For some reason that’s the cover that consistently ended up being the most liked/popular across everywhere I posted them and also the one that got stolen just abominable amounts
It’s also the one I kept seeing the most in fic banners when I kept searching for xreader fics on here lmao (I am not mad about those types of reposts as much cause after all the fics I read from all of yall for free it felt like some sort of payment was in order lol)
Idk why specifically he is specifically so universally loved but I am not complaining
Random but what do we think about all the mark variants going through no nut November and what eventually makes them crack (reader)?
FINALLY getting to this :) here we go
Sinister Mark
No Nut November is for idiots and simple minded people that are too ashamed to get their dicks wet like he does twice a day, every day. sometimes more if he's feeling extra worked up. when you told him about the ' challenge ' as a joke; he looked pissed that you would even suggest such a thing to him. his lips curled in a sneer, eyes squinted to a low glare that could melt ice.
what? you don't want to fuck him anymore? you think his dick ain't that good enough anymore? fuck that, he's got you in a head lock/ full nelson while fucking you. spitting in your ear about, here is what he thinks about your stupid human challenge.
Mohawk Mark.
He took that No Nut November as a challenge to heart. He wanted to prove he's superior enough to go through one month of no touching you or vice versa. A ruler such as himself, can do this easily. He sneered in your face when accepting the stupid idea.
what breaks him. . however? He can hear you touching yourself when he's sleeping next to you. The buzz of the vibrator you're using ain't that fucking quiet, and the sloppy pussy of yours wakes him from his dreams. he's got your ankles by your ears, clothes shredded off both your bodies. his first load spurts out extra thick and creamy, just how he likes to leave you filled.
Lens-less Mark.
Does not break. He's gone above and beyond to secure his place in the ' most badass man ' out there by beating this challenge. He's gone above and beyond, he has a cock cage that holds his swollen dick 24/7. Except when he pees, he's extra sensitive. Don't ask how he got it, he's into things that would make your wildest fantasies look like boring and comical. His balls are screaming at him to just touch you, just put the tip in at least for a second. But he endures the pain with a smile, because he knows when he'll cum after this month? It'll burn or sting, and it'll feel so fucking good.
Head Cap Mark.
breaks after a week. it got too boring for him. restrict him? of sex? please. besides, he's gotten tired of you eyeing his bulge in his costume everytime he puts it on. the sixe of it slightly grows larger, you swear, because of your neglect. you and your wandering eyes and doe eyed fucking stare when he talks is enough to shatter his walls.
he breaks when you brush against him. either by accident, like walking past, or you want to taunt him by sliding a hand down his arm when you talk to him. you and your stupid eyes are made to roll in the back of your skull when he has a thumb hooked into your ass while he plows you over the arm of your sofa.
Shiesty Mark
Fuck you and fuck off. He's fucking every single day of the month. If you're trying to egg him on with No Nut November? He'll go sleep with the pretty blonde down the hall with massive knockers and the too short skirt that lifts up at the smallest of breezes.
Omni- Mark.
Take this very seriously. He sleeps in another room to avoid even touching you. Completes almost the whole month of No Nut November until you're the one to actually whine and beg for sex. he makes you drop to your knees, hands pawing at his cape like a wounded puppy.
he fucks you to shut you the hell up when your whining gets too much on his nerves. he fucks you because you don't get on your knees for him enough.
Fully Masked Mark.
Breaks after half a day. you feel bad for even joking about the challenge, the look in his eyes makes your heart squeeze.
lil sweetie can't handle not touching you, smelling you, kissing you, licking you, biting you, tasting y---
take your clothes off. he needs to feel you again. so what if you two have already screwed three times already. he needs you again.
🂹 "Where you know me from, I'm lost? Man you about to make me get off."
♥︎ SYNOPSIS Invincible variants get his with some amnesia power, the only way for them to remember is well... to fuck you...again. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This is part two with the other variants, here's part one
♥︎ FEATURING Omni Mark, Viltrumite Mark, and Shiesty mark
♥︎ TAGS Gender neutral reader, memory loss, smut, angst, attempt at humor, shiesty just funny to me idk lol, oral, penetration, public sex, hand job, manhandling.
