imagine you transmigrate into the invincible verse and first thought is literally — fuck, i’m cooked. fast forward, you realise you possess a character that does not exist in the main timeline, you are an anomaly. the anomaly who suddenly disrupts the story and makes the actual main character, mark grayson, fall in love. how? because love at first sight or however the saying goes. the moment you’ve entered his life, he knew you were different. special.
you cherished him like no one else, you were great with all his friends as if you’ve known them for a long time, you have been different since the start. you were your own bubble of energy — always believing in him, always appreciating him when no one did. he feels so understood through you.
and after that, you might as well skip to the several variant arc because around that time, you noticed that this was your biggest mistake. you should’ve put your fingers out of the story. is this the so called butterfly effect?
“—and you are?” his stare burns through your skin, sweat slowly forming on your neck while swallowing down your biting remarks.
“GET AWAY FROM HER!” you could hear mark’s desperate, bloody scream from behind as he tried to fly towards you.
“w-well, i’m mark’s best friend.” you answered carefully, and took a step back as soon as the variant approached you.
“as far as I remember, I only had one good friend in my universe, whose name I can’t remember. the other me’s never mentioned you. what’s your name?” you can read the pure curiosity mixed with amusement off his stiff posture.
summary: You're just Mark's forgotten human friend, left aside after his life turned upside down. But was that really all you were in the main universe, and what about in others?
author's notes: Hi everyone, how are you? I hope you're all well! Here's another chapter, this one was rewritten twice because I accidentally deleted it lol... wow, I hope you enjoy it! Happy reading!
PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 01
❝ YOUR EYES ❪ COLOR ❫ widen as you try to process the scene in front of you. The sight of two Marks (or Invincible) leaves your mind slightly hazy, as if that couldn’t possibly be real.
As if it were just some kind of sick joke. You try to back away from the situation, but the white-suited Mark is faster, his arms sliding around your waist until he grips your hips with extreme force:
That Mark Without Lenses laughs, his dark eyes devouring your face as if you were a work of art ── his pupils dilate, licking his lips:
"Oh," he laughs. "I see you had the same idea as me, Mark," the Mark Without Lenses exclaims, landing atop the debris of the broken wall. Your dorm room had turned into pure chaos, everything shattered, scattered, and covered in dust. "After all... we’re the same person, with the same goal in the end, aren’t we?"
"Shut up," Mark snaps, grinding his teeth. You try to break free from his grip, but his hold is firm, as if he refuses to let you go. "Stay still," he says with unusual seriousness.
"Oh, so you didn’t tell her?" the Mark Without Lenses approaches, laughing mockingly. "You know we’re not the only ones who had this idea... it’s only a matter of time before all the others show up," he smiles maliciously. "And when that happens, the real war will begin."
"Others?" you ask, confused. Your eyes widen as you feel the white-suited Mark tense beside you.
"It doesn’t matter." Mark’s grip tightens painfully on your hip, making you gasp. "I’ll kill them all, without exception. Anyone who lays a hand on my woman will die." He says it so casually it sends chills down your spine.
"My woman?" the other Mark mocks. "You’re stealing from another Mark and still calling her yours?" He bursts out laughing. "How arrogant, Mark Viltrum," the smug grin on his lips is terrifying.
Suddenly, he stops, staring at you as if you were nothing more than prey:
"Sweetheart... close your eyes, I don’t want you to see so much violence... yet." And in an instant, using his super speed, the one without lenses lunges at the other Mark, raising his fists.
Mark Viltrum shoves you aside, and you stumble, falling hard onto the ground. The scene before you is terrifying ── the two colliding, blows clashing as Mark Viltrum blocks with precision.
And the building trembles.
Your breathing becomes uneven as you scramble to your feet in panic. From the corner of your eye, you catch the moment Mark Viltrum lands a punch on the other, making him spit blood... yet he laughs.
And groans. Asking for more.
It’s sickening, and you quickly back away, your steps unsteady, dust rising around you. Taking advantage of the moment when neither of them is paying attention to you, too consumed in a fight that seems endless.
The hallway is empty, and with every strike, the building shakes.
Your mind races as your body pushes toward the emergency stairs ── there’s no way you’d take the elevator in a situation like this.
Who were those two? And why did they look so much like Mark?
You try not to dwell on it, especially not on the fact that there were others. Other Marks? Other copies? And why were they coming after you? Where was the real Mark in all of this?
He definitely wasn’t worried about you. He probably didn’t even know his identity was being stolen by idiots with his same face, voice, and body.
Your steps are desperate as you rush down the stairs from the 7th floor toward the ground level. The building shakes like jelly, the walls starting to crack apart.
Your eyes lock onto the number: 4th floor. You were close. Just a bit more and you’d reach the ground floor, finally escaping this nightmare.
Your steps halt when you notice a man standing at the bottom of the fourth-floor staircase. Tall, slightly muscular, wearing a black and blue suit that covers his entire body, along with a mask.
You freeze halfway on the stairs, your hands trembling as you realize he stopped as well, his shoulders tense as he speaks quickly:
"I’m not here to hurt you," he says calmly. "I came to help you... I won’t hurt you like the others." His voice sounds like Mark’s, though slightly muffled by the mask.
The masked man steps closer ── or tries to ── because you immediately step back, slipping and falling onto the step behind you:
"DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!" you shout, eyes wide. He raises his hands in surrender:
"I won’t hurt you," he repeats gently, using the same tone Mark always used with you in tense moments. "I’m not like them... I just want to take care of you."
His shoulders tense even more when he sees how scared and withdrawn you are:
"I miss you," he begins, his voice dropping. "In my universe, you were killed by Omni-Man... and..." He swallows hard, as if on the verge of tears. "But I won’t let the same mistake happen twice... I won’t let anyone hurt you."
Your brows furrow:
"What the hell are you talking about?!" you snap, standing up and gripping the railing. He steps closer again, and you retreat further.
"I’ll protect my mother... and you..." He moves toward you, his steps heavier now. Your eyes widen, your breathing quickens, and you think you’re about to be kidnapped again by some lunatic.
But then the building shakes violently, the structure cracking. Pieces of concrete begin to fall, and you shut your eyes tightly, bracing for impact.
You feel hands grabbing your waist, pulling you away. Your eyes try to focus on something, but the dust—along with something that feels like fabric completely covering you—keeps you from seeing anything.
You stifle a breath, your hands pressing against a strong chest. The wind brushes softly against your face, and panic begins to rise as you try to kick whatever is holding you.
And suddenly, clarity returns to your vision—slowly, you look at the strong arms holding you, noticing the chaos surrounding the campus.
Destruction. The college buildings were ruined, but your building was now reduced to nothing—blocks of concrete where you had once spent so much time.
Your eyes widen in confusion, and you swallow hard as you realize you're in someone’s arms, being carried through the air.
Shit.
Your head quickly turns to the side, your expression shifting when you notice another guy who looks like Mark—but wearing a mask and a pathetically red-and-white uniform.
With Omni-Man’s symbol.
Omni-Man.
Your brain short-circuits, registering those last words. Your arms struggle weakly against the muscular chest, light tears forming in your eyes:
“LET ME GO!” you shout, but that “hero” doesn’t obey. His hands tighten around your waist, as if reminding you who’s in control.
“Don’t be rude,” he says, his voice once again similar to Mark’s, making your stomach twist. “I’m the one in charge here…” His grip becomes firmer. “Maybe I should remind you who you belong to.”
GDA HOSPITAL
Amid all the chaos, Mark stands beside Eve—who lies unconscious in bed, her leg broken, in a light coma.
The world outside was falling apart.
Several variants causing destruction beyond anything seen before. All thanks to Angstrom, who seemed extremely amused watching this dimension crumble into ashes.
Cecil enters the room alongside Donald, who carries a tablet in his hands.
The older man crosses his arms, sighing:
“Mark.” His voice echoes through the room, where only the beeping of Eve’s vital monitors can be heard. “You should be out there, helping other heroes who are dying because of pathetic copies of you.”
“I’m not leaving,” he snaps, clearly frustrated, looking at Eve. “I can’t leave her here alone.”
“She’s in one of the most guarded hospitals… It’s unlikely your variants will find us here,” Cecil explains, while Donald starts scrolling through something on his tablet.
“No.” Mark growls. “I won’t.”
“Your mother, your friends… would you let the world fall into chaos? When Eve is stable?” Cecil presses, growing irritated. “You’re our only available weapon against those monsters.”
“No,” Mark growls again, refusing to look at him.
Silence falls, and Cecil sighs, glancing at Donald, who seems to understand immediately.
Images of destruction project from Donald’s tablet. The college campus… your campus.
It’s like something snaps inside Mark as he sees it.
“We deployed small drones across Chicago… the situation is bad,” Cecil begins, arms crossed. “They left the big cities and came here.”
“There are 25 more heading there… Some were killed, others intercepted… but—” Donald pauses. “They all have one thing in common.”
