#omni-mark

[red-rift]

I can take them all

( not in a fight )

[tmswritesfanfics]

How would the mark variants treat a childhood friend turned girlfriend that became blind before childhood was over? Like how would mark treat his childhood love going blind, by adulthood shes totally blind, and how would his variants treat the same situation?

I can imagine the protectiveness going through the roof, and imagine the variants trying to hide how ugly the world outside is. I wonder which would even care that you are blind, try to help, and which would consider being blind perfect for their plaything. Harder to run away if you can't see.

There is an argument to be made that those who are born blind have it easier than those who go blind. People who were born with imperfect sight have not seen how light disperses between the ocean waves, and so they don’t fear losing that small happiness. 

God can be cruel. 

He had given you eyes that saw how the sun refracts through the tide, the way fireworks light up an evening sky and bring joy to everyone who witnessed their fleeting existence. God gave you Mark Grayson, with his toothy grin and honey eyes that sucked you right in. Now you may never see those things again.

Retinitis Pigmentosa. Genetic. Non-fatal, but incurable. Most people don’t completely lose their vision, but there the chances of total blindness is non-zero. 

The ride home from the hospital was unbearable. Your dad cracked a few lame dad jokes every now and then, but you saw how his finger tapped the steering wheel every time he stopped the car for a red light. Your mom looked like she was going to break down at any moment. But she stayed quiet, tense, but quiet and unable to look at you. The air was awkward and the tension gnawed at your nerves. No one cried. 

As soon as the car reached the garage, you made a hasty exit, spouting something about meeting with Mark for a special movie premiere, then ran straight for the Graysons’ home. 

Lucky for you, your friend answered the door. You didn’t have to worry about breaking down in front of an adult.

“Wanna go to the park?” You tried to play it cool.

Mark cocked an eyebrow at you. It was already sunset. But he knew you long enough to notice your stiff shoulders, that expression in your face that looked like one wrong word would make you fall to your knees, sobbing.

So he kept the questions to himself, stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Now here you two were. Two kids in a mostly empty playground meant for much younger children. At least the swingset chairs were big enough for you. 

“So…” Mark started after ten minutes of silence, “any special news you wanna tell me or did you just really miss the park?”

You stared at the overgrown grass, the tall trees Mark loved to climb, the colorful picnic tables lined next to each other. Without turning to him, you finally spoke, “We just got back from the doctor.”

Mark stomped the heels of his yellow sneakers to stop the momentum of his swing. His eyes were wide. “You’re not–”

“I’m not dying,” you cut him off. “But I am sick.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I won’t be able to see much at night, my vision won’t be… it will take a lot of effort to adapt to what I have right now. Oh, and cherry on the sundae? I could go blind, like actually blind.” You bent your elbows on your knees. “Doctor said it’s going to be slow, which I don’t know how to feel about.”

Mark was silent, trying to think. It was hard to understand for someone so young. Kids and teenagers are prone to feeling immortal, untouchable, and they can’t wrap their heads around the concept of disease, especially when it’s not affecting them directly.

But then you hid your face in your hands. Your entire body shook with each sob as he heard you cry out to a God who failed you. 

And Mark understood. 

His fingers gripped tightly around the metal chains of the swing. He didn’t know how to comfort you right now. Should he hug you? Pat your back?

But he couldn’t bring himself to do those things. Not now. 

Instead he made a promise. 

“Y-you said it won’t be an instant thing, right?”

Vaguely, he saw you nod your head.

“That’s great then! W-we can make as many memories as we can before the worst case happens.”

You wiped your tears and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Make a list of all the things you want to see and experience, that way we can see all of them before… before you know.”

You gave him a small smile and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

He was taught that humans are weaker than his kind, but it was only after hearing about your disease did he understand. You’re weak. Delicate. Vulnerable. Getting his powers certainly didn’t help. You are too delicate. You can’t be left alone for too long. When he has a job that requires leaving for a planet that is lightyears away he takes you with him. But if it’s safer to keep you inside your home then there will be soldiers guarding every corner and servants answering your every beck and call. He doesn’t trust others to look after you, but he trusts your human body even less, it has already failed you. 