♥︎ A.N "Dear lord would you please have mercy? Rock hard bi- on me twerkin" Song is stuck in my head I stg.
OMNI MARK losing his memory is the worst possible thing to happen to you. Especially since you cut ties with him after he conquered earth. You didn't have a choice, he just wasn't the Mark you knew anymore. He didn't take it well. Not at all. The love he once had for you turned into boiling hate and regret.
So when he appeared in your bedroom you were prepared to die.
You weren't prepared for his gentle touch of his hand tracing the line of your jaw. Or the look of love in his eyes.
"y/n...my love." Mark's thumb traces your bottom lip.
My love? This moment would be sickingly sweet if it wasn't for the fact that you're not his anymore.
"Mark...I'm not-" You start, the quiver in your voice matching the shiver of your body.
"Shhh it's okay, we don't have to do that tonight if you're not in the mood."
Do what?! Now you're so confused. Is he trying to get back with you? Does he think you're still together?
Does he have amnesia or something?
"Mark what are you-!" He pulls you into a hug. It takes you by surprise, you haven't seen him in months. Haven't heard his voice in forever. He inhales your scent, holds you like you're precious because he's scared to lose you. You hate to admit it but a small part of you like it. That same part of you yearns to have him back.
And wanting him back scared you so much. But not enough to stop him from kissing you. The brush of your lips against his sets off butterflies in your stomach. There's zero space between you and him, and yet he wants you closer.
It feels like a sick twisted version of heaven being with him like this again. The kiss deepens until for some reason he stops and pushes you back down on your bed.
That gentle look in his replaced with something much colder. That memory of you leaving him just resurfaced.
And now it feels like you broke his heart twice. But this time he'll fix it. This time he won't let you leave. Especially not with the way he's fucking you in a full nelson. You can't escape the pleasure and you don't want to. It's his name that you should have been screaming all this time. It's his dick that you should have been taking. It's his hand around your neck that you've missed so much.
It was always supposed to be him. It was always supposed to be this way.
And it's this way it's going to stay.
This time he'll make sure you'll never leave again.
VILTRUMITE MARK has no idea where he is right now. This isn't Viltrum. Everyone here is so kind and helpful, and weak. Why is this species so weak? That's not even the important part. The important part here is why do you know who he is? He's never been to this planet before, at least he thinks he hasn't. So why do you, a very attractive inhabitant of this planet, know his name?
"Mark, are you okay?" You look so afraid for his safety which confuses him even further. He's a viltrumite, no one stands a chance fighting him so why are you so scared? "Baby you look a little dazed..."
Baby?! Why did you just call him that?
"Who are you?" He stares down at your worried expressions that only worsens.
"Um y/n...? Is this a bad attempt at a joke?" You grin. Why is your smile so pretty? "You never joke around so something is definitely wrong."
"How do you know me?" He grabs your arm rougher than what you're used to.
"Mark you're my boyfriend, what do you mean?"
Your his lover? You mean to tell him he fell in love on this planet? He doesn't believe a word you're saying. Then you gently grab his face and look into his eyes with a softness that makes him falter. Why he's letting you do this, who knows but it feels nice. Mark ignores the pounding of his heart in his chest. He's not here to fall in love with your charming voice, captivating eyes, or soft touch.
But he does for a second time.
"Do you have amnesia? Is that what he did to you?" You ask. One second he's fighting some rando and the next he's acting like he doesn't know you. He has no clue what you're talking about and honestly he doesn't really care. He has orders to procreate with a species as close to viltrumites as possible and that's what you look like. Out of some random impulse Mark decides to kiss you. If you're who you say you are there shouldn't be a problem.
And there isn't. You have no problem getting on your knees in some random alley way, your hands locked onto his thighs as he shoves his hard dick down your throat. Looking down at you, your eyes teary and cheeks hollowed out Mark mentally scolds himself. How could he ever forget you, the first person to make him blush and see stars. He buries a hand into your hair, using it to pull your mouth up and down on his length.
He knows you can take it, you always do but a small part of him feels bad. First he completely forgot who you were and now he's using your mouth like a fleshlight. Not a single complaint comes out of you though. Because once he finishes he always returns the favor, how could he not give the most mind numbing head to his one and only?
SHIESTY MARK was a complete idiot before he got amnesia and a even worse one with it. You were helping him fight some poor hero, not that he needed help you just like watching. It was fun until Mark got hit with some kind of blast and let the hero get away. Now Mark looks all confused for some reason.
"Mark you okay?" You ask, tapping him on the shoulder.
You can't see his expression but you can tell he's looking at you weird.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Huh?" You reach out for him but he steps back. "Mark what are you talking about?"
"Look hot-stuff either you start explaining how you know my name or else you're dead."
You completely ignore his threat because the whole he reason he likes you so much is because he can't kill you so easily. Mark always talks so big but you know who's really underneath all that talk.
"Mark you're my fucking boyfriend, what do you mean how do I know your name?" You start to think maybe he has amnesia or something.
"Wait boyfriend?....Actually...you're starting to look familiar..." His hand placed on his chin as if he's thinking.
"Really?" You ask surprised, this was easier than you thought.
"Fuck no." Ah. Of course he's not gonna believe you. "No way I'm falling for that sweetheart"
You grimace at his use of pet names, you forgot how lowkey cringe he was when you first met him. How you fell in love with him is a mystery even to yourself. You start to grow irritated with this whole amnesia situation, honestly it's just annoying.
You reach out and grab his flowy mask that you love hate so much, pulling Mark closer to you. He grunts, surprised at not only the contact but at how strong you are too.
"Maybe an ass-kicking might jog your memory then? Huh, Grayson?" In his eyes you're a sexy stranger with a temper who looks like they could beat his ass and nothing is more arousing than that to him.
"I got a better idea." His hands snake down your sides, thumbs drawing circles on your hips. You can see a smirk under his stupid mask and you start to catch his drift.
Of course even after losing his memory he's still down to fuck.
You often pretend it annoys you but you're just as sex addicted as he is. You pull his mask to the side and crash your lips onto his. Mark hungrily kisses you back, before you can really get into it he pulls away.
"Mark wha-"
"Holy shit you weren't lying!" He says a little too happy.
"No shit I wasn't lying, dumbass!" You were about to punch his arm until you ask him how he knows that.
"Seems like some good lovin' is the cure babe." His lips drag down your neck. "Only way to know is if we test it out yeah?"
His theory passes the test with flying colors. Apologies for forgetting you fall from his lips along with his moans from your hand jerking him off. "M' sorry babe..f-fuck...yeah keep going." Mark's head rests on your shoulders, his hands drag up and down the curve of your back. His touch once soft and caressing now desperate and clawing once you stop stroking him, your fingers clenched around the head of his weeping erection.
"You? Sorry? Nah I don't believe you." Such teasing words whispered in his ears. Mark's cockiness and hot-headed exterior dissipates the second he's in your hands, no one else could ever make him feel like this. No one could ever challenge him the way you do, and for you he'll lose every time. "You gotta show me baby, c'mon fuck my hand real good and I'll let you fuck me next."
The last part of your sentence barely gets out and he's already thrusting into your hand.
You vow to kill whoever gave him amnesia, how dare they try and take him away from you? Mark is a idiot sure.
Please. Your art style is so good. I'm a Tumblr newb and I saw your Len art pop up, missed the chance to follow you, THEN SPENT THREE DAYS TRYING TO FIND IT AGAIN. 🤣 (How can I be so bad at this oml. 😨)
I hope it's not a bother to ask, but if you have time, would you do a doodle of stupid pyjama boy Shiesty Mark? I have totally normal, absolutely sane levels of affection for him. 🥹🥰
Dw i often face the same problem trying to find people i know on tumblr too, IT IS A PAIN but ty for liking my art ‼️ 💗
Anyway, here’s your beloved Shiesty, thank you so much for the request 🙆♀️🙆♀️🩷. I’ve been looking for an excuse to point out how funny his lack of gloves is and this was perfect
Pookie if you write for shiesty Mark I'd like for him to be down bad for reader but denying it because he needs to keep his alpha male aura 😌
You never know what life will bring. Like an angry labubu.
For him, love was nothing but a nuisance. It wasn't like fighting, it didn't give you that rush of adrenaline, and it certainly didn't let him prove his own strength. No, it just slowed you down. He utterly loathed the very thought of falling in love and spending his time thinking about someone. Yet here he was, doing exactly that.
"Mark, what are you doing?" you asked, lifting your head from your phone to face the massive shadow looming over you. You hadn't expected him to pop out of nowhere while you were sunbathing, but at the very least you didn't want him standing there like a tree, blocking the sun.
Sucking his curious gaze back beneath his mask, he crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you doing? Ever heard of skin cancer, you pathetic loser?"
You slid your sunglasses down to the tip of your nose. "Do I look like a grade school dropout to you?" your voice was thick with disbelief and mockery. It was the exact kind of tone that made him want to rip his own heart out and drop to his knees to hand it to you. He tightened his grip on his arms, as if that physical movement could stop him from doing something so desperate.
"It's 37 degrees out here, dumbass."
With a heavy sigh, you rolled your eyes and went back to your phone, your thumb scrolling across the screen. "Instead of wasting my money at a tanning salon, I wanted to keep some cash in my pocket. Is that too much to ask?"
"Yes." he barked. You reached out, using your hand to shove his abs away. "Don't you have somewhere else to be, dude? Come on, get out of here."
From that day on, you didn't see him around for a while. Honestly, this wasn't anything new, but a part of you couldn't help but feel like he was being petty. Lying inside the tanning bed, you shrugged your shoulders, basking in the sweet, deep warmth soaking into your bones. You could worry about Mark after you enjoyed this.
"It's not like he's going to go off and die somewhere." just then, the sound of the lid opening abruptly cut off the heat that had been caressing your skin. You lifted your protective goggles, ready to glare at whoever ruined your peace, only to lock eyes with that familiar blue mask holding the lid up. You sighed in sheer exhaustion. "I wish you would go off and die somewhere...off Mark, what are you doing here?"
"I should be asking you that,what the hell are you doing here? Your survival instincts are like a baby's cheek—the smoothest kind." he said, clearly expecting you to get up. But you didn't budge. "Can you shut that thing? You really have a gift for ruining a good mood. Besides, where the hell have you been this whole time?"
You glanced around the room, looking for any sign of the salon owner. There was no one. They probably wouldn't dare come in anyway. Great. Mark didn't even bother answering your question. "Have you never watched Final Destination, you idiot? Lately, you seem way too eager to get fried like a hamburger."
You slapped your hands over your face harder than necessary. You were never going to understand this guy.
On another day, worn out by a different kind of exhaustion, you stared at the figure standing in front of you, covered in far more blood than you were. You furrowed your brows. He was doing it again. He had fought with everything he had to protect you, acting as if it were nothing. If it were anyone else you'd call it good intentions but this was Mark. A guy who wouldn't hesitate to curse out a baby. You pointed an accusing finger at him.
He pointed at himself as if you had just deeply insulted him. "Me?" It came out more like a challenge than a question. Mark let out a scoffing, dry laugh. "You're delusional."
Before you could even talk back, a bloody Viltrumite corpse crashed to the ground right behind him. He didn't even glance at it. Staring at your fed up expression, he settled for muttering a curse under his breath.
You knew he was strange, he wasn't normal. You tried to get used to it or rather you tried to ignore most of it. But here he was, pushing your buttons yet again. You had only been being honest because you were in a good mood—a minor mistake, let's say of mentioning how attractive some guy passing by was. Instantly, like a rapper dropping a diss track, he started spitting roasts about the guy's traits.
"Him? He's as weak as a plastic bag blowing in the wind. Can't even fight. And besides," he swung his hand aggressively toward the direction the guy had walked. "His jawline is completely asymmetrical."
