Warnings : Grief and loss (pregnancy-related),Multiverse trauma, Strong emotional tension, Mild horror themes (break-in, identity confusion),Physical grabbing (non-sexual, non-violent)Crying, kneeling, emotional collapse, Themes of worship/devotion around pregnancy/
Sinister Mark/Lensless Mark
The news blared on low, the light from the screen bright and bold .
You weren’t even really watching—just listening, praying, holding your belly like it might keep you grounded. Invincible was on the screen. Also known as Mark Grayson…YOUR Mark Grayson.
Your Mark Grayson was on the screen. Bruised. Bleeding. Still fighting in the city with the other heroes.
Still Alive.
Your fingers curled into the blanket over your lap. “Just come home,” you whispered, rubbing your swollen tummy absentmindedly. “Please come home. I need you. WE need you.”
You were seven months pregnant, your days of being a hero put on temporary hold. It had three days since you’d seen Mark. Three agonizing days of praying and worrying for him, Eve, Rex ..everyone. Three days of feeling guilty for not helping save lives.
And as you prayed for a miracle… the air slowly shifted. Cold. Heavy. Familiar in a way that made your stomach twist.
Whoosh.
…Whoosh?
You blinked and a small smile broke across your face as you came to an instantaneous conclusion.
He’s home!
Mark was home!
A shadow moved across the window and the house shook on its foundation. The lights flickered slightly as you moved to get up with a soft grunt, about to waddle slowly towards the front door to meet your husband. But.. before you were even half way off the couch… it exploded of its hinges, wood splintering everywhere.
You let out a little cry of surprise and shock, your movement stuttering to a halt. Your hands flew to your tummy, eyebrows crinkling as splinters rained onto the floor.
He stood in the smoke, panting. Wide-eyed. Dirty. A little bloodied. And completely still. His body was hidden in the shadow…yet You could tell that something was wrong...just not WHAT.
“M-Mark? But why-? How-?”
And you didn’t understand. How could he be here? You turned around to look at the news on the living room TV again—Mark was still fighting. Still on screen. Still fighting for his life. For the world. For you.
You let out a little sound as you heard the man step into the house ..and finally saw him in the light.
It WAS Mark.
Only it …wasn’t. He was more ragged. Like he'd been dragged through hell. The same face ..only harsher and crueler , same body only slightly bigger and tensed with contained energy—everything was off. The eyes. Dark and all consuming. The way he looked at you like you were the last thing he expected and the only thing keeping him standing.
Your eyes looked at him up and down...your brain not wrapping around the fact that this was NOT your Mark.
You barely had time to react before he moved.
Fast.
Predatory.
He was across the room in seconds, grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you up from the couch with force that made your knees buckle. His arms wrapped around you so tightly, like he could crush the truth out of you. Like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
Your breath hitched and you let out a frightened mewl.Your large stomach pressed into his rigid body as you pushed against his chest with shaky palms—.
And he froze, his expression shifting into one of shock.
Not like a man realizing.Like a man shattering.
You didn’t speak.
Was too scared to. Neither did he.
The silence was thick.He held you, stiff and trembling. You were locked against him, trapped in heat and heartbeat and something that felt like panic drowning in longing.
Then—His arms slowly loosened.
You dropped back down to the couch, scooting back against the seat and covering yourself.He didn’t chase you. Just looked down—Eyes fixed on your belly.A slow, agonized breath left him.
And then he dropped to his knees.
No words. No sound. Just him… there. Crashing down to the floor in front of you. Shoulders shaking. Head bowed in reverence.
Like he was praying. Worshipping at your altar.
You trembled and pulled the edge of your sweater down as you looked at him. He didn’t move.
Not until his hands—calloused and cracked—lifted toward you.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please let me…”
He didn’t even finish the sentence before gently, reverently, placing his palms on either side of your belly.
You flinched, too afraid to stop him because if he was anything like your Mark...You could be killed in an instant—But he didn’t press, he didn’t do anything in fact.
