sweat atop the ruined desk.
Mark was a good man and a great hero. The best there was. But somehow, that didn’t stop him from following you home. From peering into your window as the sun set, seeing the pathetic excuse for a husband you’d tied yourself to.
He found himself eager. And maybe even nervous. Wondering what that piece of shit would do if he saw what Mark had done to you. A part of him wanted your husband to see what had been done to his wife. Another part was so furious that he breathed the same air as you.
But Mark was not brash. He did the wise thing. He waited. He waited until the world was silent and dark, where not a soul would hear what he planned to do.
His cell was cleaner than prisons on Earth. The food was also better, not good, but at least it didn't look pre-chewed.
When he wasn't eating or doing hard labor, he spent his day working out and reading. His dad snuck him a few books from Earth whenever he visited, as though that would make up for his shitty parenting, like he wasn't the one who beat up his own son and threw him in this godforsaken place.
Mark did give him credit though, for actually returning here every week and trying to initiate small talk. Nolan liked to share news about how fast the Empire was growing and how his newest incubator just gave birth to Mark's "brother." Mark had dozens of brothers, a few sisters, too. But he didn't care. Never bothered to ask for their names. Never even responded to his sperm donor.
He only cared about the books, and, during the rare times Nolan mentioned it, Earth.
Mark had no affection left for that ball of dirt, only for one person it housed.
But Nolan never brought you up and Mark didn't dare to say your name. Even during his most desperate moments, those times that he wanted to know that you were okay, and if not, at least surviving. Because he wasn't going to risk your life by reminding his imprisoners how much he treasures you.
Viltrumites see attachment as weakness. And despite his many so-called lovers, Nolan saw these fleeting attachments as a fun bonus, but ultimately meaningless. Even now, the only reason he persisted with his firstborn was purely out of ego. If he couldn't convince his progeny to serve the Empire then they were both worthless.
The Viltrumites do not believe in romantic love, but value propagation.
A tyranny like theirs would not hesitate to use you to get him to do their bidding. Even worse, they would probably just kill you to send a message: “There is no room for weak blood in our eternal Empire.”
It was Mark's fault. You used to catch him brooding, and would kiss and hug him, telling him that he's wrong.
But it was all his fault. He couldn't save you in time.
To this day he could still hear your screams. Everytime he looked down at his pallid hands he could see your blood stain his palms. Some hero he was.
He couldn't even protect the most important person in his life.
At least Viltrum, cold as it was, did not believe in waste. Mark knew you, you were a hopeful person, but also a pragmatic one. You wouldn't have joined the resistance. You would have kept your head low and stayed hidden. You just needed to survive, he repeated to himself. Both of you needed to survive.
***
Mark loved sleeping, especially since he only had four hours every night before those eardrum-wrecking alarms forced him to his feet.
He treasured those four hours. Not just for the physical rest but also because he saw you in his dreams. In the sanctuary of his mind, it was safe and he was free to love you. In his dreams, he was back on Earth, back in that one-bedroom apartment you two saved for, holding you in his arms while he hovered and twirled, waltzing together while the moonlight shone through the kitchen windows.
But between Nolan snapping after months of silence then beating him up so badly his skull cracked and the daily sessions of electroconvulsive torture, he started losing things. Small things at first, like his sense of taste. Food was weird for him now. Without flavor, eating meals felt like chewing wet cardboard. It was annoying, but it was minor.
Then he noticed the other stuff. His hair–the wardens shaved off most of it before administering the shocks, but not a single strand grew back. His skin was pinker too, like that weird rosy complexion babies have when they’re fresh out of the womb, but there was nothing cute about Mark.
It sucked looking like a hulking, hairless monster–actually, he hated it, but he could learn to deal with it. What he couldn’t handle was what the torture did to his brain.
When he closed his eyes, he couldn’t see you anymore. Even when he tried his best, pounded his temples, he couldn’t recall anything solid about you.
“I can’t remember her face,” he confessed to the only friend he made on this asteroid. “Not her hair or her eyes or her voice. I can’t–I can’t see her, Allen!” Mark keeled over the precious ores they were supposed to be harvesting.
His friend, a giant orange cyclops, grabbed his shoulders and glanced around, hoping that none of the wardens caught them talking instead of working. “Calm down.”
“No, no, no! You don’t–I can’t–I can’t forget about her, she’s everything to me. I can’t lose her–and oh, god, what if I don’t return in time? What if I don’t save her? What if I’m too late again? No, no, no…”
“Okay. Okay, buddy, I get it.”
***
He and Allen got separated two lightyears ago when the escape pod they stole got shot down. Mark vowed to pour a bottle for his friend, but he couldn’t stop moving. There was no looking back.
You were the only thing keeping him alive now.
Using all of his energy, he flew straight for Earth, avoiding Viltrumite detection. It was actually quite easy compared to stealthing his way out of prison–there were fewer of the scum here.
He didn’t want to think about how he should’ve felt more devastation for the major cities that have been razed to the ground, how his old self would have fallen apart if he saw the collapsed Golden Gate Bridge and destroyed Lady Liberty. He no longer cared. Only you occupied his heart.