VILTRUMITE, flaxan, target

This is perfect! This way you’re all his. Sure, he feels bad that you lost something precious, but that’s why he is here–to fill the void. Mark makes you depend on him, makes it so that you cannot live in a world where he is not by your side. He scares away all your friends, isolates you from your family, convinces you that they’re tired of you, that you are too much work. But he’s here, he will protect you, provide for you, and keep you happy. And you are happy, or at the very least, satisfied. So you don’t ask him about what’s happening outside the home he built just for you. You pretend that you don’t notice how your devices cannot access the news anymore, or call anyone who wasn’t Mark. You no longer pester him for the cure that he promised you years ago. He is your everything now. 

full mask, maskless, SINISTER, no goggles, prisoner

He is understanding and kind, but he doesn’t treat you like you’re broken. He makes occasional blind jokes because he knows you can take it, that laughing at yourself and your situation helps. He is perfect. Too perfect for a Mark. Truth is that he is scared shitless of everything. One false move and he can lose you forever, not just to some idiot rebel or monster of the week, but to something as stupid as a wet floor. He’s not just concerned about your physical health but also your mental wellbeing. So he hires actors and builds a paradise on a different planet, an illusion of what you thought Earth is like, what Earth used to be. He doesn’t need shapeshifters, only aliens who speak human language and human slaves who want to be free from hard labor. 

head cap, MOHAWK, shiesty, OMNI

image lifted from: https://gamerant.com/invincible-all-alternate-dimension-invincibles-fates/

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

[lazy-ahh]

hihihi I love your work, can you do a omni mark x a hero make reader

COLD HANDS, WARM HEART

pairing omni! mark grayson x (superhero) male reader

winter always made your bones ache. the cold seeped into old scars, the silence pressed too close, and patrols felt longer without someone to share the quiet with. until him—until mark, with his sharp edges and sharper tongue, started showing up uninvited. until his cape became your blanket, his gloved hands your warmth, and his presence the one thing that made the cold feel worth enduring.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro , @cynvia

the winter air bites at your skin, sharp and unrelenting as you perch on the edge of the rooftop, your breath curling in front of you in hazy puffs of white. you watch the mist dissolve into the night, fleeting, like so many things in this city. below, the streets pulse with life—neon signs painting the snow-dusted sidewalks in streaks of pink and gold, laughter spilling out from packed bars, couples huddled close under shared scarves. your gaze lingers on a family of four, the parents tugging their kids along, their cheeks flushed from the cold, their laughter bright and unburdened. something warm flickers in your chest despite the chill.

you hate winter. always have. it’s too quiet in the worst ways, too full of memories that cling like frost—cold hospital rooms, the hollow silence after sirens, the way grief settles like snow, heavy and suffocating. but nights like this? they make it worth it. if braving the cold means people get to go home safe, if it means kids get to keep laughing like that, then you’ll freeze on this rooftop every damn night.

stretching your arms above your head, you roll your shoulders, wincing as the cold stiffens your muscles. patrol’s been quiet tonight. too quiet. either a good sign or the calm before the storm.

"you’re slower than usual."

the voice cuts through the silence, smooth as ice, and you don’t even flinch. you’ve gotten used to him appearing out of nowhere—like a shadow given sentience, like the winter itself decided to take shape behind you. your lips quirk into a grin before you even turn around, your breath still fogging the air between you.

"or maybe you’re just getting faster," you shoot back, twisting to face him with a playful tilt of your head.

mark stands there, arms crossed, his red cape barely stirring in the frozen air. the black lenses of his mask give nothing away, but you don’t need to see his eyes to know he’s studying you—that slight tilt of his chin, the way his mouth twitches, just barely, like he’s caught between annoyance and something dangerously close to fondness.

you grin wider, just to see if you can pull that expression out of him again.

"doubtful," he says, but there’s no real bite to it—just that low, measured tone that always makes you want to poke at him until it cracks.

you hop down from the ledge, landing in a crouch before springing up lightly in front of him. the snow crunches under your boots as you straighten, already grinning, your breath a visible puff between you. "what, did you miss me?" you tease, leaning in just enough to invade his space—close enough to watch the way his mask tilts ever so slightly downward to track your movement. "couldn’t resist tagging along on my super thrilling patrol once again?" your voice lilts, all mischief, and you punctuate it with a wink, just to see if you can get a reaction. (you always can. it’s your favorite game.)

"i had nothing better to do," he replies, monotone as ever—but there it is, that tell: the faintest tilt of his head, the way his gloved fingers flex at his sides like he’s stopping himself from reaching out.