Mark freezes, letting Eve’s hand slip from his fingers as he stands abruptly, though still tense.
“What?”
“❪ name ❫.”
The silence that follows is terrifying. Cecil knows he’s hit a nerve.
He inhales deeply, adjusting his tie as the image zooms in—you, struggling in Omni-Mark’s arms.
“And there are more heat signatures heading there…” Donald continues. “They probably want something from her, since they haven’t hurt her—and are even fighting each other.”
Mark goes still, eyes locked on the projection. You—defenseless—while Omni-Mark holds you with possessive force.
He feels it. He notices the way the other Marks are looking at you… at what is his.
“I figured you’d want to know that… your childhood sweetheart is in the hands of those maniacs, and she could—”
Cecil is cut off when Mark grabs him by the collar.
“Where… where is she?!” he demands, rage rising through him. He looks like a different man now, almost shaking, fists clenched.
“University campus in C-Chicago!” Cecil answers quickly.
Mark releases him, grabbing his mask from the counter and putting it on.
As he’s about to leave, he glances once more at the projection—at you—and feels a burning urge to destroy that pathetic version of himself.
But the image suddenly glitches and disappears.
“Someone must’ve… taken out our surveillance drone,” Donald says.
Mark clenches his jaw and leaps out the window, flying toward the campus.
Without looking at Donald.
Without looking at Cecil.
Without looking at Eve.
Without looking back.
Flying toward you.
Because he’s tired of pretending that staying away from you was enough.
Tired of pretending that becoming a side character in your life was the right choice—that you’d be safe.
But he was wrong.
Because leaving you alone was enough for dozens of versions of him to come after you—to claim you, to kidnap you, or worse.
He wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers again.
That Mark—this version—would not lose.
He wouldn’t leave you again.
He would run, fly, and kill every single one of them—
Pairings: Mark Grayson x male reader, Sinister Mark x male reader, Mohawk Mark x male reader, Maskless Mark x male reader, and Viltrumite Mark x male reader
⚠️CW⚠️: gay, gay-sex, cuckold kink, cuck Mark Grayson, forced cuckold (I think), bottom male reader, top Mark Variants, submissive Mark Grayson, top Mark Grayson, foursome, double penetration, rough sex, blowjobs (variant and reader receiving), throatfucking, possessive variants (and Mark), biting, blood sucking/play, cum eating, masturbation, voyeurism, forced voyeurism, breeding, ass eating, hair pulling, mention of pregnancy, and cum facials.
Requested: yes
Word count: 11.9k
Summary: one by one, each variant shows up with the desire to take you. Being surprisingly civil, you talked it out with them. That shifted when Mark shows, almost ready to kill him, you compromised by agreeing to have sex with them. It was pure heaven for you.
[Multiverse Anomaly Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2] [you are here]
Read before continuing: if you are younger than 18 or any of the warnings make you uncomfortable, this is your chance to turn around and leave. If there are no problems, you may continue.
“She’s gonna be okay, kid,” Cecil said, walking into the room as the sliding door closed behind him.
“What if they find this place? I don’t want to lose anyone else.” Mark said, his eyebrows frowning as he stood beside Eve’s hospital bed. They encountered two variants on the field. One had worn a hood and was cocky and hot-headed, and the other was eerily similar to his father, same costume, mannerisms, and attitude. It was uncanny.
Mark told Eve to leave, but she didn’t. Her leg got snapped, and her body slammed into the concrete by the Omni variant. Now, she lies unconscious on the bed, hooked to a machine to keep her stabilized.
“They won’t, but we have more pressing matters. If you would follow me.” Cecil stated, leaving the room. Mark looked at Eve’s unconscious body before turning to follow Cecil. She’ll be fine.
“How is it looking out there?” Mark asked.
“The situation is still dire at the moment. Countless cities lie in ruins, and the death toll is estimated in the millions. The good news is that most of the variants have been eliminated.” Cecil replied, opening the doors to the main control room. There were people glued to monitors, watching the events unfold on the screen, attempting to calculate the next moves and tactics.
“I’m assuming there is bad news as well?” Mark inquired, staring at the main screen in the center of the room. It displayed the global map with red dots, representing the surviving variants and their locations. Looked like eight out of eighteen remained, but they were still threats.
“Indeed. As you can see, eight variants survived, but three of them appear to be heading towards Chicago.” The map shifted over to the North American continent. Three red dots, one in Chicago and the other two in Los Angeles and New York City. “The other is coming from Paris. We don’t know why they’re congregating specifically in Chicago. Possibly a meet-up. If the trajectories are correct, the location appears to be in the suburbs.”
“Where exactly in the suburbs?” Mark asked, his voice faltering as a pit formed in his stomach at the implication. The people important to him were in the area. Debbie informed him that she was with Paul in a safe location. You messaged him about bunkering down while William went silent.
“Zoom in on the trajectory. Judging by your tone, someone important is out there.” Cecil said, but Mark didn’t respond; his eyes were glued to the massive screen. As the map zoomed closer to the estimated location, Mark felt his heart drop. Your street appeared.
“I have to go,” Mark said without explanation, but Cecil could tell what was driving the young man.
“Kid, wait!” Cecil couldn’t get a word in as Mark had already left the room. There’s no way he could take on four variants. Some of these variants have more experience and combative skill. He managed two variants, but that was with Eve, and she’s out of commission now. He’s gonna face double the amount. Resources are limited, and the new reanimen, created with the corpses of the fallen variants, are still being developed. Cecil could only sigh.
You were preparing to hide in the furthest section of the house in case those variants decide to pay a visit. You weren’t sure that would work since Mark has superhuman senses, and logic dictates that the impostors share them. Maybe you were delaying the inevitable, playing a game of cat and mouse. You were about to go when a voice grabbed your attention.
It was Mark’s voice, pleading and begging for you.
“Y/n? Are you there? P-please, I need help! I-I uh… ran into one of the variants! Please, Y/n! I’m hurt!” Mark’s voice called out to you, muffled by the wooden door, as he pleaded for you to come to him. You felt your nerves ease as Mark's voice relaxed your muscles. You sighed with relief as you approached the door, but something was off.
Something was itching inside you. There was something wrong with this situation; that voice felt wrong. It sounded like Mark, but there was a hint of malice, dark, and twisted intentions. Just when you thought everything was going to be okay, anxiety and panic shot through the roof. Stepping away from the door, you bolted down the hallway. Mark’s voice continued to call out.
“Y/n, are you there?” The worried, pleading tone dropped, replaced by a soft laugh and scoff. Your intuition proved right. There was a long, drawn silence before a loud crash echoed through the empty house and neighborhood.
“Man, I thought you would fall for that,” the fake Mark said. You could hear his footsteps stepping into the foyer. You slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle breathing, gradually moving away from the approaching variant. Mohawk glanced around the interior, same as the one from his universe. That means the same layout, and if his brain serves him correctly, there was a hiding spot. He remembers you showing him the cubby hole during his youth.
Mohawk weighs the options of playing around or going straight for you. He wanted to give you the false sense of security, but he was dead impatient.
“Playing a game of cat-and-mouse? The Y/n from my universe always lost. It's fun playing the predator. I get to pounce on you.” Mohawk said, a twisted grin on his face and a bulge forming in his tight suit. He could hear your muffled breathing and quiet footsteps. He began whistling, hands behind his head as if he were leisurely walking in the park.
Your heart beat peaked, breathing unstable, and adrenaline pumping through your veins as a strong hand grabbed your shoulder and pinned you against the wall. But it wasn’t a wall, it was the variant's chest. His hands came to rest on your hips as he pulled you closer to him. So many thoughts were rushing through your head that you couldn’t keep up. It ranged from ‘oh god I’m gonna die’ to ‘why am I being held like this?’
Turns out Mohawk was impatient.
“Found you,” Mohawk said with a twisted grin. He gleefully laughed as he won his reward. You remain frozen in his unnervingly tight embrace. You got a perfect view of the variant. He looked identical to Mark, but there were noticeable differences. This variant had a distinctive mohawk haircut. His suit was black and blue, a different design, and no mask. Dried blood soaked his uniform, giving him a more menacing appearance.
You could tell this one was unhinged. Not like the others weren’t, but this one was different.
“N-no, please! I—” Your begging was cut off by Mohawk leaning closer. Your train of thought collapsed as the variant began sniffing your hair and skin, his hands rubbing into your clothed skin. You could feel his heavy breathing, his lips touching and gliding over your neck—over your pulse.
“M’not gonna hurt you,” Mohawk muttered, his grip tightening. Strangely, your body went at ease. You exhaled the air trapped in your throat. Your hands crept up Mohawk’s chest; you could feel his defined body underneath your palms. Your mind said this wasn’t Mark, but your heart registered him as your boyfriend. This was confusing; it was shattering your perception.
“I don’t—” before you could finish, Mohawk pulled from your neck and kissed you.
