#mark grayson x reader

[impracticallytitlecard]

invincible text fic III

hey everyone!! i feel like you guys didn't enjoy the previous part as much as the first one soo i'm putting everything william related on a hold for now. i hope you enjoy part three :) as always, i appreciate all types of feedback and i'm open to requests! enjoy <3

[charliemwrites]

I like Mark variants. Happy friday, i wrote angst

Content: human experimentation, minor dehumanization. She/her pronouns for reader

You used to hold his hand.

In the quiet, lonely hours just before dawn. In the loud silence after a hard battle. Through the devastated hiccups of another life lost, and another, and another.

You would hold his hand. His hand covered in blood - the good, the evil, it all looked the same. Joints swollen, knuckles split, fingers crooked, you'd press your palm to his. You didn't care if it had snapped a neck or crushed a skull or just wasn't quick enough to catch someone.

He'd run his thumb over the calloused pads beneath your fingers. Draw his nail across your life line, your love line, and wonder if his name was written somewhere in those creases. He never told you, but it struck him in the gut every time, that you'd trust a blunt tool like him with such a fine instrument. Your hand, that had brought people back from the brink again and again, had worked miracle after miracle.

He would shake with the knowledge of just how easy it would be to ruin them forever. One wrong twitch, one squeeze too hard. It didn't matter that you could fix it if he did, it would still be tantamount to blasphemy. Unforgivable.

But you would hold his hand through the trembling, hold him through it. Kept him together through that one point of contact. A steady clear sky to his unpredictable earthquake.

It wasn't romantic - not at first. It was necessary, it was survival, it was an uncracking foundation.

Sometimes not even a word spoken between you two. Just you there next to him. You would place your hand on your knee, palm up, inviting. And when he was too in his head, too scared and too stubborn, you'd pry his fist open and slot your fingers together.

Amber didn't care, when she saw you two holding hands after a battle. She knew she couldn't be his everything, understood that there was a part of his world that she couldn't reach. He needed a friend and she appreciated someone who could be there with him when she couldn't.

He came to you two days after they broke up, worn and lonely and cold. You held his hand then too, shoulder shored up against his, and let him whisper his lingering guilt into your soothing quiet.

Eve was… different. Not bad of course, Mark loved her. Loves her still.

The breakup was bittersweet, a quiet severance. You weren't the only catalyst, but you weren't not part of it either.

“She just… gets you. Knows you in a way I don't think you'll let me know you.”

When he told you, head in your lap and arm draped over his shoulder to keep the back of your clasped hands close to his heart, you offered distance. You didn't want to be the cause for more loss in his life. Not when Debbie was gone and Nolan was… wherever he was. William purposefully low contact for self-preservation; Amber a fond memory but painful like a bruise. And then Eve…

Mark had held you as tight as he dared.

“No, please. Don’t go. She was right. You… you do get it. The guilt and the blood and the - the impossible choices.”

The most powerful healing abilities in the world. You could save just about anyone as long as their head was still attached. Properly fueled and with enough rest, you could save thousands at a time but every choice was a hard one. You had to decide how and where you used your powers. Saving one possibly meant letting several others die. Every time.

He cried. He missed Eve. He loved her so, so much. Would have died for her.

But whenever he beat the odds, survived the impossible, lived up to being Invincible… it was because he couldn't abandon you to loneliness.

It wasn't one thing that changed. It was the slow evolution of time, trauma, propping each other up when one stumbled. The natural culmination of being something closer than friends, closer than family.

Glances that communicated conversations. Reaching into empty space and knowing the other would meet you there. Working not just around each other but with each other in silence. Shared tears, shared exhaustion, shared responsibility.

Knowing that he wasn't alone on that pedestal. That you were right there with him, and if you fell from it, you would fall together. That he'd catch you before hitting the bottom, and you'd find a safe place to land.

You used to hold his hand.

The lifeless thing in his grip now doesn't hold back. It's like a mannequin. Stiff, waxy, cold. The warmth is gone. The implicit, unspoken understanding is gone.

He barely recognizes you. They've kept you in a gown, an awful bleached white thing that ties in the back. The hem has ridden up enough to see the edge of a clear bandage, protecting neat squares of missing tissue from the meat of your thigh. An IV stint is still taped in the crook of your elbow. He can feel your spine and ribs poking his arm.