"uh-huh. sure. definitely," you draw out the word, slow and syrupy, just to watch his jaw tighten under the mask. you nudge his shoulder with yours as you pass, the contact lingering just a beat too long—his cape brushes against your arm, cold and smooth, but beneath it, you can feel the warmth of him. "well, since you’re here," you call over your shoulder, already breaking into a jog, "you can be my backup. try to keep up."

you don’t look back. you don’t need to. you already know he’s right behind you. you take off running, leaping across the gap to the next building. you don’t need to look back to know he’s right behind you—his presence is like a shadow, steady and inevitable.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

patrolling with mark is... different. not in the way it is with other heroes—no boisterous banter bouncing between fire escapes, no synchronized flips off billboards just for the thrill of it. when it was just you, nights were quieter, lonelier; just the hum of the city and your own breath fogging in the cold as you kept watch from shadowed ledges, a solitary guardian in the dark. you'd learned the rhythm of these streets alone—the way moonlight pooled in alleyways, the particular creak of that one fire escape on 5th, how silence could be either comforting or ominous depending on the hour.

but mark? he moves through the night like he owns it, all silent certainty and effortless power. he doesn't fill the spaces with jokes or pointless chatter, but his presence changes everything. where you used to weave through shadows, now you move through pools of streetlight unafraid. where silence used to sit heavy on your shoulders, now there's the quiet sound of his cape whispering against concrete when he lands beside you. he listens in that intense way of his—head tilted just so, like every word you say is being filed away somewhere important. and sometimes, when you say something particularly ridiculous (usually mid-swing between buildings), you catch it: that tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth, the barest hint of a smirk he thinks the dark hides. (it doesn't.)

you stop a mugging with your usual flair (minimal property damage this time, a new personal best), help a swaying drunk guy who squints up at you with bleary reverence—"you're either a tall an' really ripped angel or i died at the bar. both?"—and even rescue a hissing ball of fluff from a tree.

mark observes it all with his arms crossed, the picture of detached amusement, right up until the moment the terrified feline decides his shoulder is the safest perch in the city. the way he goes perfectly still—back rigid, fingers twitching like he's calculating sixteen different ways to remove the creature without looking like he's fleeing—makes him resemble some ancient statue of a very confused, very murderous saint. you press your lips together so hard they tremble, shoulders shaking with silent laughter you can't quite contain.

"you're wasting time," he says, voice impressively level considering there's now a puffball of claws and fury draped across his shoulders like some bizarre living epaulet. you scratch the cat behind its ears, grinning when it starts purring loud enough to rival a motorcycle engine.

"it's called community service, markus," you croon, dragging out his name like it's some private joke between you. "look it up. chapter four: 'how to not be a grumpy hero 101'."

then, because you've never been able to resist poking the bear (especially when the bear is currently being used as a cat tree), you scoop up the feline and deposit it directly into his arms. the way he freezes is nothing short of art—hands held out like he's been handed a live grenade, shoulders hiking up toward his ears. the cat, sensing his utter lack of cat-holding expertise, takes exactly three seconds to scramble up his chest, use his face as a stepping stone, and plant itself triumphantly atop his head like some fuzzy, self-appointed crown.

you lose it. completely. your laughter bursts out bright and uncontained, head thrown back as you clutch at your sides. tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, and you're pretty sure you look ridiculous—bent double, one hand braced against your knee as you try (and fail) to catch your breath—but you can't bring yourself to care. not when mark is standing there like some bizarre holiday display, all sharp edges and simmering annoyance topped with the world's most self-satisfied cat.

and if you catch the way his mask can't quite hide the way his lips twitch, the way his shoulders lose just a fraction of their usual tension—if you notice how his gaze lingers on you a second too long, like he's memorizing the sound of your laughter, the crinkles by your eyes, the way your nose scrunches up when you're this unbearably happy—well. that just makes you laugh harder, until your ribs ache and your cheeks hurt and the cold night air feels warmer than it has any right to be.

"get it off," he says, voice eerily calm despite the fact that there's now a very smug cat sitting atop the terrifying omni-man successor like it's claimed its rightful throne. the feline kneads its paws against his scalp, purring loud enough to vibrate his mask, and you watch with absolute delight as one of his eyebrows twitches through the mask—the only crack in that perfect veneer of control.

your grin stretches wide enough to hurt, eyes sparkling with mischief as you whip out your phone with a flourish. "nah, i think it likes you," you sing-song, snapping a quick picture of the ridiculous scene. the camera click echoes between you, and you immediately angle the screen to admire your handiwork—mark, all brooding intensity, topped with a fluffy white cat that looks absurdly pleased with itself. "oh this," you declare, tapping at your screen with exaggerated importance, "is going in the hall of fame. right between that time you face-planted into a dumpster and that other time you face-planted into a dumpster."