The kiss was surprisingly soft. His lips molded with yours as he deepened it. His tongue pushed past your teeth—exploring your oral cavity. Mohawk's taste, lips, and technique are similar to your Mark's. Your eyes widened from the gesture, but this kiss was meant to disarm you, and it was working. You began melting from the kiss, moaning softly as Mohawk refused to pull back. Your arms even left his chest to wrap around his shoulders.
You admit to enjoying the kiss, but reality was setting in. You were kissing a deranged, psychotic version of your boyfriend. Kissing a mass murderer, an impostor who wore his face. Panicking, you tapped and pushed at Mohawk’s shoulders, signaling to let go—and to breathe. Mohawk did let go only to dive into your neck. He bit, licked, and sucked on your skin, leaving bruises and marks.
“Fuck… you taste the same, no, better than I could’ve imagined.” Mohawk murmurs, groaning into your neck. Your face was pulsating red now. Soft moans escaped your lips as Mohawk ravaged your neck while greedily grinding against your thigh. You could feel his hardening bulge, the same size and thickness as Mark's. There was a fluttering sensation in your stomach, blooming through your body as it began reacting to Mohawk’s ministrations.
“I’m sorry,” Mohawk whispered. The admission caught you off guard, but the variant continued whispering in fragmented confessions.
“W-what? W-why are you here?” You stammered, facepalming inwardly at your weak, cracking voice. There was a jarring silence. Mohawk’s grip loosens as he frees you from his firm grasp. You took the opportunity to back away, but the variant intertwined his hand with yours.
“You. I was promised you. He promised me.” Mohawk answered. He was vague on who was behind the promise, but an educated guess would be that this unknown man is responsible for the global crisis that unfolded.
“Who exactly gave you that promise? A-and why me? What happened to me from your universe?!” You demanded to know, even though you were in no position to demand answers. Mohawk didn’t appear offended or have the urge to pop your head off. Instead, a somber expression fell on his face, and he finally spoke.
“I killed you,” Mohawk replied in a quiet voice. Your stomach dropped from the confession. You expected it, but you were still surprised. “I thought you were a weakness, like everyone else. So, I killed you for fun; I made a little game. I’ve come to regret that mistake.” The silence was palpable.
“That sounds like a pretty hefty mistake.” Before Mohawk could reply, there was another explosion outside. You yelped as the windows shattered from the impact and shockwave. Mohawk grunted, pulling you beside him as footsteps approached. A figure turned the corner. It was another variant. This one wore the same uniform as the Viltrumite woman with the Empire’s insignia on his shoulders.
“Great, another one.” You mumbled, laughing to cover up your sobbing and whining, as now you were stuck in the middle between two variants. Viltrum’s eyes landed on you, completely ignoring Mohawk’s presence and touch.
“Y/n… It's really you…” Viltrum muttered, stepping closer to you and Mohawk. His hardened, stoic features softened, light and life returning to his dull eyes. Heavy emotions were crushing Viltrum, something he’s suppressed for years. He finally gets to see you again. The familiar warmth and fluttering feeling filled his body, overwhelming his senses. His voice shattered that moment.
“Wow, wow, finders keepers, soldier boy. I got to him first!” Mohawk snarled, letting go of your wrist to size up the new arrival. Viltrum’s expression hardens as he crosses his arms. Mohawk pushes him back, his feet screeching against the hard wooden floor. Mohawk would be damned if anybody tried to take you from him after everything he went through and did for you. Soldier boy wasn’t going to lay a finger on you.
While they were distracted, you took the opportunity to sneak away. Surely they wouldn’t hear your quiet footsteps over their grunting and movements. The two variants were about to brawl when another crashed echo, ruining your chances to escape and catching the others' attention.
‘Another one?!’ you screamed internally.
The back door was busted open, and another variant walked through. This one costume was black and yellow, with black lenses, and a long yellow cape that draped over his shoulders. There wasn’t anything different other than his costume and his noticeably paler skin tone. You could tell his gaze landed on you as a wicked grin spread on his face, but it dropped into a sneer when he noticed Mohawk and Viltrum.
“Tsk, pity. I thought you’d both be dead; then I would’ve claimed him without problems.” Sinister commented, taking a few strides towards you. Mohawk and Viltrum halted their infighting, their attention fully on the black-and-yellow variant. Their bodies tense as Mohawk dashes to you.
“Unfortunate really.” Sinister thought it would be a walk in the park, take you, and bring you back home, but apparently, others wanted a piece of you.
“This dimension was weak! Hardly put up a fight.” Mohawk mocked with Viltrum nodding in agreement. He wasn’t going to mention how this dimension’s Mark knocked him out.
“I made swift work of my opponents,” Viltrum added, his voice unnervingly cold and calm. The tension in the room heightened as the variants looked among each other, calculating potential attacks. The silence was heavy until a distinctive whoosh of flight sliced it, and a gust of wind knocked everybody onto the ground.
These variants were dropping like candy! They were attracted to you like a lion stalking its prey. Despite being from different dimensions and facing different circumstances and choices, you must have held some importance to them.
You were disoriented, groaning and moaning until someone hoisted you onto your feet. Your vision was blurry; you couldn’t make out the person in front of you. You blinked a few times until the figure was clearer. It was another variant; it must have flown through one of the blasted entrances.
Unlike the others, who had distinctive features and suits, this one looks identical to the original Mark. If both were side by side and wearing the same clothes, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
This variant had a mixture of sorrow and disbelief with a hint of relief. You noted this variant wasn’t wearing a mask, a piece of cloth that Mark always wore. You said nothing as Maskless bore his eyes into your skull, biting your lips with a weak smile. Suddenly, you were pulled into a tight embrace, strong arms wrapping around your mid-section, and his face was nuzzled into your hair.
Unlike Mohawk, Maskless was gentler and tender. Your heart skipped a beat; his touch was similar to your Mark. Then, he spoke, his voice soft and laced with worry and relief. “Y/n, it's been so long. I never thought I would see the day… you’re not hurt, are you? These savages didn’t hurt you?”
This was uncanny, looked identical to Mark, and acted like him. Maskless pulled away and cupped your cheek; your face turned red. The variants got up and glared at Maskless, with Mohawk being the first one to bark.
“You ain’t calling me a ‘savage,’ and he’s fine. Look at him.” Mohawk snapped, venom and possessiveness in his voice.
“I would like to believe that until I saw Upstate in ruins. You could’ve killed him!” Maskless barks back, unfazed and undeterred by Mohawk.
“Well… uh, he wasn’t there! And I got here first, which makes him mine! So, back the hell up!” Mohawk growled as he was about to punch Maskless’s head off. He wasn’t going to admit that Maskless was right. He was reckless and didn’t pay attention to those he killed. That changed when he saw William among the ruins and remembered that you attended the same university. He thought he killed you, but William confirmed you left campus.
“You don’t have the authority to claim him.” Viltrum bumps in, grabbing Mohawk and Maskless by their shoulder and pulling them away from you.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah! Y/n doesn’t belong to you—you don’t get to decide for him!” Maskless said, agreeing with Viltrum. While they continued to bicker, Sinister took the opportunity to come behind you, leaning down to your ear.
“You’re not as bold as the Y/n from my universe. Doesn’t matter, but I wonder if your flesh tastes the same.” Sinister pondered. A sadistic, twisted expression etched on his face. He licked his upper lip, curious about your flavor. You froze, and the argument among the other variants fell silent as you thought about what had happened to your alternate version.
“Y/n from my dimension put up a valiant fight, but I snuffed him out. Tore him apart, limb from limb, and kept his eyes to look at. Oh, and ate some of him.” You were gobsmacked. The others must have heard it as well because their infighting stopped and turned towards you. “However, after that, I felt empty. I refused to believe I was attracted to you; I chalked it up to being obsessed with you. I kept thinking about you. I’ve come to realize I made an error of judgment.”
“I– wha…” You stammer. “You killed and ATE me? And regret it?” Sinister nodded in confirmation, and guilt and regret washed over him. “So, I’m dead in all of your dimensions?” you asked. The remaining three nodded.
“My dad… k-killed my Y/n. He said you were an obstacle. I-I never stopped loving you after your death.” Maskless said, his voice wavering and breaking as the memory flooded his mind.
“I wanted Y/n as my mate. I wanted to save him from his mundane life, but he became a rebel when the empire arrived. He was executed.” Viltrum replied, his hardened expression faltering, as he took on a somber look. Everyone turned to Mohawk, awaiting his response.
“Mm? Oh, right… You already know, but I killed you and enjoyed it. Also, kinda created a harem of your lookalikes,” Mohawk replied. The variants gave Mohawk a weird look, agreeing amongst themselves that no other human could replace you, while you were shocked and intrigued.
“What? Are we forgetting that Bumblebee over there ate his? Mine isn’t that bad,” the variant defended.