Sitting in your swivel chair, you slowly turned to face him. Your gaze carried the weight of pure, absolute wisdom. "Mark," you said, he instantly snapped his attention to you—how you wished he wasn't wearing that mask right now. "Is there a slight chance that...you actually love me?"
"I wouldn't fucking love you even if I got fucked!" Despite the mask, he recoiled while clutching his cheek in shock from the slap he had just received. "Fuck your lies, fuckhole!" Despite the table between you, you jumped on him and the people around barely tried to stop you. And he, with the effect of the slap he took, his heart had burned and gone like crazy. With the shock brought by love, he had just stayed open to your attack like that. The next day, you saw yourself in the news presented like a wild human.
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.
Hello!! this is just a silly request of a idea that spawned in my head, what about a Sinister Mark (+ variants) with a male or gn Reader, they're in a 'healthy' (as healthy as it can be if they're unhinged/fucked up), like, every variant had a reader that either die or they accidentally kill them, main mark reader is dead and is just that Sinister mark is the only one with a alive reader? (english isn’t my first language so sorry for any errors, i just imagine Sinister all smug that he has a living reader)
THE LAST ONE STANDING
pairing sinister! mark grayson x gender neutral reader (+ variants)
what happens when you're the only one left alive across every dimension? ask the eight broken marks trailing behind you—or better yet, ask your mark, the one who saved you. the one who watches with a smirk as his variants crumble at the sight of you: breathing, laughing, his.
that’s the thing that sets him apart from the rest—the other marks, the ones who stagger in from broken dimensions like starving dogs, fists clenched and eyes hollow with grief. they’re here to burn this world down, to carve their pain into something that bleeds, because what else do they have left? some of them killed you by accident—hands too strong, a battle they couldn’t end fast enough, a mistake they’ll spend eternity choking on. others were just too slow, forced to kneel in your blood, useless as your pulse stuttered out under their fingers. and then there are the worst ones—the ones who chose it, who tore into you themselves because their love was always just another kind of violence.
but your mark?
he didn’t just keep you.
he saved you.
and not in some noble, selfless way—no, this was something hungrier, something possessive and brutal and his. he fought for you like a man clawing his way out of a grave, and he’d do it again. he’d do it a thousand times.
and yeah, he’s smug about it. you feel it in the way his fingers press bruises into your hips when another variant stumbles into your path, all ragged breath and shattered composure. his grin is a blade, glinting in the dim light as they freeze, staring at you like you’re a ghost—alive, warm, his.
"look at that," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, voice dripping with something between pity and triumph. "another one who couldn’t hold onto you."
it should hurt you, seeing any version of mark like this—broken, desperate, ruined. and it does, a little. but there’s something else, too, something dark and curling in your chest as you watch their hands tremble at their sides, fighting the urge to reach for you. for a second, you imagine what it’d be like to see your mark like that—kneeling, shattered, yours in a way that’s more surrender than victory.
the thought makes your pulse jump.
(and from the way his grip tightens, he knows.)
it's been one day since the invincible war started.
now, it was your job to round up all the broken, furious, useless versions of mark before angstrom got them killed. you weren’t an idiot—you saw the writing on the wall. angstrom would toss them aside the second they stopped being useful, and you? you weren’t done with them yet. not when every single one of them looked at you like you were the last drop of water in a desert, starving and pathetic and yours to play with.
convincing them to abandon their posts wasn’t hard. all it took was a look, a smirk, the barest hint of come with me if you want to live wrapped in something softer. they followed like strays, hungry for whatever scrap of attention you’d throw their way.
you weren’t stupid enough to think your mark wouldn’t notice, of course. he’d let you wander, let you have your little game—because he knew, in the end, you’d always come back to him. but until then? you were going to enjoy yourself.
so far, you’d collected eight.
there was the mohawk-and-piercings variant, all sharp edges and sharper desperation, playing at indifference while his eyes tracked your every move like you might vanish if he blinked. you later find out that he had a harem of people who looked like you, but he had killed them off because every time they made a mistake (whether they didn't laugh the way you did, didn't stand their ground in situations where you would, didn't look at him the same way you did), it would break the immersion, and the grief would hit him ten times harder. the veiled one—arrogant bastard, vulgar as hell, fingers twitching like he wanted to grab you by the throat or pull you into his lap, never deciding which. pretended not to give a shit until something so much as scratched you or inconvenienced you, then he was the first one ripping throats out. hypocrite. the fully masked one in black and blue—no skin, no tells, just the slight tilt of his head when you spoke, like he was recording your voice to replay later. soft-hearted idiot. still talked about his dead mom like she might walk through the door, still smiled when remembering dumb childhood games. you made sure to keep him close. not because you cared. just because he’d be the first to get himself killed otherwise.
the goggle-less one was a riot—literally. his eyes too wide, too raw, like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. but he adapted quickly. cracked jokes mid-battle, laughed when punches landed, blood in his teeth and excitement in his eyes like pain was just another way to get off. you’d never admit it, but his shitty one-liners sometimes got a smirk out of you. the maskless variant didn’t joke. didn’t smile much either. just floated there like a kicked dog, staring at you with this hollow look while casually mentioning how he’d torn his father apart piece by piece for killing you. you approved, of course. even combing your fingers through his hair and watch his expression light up, a soft pink hue dusting across his cheeks as he looked at you like you just kissed him. you might've. you might've not. the red-and-white cape bastard was ice personified—monotone voice, cold eyes, the kind of guy who’d call genocide "mildly inconvenient." but his hands shook when you got too close, and that? that was hilarious. "you were the only tolerable thing on this rock," he’d muttered once, like it physically pained him to admit it. or to remember. pathetic. so deliciously pathetic.
and finally—the hardest one to crack. the viltrumite. white uniform, perfect posture, face like carved stone—until you flew in. then his jaw clenched so tight you could hear his teeth grind. called you a liability. a distraction. liar. this one missed you so much it was practically rotting him from the inside out. raised on viltrumite dogma but still clung to that last shred of humanity—you. and when you’d died in his world? that shred had frayed to nothing. now he trailed you like a shadow, silent and watchful, intercepting threats before they even got close. brought you trophies from battles you didn’t even ask him to fight—an old bully’s severed hand, the head of a reporter who had talked shit about you in the news once, even a fucking crown, gently placed on top of your head without a word. his way of saying mine.
(you wore it for a few hours just to watch his pupils blow wide. worth it.)
now, they were all yours. for now. your mark would come eventually—he always did—but until then? you had a whole collection of broken toys to play with.
(and when he did? well. you’d make sure that was fun, too.)
and just like that, the day was over.
playtime was supposed to be over. but since when did you ever follow the rules?
your mark’s face was priceless—confusion flickering across his features as you landed at the agreed spot, trailing eight battered, bruised, and entirely too attached versions of himself behind you like some fucked-up parade. the air shifted the moment you got closer, thick with tension and something dangerously close to jealousy. you could see it in the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his pupils dilated just slightly as you stopped right beside him, close enough that your shoulders brushed.
"had fun?" he asked, voice low, teasing, but with an edge underneath—like he already knew the answer and wasn’t sure if he wanted to punish you for it or praise you.
you grinned, sharp and unrepentant. "oh, you have no idea."
his lips curled, slow and satisfied, and for a second, it was just the two of you—his hand sliding possessively around your waist, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, "good." because he loved this. loved that you came back. loved that you wanted to. loved that even when he let you wander, you always found your way back to him.
the other marks didn’t move. didn’t speak. some stared at you like they were starving, fingers flexing like they wanted to reach out and take. others looked like they were one wrong breath away from snapping, from tearing you apart just so no one else could have you.
your mark’s grip tightened, just enough to bruise.
he wouldn’t let them try.
you weren’t naive. you knew exactly what he was—what this was. his love was teeth against your throat, a hand around your wrist, a promise whispered in the dark that sounded more like a threat. it was obsession, all-consuming and violent, and you? you fucking reveled in it. you never flinched. never backed down.
because you were just as bad as he was.