"delete that." his voice drops into that dangerous register that makes lesser villains wet themselves, but you've never been lesser anything. not in mark's eyes. never in mark's eyes.

you pocket your phone with a wink, leaning into his space until you can see your own reflection in his dark lenses. "make me," you challenge, crossing your arms with all the bravado of someone who absolutely knows they're playing with fire.

he could, obviously. he's faster, stronger, and you're pretty sure he could vaporize your phone with just a glare if he really wanted to. but he doesn't. instead, he just stands there—a living statue of long-suffering patience—with the cat now grooming itself atop his head like it's settling in for the long haul. the way he exhales through his nose is nothing short of cinematic, his entire body radiating the energy of a man replaying every life choice that led him to this exact, undignified moment.

you can't help it—your expression softens into something unbearably fond, lips quirking at the corners as you take in the sight. there's something almost... soft about it, this terrifyingly powerful man letting you get away with this nonsense. your fingers itch to reach out, to brush away the strand of hair the cat has dislodged from its perfect place, but you settle for nudging his shoulder with yours instead, your smile turning warm and just a little bit smug. "alright, come on pretty boy," you murmur, "patrol ain't over yet."

his jaw clenches at the pet name. his chest rises with a breath that's just a fraction too deep, like he's physically holding back everything threatening to spill out—all those carefully guarded words and dangerous feelings that hover between you like static in the air before a storm. the cat ruins it with a dramatic sneeze that sends its whole body shuddering. somewhere in the distance, a siren wails its mournful song, the sound weaving through the city canyons to find you here, in this ridiculous, perfect moment where the most dangerous man you know stands frozen with a disgruntled feline perched on his head like some absurd crown. yep, perfect.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

later, when the city's finally settled into that rare pre-dawn hush and the sky bleeds from inky black to soft violet at the edges, you both find yourselves on your favorite rooftop—the one with the cracked concrete ledge that fits your backs just right, the one that frames the sunrise like it was put there just for you. you sink onto the familiar spot, legs swinging carelessly over the sixty-story drop, and after a beat of hesitation that's more habit than anything, mark folds himself down beside you with that unnatural grace of his.

"thanks for hanging out tonight," you say, bumping your elbow against his ribs with just enough force to make him grunt. your smile is all soft edges now, the playful bravado from earlier melted into something more genuine—lips quirking unevenly, eyes crinkling at the corners as you watch the first streaks of gold cut across his sharp profile. "even if you did complain the whole time."

"i didn't complain." his voice is its usual low rumble, but there's something different about it now—less polished, rough around the edges like he's been awake as long as you have.

you snort, leaning further into his space until your shoulders press together from elbow to elbow. "you exuded complaint. it was very loud." you can feel the vibration of his sigh through the contact, the way his muscles tense and release under your weight. "like, impressively loud. olympic-level silent bitching."

he gives you a quick glance, eyebrow lifting slightly before he looks back at the view in front of him. you almost chuckle. right, forgot about how 'swearing doesn't make you cool'. mark doesn't answer, but then—he doesn't need to. not when he shifts just slightly to accommodate your leaning, not when his cape rustles as he tugs it around your shoulders without being asked. the fabric is still warm from his body heat, carrying that faint ozone-and-leather scent that's become as familiar as your own. you let your head tilt against him, cheek pressing into the curve of his shoulder, and if your heart does something complicated in your chest when he doesn't pull away—well. that's between you and... you.

it's different like this. patrols alone had their own rhythm, sure—the quiet solidarity of watching over a sleeping city, the satisfaction of knowing you were enough to keep the darkness at bay. but with mark? the shadows don't just retreat; they reshape themselves around you both, like the night itself knows better than to interfere. there's safety in the way he moves with you, not behind or in front but beside, always beside, even when he pretends he'd rather be anywhere else.

(especially then.)

his mask is off now, discarded somewhere to your left, and when you sneak a glance up through your lashes, you catch the exact moment a sliver of sunlight paints across his face—gilding the stubborn set of his jaw, the dark sweep of his lashes, the barely-there quirk of his mouth that no one but you would ever think to call a smile.

yeah. you could get used to this.