You stayed silent. You were intrigued by the circumstances that led to your death in different dimensions. Maskless seemed the most reasonable, Viltrumite sounded reasonable, but he didn’t go into depth about what pushed you into rebellion, and Sinister and Mohawk honestly scare you. Fear aside, you were conflicted on how to feel. The four of them deeply care and want you.
You could only imagine the horrors or situations they experienced in their respective dimensions, but at the same time, they’re all mass murderers. They wreaked havoc on the world and possibly killed millions of people, blood staining their hands.
“So, do any of you regret what you’ve done?” you asked.
“I don’t regret it—I mean, I do regret the killing and destruction of half of Europe, but if I hadn’t, then I wouldn’t get to see you again,” Maskless replied with a heartfelt response, causing you to blush again; damn weak emotions. Viltrum agreed, somewhat agreeing with Maskless.
“Meh, I enjoyed what I was doing cause I knew you were at the end,” Mohawk replied, shrugging. Given how he’s been acting, you should’ve expected that response coming from him. And it wasn’t a surprise when Sinister agreed with him.
“You may not be the same Y/n from our dimensions, but that doesn’t matter. We get a second chance,” Viltrum spoke with the other variants, who nodded in agreement. Right, a second chance. Each of them wants you, but you’re Mark’s boyfriend: this dimension’s Mark. This complicates things. They seem solely focused on you and do not want to inflict harm on you again.
“Right, but… I’m in a committed relationship with Mark, this dimension’s Mark.” You said, and the mood shifted. Each of the variants had a murderous intent on their faces from hearing your Mark’s name. Feral behavior mixed with restrained jealousy and boiling anger. They weren’t going to tolerate that.
“He doesn’t deserve you! He left you all alone! You could’ve died from one of the others! One of them… think it was the one with no goggles, was going to do horrible things to you! He can’t protect, but I can! He failed you!” Maskless ranted. His soft, restrained demeanor turned into a maniacal and lovesick one. A crazed smile on his face as he approached you, reaching out to cup your cheeks. You were taken aback, but you shouldn’t be surprised; he was still an evil version of Mark.
“Hey, back off! If I’m not mistaken, finders keepers! He’s mine! I’ll kill all of you if I must.” Mohawk snarled, punching Maskless into the nearby wall, leaving a sizable hole. You yelped as the variant wraps his arm around your waist. The alliance between them was collapsing.
“Oh, I’d like to see you try. I’ve been itching for an actual fight.” Sinister said, cracking his neck and stretching his muscles.
“I’m far superior to you; you won’t stand a chance,” Viltrum grunted, preparing to launch himself at Mohawk. Mohawk barked bullshit at the other variant. The situation was deteriorating rapidly, but the scene was interrupted by another voice, Mark’s voice, your Mark.
“Y/n!” Mark yelled as he hovered over your home. He noticed a massive crater in the middle of the street, windows shattered, and cars overturned by a powerful shockwave. He would’ve come faster if Cecil hadn’t held him back. Mark was panic-stricken; he wasn’t sure what he was gonna do or react if he saw your corpse.
“Mark!” You yelled back, pulling the attention of the Marks. You were thinking of running out and meeting up with your Mark, but Sinister anticipated it. Either way, it's not like you’ll make it far with four superpowered variants.
“Ah, ah, you’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.” Sinister purrs, pulling you into his chest. His hands rested on your hips as your head was buried in his chest, nuzzling in his pectorals. The others weren’t gonna pay mind to the sight, focused on dealing with the original Mark. Still jealous though.
Mark heard your screaming, floating to the ground, and entered through the massive hole in the front. He didn’t have to go deeper when he saw three of his variants ready to kill him, and the other one had you against his chest. “Let go and leave him alone! Or I'll make you.” Mark growled.
“Aww, I’m so scared! I’ve been wanting a round two.” Mohawk mockingly said with a sadistic grin. He was gonna kick the original Mark so hard in the balls that they would rupture.
“You’re outnumbered. You don’t stand a chance.” Viltrum stated, his voice void of any emotions except fury. His gaze was stone cold, calculating, and heavy. He wasn’t going to let this dimension’s Mark interfere.
“Finally, coming to your senses that Y/n is more important?” Maskless said with a venomous sneer. If he were your boyfriend, your safety and well-being would be his number one priority. You’d be the safest person on Earth!
You couldn’t see what was going on, your face buried in Sinister’s pectorals, but it seemed like the situation was getting heated, like a nuclear explosion was about to go off. You had to do something! There was no way Mark stood a chance against four powerful versions of himself. You had to brainstorm, or Mark would be crushed into a meat pancake of skin and bones. Taking into consideration that the variants seem to listen to you—somewhat—you surmised a plan.
Using their obsession and desire to have you, you could make a demand to spare Mark. While they were violent, unhinged, and sadistic, they’re still capable of reason and negotiating, as long as it benefits them. What more could they want than you? In their eyes, you were the diamond they’d been searching for. They’ll listen to you, hopefully.
“Mark…” You mumbled, calling out to the variant. Sinister peered down, and before he said anything, you leaped forward. Smashing your lips against his, Sinister was bewildered but gave in, returning the kiss.
You squirmed in Sinister’s grasp, like Mohawk, it was surprisingly gentle, but it quickly became heated and needy. Sinister was feverishly devouring your mouth, his tongue overpowering yours, and his hands keeping you in place while groping your body.
Same as Mohawk, you hated how you were enjoying the kiss. Same as your Mark with his own special twist that you enjoy. Sinister was yearning, desperate to taste you, something he wanted to know without eating your body. Now that he’s got a taste, Sinister doesn’t want this to stop. His hands are rubbing your hips and rear, squeezing and pulling as he gives slow thrusts.
Your moans were drowned out as you grinded your body against Sinisters. He was grinding against you as well; you could feel his clothed erection pressing on yours. It felt the same length and thickness that your body craved. You were losing yourself, your body and mind melting without resistance, probably due to the lack of oxygen.
Mark and the variants paused, watching the scene before them. The variants threw death glares at Sinister, seething with jealousy. Mark, on the other hand, was appalled. He couldn’t formulate a thought, but his body was already reacting for him. His dick was chubbing up in his tight costume. Why was it hot watching his boyfriend being dominated by one of his variants?
Mark wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He was no stranger to watching other men fuck his boyfriend; he liked being a cuck. It was a massive turn-on for him; this was nothing different, but it was his variants. The same variants that wreaked havoc and killed millions across the world. Yet, he couldn’t help but get horny. Not exactly the right time.
Sinister pulled back, your breathing heavy and face flustered. He chuckles and smiles, a dark and feral one. He wants to hear your cries, wondering if it's the same as the Y/n from his dimension. The others’ presence, unfortunately, ruined his thoughts.
“Aww, come on! He gets a kiss, but I can’t?” Maskless commented, whining and pouting. He’s screaming that he’s more deserving and worthy.
“Unfair…” Viltrum grumbled, scoffing under his breath.
“Ha, speak for yourselves, I got my taste.” Mohawk boasts, brags, and taunts Maskless and Viltrum. Both variants roll their eyes, cursing Mohwk and Sinister.
“Was Y/n this much of a minx? Didn’t get much time with mine,” Sinister asked, spinning you to face the others. He grinds his bulge against your leg, foaming like a feral animal. His dick is throbbing to have sex with you. Viltrum wondered the same, as he didn’t get to experience his Y/n.
“Oh yeah, before I killed him, he would bounce on my dick like he was dying,” Mohawk said, licking his lips as he looked at your disheveled state. He could feel the blood rushing to his lower body. That was the same face you’d give him when he was balls deep inside you, lost in the throes of sex and lust.
“Yeah, same,” Maskless answered, his face flustered, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. He reminisces about you riding him, bouncing on his dick, or pushing back to meet his thrusts. Viltrum remained silent as he observed, but he was feeling the same thing as the others: horny.
You had some rational thoughts left to propose a ceasefire between the variants and Mark, but it was spoiled when Mark launched himself at Mohawk.
“Stay away from him!” Mark yelled, landing a square shot on the variant's face. Your already ruined home—mainly the downstairs—shook for the third time, rubble and dust choking the air. Mohawk’s body flew a few houses down, and the two engaged in combat.
“No, wait! Fuck, shouldn’t you do something?!” you shrieked, turning to the other variants.
“Nope, let them fight, then we’ll take out who’s remaining,” Viltrum spoke with a firm voice; his face was indifferent. To him, it was better for the competition to kill or weaken each other. Maskless and Sinister backed Viltrum. It was weird how civilized they are despite wanting to kill each other.
“Just want to have you back,” Maskless muttered.
“Eh, I couldn't care less. Now, how about we continue?” Sinister whisper, leaning into your shoulder. His teeth grazing your skin as he laces it with bites.
You gasp softly, but groan in frustration. Despite the roughness, your body leaned into Sinister’s touch, begging for more. Viltrum and Maskless approached, and you could see the hunger and yearning in their eyes. Sinister didn’t oppose, probably cause he didn’t want to kill you accidentally.