Much to his relief, your neighborhood remained mostly intact. There were a few humans walking down the street. Everyone looked thinner, more haggard. More afraid.
He ignored them and found your kitchen window. He stayed in the air, floating as he thought about what to do now. It’s been… actually he isn’t sure.
Time was weird without the rising and setting sun to keep track. He knows that it has to be a year at least.
At least.
Mark touched the window pane. His reflection stared back at him. Bald. Pink. Engorged veins and fried nerves infected every part of him like ugly, overgrown vines.
Even if you were alive, would you remember him? Would you accept him? He didn’t know which would be better. Or worse.
It would hurt if you didn’t remember him anymore. But if you did remember, if you still carried those memories from a happier time, and saw what he has become, and then turned him away–
He closed his fist.
Maybe he shouldn’t have come. It would be better to stay as the handsome and charming ghost of your past.
“Mark?”
His eyes widened, mirroring yours behind the glass.
Your fingers clumsily worked the latch and pushed open the window, whispering his name again like a prayer.
“I knew you were alive! I knew it,” you cried, reaching out for him.
He flinched and you reluctantly pulled back.
“Mark?”
His throat was dry. “I can’t believe you recognize me.”
“Of course, dummy.” You gave him a teary smile. “I’d know that kicked puppy expression anywhere. Now come inside before someone sees you.”
He hesitated and you joked, “Don’t make me drag you by the collar.”
Finally, he cracked the smallest smile and flew in. In a single motion, you shut the window, pulled the curtains and threw your arms around him. You rubbed your nose into his chest, smelling like the sun. “Tell me this is real, that I’m not dreaming right now.”
Mark didn’t return the hug immediately, he simply stood there, because if this was a dream then he was too afraid that one move would mean waking up.
Two minutes passed and you still didn’t let go, so he finally wrapped his arms over your shoulders.
“You’re finally home.”
He pressed his lips on the top of your head. “I’m home.”
You quivered under him, fat tears wetting his shirt.
He palmed your cheek and gently raised your face to his. There were more lines on your forehead, darker circles around your eyes, but you were still the most beautiful creature he has ever seen.
“I missed you, Mark.”
“I missed you, too, angel.” He grabbed both cheeks, bending down until his forehead touched yours. “You were the only thing I thought about everyday, you kept me sane. You gave me hope.” He thought about it–dying in that over-sanitized prison cell. He fantasized about how he was going to do it, too. He would’ve picked a fight with one of the guards. His father’s kind prided themselves for their cold logic, but the truth was that they were children wearing adult bodies, they were temperamental and prideful. It would have been all too easy to rile them enough to slaughter him.
You cut off his thoughts with a desperate plea, “Promise me you will never leave me again.”
“I promise.”
“So you will stay with me? Forever?”
“Of course–”
Your arms tightened around him. “So don’t go. Don’t leave me, Mark!”
“Angel–”
“You can’t go. You promised we’d be together forever! How could you leave me? How could you–”
His ears rang.
“Mark–
Mark Grayson.”
He blinked several times. He wasn’t in your kitchen anymore. No. That’s not right.
He was never in your kitchen in the first place, because when he returned to Earth your building was a mountain of debris.
He should have noticed immediately–
“Are you back with me now?” Angstrom Levy chuckled as Mark straightened his back.
He glanced at the wheelchair he dug up from the rubble. One of its wheels was missing and some of the metal parts were bent in the wrong direction. It was the wheelchair he painted in your favorite color, even as he struggled to recall your face, he never forgot how he felt when you smiled, the pure joy when you saw his gift.
Mark touched the empty seat. The fabric was burnt but otherwise intact. “I don’t believe you.”
Angstrom smirked. “You don’t have to take my word for it, but surely, despite everything, you would believe your own father’s words.”
Mark’s hand froze. No.
He searched his memories, all those pointless conversations with Nolan–
“You’re too weak, son. Emotionally, I mean. Physically, you have great potential, I’m sure you can even surpass me.”
Mark said nothing. He ignored his father’s pacing around the cell and continued focusing on the floor.
Nolan sighed. “I figured you’d be like this.” He stopped walking and knelt down in front of his son.
He stuck out his arm, fist clutching onto something. “One day, Mark, one day you will understand, it’s okay to have fun, but our future does not have room for broken things. You will thank me for this.” His knuckles unfurled. On his palm was a single, severed finger wearing a ring.
–the shattered fragments of his mind rearranged themselves and Mark fell to his knees and threw up.
“She’s dead, but she isn't gone. You can still get her back.” There was almost a trace of pity in Angstrom’s tone, but his malice outweighed any sympathy as he continued, “I can help you get her back, a version who isn’t broken–”
“She’s not broken!” Mark screamed, voice hoarse and angry. He panted and looked back at the wheelchair. “She’s…” He swallowed the growing lump in his throat and said, “She was perfect.”
author's note: my attempt at the "unreliable narrator," what do you think??
MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box
Other Origins:
No Goggles
Sinister
Mohawk
Prisoner
Omni-Mark