"you're cold," he mutters, the words rough around the edges like gravel, but his thumb is already brushing over your knuckles—once, twice—as if he could chase the winter from your skin through touch alone.

"yeah, well," you laugh, breath clouding between you in a hazy puff, "not all of us have built-in space heater genes." your fingers flex instinctively toward his warmth, pink-tipped and stiff from the cold, and you don't miss the way his gaze drops to them, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

he huffs—a sound that's almost a laugh, almost surrender—and then, after a heartbeat suspended between you, his hand finds yours properly. his fingers slide between yours with a certainty that steals your breath, his grip firm and steady like an unspoken promise. his palm is furnace-hot against your chilled skin, callouses rough in all the right places, and you can feel his pulse where your wrists press together—steady as sunrise, relentless as tides.

your smile comes unbidden, soft at the edges and brighter than the dawn creeping over the skyline. you squeeze back, just once, just enough to say i know, i know, me too.

and maybe—with his warmth seeping into your bones, with his thumb tracing absent circles over your wrist, with the first golden light of morning gilding the snow-dusted rooftops around you—maybe winter wasn't something to endure after all. maybe it was just the universe holding its breath before handing you this: his hand in yours, the quiet between heartbeats, the slow unfurling of spring hidden in the spaces where your fingers intertwine.

huh. maybe you didn't have to wait for spring as long as you thought.

ayeee!! the writing grind is slowly but surely making its comeback—and honestly? i’m kinda proud of myself for it lol. hope you guys enjoyed this little 2.7k word dose of emotionally constipated omni-mark and his (very patient) disaster of a... 'comrade'. term break starts next thursday for me, which means more time to write, less time to stress (theoretically), and a self-imposed mission to finally tackle that mountain of requests i’ve been hoarding like a dragon with a blank word document. no promises, but maybe… just maybe… i’ll actually finish them soon. (pray for me.)

[gatorbites-imagines]

Idk how much ur into weight gain, but I saw u were thinking about chubby mark again and I love the idea of the variants being like winded . from how much food they've eaten. idk 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ ..

Anon, you speak to me in the voice of a siren.

I get the feeling some folks think I just mean some softness around the middle when I say I like chubby and big characters, not just Mark and his variants. But I like them big, broad and heavy.

Like, I will go blind whenever I see a real bear, not just the people calling themselves a bear. I like guys in all sizes, and they all make me go wild.

And this Anon, this just made the dog in my brain start barking and running in circles. 

Like, what variant do I wanna see like this the most? Sinister comes to mind first, but mostly in a more gorey fashion. Like, you guys were both equally unstable, both villains or whatever, and Sinister gets to gorge himself on flesh and his prey. Just Sinister lounging back, all bloody and satisfied like a lion. He’s panting from just how much he’s indulged, but how could he not, especially when you’ll rub his belly afterwards. 

Or prisoner Mark. We can assume he’s gone a very long time without a healthy diet or access to good food, so now that he has the chance, he overindulges. Prisoner starts eating way too much, maybe even crying from how good it tastes and feels, to finally be full. You don’t comment on it, obviously, since Viltrumites won’t have the same problems as humans, but also cuz he looks so cute, all happy and chubby.  

Prisoner always gets winded after a good meal, having to sit back and breathe. In the beginning he might have started freaking out and feeling disgusted by himself, but all your lover and attention has lessened it. Sometimes you’ll still have to hug him and kiss him and tell him you love when hes happy though. 

Going out on another limb. Omni-Mark gaining weight, and he likes it a little too much cuz it gives him ‘tits’. Sure, he had muscle before, but these are soft and fill your palms differently.  

Empire Mark would be so whiny about being winded from all the eating, but he’s not gonna stop. He like the way it makes him feel, and seeing you happy with it too but he won’t admit that. And, it feels like being worshipped, so of course he likes it even more. 

And the reader just gets to enjoy watching the show. Too many of the variants will insist they can still fit in their original suit, and who are you to tell them that isn’t true, especially when you get to touch whenever you want. 

[mrak0bess]

dawg... i love them so MUCH 😔

[nastsand]

hii um yea im still alive,, am i too late to the invincible trend?? hope not... .. ,

[linkwho1]

I just thought of a good idea, alternate marks x reader fanfic but they’re inspired by Anakin and padme relationship.. I need that BAD ..

[queenofthegay]

❤️💚

If Amber has no haters then I’ve finally succeeded in eradicating them all. I love her so much