“L-listen! Can you stop them for me? I… have something to say.” You begged Maskless and Viltrum, attempting to mask your flustered face with seriousness. The variants paused, weighing the options. The choice was obvious. You’re their weakness, so they conceded, launching themselves into the sky towards the brawling Marks.
A few minutes passed, and they returned with a bloodied Mohawk and Mark. Mohawk was bleeding from the nose with bruises on his cheek, and his costume was ripped, revealing his body underneath. The same could be said for Mark, although he didn’t look as bad as Mohawk, sporting some bruises and scars. Mark wanted to say something, but you shut him down.
“I… please, spare him.” Your request was simple, but it was met with disapproval and discontent. “If you spare him… I’ll uh…”
“Have sex with us?” Mohawk said with a shit-eating grin, finishing your sentence before you could. “And lover boy can watch. Show him that we’re better.” Your dick jumped at the suggestion. An orgy with four variants of Mark? That’s something you would sign up for, but a part of you was screaming no.
Mark didn’t say anything. Was he gonna watch four variants of himself fuck his boyfriend? That sounded hot as fuck. His dick sprang to life, causing him to squeeze his thighs to hide his erection. He should have voiced his disapproval, but he didn’t, and neither did you.
“Well, since no one is speaking up, let’s take this to your room.”
… (There’s no Markcest in this) …
Mark sat across from you and the others—the same chair where he watches other men fuck you, this time it was versions of himself. He was stripped of his clothing, his flaccid dick resting on his thigh, his nipples hardening from the cold air, and his chiseled body tightening. Mark previously wanted to avoid watching since it was bizarre to comprehend watching four clones of himself fucking his boyfriend, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
His once flaccid dick was slowly rising, blood pumping into the piece of flesh as he listened to your labor moans and breathing. You and the variants were naked as well; you were the center of their attention.
They touched and pulled at your body, wanting you to be closer to them. They worshipped you as if you were a delicate piece of porcelain—well, somewhat as the Mohawk and creepy, sadistic ones were rougher. The other two were gentler, albeit Mark could tell they were gonna descend into feral beasts. You can handle one Viltrumite, but can you handle four at once?
Sinister was behind you, occupying your right shoulder blade. He plastered bites and kisses on your skin, deep bites that caused some blood to seep through. You yelped, gasping as his canines pierced your skin barrier. His groans were muffled as he indulged in your blood, lapping and sucking the thick, metallic substance. One of his hands groped your pectorals, toying and flicking your nipple.
“Mmm, same flavor as my Y/n. Need more.” Sinister grunts, grinding his rock-hard dick against your ass. You could feel his heavy breathing and hear his moans pressing your ear. His ministrations were getting rougher as he greedily attempted to take possession. You chalked this up to his lack of experience with you from his dimension.
Parallel to Sinister, Viltrum occupied your left shoulder blade. Unlike his counterpart, he pressed soft kisses on your nape and shoulder. It was sloppy. His tongue lapped at the sweat forming on your skin, his mouth opened as he continued wetting your skin with his saliva. His fingers traced the middle of your back, kneading the flesh.
This is everything he could have wanted, besides sharing you with the others. He remembers having to breed with other humans and that vile woman. He wasn’t so gentle with them, regarding them as nothing more than a means of filling quotas. Viltrum remained silent as he basked in your body. His kisses slowly transitioned into bites, and sucking hickies on your neck, targeting the pressure points.
You couldn’t think when Maskless wrapped his lips around your cock. He kissed and worshipped your stomach before moving down to your crotch. The constant stimulation you were receiving from the variants caused your dick to pump and throb. Maskless eagerly sucked your dick, his tongue flicking your sensitive tip and swirling around your length.
His warm, wet mouth was expertly deepthroating you. His hand came to fondle your heavy balls, and the other massaged your thigh. You bit back a loud moan, but Mohawk protested otherwise. Mohawk was on the same side as Viltrum, in the front, but he was more focused on your pectorals, especially your nipples and ass.
“Ah, ah, ah! We all wanna hear you, especially him over there.” Mohawk growled before returning to your chest. Your eyes then moved to Mark; he was jerking off, slowly pumping his dick with long strokes. His mouth was agape, and his defined, chiselled body was glistening with sweat. You could see his balls fapping against his hand when he thrust into his fist. The sight was as stimulating as the variants’ abuse of your weak points.
You were dragged out of your daze when Sinister yanked your head back, gripping your hair as he smashed his lips against yours. Like the prior one, he dominated your mouth. While you were being suffocated, Mohawk’s hands groped and squeezed your ass cheek before journeying deeper. His fingers probed around your entrance, tracing the tight rim and poking inside.
You pulled back from Sinister’s kiss, your cries and moans echoing through the quiet house and neighborhood. It was too much, and you reached your climax, shooting your load down Maskless’s throat, who eagerly gulped it down. You glance down at Maskless. He was grinning as he swallowed, licking his lips and teeth. He got up from his position and pulled you into a kiss; you could taste the remains of your load on his tongue.
“Mmm, sweet, don’t you think? Tastes the same as I remembered.” Maskless said, pulling back as he felt the accomplishment of his action. You were the world in his dimension. He always made sure to bring you to multiple orgasms, and he was gonna do the same with you. There was much-needed time to catch up.
“Don’t think we’re done, babe,” Mohawk cooed, keeping his fingers near your puckered entrance. He tilted your head away from Maskless, examining your lips before licking the remnants of cum. “Mmm, it tastes sweet and somewhat bitter.”
“I think it's time we change the pace,” Viltrum stated, pushing you onto your knees. You came face-to-face with four identical dicks, all of them erected and throbbing, precum leaking from the slit. Your mouth was agape, tongue sticking out, and you were panting as you felt your body relax at the sight and aroma. This was a dream come true.
Similar to Mark’s dick, they were above-average size, but the shaft was thick—intimidatingly thick. Veins covered the shaft like a traceable roadmap, a prominent vein leading to the tip—something that was sensitive for Mark. You could see them pulsating. The head was swollen and broad, and a deep shade of red—a testament to their neglected needs. Precum glistened on the head, ribbons dripping.
Viltrum’s base was surrounded by a tight, trimmed patch of dark hair, while Mohawk’s and Sinister’s bases were messy but not thick bushes. Maskless’s patch was clean-shaven. Their balls were swollen and heavy, churning with thick loads that needed to be drained. You salivated, your lustful gaze switching between cocks.
Your brain short-circuited, succumbing to baser, primal sexual instinct. The reluctant, nervous feeling about having sex with Mark’s variants vanished, replaced with a feral need and desire. The main problem was which one to start with; all of their cocks were appealing. Doing eenie, meeny, miney, moe…
“Fuuuccckkk.” Viltrum cursed, letting out a guttural moan as he felt your tongue tracing his dick’s veins: Just as you suspected. Holding the base, you gave long licks, teasing the veins and cockhead. His precum touched your taste buds, tasted weird, an unfamiliar taste that you had never had. It was bearable though.
The others were displeased with your choice, wanting to be the first, but they’ll have a chance with your mouth.
After toying with Viltrum’s dick, you took it into your mouth. You moan from the thickness, stretching your oral cavity the deeper you swallow. Breathing through your nose and soothing your throat, you began bobbing up and down on his thick cock. You produced and gathered spit onto your tongue, lathering his length. You choked and coughed but pushed through, switching between sucking and stroking.
Viltrum was vocal, grunting and moaning as you sucked his dick. His eyes rolled back as it felt like you were sucking the life out of him. Your mouth was like a fleshy vibrator, tingling his dick in a good way. His hands came to your head, his fingers running through your hair and gripping it as he began to fuck your throat.
Mark bated his breath, groaning as he watched Viltrum use your mouth like his personal toy. He watched you begin stroking the others' dicks, arching your back, and eagerly taking them into your hands. He tips his head back, biting his lips as he squeezes his cock, preventing an early orgasm. His fist was coated with precum. His swollen tip was a shade of red, and his balls throbbed.
Mark still couldn’t believe something like this was happening. Out of all the possibilities that were running through his mind when this all started, he didn’t anticipate this: getting cucked by himself from other dimensions. Watching these variants have their way with you while he observes, naked and stroking his dick. Despite the unusual circumstances, Mark was enjoying this more than he expected.
“It's hard to believe we’re the same person. Pathetic.” Mark returned his attention to the voice; it was Sinister.
“Right? Fully expected him to fight, but nah. Guess he’s more interested in jerking off. What’s that word called?” Mohawk chimed in, laughing and joining Sinister in humiliating Mark while humping your hand.
“A cuck?” Maskless responded, grunting as he felt your hand move onto him.
“Yeah, that. Couldn’t be me. I’d rip any heads if someone tried th—” Mohawk’s sentence was cut off in a choke moan when you moved from Viltrum’s dick to his. He didn’t hold back and began to thrust his hips. “Fuck, babe.” Mohawk moans as your warm, wet mouth eagerly sucked his dick. His balls slapping against your chin, your slurping and gurgling becoming audible as drool seeps through your mouth.