“M-Mark…” You said softly, fearfully.
If he heard you he made no move to acknowledge the fact…only sank forward, eyes squeezed shut, resting his forehead against the soft curve of your abdomen like it was sacred.
“You…You’re real…,” he said hoarsely. “God, you’re HERE.”
You opened your mouth to ask what he meant, still dazed and confused —but the pain in his face stopped you. The raw, unchecked emotion made your heart clench.
His fingers trembled where they touched you, holding your stomach like he thought it might slip away.
“You don’t know me,” ‘Mark’ said, finally looking up at you with those sad, sad eyes. “ But I knew you. And you knew me…You were mine…and I loved you. And you died in my arms.”
The world stopped spinning and your heart hammered heavily in your chest.
His lip trembled as he spoke softer now. He looked twenty years older than her Mark.
“You were pregnant then too,” he said. “Not this far along, but I could tell. We’d briefly talked about names...about naming the baby Debbie after mom...and Markus if it was a boy…I kept trying to get you out of the city. Away from Dad...from the dangers of it all...But you wouldn’t leave them behind. You said—” His voice cracked. “You insisted that we couldn’t abandon people who needed help. That it wasn’t right. That if we died, at least the baby would know what we stood for.”
He didn’t move. Still kneeling. Still bleeding, still breathing too fast. Still watching you like you were a memory slipping through his fingers.
“I held you in my arms after I found your broken body in the rubble,” he whispered, voice splintered. “You had used your abilities to save civilians from a crumbling building…but you couldn’t save yourself. Had ran out of energy….I arrived only in time to hear your dying breath. There was so much blood. You wouldn’t stop apologizing. You just kept saying, ‘I’m sorry. I wanted you to meet her. I wanted you to be a dad.' "He choked, both hands gripping your thighs. Rubbing them like he was worried you’d be in pain.
“I told you I was proud of you. That you were brave. That you saved them. That you had given it your all and done the very best you could…But you just cried and told me you were scared.”
A beat.
Two.
You reached out. Slowly. Fingers brushing through his hair—matted and rough and too familiar. You hadn’t realized that you were crying, tears falling down round flushed cheeks, your body shaking with emotion. His whole body shuddered.
“I held you,” he whispered. “I held you until your body went cold and the light faded from your beautiful eyes..and I said your name..Begged for you to wake up. But you were already gone.”
For a while, there was nothing but the sound of his breathing. Deep. Labored. Strangled with grief.
“ Angstrom came then,” he said. “And I soon found myself and other versions of me being hurled through dimensions. Ripped worlds and universes apart ..all of us trying to find you again. I thought—maybe—if I just kept going, I’d find a version of you who lived. Who still had the baby. Who didn’t die because I wasn’t fast ..wasn’t STRONG enough.”
His fingers gripped tighter around your stomach. Then instantly loosened, like he was afraid to hurt you. He looked up again—face wrecked and raw.
“I don’t want to take him from you,” he said. “But… I needed to know you existed. That somewhere, you were safe. That you didn’t die in pain...And now that I’ve found you...I don’t want to lose you again.”
You didn’t speak. You couldn’t as you sobbed softly.
You just...were.
And you wrapped your arms around him. Pressed ‘Marks’ head back to your belly. Let him shake..
He kissed your stomach through fabric. Again. Again. Gentle. Reverent. His lips moved with the kind of worship that didn’t ask for permission because grief had stolen consent a long time ago.
You stayed there for a long time.
No time. No world. Just breath and tears and two people who'd broken in different timelines but still ended up here—together.
"Poor thing!" "Poor, sweet, little thing!" "Oh you poor dear!" "So small! So alone!" "Poor thing!" "What happened with you, huh?" "Poor, sweet human!" A tangle of voices, and a tangle of hands carry you away as the hiveminded individuals swarm towards one of their highly populated cities. Their touch gentle, yet firm as though you had no say in the matter that would sway them.