"missed you," you muttered, just for him, just to watch his eyes darken.
he laughed, soft and dangerous, and pulled you closer. "liar."
(you were. but he loved that about you, too.)
the red-and-white variant scoffed, turning sharply so his cape snapped like a whip behind him. "this is beneath us." his voice was ice, but the leather of his gloves groaned under the pressure of his clenched fists, betraying him.
the mohawk-and-piercings variant barked out a laugh, sharp and jagged. "what in the actual fuck is this?" he sneered, arms crossed so tight over his chest it looked like he was trying to physically restrain himself from reaching for you. "some kinda twisted harem fantasy? fuckin’ disgusting." but his eyes—dark, hungry, jealous—never left where your mark’s hands gripped you.
the maskless one was silent. just staring, his expression hollow, fingers twitching at his sides like he was already imagining the way your mark’s throat would collapse under his grip.
the veiled mark dragged a hand through his hair, laughing—a bitter, broken sound. "oh, this is fucking rich," he spat, voice thick with something between fury and desperation. his fingers jerked toward you before he forced them into fists, knuckles white. "you really dragged us all here just to watch you play house with him?"
viltrumite mark didn’t speak. didn’t move. just watched, his face carved from stone—but you saw it. the way his jaw flexed when your mark’s fingers pressed possessive bruises into your hip. the flicker of pain in his eyes, raw and aching, before he locked it away.
something twisted in your chest. guilt? pity? you couldn't imagine what it was like to lose someone—really lose them—and for a second, you wondered what you’d do if it were your mark gone. if you were the one standing there, hollowed out and desperate.
but then—
the way they looked at you. pathetic. submissive. like they’d fall to their knees if you so much as crooked a finger. and god, the thought of them breaking further—lips trembling, eyes wet, soft whimpers escaping no matter how hard they bit down—sent a thrill down your spine.
your mark smirked against your temple, his kiss burning like a brand. "cute," he purred, voice thick with mock pity as his fingers tangled possessively in your hair. "look at them—really thought they stood a chance." his lips curled into something vicious as he glanced at the broken reflections of himself, his grip on you tightening just enough to make his point. "weak. all of them. couldn’t even keep what was theirs."
you leaned into him, arms locking around his waist like a claim of your own, sighing as his other hand traced down your spine—gentle in a way that would’ve seemed impossible for anyone else. but this was yours. the way his touch lingered, the way his voice dropped into something warm and honeyed when he spoke only to you. "not you, though," he murmured, lips brushing your forehead. "you’re perfect. mine. only one smart enough to stay alive."
his grin sharpened as he looked back at the others, drinking in their rage, their grief, the way their hands shook at their sides. "bet that stings, huh? seeing what you could’ve had if you weren’t such fucking failures?"
you laughed, low and satisfied, pressing closer just to watch their expressions crack—
and something sick twisted in your chest when you saw how they flinched, how their eyes burned with something raw and starving. because that sound—your laugh, bright and fucking alive—it had been years for them. years of silence, of bloodstained hands and empty beds and the ghost of your voice haunting every battle. and now here you were, curled against him, looking at him like he hung the goddamn stars while they rotted in the periphery.
(and oh—the way their faces twisted. like they wanted to scream. like they wanted to beg. like they’d burn the world down just to tear you away from him.)
(they wouldn’t. couldn’t.)
(your mark would make sure of it.)
hey chat!! hope you enjoyed this messy little 2.1k word dump—this fic fought me like a rabid raccoon and had me struggling the entire time not gonna lie 😭 sorry anon if it's not exactly what you pictured, but i tried my best to make it deliciously messy for you!
(lowkey viltrum mark kept stealing the spotlight in my drafts like the favourite he is—had to physically restrain myself from writing 5k words of just him sigh. the struggle was REAL y'all)
BUT OMG THOSE LAST LINES WITH SINISTER MARK??? even i was kicking my feet and giggling like an idiot while writing that possessive bastard's dialogue heheh