“W-what’s… a cuck?” Viltrum asks, breathing heavily. He looked like a mess, his face sweaty and flustered. He wasn’t familiar with this term or its meaning.
“A cuck is someone who gets hard from watching his partner get fucked by another man. Prime example over there.” Sinister replied, pointing to Mark. Viltrum seemed to understand and agreed with Mohawk’s statement. Nobody touches what’s rightfully his.
Mark avoided eye contact, but the humiliation made his dick throb and leak more. They continued to poke fun at him. It was mainly Sinister and Mohawk who kept humiliating Mark, mocking and laughing at him. It appeared he was the only one who had a cuckold kink.
None of the others liked to share the same thing, boasting that they’ll kill anyone who’d do that. They were possessive of their Y/n to some degree. Maybe he wasn’t alone; the multiverse is expansive. Though the variants he ran into didn’t seem like the type to have a cuckold kink — maybe the one that wore Omni-man’s suit had a daddy kink? That would be ironic.
“T-think he’s the… fuck… only one: he’s an anomaly,” Maskless said, controlling his breathing as you moved to his dick. Like Viltrum, he was vocal, moaning and whining to his heart's content. It had been so long since he last had his dick sucked. After your death, he didn’t take another person; you were irreplaceable.
“He’s a pussy, makes sense,” Mohawk exclaimed, wanting Mark to hear him.
You switched between variants, going full circle. Making sure each one received a handjob or blowjob. You were breathless, your chest heaving, and your lungs sucked of oxygen—a burning sensation in your chest, but you admired your handiwork.
Their dicks were lathered with your saliva and their precum. Their glistening cocks stood tall and proud, almost an arrogant stance of their superiority and dominance. You could see the massive lengths throbbing and flinching, missing the warm cavern of your mouth.
A hunger overcame you, their cum. You wanted them to cum.
“Think it's time we prepare you for the main course, and by we, I mean me. I call dibs.” Mohawk asserted, leaving no room for protest as he assumed his position, lying flat on the floor and hoisting you over his body, your ass coming into his view. He was giggling, a dark and lustful giggle as he licked his lips at his early Christmas present before him.
“What are you—” You were cut off by a discernible slap followed by another. You gasped and moaned softly. Mohawk’s rough hands groped your cheeks before delivering another slap. He grinned as he watched the flesh jiggle and ripple from the impact.
“Don’t worry, babe. Go back to what you were doing. I got you. Oh, and arch your back for me?” Mohawk purred, returning his gaze to the grand prize. You nodded, following Mohawk’s word and continuing to suck and stroke the other Marks and arching your back to give Mohawk more ass to deal with.
Pulling you closer, Mohawk marveled at your ass. It was thick. Thicker and bigger than the Y/n from his dimension. He was salivating, foaming as he groped and squeezed your cheeks. His fingers are digging into your flesh, clawing at the skin. You must have been working your ass out; it was firm but soft to the touch.
‘That lucky bastard.’ Mohawk cursed the original Mark, jealousy evident on his face. That bastard had a hot piece of ass on his boyfriend and wasn’t making use of him? If he were your boyfriend, he would’ve been worshipping your ass every day—screw the countless lives that depend on him. He would have you on his dick 24/7.
Mohawk spread your ass cheeks wide open, revealing your tight, puckered asshole. He could see the tight ring of muscle pulsing. It beckoned him to move forward. Extending his tongue, Mohawk pressed it against your hole, hungrily lapping at the ring. He blew against your hole, smirking as it twitched before deliberately licking again.
“Mmmm!” You moaned with a mouthful of cock, one of the variants groaning from above.
Mohawk smirks as he begins to press sloppy kisses, hearing your muffled moans. A surge of pride and satisfaction filled him as he switched between the two methods. Your asshole was now sloppy, coated with his spit, but he wasn’t done. He wanted to enjoy a couple more minutes.
You felt tapping on your hips. Releasing the cock from your mouth, you looked over your shoulder.
“Now go on, sit on me.” Mohawk urged. He didn’t elaborate further, but you can detect the feral, hungry tone. He wanted to be buried between your cheeks. Biting your bottom lip, you gave him what he wanted, moving and hovering over his face so you could smush your ass against him. A whimper escaped your lips as his tongue penetrated your asshole.
Mohawk’s groans were muffled as he feasted on your ass. His hands slapped your cheeks as he forced your full weight on him. There was a faint, sloppy, and squelching sound; he was munching on you. He fucked your ass with his tongue. This was heaven.
While Mohawk was enjoying and preparing your ass, the other variants continued to use your mouth. They were getting more vigorous with you. By this time, your jaw was hurting, aching from being used by the Marks. You were gonna push through it though, you could taste the fruits of effort as their cocks throbbing and notice more leakage, hear their breathing becoming labored, and hear them hitching. Your neglected cock was on the verge of another orgasm—another from just sucking.
“F-fuuuccckkk… gonna cum…” Maskless cried, gripping your head and thrusting into your mouth with force. His head tipped back, and his eyes rolled back. He roared, slamming your head into his crotch and holding it there. His heavy balls rested against your chin, pumping as the first shots hit the back of your throat.
Maskless’s body tenses as this was the first orgasm he had had in months. Your cheeks hollowed as you tried to keep up, instinctively gulping his load. The taste was strong, musky, and sweet: A unique flavor. Another and another wad of his thick, creamy load burst into your mouth as you worked overtime to keep it from leaking.
Yours and Maskless moans mixed—further stimulating the variant. It felt endless. Some dribbled past your lips, soaking the ground underneath.
“T-Taking it so good… o-oh god.” Maskless whines, his hips jerking before relaxing as the last spurts weakened. You pulled back with a wet plop, giving Maskless’s cock a few licks and sucking on the tip to clean it, earning a weak moan. There was a web of spit and cum connecting your mouth to his tip; the sight was erotic.
You caught a glimpse of Maskless’s disheveled and sweaty face. He was panting, mouth agape as he returned your gaze. His brown eyes showed he was satiated, but still hungered for more. He had that glint in his eyes, the same glint Mark would give when he wasn’t done, and that it was only the beginning. That Viltrumite stamina was a force to be reckoned with.
“Alright, my turn.” Sinister interrupts, giving you no chance to recover as he yanks you over to him and Viltrum. Instead of using your mouth, Sinister and Viltrum crowded you, stroking their cocks over you. Your eyes twinkled. You were going to be covered with their hot, thick seed.
“G-gonna cum, love…” Viltrum groans, slapping his heavy cock against your face. The precum and saliva left a trail on your cheek, and the tip poked your right eye. Sinister followed the same path as Viltrum, but would sometimes ram his dick into your mouth, grinning as you choked and coughed on his dick.
“Keep your head like that.” Sinister grunts, his free hand lifts your chin. The variant didn’t need to say anything; you can tell what was coming next. You stuck your tongue out and waited, your cock throbbing and balls tightening. Their grunts filled the room, dicks and balls throbbing as ropes of thick cum spurted from the tips.
You gasped as your face was painted with their cum. Same as Maskless, they were releasing gallons of cum. Cum coated your face, and some landed in your hair. Sinister and Viltrum thrust into their fists, milking the last droplets before settling. Some landed in your mouth, but the majority landed on your face.
On the other side of the room, Mark gave a few more thrusts and cums at the same time. His hips lifted and jerked as ropes of cum coated his fist and the floor. That was probably the best orgasm he’s ever experienced being a cuck. The sheer amount astonished him. Falling back on the chair, Mark takes a moment to recollect himself.
Mark pants, taking gulps of air. His head was tilted to the side as he glanced back at his boyfriend and the variants. The three above looked drained, but their stamina returned in a matter of moments, their cocks jumping to life as the lustful thirst repeats. Those Marks must have been dehydrated in their dimensions—you were the reason— and now it's finally being quenched.
His thoughts began conjuring vivid images. Your face coated with thick globs of cum, dried tears streaming down your cheeks from the brutal throatfucking, and your eyes filled with pure ecstasy. Mark mutters under his breath as his spent, flaccid cock slowly rises.
Mark also notes the other one with a Mohawk. For a couple of minutes, he’s been buried underneath you, munching and worshipping your ass. He had a firm grasp on your hips, holding you down as he feasted—not giving you a chance to get up.
Never in a million years would Mark think he’d share something similar with an evil variant of himself. Despite being the same person and possibly sharing the same likes and interests, Mark refuses to accept that. They’re evil, sadistic, and unhinged, while he’s the polar opposite. Yet, he and Mohawk like the same thing: your ass.