"Poor thing!" "What are we to do with you?" "Were we that small once? That helpless?" "Poor thing!" "Oh! They're So cute!!" They bring you into one of their well kept 'communal nests' and half bury you amongst the blankets, plushies, and other forms of soft bedding they'd gathered in one place. Some of the other drones pile in next to you, and settle you amongst the sea of buzzing softness. When people mentioned being able to hear the hivemind chatting telepathically amongst themselves, you thought they were simply infected in a slower, more insidious way than most.
But now. Now you can hear it. And it's almost soothing.
-Not a Request Anon
RAAAAGH RAAAAAGH YES YES!!!!
After spending months of running from them, you are finally caught and scooped up into massive arms and carried away. You don’t know how you’re so small, you don’t know why they’ve become this big, but one thing is for sure: these people are definitely not human anymore. The nest they tuck you into is well taken care of and warm, much warmer than the abandoned buildings you’ve been camping out in every night while you listen to them call your name (When did they learn your name? How long has this endless chase been going on?)
They are finally so relieved to have caught you, because now you are safe, you are secure, and you are accounted for. The hive mind does not like not knowing where its members are, and even if you are immune or simply haven’t been infected, you are basically an honorary member at this point, because oh do they adore you. There isn’t even much of a wanting to assimilate you anymore, because you are so loved the way you are, it would be a tragedy to turn you into something that isn’t human. You’re basically a (world-wide) celebrity for the couple hundreds of hive mind members who brought you to their city, and for the rest of the 8 billion people inhabiting the planet and sometimes sharing one mind. No way are they letting you out of their sight now, as they plop you into someone’s lap, whose arms immediately come around you hug you while they coo softly and nuzzle their face into your hair. It’s quite jarring when everyone in the room with you simultaneously starts to purr.
synopsis ; six nights a week, you see him. same time, same order, same smile. you’ve gotten used to the routine—until one night he lingers after hours. suddenly the hum of the freezer feels too loud, the lights too bright, and you start to wonder what exactly he’s been waiting for.
author’s pre-note ; a halloween special for those who celebrate ;)
word count ; 2k
It wasn’t like you weren’t used to it.
It happened every night.
Six nights a week, you worked the night shift at a half-forgotten drive-through that never saw much traffic past ten. The kind of place that smelled like fryer grease and burnt sugar, where the fluorescent lights buzzed louder than the radio. You knew every sound it made by heart – the sputter of the soda machine, the creak of the back door, the hum of the old freezer in the corner.
And then there was him.
He always came in just before midnight, when the roads outside were quiet and the clock above the counter ticked a little slower. Jake. Tall, soft-voiced, with a polite smile that never quite reached his eyes. You only knew his name because you’d asked once, making up some excuse about needing something to call out when the order was ready, even though he was always the only one there. He’d humored you, saying his name in that low, smooth accent you could have listened to for hours.
He always ordered the same thing. The slow-cooked barbecue sandwich that took forever to heat. He’d sit at the table by the window, beneath the flickering neon OPEN sign that painted him in red light. Not like he had many options, really. It was either that, or at the bar which only served mediocre milkshakes – and you didn’t take him for a milkshake kind of guy.
Sometimes you caught him watching the world outside. Other times you swore he was watching you. But you never actually managed to catch him in the act.
You closed at one every night. Wiped the tables, prepped for the following day. It was the same routine every night.
You’d turn off the neon sign above him, letting darkness shroud the booth. And every time you went to flip the battered door sign to CLOSED, he was already gone. No door chime. No footsteps. No shadow slipping past the glass. Just an empty booth, the untouched napkin he always left folded neatly beside his plate.
It happened so often you stopped questioning it.
You sighed, a small weight settling somewhere behind your ribs. Disappointment, maybe. You weren’t sure why. Technically he was just another customer. But lately the quiet felt heavier on the nights he left.