Your face is gaunt, sunken, ashy. Lips cracked and dry. They shaved your head. Shaved a lot of you, it looks like, for sterile access points and to keep adhesive in place.

No matter how hard he strains his ears, no matter where he presses his fingers, he can't find your heartbeat.

It was always impressive to him, how steady your pulse was even in the worst situations.

Medics aren't allowed to panic, you'd told him. We don't have the luxury of freaking out, even when we want to.

He doesn't plead. Because if there's any part of you lingering - a soul, a ghost, a few spare neurons stubbornly still firing - he doesn't want to ask you for something you can't give.

And if he begs you to come back, to breathe, to open your eyes, to hold his hand again, and you don't, then…

Then he has to face reality.

The scientists are still alive. He didn't get to indulge in revenge or retribution while trying to reach you because you'd taught him that even fractions of a second could make a difference.

And still, you're—

Someone's called a supervisor. Or maybe an executive. Someone with authority because Mark can hear the click of expensive shoes on tile.

“Look, we weren't hiding it. We just didn't want to present a problem without a solution ready to go,” the man is saying. Clipped, a little annoyed, like this is all some stupid inconvenience and not the end of the world. “But you can tell Stedman we have a way to stretch the efficacy of the specimen’s remaining tissue and—”

He never finishes the sentence.

You and Mark used to fly together, hand in hand. You could never be as fast as him but you'd let him tug you along, laughter lost in the wind. Now, your head lolls limp and grotesque over his bicep.

He crashes through the ceiling without preamble. Protects your body, your corpse, because it's been disrespected enough.

Cecil's eyes go wide, all the color draining from his face.

“Jesus, Mark. Is she…?”

“They experimented on her,” he says. His voice is shaking, cracking down the middle, falling apart because you're not there to keep him all together anymore. “They were using her for samples. They called her a specimen.”

“I'm— I'm sorry, kid.” And he sounds like he means it. Maybe he is sorry, but not for you or Mark. “I know how much she meant to you. To all of us. This is…”

Mark can go weeks without air but he feels like he's suffocating.

“I want her cremated,” he chokes out, “that's what she wanted too. So she can— so no one else will—”

Mark's mask and goggles are still on, and his chin is tilted down towards you but his eyes are up. Watching. Dissecting.

Something flickers across Cecil's face. He's quiet for half a second too long. Not noticeable to any human but for Mark it's slow motion.

“Of course,” Cecil lies, hands tucking in his pockets.

“I want to be there with her.”

“I don't think that's a good idea, Mark. You're not—”

“She's been alone this whole time, Cecil. I'm not going to abandon her again.”

If Cecil had let it go, if he had just given Mark this one last thing, maybe. Maybe Mark would have… not forgiven him, no, but sat quietly in his own grief. For a little while.

But Cecil straightens his spine and squares his shoulders. Says, “Mark, she can still save people. That's what she would've wanted, if she knew it was possible after her death.”

Cecil should have spent more time and energy on Mark's powers than yours. Tearing through the Pentagon is horrifically easy. Half of it is gone before he actually gets his hands on Cecil.

“Why?” Mark spits, shaking him by the remains of his suit. “Why did you let them?!”

“I didn't want to, kid, but look at the math,” Cecil coughs. That same frustrated tone when he thought Mark was being too idealistic. Like he's the only one seeing reality clearly. “She wasn't a hero like you or the Guardians, she was part of recovery. Preventing disasters by keeping you all in top shape is better than trying to salvage remains, isn't it?”

Mark grits his teeth hard enough to crack diamonds. “Then fucking ask her.”

“I did. She refused to work for the GDA beyond auxiliary support. It wasn't reliable or efficient.”

Mark thinks of you, shutting off your phone to finally sleep after days scrambling through wreckage. You, choosing to get an entire hospital through a blackout rather than go to the Pentagon to heal just Rex and Rae after the Lizard League.

“Live Corp. was able to synthesize millions of samples from a small fraction of her tissue, immediately available to dispense.”

Mark was going to take you somewhere. Quiet, peaceful, unreachable. A cabin or an island or something. Wanted to just have time with you, recover with you, exist with you.

You'd looked at him with so much weight when he'd proposed it. Something so much heavier than love.

Then Cecil called. He needed Mark in space.

One more mission, you said, lips brushing the meat of his thumb, and then we can have something just for us.

It was the last time he spoke to you.

He gets more details from Donald, whose machine body held up a little better against Mark's fracturing composure.

Live Corp. had the technology, specialists, resources to make the most use of your body's innate healing factor. As long as the GDA looked the other way, they would be priority customers with dibs on any new products and a private reserve of miracle cures derived from you.

Maybe GDA scientists could have done it, but keeping you on-site for experimentation with Invincible on the roster was too risky.

As if the whole conspiracy wasn't an elaborate planetary suicide in the first place.

People always thought you were a pure altruist. Assumption based on the nature of your powers. You weren't. Kind? Yes. Compassionate? Yes. Selfless? Not by a long shot.

“If I die, you gotta avenge me,” you'd told him, watching Johnny Wicker one movie night. “Like, don't let anybody try to tell you that killing them would make you just as bad or any of that nonsense.”

He'd laughed. “You wouldn't want me to be the better person?”

You had considered, then shrugged. “I mean, do what you want, I'd be dead anyway. But if bad guys fuck up all the good guys, what's left, you know?”

He wonders if this is what you meant but like you said, he can do what he wants now that you're gone.

The entire planet used you. Treated you like nothing more than a walking first aid kit, a miracle on legs. All of humanity took advantage of you, felt entitled to your kindness. Acted as if your life should be spent in service of theirs.

Viltrum is their recompense. And a means to an end. If there's anywhere, any way he can get you back, it'll be out there in the stars.

His hands are always cold. Feel disconnected from his body. Can't keep them still with nothing to hold them down. Humans call him sick, his Viltrumite soldiers think he is unwell. They're right.

And then Angstrom Levy opens a portal and offers a cure.

[beautiful-sol]

adventures in babysitting! | invincible x reader

pairing: invincible (mark grayson) x gn!reader

summary: Your boss interrupts your day off with a very important job— baby sitting a superhuman baby…? It only gets worse (er, better) when the baby’s older brother turns out to be your superhero crush, Invincible!

warnings: spoilers for season 2 of invincible! that's all :)

word count: 1.5k

A/N: this fic collab was between me and my friend, (@ ____!!!) i'm so happy to post this after procrastinating on it for so long, haha... anyways, enjoy! :)

Beep!

Your phone, which lay beside you, vibrated. Groaning, you tried to ignore it and go back to sleep.

Beep!

You let out another groan. Whoever texting you was really interrupting your perfect day off. Instead of doing anything fun or going out, you just wanted one thing:  a nice, relaxing day with your favorite person (or, object)— your bed! You picked up your phone, unlocking it and checking the notifications that had rudely awakened you. It was Cecil Stedman— your boss at the GDA. Just the person I wanted to talk to on my day off… you thought, wiping your eyes so you could coherently read the messages.

CECIL: Hello, Y/N. Even though it’s your day off, I’m afraid you’re needed for a mission. A very important one.

Please arrive at this location at 9AM sharp.

Attached to the last message was a location. You clicked on it, and to your surprise, it was a… house? A nice, suburban one at that. Usually, your mission locations were more… thrilling— secret labs, abandoned towns, etc. Places lurking with danger and mystery. This mission was either secretly one of those, or something completely different. (Your mind was leaning towards the latter.)

You sleepily got yourself ready, taking a deep breath as you prepared yourself for the events of the day.

•••

9AM arrived quicker than you thought it would. You arrived at the suburban home, politely knocking at the door. A female voice shouted “Coming!” from inside the house, opening the door a few seconds later. A kind, middle aged woman greeted you at the door. You assumed she must be the owner of the house, and probably the one who requested you. “Hello!” she brightly said. You smiled, making yourself seem as approachable as possible. “Hi,” you said. “I’m Y/N. Cecil from the GDA sent me—”

The woman’s face immediately fell flat, her cheerful expression vanished. A more serious, worried one replaced it. “The GDA?” she murmured. You nodded, confused. What had you done wrong? “…I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.” The silence between you two quickly became awkward. “I’m sorry, but my boss asked me—”

“Perfect timing, kid.” A familiar male voice said. Next to the woman stood Cecil, your boss. The air grew even more uncomfortable. “Debbie, this is—” “Y/N.” the woman— Debbie— brashly said. “We’ve already gotten acquainted.” After a few beats of silence, Cecil broke the stand off. “The GDA has a whole department dedicated to superhero children, Debbie. And they’re one of our finest employees.” he said. “And after everything that happened…” he began to trail off. A somber expression crossed Debbie’s face. “Let us help. I mean it.”

…You continued to awkwardly stand there, averting your eyes between Debbie and Cecil as they exchanged words between each other. It was like a child watching their parents argue. You couldn’t tell whether to step in or stay quiet. Debbie took a deep, frustrated breath. “I am more than qualified to raise Oliver. I raised my son— who already is a superhuman child. And he’s saved this planet twice.” Cecil sighed. “Alright, Debbie. I’ll leave.” He turned around, ready to walk away, but then he stopped. “But please think about the offer.” The woman didn’t answer. She just stayed silent.

Cecil teleported into thin air (per his usual fashion), leaving you confused and mentally stranded. Giving you a quick, sad glance, Debbie headed back into the house. Off of pure instinct, you grabbed the door, stopping it from closing. “Wait, Mrs. Debbie, please—” You cut yourself off, expecting an arguement or scolding from the older woman. But there was nothing. No rebuttal.

“I… I understand your concern. To some extent, at least. I don’t mean to sound egotistical, but I truly am the best at what I do.” you said. “And I’m not doing this for Cecil— I want to help you. Truly.” You had been talking so fast you could barely catch your breath. “Please… trust me, Mrs. Debbie.”

•••

Oliver— Debbie’s stepson— sat on the floor, occupied with a pile of building blocks. You had turned on the TV, casually watching the news while making sure Oliver was okay. It was typical stuff— weather, sports, celebrity drama, and… Invincible? The screen showed how he and the Teen Team were able to successfully take down a local team of villains. You stared at the screen— specifically Invicnble— for a little too long. You’d heard of him, of course, and even seen him a few times at the GDA. Even with the mask on, you thought he was kind of cute. You could always ask Cecil for his true identity, but he’d definitely say no.

“Brah brah!” said Oliver, pointing at the TV. You curiously tilted your head to the side, chuckling. “Your brother? Where?” “Brah brah!” he said again. Your amusement was cut short when you heard the doorbell ring. “Coming!” You said, grabbing Oliver (to prevent him from mischief) and opening the door.

“Sorry Mom, I lost my key again— Oh.”

Oh. Oh. (sorry not sorry for this stereotypical fanfic thing)

You were currently face to face with an extremely handsome guy– tall, neatly combed back black hair, the most beautiful brown eyes (which were sadly accompanied by eyebags), and… an all too familiar yellow, blue, and black suit. It was just your luck that you had magically ran into the Invincible after ogling him on TV. “Brah brah!” Oliver said, reaching out towards the man. Luckily, he had managed to snap you back into reality. You closed your mouth– which was slightly open when you saw Invincible at the door.

“You… are not my mom. Sorry about that.” he awkwardly laughed. “You must, um, be the babysitter. [Y/N], right?”

You nodded, shyly smiling. “It’s nice to meet you, Invincible.”

He chuckled, smiling back. “You can just call me Mark.”

You two stared at each other in a somewhat awkward silence, before you let him in the house. You put Oliver down, and the little kid charged right towards his older brother. Mark treated Oliver like he was his own child. Watching in awe, you thought it was cute how they interacted.

•••

At 5PM, your shift was finally over. Debbie still hadn’t returned from work. Oliver had peacefully fallen asleep on the couch while you were watching him. You gently picked him up, careful not to interrupt his rest. You placed him in the crib, letting out a sigh of relief. You tidied up the house as best as you could, packing up Oliver’s toys and trinkets and putting them where they belonged. Finally, you grabbed your own things and made your way towards the door.

“Wait!” A voice said.

Mark stood a few feet away from you, out of his suit and now in normal clothes, a slip of paper in his hand. “Here’s my, um, number.” he said. “My mom was supposed to pay you, but she’s still busy, so… I’ll pay you.” You politely smiled, hands brushing as you took the paper from his hand. “Thanks, Mark.” He nodded, a faint pink blush on his cheeks. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” You nodded. “Yeah.” You waved goodbye, stepping out of the door.

You let out the huge sigh you’d didn’t know you were holding.

Damn, he’s fine! You thought. 

You hopped into your car and drove home, the events of today running through your mind. You were actually looking forward to doing your job. (That was a new feeling.) Or maybe you were just looking forward to seeing Mark again?

A giddy smile stayed on your face as you arrived home, eager to wind down for the night and text Mark. You took out your phone and the paper, saving the number into your phone.

YOU: hi, Mark! it’s me, [y/n] :)

A few seconds passed before bubbles appeared on the screen.

MARK: Hey!

Here’s your money

[$75 dollars sent]

You smiled. This was usually more than you were paid. Maybe this job really was a blessing in disguise.

MARK: My mom says she appreciates you taking care of Oliver.

YOU: it’s no problem!! please tell her i’m grateful for the job! :)

Your simple small talk eventually evolved into a full blown conversation about random topics. Favorite colors, superhero stuff, your shared love-hate relationship with Cecil– you two had more in common than you thought. You eventually felt your eyes growing heavy, so you decided to go to sleep.

YOU: i’m gonna head to sleep now, Mark.

see you tomorrow!

MARK: Goodnight. See you tomorrow!

The young man held the phone to his chest, a giddy smile on his face. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious that he liked you.

The both of you drifted off to sleep, excited for tomorrow to arrive.

[elenawaits]

BATSIS MASTERLIST introduction relationship with batfam

CHARACTERS INCLUDE : mark grayson (invincible), wally west, roy harper, kyle rayner, Peter paker, and conner kent.

ONESHOTS

SUSPICION wally west

BURLBS

SMAUS

SOFT LAUNCH mark grayson

MULI

[jupisloveletterz]

𑣲⋆ OBSESSION

just a nsfw drabble to push me out of my writing block!

art creds citruscen07 on twt

pairing: Mark Grayson x spider-woman!reader

tags: mark is a freak, fem reader, masturbation, degradation kink, praise?, mean reader, mark being whipped, sub mark, needy mark allat.

notes: hey guys! I've been tryna get something out for a min but im ngl im kinda stuck on how I wanna go about my next chapter but heres something while I do that! hope u enjoy :)) not proofread i fear

An obsession was something it was never supposed to turn into. You were simply just someone he highly respected, the things you can do are incredible so of course he would admire your abilities. 

A selfless hero with an unwavering spirit to serve and protect those in need. Your mysteriousness intrigued him, the way nobody really had an idea of who you were and how the public basically ran off crumbs of info to try and piece you together.

Working with you was no different, especially when you rarely ever look his way or stick around long enough for him to strike up a proper conversation. Regardless, you kept people infatuated with you and who you could be. The city's friendly neighborhood Spiderwoman? Who wouldn’t be interested in you?

Especially Mark. 

It’s obviously no secret, well to anyone other than you. You’d randomly get brought up in conversations with his team, subtly trying to ask if you’d be joining them on a mission or for advice on getting to know you. He'd store each bit of information to improve his approach, hopefully impress you even.

God forbid anyone actually mentions you, he turns into the most annoying person ever. Never let the day come where he figures out you have a secret account that only a few have access to. He’d beg Rudy to hack into it just so he could know the things you say or do.

Poor Mark tries his absolute best to grab your attention whenever you show up, he tries to show off some just so you can acknowledge his existence for longer than a few seconds. His mood basically fluctuates depending on if you do or not, it can turn him into the most unbearable person ever.

Oh but when you do. He can’t help but touch himself. As much of a pervert he feels like doing it, you have to understand that getting anything from you was a blessing to him.

When hes back from his mission and hes already palming himself through his suit. Pulling his mask over his head, breath heavy and face flushed as he looks down at his painful erection thats begging to be released.

How could he possibly help himself? It’s rare he even gets to see you so for you to give him more than a few seconds of your time was enough to get him going. Especially when he pisses you off, not that he means to but your patience wears thin whenever you're around him. 

 His weeping cock slaps against his abs before he begins to fist himself, head thrown back against his pillows while he rubs his thumb over the slit of his angry red tip imagining it's your hand instead of his. He teases himself just like he imagines you would before pumping his leaky cock, pathetic moans falling from his lips while he pictures you jerking him off like a punishment.

It’s almost embarrassing how hard he gets whenever you put him in his place. You get sick of his terrible attempts to woo you that sometimes it results in you getting smart and making fun of him for it. You must've awakened a degrading kink deep within him because the way your mouth gets slick and spits out sharp insults in your pretty voice has him throbbing. 

Like the time he got annoyed that you weren’t paying attention to him because you were too caught up in fighting something else that he decided to take it upon himself to take care of it. Maybe it was to showcase his strength, maybe it was to truly be helpful but when he turned to face you with an angry pout on his lips it pissed you off. 

It was the way he was staring at you like he was waiting for something, perhaps a sign of gratitude for taking care of the problem- that made you huff out a laugh. “You waiting for a thank you?” you laughed as you threw your hands in the air.

He shrugged nonchalantly as he swung his arms back and forth awkwardly. “I dunno…I wouldn’t mind of you did-”

He was immediately caught off guard once he felt something hit his chest and pull him in. He looked down to see that you had shot out your webs to pull him close to you, you looked up at him, eyes narrowed as you gave the string a rough pull. “I don’t give out free praise. Especially to people that don’t work for it,” you growl as you stare at him. 

His face is hot, eyes wide and mouth trembling as he struggles to get his words out. “You can’t speak now? Wowww, when did that happen?” you tilt your head to the side, a smirk on your face underneath your mask from amusement.

This is the closest he’s gotten to you. He’s almost pushed up against you, his hands awkwardly hover above his sides so he doesn’t touch you. He eyes you up like this and he’s trying his absolute best to not pop a boner by how mean and rough you're being with him right now.

His brows furrow as he looks down at you, breath heavy as you tighten your grip on the web you have him on. “You think I’m weak? Is that why you stepped in?” your voice raised as you question him firmly.

“What! No- I just thought that maybe you needed-” a sticky residue covers his mouth and you let out a sigh as you lower your other hand. 

“Actually, don’t piss me off even more; I’m not in the mood,” you huff as you pinch your nose before putting your hand on your hip. “I don’t need you going soft on me. You’ve seen me take out stronger guys than that–I’m honestly offended you had felt the need to,” you say as you dramatically place a hand on your chest in offense. 

He tries to speak but hes muffled from the webs covering his mouth. You laugh as he struggles and grab his chin to examine him. “You’re a lot more bearable when you're quiet, y’know that? I should shut you up like this more often.”

Mark almost lets out a pathetic whimper at the sound of that because truthfully you really should. His knees are weak and he's so whipped he might as well just get down on them and do whatever you say.

Your senses tingle and you let go of him leaving Mark almost feeling disappointed at the release, as you sense a different threat coming your way. “If you want some praise then actually make yourself useful and help me take out that thing,” you shout as you climb up onto a building.

He stands there in disbelief in your webbing and not really sure how to process what just happened before you shout at him again from the top of the building. “Don’t tell me you can’t break free from my webs, Invincible? You’re one of the GDAs favorites for a reason. Don’t disappoint me now.” 

He rips off the webs with ease as he watches you go after another target. He’s so thankful you didn’t seem to notice the strong bulge that was forming between his legs because in reality he could’ve easily broken free but he didn’t want to. Not from you.

He obeyed of course, he did make himself useful while assisting you. Once you both had apprehended the threat he once again patiently waited, watching you closely as spoke to officers as they transferred the threat to one of the high security prisons. 

You turn back to him and let out a chuckle. “You really do sit around like a dog, huh Invincible?" you tease while crossing your arms. “Want me to pet you? Give you a treat and call you a good boy?” you say passive-aggressively with faux enthusiasm. 

He groans and begins to fly up before you call out to him. “Good work,” you shout as you place your hands on your hips. “I’m only saying this once because I know when I see you again you’re just gonna be a pain in the ass again but…thanks,” you say honestly before shooting up to a building.

“What would I ever do without you Invincible?” you yell dramatically as you swing away.  

His eyes squeeze together as he replays your sweet words in his head. Ropes of hot cum spilling into his fist as he bites down on his bottom lip. “Fu-fuckkk nghh,” he grunts as he quickly strokes himself as he reaches his high. Chest heaving and body burning as he imagines you on top of him, your hand slowing to let him catch his breath and you smirking down at him

“You’re one of the GDAs favorites for a reason. Don’t disappoint me now.” Your voice replays in his head as he pictures you straddling his lap with your suit discarded as you line him up with the wet entrance of your pussy. 

“I wanna be your good boy…” he whines, brushing his dark locks back before he begins to stroke himself again. “I can hmfgh.. I can do another.”

[morticiansmelody]

DEAD GIRLS : VILTRUMITE! MARK X READER

You should be dead. There’s no need for you to have ever survived past the war. You should be buried under the billions of bodies piled up one after the other, rid of any evidence that you had once existed on a planet called Earth. Instead, you are given to a sad excuse of your boyfriend. You, for all intents and purposes, belong to a stranger.

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: fem reader (referred to as girl/girlfriend), yandere, possessive mark, forced relationship, toxic relationships, nonconsensual touching/kissing, reader is captive on a ship! I wrote this agesss ago but I thought I'd post it on here too. Art is by xiaoye12589 on tt!

Your first memory embeds itself into your mind at three and a half years old. You’ve stopped to smell the flowers in the path by your pre school. A daisy brought to your little nose: fresh cut grass, morning dew, the familiar pressure of your teacher’s hand in yours. When you look over to the other kids, one of the smaller ones’ ear has begun to glow amber. The sun is shining through his ears. It’s a Saturday morning. Nothing is wrong with your world. Nothing has ever been wrong. You hope Daddy won’t be too mad if you sneak a bowl of cereal into your room. Well, he can’t get mad if he never finds out, right?

You’re pulled along the line, being told to keep up with everyone else. You keep the daisy crushes in your fist. Pretty daisy. Smells good. You’ve always loved daisies.

“I missed you.” Mark—this sick, wrong copy of him—can’t do anything it seems but paw at the curves of your body, his mouth huffing at your neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I missed you so much.”

Mark gave you daisies on your third date. Daisies only bloom after their second year of life. Plant a seed in the garden and you can’t be too impatient. You have to give it time to be beautiful; it’s only in their nature. You still remember the way he was grinning, how his cheeks flushed the same colour as the roses you were all too used to getting from boys who didn't know you half as well.

There are no daisies left on the Earth. There is nothing left on Earth. You’ll never see a daisy again, you’ll never be three years old again, Mark will never give you daisies on your dates. You and Mark will never go on another date. He’s dead. Everyone is dead.

“You’re so pretty. Taste good.” You wonder what this Mark is. What he’s been through to become this cannibalistic version of himself, fuelled only by a facade of an ego and the smell of your panic. He bites and laps and sucks at your skin, whining and cursing as he sits you down on his lap. “I’d never forget you.”

Daisies have 15 to 30 petals. You used to joke that you’d gotten so sick of university, your stupid guidance counsellor, the real world and its capitalistic hopelessness, you’d run into the wood start using the petals to keep track of the time. One petal for one day, picked and fallen onto the forest floor. Unable to do anything else, Mark would agree so long as he could come with you. And if he got to keep up with his favourite comics.

So cute. You loved the way he’d blush every time you laughed at his jokes. You loved his jokes. You loved him.

“Don’t hate me forever, angel.” Not-Mark runs a gloved hand through your hair. When you were too small to understand anything further than bed time and lullabies, your parents got divorced. Mom brought you to meet God on the weekends she had you. Dad could not rest if he didn’t tell you every night that you were the greatest mind the universe had to offer. You were their angel. “It won’t be so bad, I promise. You just can’t stay down there for a bit.”

That, at least, makes you blink back into reality. It's safe in the corner of your mind you'd clawed out for yourself, where no one—not even the alien wearing your boyfriend's face—could get to you. The room is cold and sterile and nothing at all.

"Down there?” You ask bitterly, almost a laugh. You’d often thought about how different you two were, how you could never truly understand what it was like to be in his world. God, you must’ve almost broken up six times by your first anniversary. You'd take it a thousand times over than forever with this thing.

He twists you around so that you’re under him, your hair spread out on the bed. Held stead above you, his fists on either side of your head, all he does for a second is look at you. Sometimes Mark looks like he wants to eat you alive. You're sure it won't be long until this one actually does. You think you'd almost like it better than waiting for it to happen. “There is a certain amount of rebuilding we have to do first.” He tells you.

You’ve been here for weeks. Five, maybe six. All you can do is stare at him. You remember when you first got here you’d fight like hell, scratching and biting and tearing. It didn’t do anything. You could never do anything to him, could you?

”Why don’t you just kill me?” You ask simply, the way you always do in the end. “There’s no use of keeping me here. What could I possibly do for you?”

This Mark is so fucking miserable. For as high as he is in the Empire he is as depressed as he was the day he betrayed his home planet. You can see the way his face twitches in discomfort, in guilt, shaking his head. “Come on, what could you do alive that you couldn’t do dead?”

”What the fuck?”

He tilts his head, offering a boyish smile. “Well, humans have strength in numbers, you know. All that communal hope?” Suddenly he’s floating in the air, his hands on the back of his head. “But one cute one just in my room? Not so much of a threat.”

You know you shouldn’t cry, that’s it’s pointless and it only reaffirms his belief that you’re some fragile flower that can’t be talked to too harshly. God, maybe it’s you that’s pathetic. You miss your parents, your real, kind, caring boyfriend. You miss your home where you were smart and capable of doing something real in the world. You were good at what you did. You were going to be so good. Fuck, now you’re crying. Tearing up and angrily wiping at your face aimlessly.

His face falls a bit, and he bundles you right up into his arms. Stupid, evil, pathetic fucking asshole. You protest loudly, furiously, pushing away as he holds you up to his chest. “Fuck, Mark, let go of me!”

”l’m trying to comfort you.” He says almost sadly. Oh God you want to kill him. 

“My entire family is dead! Everyone is dead and it’s your fault—it’s your fault! Fuck you, you sorry excuse of a—a—“

“So is mine.” Mark mumbles, like it should be some sort of sick shared comfort to you. “But look, I got you back.”

“You are not my boyfriend—you are such a selfish—“

”Shut up for a second baby.” He says idly with a kiss, dropping you gently back onto the bed. There’s a shocked silence that overtakes you, long enough for him to open a door in his fuck ass suit and speak to another severely dressed woman, who doesn’t give even a glance to your sorry state. Still, you can see the disdain radiating off of her. It’s a short conversation, but you take the time to pick up all of your clothes, buttoning your shirt all the way to the top, your breathing shaking horrifically.

When he turns back you’re completely dressed, staring at him with a haunted scowl on your face. He could just kill you. You know he doesn’t want to, and that’s the only reason you’re standing here. You’re not an alien, nor a superhero. You don’t know how to exist in space without billions of dollars worth of technology. Even if you did, what home is there to return to?

“You up for dinner? On me.” He’s grinning. Your Mark grins like that, too. Stupid jokes. Your heart aches for him so terribly you might die.

His face softens, approaching gently like he’s not the object of your misery. “I know it’s hard now.” Face in his hands. He could crush you right then. It’d make you feel better, wouldn’t it? “But I’m gonna make you happy. Just like we used to be. Promise.”

You don’t look at him. “I’m not that girl, Mark.” It’s croaked out, desperate. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

”I would recognize my girl even if you were a snail in this universe.” He tells you, brushing your hair from your face. “I know you. I know you’re her.”

In the month you’ve been here, you’ve screamed all your logical, thought based arguments at him until your throat was hoarse with a furious anguish. You miss your daisies, you loved them, you’d do anything to have them back. 

Fuck this.

𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑺: woahhhhh surprise i also love invincible. and every one of those marks variants had some crazy yan potential SO HERE I AM. are you guys really surprised? sorry there's no smut here I got really lazy but if it's in demand I'll write some for a potential second chapter or just another oneshot!!

[auvorah]

Mark Grayson "Invincible"

⏤ nothing here yet !!

[karlamybeloved]

Would the Mark variants kill for reader?(as their partner ofc)

for their partner, of course. the variants have killed people for way less, obviously they would kill anyone who threatens their partner.

if you’re slightly messed up like them and ask mark to kill someone just because, he doesn’t see the harm. he thinks the person didn’t deserve to live anyways if you’re annoyed by their presence.