Whenever he’d come to visit you after a grueling mission, you’d always wear those tight shorts or pants. It's like you were enticing him to pounce—that was your intention. The thin pieces of fabric left nothing to the imagination, showing off your large, firm assets. Sometimes he catches you struggling to put pants on. He just wants to yank them down and worship your voluptuous buns. He could feel himself salivating…
bam
Mark felt a strong punch to the head, forcing him out of his thoughts. The pain surged through his body as the top of his head throbbed with pain. The culprit was Sinister. Mark could tell it was him due to his paler complexion.
“What was that for?” Mark grunts.
“'Cause I wanted to,” Sinister added, “and you don’t want to miss the main event.” The variant taunted as he grabbed Mark’s head and forcibly turned him to face the next phase.
Mohawk was on the bed, near the edge, and lying down, with you straddling him. Your back arched, your torso melting into the variant's muscular body, your dick pressed against his abdomen, and your head nuzzled into his collarbone. The variant was thrusting his hips into the air, wedging his thick cock between your cheeks—missing your entrance.
Mark could hear your soft cries. He knows your hole was aching to be filled, and Mohawk was teasing you with fake promises of being penetrated. Exhilaration was pumping, mainly towards his dick as another variant, the one with a serious and cold tone, took position behind you. He wasn’t doing much but stroking as he looked hypnotized by the globes in front of him.
The last variant, which was nearly identical to him, stood near the bed. He was pumping his dick slowly. His hand reached and lifted your chin, thumb cleaning the cum off your face before feeding it to you, which you happily accepted. He then pressed soft kisses.
“Still can’t believe we’re the same person. You’re just so… pathetic.” Sinister coldly said, letting out a low, bitter scoff.
“We’re still the person, ya know?” Mark replied.
“Unfortunately, but we’re superior—better than you. Just look at him, pure bliss in his eyes. That is, unless you can prove otherwise.” That was the last thing Sinister said before rejoining the others.
Mark was silent. Now, he was itching to prove himself wrong if that’s even the right way to put it.
“P-please… I need it.” You cried, biting your lip and pushing your ass on Mohawk’s dick. Your hole was needy. It was clenching around nothing as it was prepared to latch and pull the variant’s dick into its tight, warm depths.
“This is hot as fuck—hearing you beg.” Mohawk snickered, slapping your ass and teasing your asshole with his tip, pressing it against your entrance before pulling away, leaving you high and dry.
“Can we get on with it? Either start, or I’m gonna do it.” Sinister interjected with annoyance laced in his tone.
“Like hell you would, but fine. Hold on, babe.” Mohawk murmurs the last part into your ear. He lifted you and lined his tip with your hole. You choked on your spit as the pressure against your hole intensified. Mohawk grits his teeth as his sensitive tip is on the verge of piercing your ass.
Your heart beats rapidly, and your muscles tense as the tip penetrates your hole. Slowly but surely, Mohawk’s thick cock pushed into your ass. The searing pain coursed through your body as the stretch was intense. Moans and groans mixed into a symphony. The variant let out bellowed groans as your tight inner walls choked his cock with a vice grip.
“Ngh… f-fuck, you’re so tight.” Mohawk groans, but it doesn’t stop him from pushing the last inches until he's balls-deep. Your body shivered, your hands latching and digging into the variant’s skin.
“Need that mouth again,” Maskless mutters, picking your chin and sliding his cock back into your throat. He chokes, the familiar warmth and wetness swallowing his shaft as he thrusts.
While Maskless uses your throat again, Mohawk pauses on his thrusts, allowing you to adjust. The painful stretch was melting away, and pleasure began to blossom. You signaled to the variant by tapping him on the shoulder.
Mohawk growls, pulling his dick out before ramming back into your ass. Your whines and groans were muffled. Your eyes rolled back as his thick cock was scraping and hitting your pleasure points. The variant’s heavy balls slapped against your cheeks with each harsh thrust he delivers.
Viltrum watched in pure amazement as your tight ass opened wide and took the other guy’s dick. His cock throbbed as it couldn’t wait to be inside your depths—after you made them agree to double penetration. He spreads and lathers his cock with precum, extra lubricant. After waiting for the right time, he positions himself behind you, grabbing your hips and lining his cockhead.
Mohawk stills and waits.
Viltrum groans as he pushes into your occupied ass, his dick sliding against Mohawk’s dick. It was ridiculously crowded, but the tightness and warmth made up for it. You were on cloud nine, entering a blissful state as you were overstimulated; your cock was twitching and leaking like a faucet as your third orgasm was on the horizon.
Your hole was now stretched to its limits, two thick cocks speared you open and scraped your inner walls. Your mouth continued to be used by the other two variants. Within a few minutes, the variants steadily moved in unison, developing a rhythm—one pulls out, and the other pushes in.
Their dicks are deliciously rubbing the right places. Both variants jackhammered into your ass, but Mohawk’s dick was the one ramming into your prostate. They weren’t the only ones. Sinister and Maskless used your mouth until it was their turn. Everything was muffled except for the wet squelching, skin slapping against skin, and the feral growls of the hungry variants.
Maskless’s groans were the loudest as he gently gripped your head, sliding his dick down your endless throat. You peered up at him; his clean, groomed appearance was now disheveled. He shared the same look as your Mark whenever you sucked his dick.
“You’ve had enough.” Sinister hissed, yanking you by the hair and pulling your mouth off Maskless. Your eyes shifted to the variant, his shaped canines gleamed with a wicked grin as he started to ram his dick down your throat.
“Hey, don’t be rough with him! Could’ve been more gentle?!” Maskless reprimanded the other, but it only earned him an eye roll.
“He can handle it. Just look at him.” Sinister replied, looking down at your disheveled, but blissful state. You enjoyed being double penetrated by two thick cocks and having your mouth used by two more. “He likes this.” Sinister reasoned, holding your head in place, forcing you to keep his cock in your mouth.
You stuttered, gagging as your nose touched the variant’s pelvis and pubic region. Your eyes watered from the treatment, but you pushed forward, flicking your tongue against the shaft.
“Holy shit, look at that! There’s a fucking bulge.” Mohawk chimed in, a cruel and amused cackle leaving his lips. He traces your exposed throat, feeling Sinister’s bulging cock through your skin. He could feel it throbbing and moving in there. That and the constant stimulation from your ass clenching around like it was trying to milk dick was pushing him to the brink.
With newfound invigoration, Mohawk picked up the pace, increasing the speed of his thrusts. Your surprised moans and whimpers were choked as it felt like the variant's dick was poking too deep. Your guts were being rearranged.
“Y-you feel so good…” Viltrum growled, panting as he followed Mohawk’s pace. Both of their cocks were fucking your stomach. Your nerves and senses were ablaze, and everything was becoming fuzzy. You could feel Viltrum pressing against your back, kneading your marked shoulder blades, and kissing your nape.
“Best fucking ass in the universe.” Mohawk moans, his head falling off the edge. His thrusts were getting sloppy as his cock throbbed. The variant’s balls tightened, preparing to blow a massive load deep inside your ass.
“And throat,” Sinister added, slowly pulling his cock out. Thick strings of saliva connected the points of interest like a spider’s carefully woven web. You took big gulps of air. Your lungs were burning before being cooled by much-needed oxygen.
“Couldn’t agree more,” Maskless said, pumping his dick with two hands.
In any regular situation, you’ve tapped out long ago, but that wasn’t happening. Your limits were being tested and pushed to the breaking point. Everything was overstimulating your senses and nerves. No guy other than Mark was able to make you have three consecutive orgasms, but these guys were Mark times four—since they’re the same person. Your cock was gliding against Mohawk’s abdomen, smearing precum.
You peered to the side to see Mark stroking his cock, humping his fist as he watched the scene before him. Like the others, he had a disheveled appearance, his muscular, toned body was coated and glistening with sweat and traces of cum—he was also rubbing and pinching his nipples with his free hand.
Then your eyes met, and you could see something in his; it was calculating and observant. You predicted he was planning something, but you couldn’t think as the loud bellows, moans, and groans filled your ears.
“G-gonna cum… breed this tight ass… make it mine.” Mohawk moans, snarling as his fingers dug into your hips. His thrusts fastened but stuttered as a torrent of thick seed gushed from the slit, flooding and painting your fleshy walls.
“Me too… make you my mate…” Viltrum mumbled and cried, biting harshly on your neck as another wave of hot, thick cum filled your ass, thick globs upon globs…
“Keep your pretty face like that… open your mouth.” Sinister growls as he furiously jerks his cock. You obeyed and opened your mouth, awaiting the variant’s delicious seed. He slaps his cockhead against your tongue, groaning as he unleashes his second orgasm. His thick load coated your taste buds, flooded your tongue as he pumped gallons.
“Swallow, sweetheart…” Sinister said with an exacerbated breath, watching as you swallowed yet another load of cum.
Maskless was the only one who didn’t cum as he wanted to save it for when he’s inside you. His cock was throbbing and flushed a deep shade of pink due to him squeezing the tip to prevent his orgasm.