You picked up his plate, balancing it on your palm. You placed the napkin on top of the plate before glancing down at the porcelain. Spotless. You’d swear he licked it clean if you hadn’t been watching him the whole time.
You carried the plate into the kitchen, flicked the switch out of habit. The lights buzzed back to life, too bright after the dim of the dining area. You blinked once, twice. You didn’t remember turning them off.
“Rough night?”
The voice came from behind you. Smooth. Familiar. Far too close.
The plate slipped from your hands before you even turned. It shattered against the tile, a sharp sound cracking through the quiet.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.” His tone was half of an apology, really more like amusement. Jake sat on the counter like he owned the place, arms folded, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
“You—” Your breath caught. “You can’t be back here.” The words came out softer than you intended them to.
“I know.” His head tilted, eyes catching the light. “But you never seem to notice me leave. Thought I’d try something new.”
You didn’t laugh like you usually would. Something about him felt off. Not dangerous. Just not right.
You crouched to gather the shards, muttering about the mess. He moved at the same time, a blur, crouching opposite you.
“I can help,” he said. His voice was so quiet it barely belonged in a place like this.
“You don’t have to—”
You both reached for the same piece of glass. The edge caught your fingertip. Pain bloomed before you could even process what happened.
“Ow.” You pulled back, a thin line of red curling down your skin.
He didn’t move at first. Then his eyes flicked to your hand, and the air changed. His pupils widened until the brown vanished. His lips parted, just slightly. That’s when you saw them.
Fangs.
Not long. Not exaggerated. Just sharp enough to catch the light.
You froze. He turned away so fast it startled you, jaw tight, throat working like he was swallowing words.
“Um,” you said, too high, too quick. “Wow. It’s late. I think I’m hallucinating. Could you, uh, hand me a paper towel?”
He nodded once. His hand trembled when he reached for it.
You pressed it to your finger and, against your better judgment, looked up again.
He wasn’t hiding them anymore. Two faint points where his canines should have been.
Your breath hitched. “Oh,” you whispered. “Oh, shit.”
You scooted back, towel still pressed to your finger. The air felt heavy. Too thick to breathe.
“You’re—” You didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to.
He sat perfectly still, hands braced on his knees. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
You laughed, sharp and nervous. “You say that like it’s something you’ve had to clarify before.”
His mouth twitched. “You’d be surprised.”
He stayed where he was, all tension and stillness. “I shouldn’t have stayed. I didn’t mean for you to see.”
“Yeah, well,” you said, heart still racing, “kinda hard to miss the teeth.”
That earned the faintest ghost of a smile. Small, self-deprecating.
“You’re not going to run?” he asked quietly.
“I haven’t decided yet,” you said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie.
The silence stretched long enough for you to hear the freezer hum again.
He hadn’t moved. Looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.
“What,” you said finally, your voice thin, “you’re not gonna bite me?”
His head snapped up. “What?”
You tried to laugh. “I mean—” You tucked your hair behind your ear, exposing your neck before you could stop yourself.
His eyes widened. For an instant the faint gleam of fang showed again, jutted out just slightly over his lower lip.
You let your hair fall back, lips curving just slightly. “See? I knew you wanted to.”
“That’s not funny.” His voice broke on the word. The sharpness in his mouth dulled again, almost as if obeying him.
“Didn’t say it was.” You crouched, gathering another shard, keeping your cut hand lifted.
He mirrored you, careful not to get too close. Every few seconds, his gaze flicked toward the blood seeping through the towel, then away again, like not looking was an act of will.
“So. Vampire, huh?” you said, because silence somehow felt more wrong.
“Something like that.” His tone was quiet. His eyes darted to the stain on the towel. “But um... I don’t feed on most people.”
You stilled, glass shard poised in your hand. “That supposed to make me feel better?”
He gave a soft, humorless breath. “Wasn’t trying to. Just honest.”
“Great. Honesty. Love that.” You dropped the shard into the bin and pressed the towel tighter to your finger. You tried to meet his eyes and failed. “Well, you being a vampire explains the vanishing.”
“Habit,” he said. “Helps with the whole not-being-noticed thing.”
You nod. “So why keep coming here? We’re not exactly five-star dining.”
He rose slower than before, eyes tracing the air between you like he could see the scent of your blood. “Because you work here.”
“What? Why me?”
“Not sure.” The words came out rough, nearly a whisper.
The hum of the freezer grew louder, filling the space between breaths. The air pressed against your skin.
He didn’t move. His eyes flicked once toward your hand, then away again. You caught the way his jaw tensed, the way his chest rose a little faster than before. The room felt like it was going to collapse on you. You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
He stepped closer.
His hands stayed near his sides, as if that would make you feel safe. It didn’t.
Up close, he smelled like iron and old rain and something darker that made your throat tighten. Your cut throbbed. The towel under your finger had gone deep red beneath the kitchen lights. You tried to pull back, but his gaze was already fixed on it.
“Don’t,” he said very quietly, as if saying it aloud could make him stop.
His voice had lost its softness. It was low now, rough, the kind of sound that made the hair on your arms rise. You saw the muscles in his neck tighten. When he inhaled, it felt like a window opening in a sealed room. Air rushed through him. Something in his eyes sharpened. The brown receded, leaving a glint like polished black wood.
For a second you were terrified.
For a second you were something else entirely.
Your skin hummed.
“Thought you weren’t gonna bite me,” you said, your voice frail despite trying desperately for that light mood you'd had not even 5 minutes earlier.
He closed his eyes. When they opened again, they weren’t on your face. They were on the towel, where the red had spread like ink. His jaw locked. His head tipped slightly, a small involuntary motion that looked predatory. His hand twitched, as though resisting gravity.
“Stay,” he breathed.
You did.
Something in him broke then. His hand hovered near your wrist, trembling. You could feel the strain in him, the weight of everything he was holding back.
You did something stupid. Maybe brave. Maybe both.
You lifted your hand, showing him the blood like a dare.
His eyes locked on it like a starving man.
He moved again. Fast, but not violent. Just inevitably. His breath ghosted over your wrist. You felt the heat of him, the steady thrum of his pulse. His hand came up to steady you, fingers cool against your skin.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough. “Tell me.”
You could have.
You didn’t.
“Don’t,” you whispered.
For one breathless moment his restraint shattered. He reached his hand up to hold your face, pulling you towards him, leaned in towards your neck, close enough for you to see the fine tremor in his shoulders, the pale line of his throat. Then he jerked back, sudden and sharp.
“I can’t.” His voice cracked. He pressed a knuckle against his mouth as if to hide his fangs again. “I can’t do this to you.”
You watched him, blood bright on your fingers, the air around you both trembling. For the first time since those long nights began, you understood why he kept coming back.
He was close enough that when he exhaled, it fogged the space between you. “Not yet,” he said softly.
You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. You set the towel down and met him halfway, hand still trembling where the red had seeped through. The room hummed.
“Then when?”
He didn’t answer. The question hung between you, thick and electric. Jake’s gaze flicked to your hand again. The towel had gone dark. The red kept spreading.
Instead, he drew a long breath that sounded almost like pain.
“You shouldn’t want to know,” he said.
You tried to laugh, but it came out thin. “That supposed to scare me?”
He smiled, small and almost gentle. “It should.”
The freezer hummed on. The neon light outside stuttered once, then twice. The color drained from everything until his face was the only thing left.
“Do you think you’d even survive it?” he asked softly.
Before you could answer, the light blinked again and he was gone. No chime. No footsteps. No shadow slipping past the glass. Only the hum of the machines and the faint scent of rain and iron that shouldn’t have lingered.
You looked down. The towel was gone.
In its place sat a neatly folded napkin, white except for the faint red fingerprint pressed in the center.
a/n ; soooo what's everyone dressing up as for halloween? im gonna be an angel hehehe <3 happy halloween everyone :)