Mohawk and Viltrum pulled out slowly, their cocks dragging along your fucked inner walls before pulling out completely with a wet, audible pop. A wave of cum gushes out of your gaping hole, sliding down your thighs. You cried from the empty feeling, missing the fullness of their cocks.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Save that for me when I take his place.” Sinister said.
After that, everything was a blur, but you had faint memories of intense orgasms, fucking, and marking as the four variants ravaged your body, wanting to claim you as their own. They dump load after load of hot, thick semen, filling you to the brim like a water balloon being filled with water. The variants took individual turns after the double penetration.
Maskless was slightly gentler than the rest, pushing you flat on the bed and getting in between your thighs. He teasingly rubbed his cockhead around the rim before sliding in without resistance. Broken groans escaped his mouth as the sloppy and warm feeling swallowed his dick. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into you. During his time, he pressed soft kisses along your neck and cheeks—wanting to give you all the pent-up love and affection, something he couldn’t give you in his dimension.
Mohawk enjoyed cowboy style. He let you have the reins and watched as you desperately rode his dick, fucking yourself dumb on his dick. You were cock drunk to the point when he stopped you, you complained and whined, attempting to move, but he held you in place—his dick buried deep in your ass. He grinned and cooed softly as you begged him to move, your hands punching his chest. He granted your wish, migrating his hands to your ass and hips, still marveling at your thickness. The coupling between you and him filled the void that had plagued him for almost a year, and he finally understood his true feelings.
Sinister loved doggy style. He reveled in the dominance and deep penetration the position gave. Seeing you on all fours with your ass perched up for him to enjoy made him more feral than he already was. Unlike Mohawk, he took full control. One hand pressing your head into the mattress as his dick dug deep into your ass, long and deep thrusts. Hevlett out animalistic grunts, fingers digging into your hips or gripping your hair with a fierce hold. He would sometimes lean forward and start biting or tearing at your skin, wanting to solidify his possession. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake; he was going to take his time with you.
Lastly, Viltrum had you in a mating press position. Your knees pressed against your chest with your calves perched on the variant's shoulders. You had a clear view of Viltrum, his face contorting with pleasure and gritting his teeth as he gave powerful thrusts. You were in a haze, but you could make out his mumbling words: “You’d look beautiful with my child… only the best for my mate.” Viltrum knew you couldn’t get pregnant, but that didn’t stop him from putting you in a mating press. This was the optimal position for consummation. He was going to find a way to have a family with you; that’s his only wish.
The ordeal was a symphony of grunts and groans, the signature wet skin slapping against skin, and the cries for more. Yours and the other’s minds were clouded with sex and desire, reduced to primal instincts of raw breeding and sex. Each of the variants had its way of claiming you until your body was littered with bite marks, a testament to their possessive desire that overshadows Mark.
Your body ached, but in a good way. The attacks upended the weekend plans you had with Mark, and four variants were trying to take you back with them to their dimensions before fucking you in front of your actual boyfriend. They wanted to prove they were better than Mark—they were better than him.
You lie on the bed, rubbing into the dirtied sheets and blankets. You groaned from the aching joint pains and bites. You thought about everything that had happened in the last couple of hours. Having sex with evil versions of your boyfriend while he watched wasn’t on your bucket list, but you enjoyed it. That shouldn’t be a surprise since they’re nearly identical to the original.
The other variants stood at the bedside, examining your displayed body. They were prideful, proud of themselves as they looked at you and their handiwork. They muttered among themselves, surprisingly without conflict, until the main focus, Mark, made his move.
You didn’t realize what was going on until Mark came into your peripheral view.
“Mark..?” You mumbled, rising to a full body stance as Mark crawled onto the bed. He rested against the headboard, his thick, toned legs spread open with his throbbing dick standing proud and strong—it looked raw and swollen, probably due to jerking off for however long the marathon was on.
“Come here.” Mark grunts, patting his lap while stroking his dick as he makes eye contact with you. There was a glint in his eyes, something you haven’t seen before in him, but it made you excited. Your hole tightened, eager with anticipation as you crawled towards the man.
Once you were in arm's reach, Mark pulled you onto his lap. You straddled his legs, and your hands rested on his sweaty pectorals for support. Mark didn’t say anything, only holding onto your hips—doing what his variants were doing not that long ago. He could feel cum leaking out of your gaping hole, coating his happy trail and pubic region.
“Are you—ahh!” You choked, the air being punched out of your lungs as your ass was split open again. Your head tilted back from shock, and your eyes rolled back when Mark began to jackhammer. You could hear his heavy balls slapping against your ass, fapping mixed with wet squelching as the variant’s loads leaked with each aggressive thrust.
Mark growls like a possessed man, wrapping his arms around your waist and bouncing you on his dick and panting heavily as he fucked your sloppy hole. He could feel his variant’s cum sloshing and coating his dick with each thrust and feel the fluids leak, but he ignored and focused solely on you.
His eyes settled on your exposed neck, and a scowl crossed his face. Your neck was littered with marks and puncture wounds, with some caked dried blood—courtesy of Sinister. Without hesitation, he darted for your neck, feverishly and purposefully covering the variant’s claim. Biting and sloppily licking, his tongue lapped before he sank his teeth into your skin.
This was a welcome change. Mark had never been like this, opting for more vanilla and gentler sex, but now he was a man consumed by primal desires. He wasn’t holding back anymore. You could feel his dick ramming directly into your prostate, your dick flopping as he bounced on his shaft. You gasped as you felt his teeth sink into your skin, drawing some blood, which in turn caused you to clench around him.
Mark let out a guttural groan, encouraging him to thrust, but he wasn’t going to last long. His dick was sensitive from jerking off and cumming massive loads—surprising how he managed to control his impending orgasm. His thrusts become slow, but long and deep.
When one final thrust, Mark slammed you onto his shaft, holding you there with his fingers digging into your hips as his dick spurted another generous amount of thick, Viltrumite seed—joining the other variants. Both of you let out moans and groans. Having been drained, your dick only spurted a watery load onto Mark’s hardened, muscular chest.
You collapsed against Mark’s chest, your breathing broken and stuttering as you were officially spent. There was a wet plop as Mark pulled out, his cum oozed out of your hole. The room was silent except for the labor breathing.
“Guess he isn’t a pussy and has balls,” Mohawk commented, wiping his dick clean with a towel. “Was kinda hot watching though.”
“What?” Sinister said, a bewildered expression on his face as Viltrum and Maskless turned to him—even that perked Mark’s attention.
“Pervert, but I expected that from you.” Maskless murmurs. He was looking through your closet, sniffing your clothes, inhaling your delightful scent, before Mohawk said that.
“I call bullshit, I can’t be the only one!”
“You’re alone on this one,” Sinister replied. Mohawk rolls his eyes.
Vilrum stayed silent, but he did get turned on from watching you. Your moans were music to his ears, something he could listen to for hours.
You were completely out of it, resting against Mark’s warm chest as he soothed your aching muscles. You could say you deserve a pat on the back for single-handedly reducing the destruction of the world by fucking the remaining variants.
Mark didn’t say anything. He was soothing you while his gaze focused on the others, watching their moves. Sinister grins at him, bearing his teeth, while Mohawk gives him the middle finger. Maskless was busy burying himself in your closet, and Viltrum stood and looked around your room.
“So, this is where you've all been?” A voice sliced through the quaint room. This new voice grabbed your attention. The newcomer had a cold and disciplined voice, weirdly calm as well.
“Aww, come on, you already defiled him? I wanted to be the one! It's been so long.” Another voice spoke. This one sounded bratty and aggressive, the opposite of the other one.
You slowly reeled your head to the entrance of your room. Your jaw dropped; there were four more variants.
One had a suit similar to Omni-Man’s—he even has that father-like tone. He stood tall with a serious but flat expression. His arms crossed as he examined the scene before him. Standing next to him was another variant with stripes and the Viltrum insignia embedded on his shoulders. He had a sadistic smile as he looked over your naked body, licking his lips.
“It's really you…” A deep and raspy voice said. This variant was more noticeably different than the others. He looked bulkier and more muscular than the others, but he sported deep, jagged scars. His skin looked scorched and veiny, and his eyes were covered by black visors that looked as if they were fused to his sockets. His attire looks like a prisoner's clothing.
The last one was silent, but you could feel his gaze. He wore a black-and-blue suit with a mask covering his face. He seemed like a phantom. He’s just standing there, menacingly; watching and waiting. You could only think of one thing:
“Oh god. There’s four more.”
The End
Author’s note: Hello, my strawberries! This is the longest fic I’ve ever written by a long shot—two months in the making. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to this level. There is more content with Mark coming in the future! That’s something I’m excited for.
Art works belongs to this user on twitter!
Special thanks to my proofreader: @sagethegaywitch
I'm free from school... Break..! I finally whisper.. as I'm dragged to a one-month trip.... // Again,, mohawk and lensless very inspired by louisdoner69 on twt :happy:
