#stripevincible

[heartz4angels]

“ Show you I’m not movin’! ” — M. Grayson

INFO : Short n sweet drabble with unspecified variants ‘cause this can go for multiple Mark’s ఌ

“Mark,” You murmur, sitting next to him on your bed as his head stays tucked in your lap. Your fingers are tangled in his hair and he barely even stirs, instead letting out a shaky breath against your skin, hands grasping at your waist.

When you repeat his name, he finally looks up. And you smile. Gods, you smile. It’s soft and sweet, faint yet noticeable. He didn’t have to teach himself to notice every little detail of your features. From the slope of your nose to the slightest uptick of your lips, he notices.

It comes naturally.

The two of you stare at each other for a few moments, before you mutter, “You know he was just a classmate. Right?”

Mark sighs. “I know that.”

“Good. You know I’m not going anywhere?”

Slowly, after a moment of quiet, he nods against you. You hum, the feel of his skin on yours soothing both of you. It’s not often that you two get peaceful moments like this—just able to talk to each other.

“I don’t know his name,” it’s a statement and a reassurance all wrapped into one if the gentleness in your voice is anything to go by. “But you can’t threaten every guy that hits on me.”

“I know that.” Mark sits up slightly, one hand moving under your shirt while the other stays on your waist. “But he’s seen us together before. He knew.”

At that, you tilt your head, giving it some thought. It was just a college classmate of yours. You’ve barely acknowledged the guy this entire semester, let alone spoken to him.

“You can’t threaten people. Civilians, anyway. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know.”

“Okay. Then, just stay the night,” You murmur, tilting his head ever so slightly so that you’re both staring at each other. His expression doesn’t change much, but it softens, and that’s more than enough.

He’s not going anywhere, either.

a / n : i love doing these btw. omni mark is taking over my BRAIN i can’t handle it

[cinnamark]

Anyways art posting‼️💛 i really like this pairing actually

[ketavinsky]

happy easter from sinister mark and target mark

[glimmerfics]

In this NSFW Choose Your Own Adventure, you've had enough of Target Mark -- he used to be an emperor, and he can't go two minutes without reminding everybody. How about you release that tension onto him?

Target Mark x Fem!Reader NSFW Choose Your Own Adventure CW: Rough and demanding sex (fully consensual), Mean dom, Degredation kink

🔗 READ/PLAY HERE 🎮interactive fanfic "Hey There, Roomie (Target Mark Edition)" by @sinfiction 📖 Episode 1 of 1

[elainewonderswriting]

Richman - 3OH!3

Characters: Arrogant!Mark Grayson/Invincible or Stripevincible/Variant!Mark Grayson x Reader

Warnings: Narcissism, NO USE OF Y/N, SMUT, rough smut, Dub-con, slight Dom/Sub dynamic, PinV, no protection, slight Dark!Mark, low-key stalker!mark, Dirty Talk, Dirty thoughts, barely proofread, Minors DNI.

Synopsis:

blurb, mark lets his powers go to his head, thinks he can do whatever he wants!!!!!!

Word Count: 647

“Shiiiiiiit,” Mark groaned, pushing your thighs further apart, eyes locked in on the place where you sucked him in. Your pretty pussy was glistening, skirt shoved up, framed by a perfect rip in your tights. Your chest heaved above, back flush against the desk below you—the one you’d been working at only moments ago. 

Mark was a good guy. He was a hero. Being a hero came with a few perks. This was one of the unspoken ones. 

The way women fell to their knees before him. With open mouths and spread legs. You, for example, moaned like a common street whore underneath him. Mark suppressed a laugh as he bucked into your sweet cunt, growling at the sheer tightness. 

Guess your husband didn’t fuck you right, he thought as he glanced at the ring on your left hand. He could fix that, he mused. 

Mark was a good guy, an even better hero. The figure with knives for hands that had tried to rob this place earlier now lay in a heap on the floor, out cold. Light work for Mark, really.

Mark had taken one glance toward your desk, where you’d been cowering underneath, and it was game over. 

He'd heard your breath catch, your heart race, and had smelled the arousal that had gathered in your core. It was too easy, really.

In the smoky haze, he’d flashed his white smile and had dragged you over the top of your desk, pictures and pencils clattering. 

Being balls deep in someone else’s wife was a feeling like no other, Mark thought as he pounded in and out of you. 

You cried and writhed and arched, making those pretty sounds that Mark wished he could memorize and keep with him always. 

Your pussy was so good he almost debated losing the condom. A dumb idea, but if you felt this good now? He couldn't even imagine bagging you raw. 

His hand shot out as his balls began to tighten, fingers locking around your jaw. 

“Look at me,” He growled, his other hand gripping your hip. God, he wasn’t even sure where he wanted to come more. Your face? Maybe smear that mascara… 

Or over your tits, peeking out through the satin blouse you wore. 

But inside that perfect pussy—Jesus Christ. Maybe you and your husband weren’t serious…

You came, because of course you did, whimpering his superhero identity like it was your God.

Invincible, invincible, invincible—

Mark made you come again and again, just for the hell of it, savoring the look in your eye. That dread through the haze. 

Yes, he’d ruined all other men for you. No one would ever be as good as he was. 

He’d done it to many women before, but somehow it didn’t please him like it did now. 

Mark grinned like the devil, leaning over you until his nose brushed yours. 

“This pussy,” he grunted, nudging against that sweet spot inside of you. Tears gathered in your eyes from the delirious sensation. “...Is mine.”

He came a minute later, in the condom for once, imagining he was filling you up. Breeding you. Claiming you as his.

And then he was gone before you could blink, leaving you a mess of clothes and sweat atop the ruined desk. 

Mark was a good man and a great hero. The best there was. But somehow, that didn’t stop him from following you home. From peering into your window as the sun set, seeing the pathetic excuse for a husband you’d tied yourself to.

He found himself eager. And maybe even nervous. Wondering what that piece of shit would do if he saw what Mark had done to you. A part of him wanted your husband to see what had been done to his wife.  Another part was so furious that he breathed the same air as you.  

But Mark was not brash. He did the wise thing. He waited. He waited until the world was silent and dark, where not a soul would hear what he planned to do. 

Mark was a good man.

Or, at least, he tried to be. 

Taglist:@gomif0ca @vivian-555 @nishiology @imaginarydreamwanderer @splodencible @shaniyahinspace @k1nky-fool @poetryearns @riruk4 @bath1lda

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[magta25]

THE EMPEROR’S FAVORITE

✦ ✦ ✦✦ ✦ ✦✦ ✦ ✦✦ ✦ ✦

She is the emperor’s favorite. The chosen one. The one who brings him pleasure, rest… and silence. Y/N is no slave, no ordinary courtesan. She is the most prized of them all: an imperial companion, a human with rare gifts, shaped to fulfill desires, soothe inner wars, and know the Emperor better than anyone else. Mark Grayson, conqueror of worlds, doesn’t trust easily. But he always calls for her. Between intimate encounters and carefully weighed words, between burning glances and heavy silences, Y/N learns that the most dangerous power isn't found in fists—but in what lies between sheets, in lingering touches, and truths that must never be spoken aloud. Because when you are the one thing the most feared man in the universe truly desires… the real danger doesn’t always come from outside.

Chapter 1: The Emperor’s Return

✦ ✦ ✦✦ ✦ ✦✦ ✦ ✦✦ ✦ ✦

The emperor has returned.

The news spreads through the base like a whisper turning into command. Soldiers run, officers shout; everything moves with absolute precision around a single truth: Mark Grayson, conqueror of worlds, has returned after a month of victories. And that can only mean one thing for me.

He’s not just any emperor. Mark doesn’t inherit power—he takes it. What he owns, he has claimed by force, planet by planet. He spent the last month in the outer rim, crushing a rebellious system no one had subdued in decades. Rumor had it their defenders used forbidden, hybrid technology, impossible to decode. He returned unharmed. With new weapons, new spoils… and new enemies eliminated.

His shadow stretches as far as the Empire’s light can reach.

I’m in my room, getting ready.

My body is clean, perfumed with lavender and vanilla. My skin, soft and flawless. I slip into a garment somewhere between a dress and lingerie, in blue and yellow—his colors, his symbol. Every detail, every gesture, prepared for him.

When the Viltrumites invaded Earth, they discovered that some humans weren’t as weak as they thought. A small group of women with special abilities—stronger, more resilient, gifted with something unique—was chosen. We became companions of the Empire, selected not just for our genetics, but for our potential. Not slaves. Sacred vessels. Instruments of silent conquest.

And among them… I’m the favorite. The brightest jewel in the emperor’s crown. His.

When the signal comes, I leave without hesitation. The guards watch me as I pass, desire in their eyes. But they know who I am. Untouchable.

The doors to his chambers open slowly. I enter, serene and confident, a soft smile on my lips.

“My emperor…” I whisper, bowing gracefully. “You’ve finally returned. I missed you.”

As I raise my gaze, our eyes meet.

Mark stands by the window, overlooking the city. Shirtless, wearing only training pants. His muscular body on display. At the sound of my voice, a sly smile forms on his lips as he turns to look at me, his crimson eyes locking with mine.

He approaches slowly, circling me as if inspecting me with his eyes.

“Ah, my favorite, Y/N,” he says, still smiling. “Did you miss me?”

I hold his gaze firmly, a playful smile curving my lips as I gently cross my arms over my chest.

“Always, my emperor,” I reply in a low voice, thick with meaning.

I take another step, closing the distance between us, eyes fixed on his, daring him to match my intensity.

“And you? Did you miss me as much as I missed you?”

My fingers lightly brush his arm. I know I’m playing with fire—but I also know I control the flame.

His eyes shine with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

“You’d be a fool to think otherwise,” he replies in a deep voice.

He doesn’t move. He’s testing me.

“I’m so glad to hear that, my emperor,” I say, using my powers to serve him a drink. “I truly longed for your return.”

He accepts the glass, watching every gesture intently.

“You have a very… particular way of showing your feelings, Y/N,” he says, sipping without taking his eyes off me. “I hope you were well in my absence.”

“I missed you greatly,” I say, stepping even closer, until I’m just inches from him. “I received your gift. I loved it.”

I smile sweetly as I gently touch the necklace I wear, a memento from the planets he has conquered. I know what each gem means: power, dominion, conquest. And he knows that I know.

Mark watches my fingers on the stones. He takes another sip. Moves a bit closer.

“I’m glad you like it. Every gift has a story… and you wear them so well.”

“Your words move me, my emperor,” I say, softly placing a hand on his chest. “But nothing I say can express how grateful I am for your return.”

My voice lowers to a whisper, thick with desire.

“Allow me to please you, to give you a welcome worthy of your greatness. One only I can offer.”

My eyes challenge him, invite him.

His gaze darkens, desire sweeping over his face like a deep shadow. He sets the glass aside, his hand brushing my waist.

“Oh, Y/N… your words are very… tempting. Do you truly want to please me?”

“Of course, my emperor. Let me show you how much I longed for your return.”

I gently guide him toward the bed. He sits. I begin to move—each gesture calculated, slow, sensual. With every step, a piece of clothing falls to the floor. No rush. Only intent.

My dance has no words, but it says everything: devotion, desire, power offered without reservation. From time to time, I lightly touch him—his shoulder, his neck. Teasing, never satisfying.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Y/N.”

I smile, finishing the dance, shedding the last veil. I approach, placing one knee beside him.

His eyes travel over my naked body. His breathing quickens. He grabs my waist and pulls me onto the bed, where we merge in an intimate and fierce moment.

The emperor has inhuman stamina. Not all can endure his strength. But I can. After three relentless hours, I finally get him to release inside me. He collapses on the bed, exhausted.

His breathing is ragged. He looks at me with something rare in his expression: vulnerability.

“You… always know how to wear me out,” he says hoarsely.

“I’m glad to know I pleased you, my emperor,” I whisper, pulling the sheets over me. I still feel his warmth on my skin.

After a few minutes of silence, I stir slightly, as if preparing to leave. It’s part of protocol. If he says nothing, I must go. But if he says my name…

“Y/N.”

His hand takes my arm. His voice is low but clear.

“Stay.”

I pause. I look at him. He holds my gaze.

“For you… always,” I reply sweetly.

I return to the sheets, settling next to him. My fingers trace soft patterns across his chest. He wraps an arm around me, pulling me closer. He watches my face in silence.

“I missed you,” he admits. He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear with rare tenderness.

“You honor me with your words, my emperor,” I reply without faltering. My voice, soft. I was trained for this. I ask for nothing. I demand no tenderness. I only give peace—and everything he desires.”

“You always know what I need,” he says. His tone is almost affectionate.

“It’s my duty to know you better than anyone,” I respond, keeping the perfect balance between intimacy and respect.

He gently squeezes my hip. Won’t let me move away.

“Maybe you’re not used to someone understanding you so well,” I add with a teasing smile.

His gaze sharpens. There’s a game here, one he seems to enjoy. He studies me. His thumb draws circles on my skin.

“There’s more to you than meets the eye, Y/N.”

“Sometimes, the key is knowing how to respond to the unexpected. That’s when the best are revealed,” I say while caressing his hair.

“Enlighten me.”

“Not everything can be planned, my emperor. But I… I know how to act when the unexpected arrives.”

“And you think you have the solution to that?”

“Not to everything. But I’m good at it. And you know that,” I reply with a soft, perfectly measured giggle.

Mark seems to soften, his usual hardness fading. He watches me with a mix of curiosity and appreciation.

“Your confidence is… impressive, Y/N.”

“Well, my emperor, I must have picked it up from you after spending so much time by your side. One of the perks of being chosen by you.”

“Chosen by me, huh?”

“And it is, my emperor. Who wouldn’t want to be next to the most powerful being in the universe—the one all fear and admire alike?”

He gently takes my wrist, his fingers playing with my skin.

“You’re talented at flattery… and you know it.”

“Don’t say that, you’ll make me sound like an actress,” I say, pouting slightly with a sweet voice. “You know I enjoy being with you, and you deserve every compliment I give.”

“You enjoy being by my side? Why?”

“You don’t know how much I value your words,” I whisper, letting him feel every syllable.

My fingers caress him patiently. Eventually, I get him to close his eyes. His breathing deepens. When I sense he’s asleep, I begin to move away—each motion measured, nearly choreographed.

Because if there’s one rule all of us in this job know, it’s this: never wake up in the bed of a man who isn’t your husband.

Men want to be pleased, to have their desires fulfilled… but at dawn, they’re different. And the worst thing you can do… is still be there.

Leaving before sunrise isn’t just dignity. It’s strategy.

What he doesn’t know is that, as I silently leave his room, part of him wished I had stayed just a bit longer.

[friedfoeof2ries]

Variant doodle page.

+Close ups:

[yuriosakawa]

Gray Sons

The world outside was silent—numb, as if the very air held its breath in anticipation.

Inside the Global Defense Agency's high-security medical wing, fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead. The sterile white halls were quiet except for the low murmur of machines and the occasional rushed footstep of a nurse or medic.

Mark Grayson stirred, awakening in a haze of dull, pulsing pain.

Everything ached. His body felt like it had been broken apart and put back together with duct tape and spit. His eyes blinked against the brightness, unfocused. The last thing he remembered was Angstrom. The rage. The blood. His little fucking drones. Then darkness.

Groaning softly, Mark pulled the thin blanket off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His head spun, but he needed to move. He had to move. The world had kept turning while he was unconscious. 

Mark pushed himself up again, stubbornly this time. He was Invincible, damn it. He took one shaky step. Then another.

The cold floor bit into his bare feet, and the dull pain in his ribs spiked, but he gritted his teeth and kept going. He shuffled slowly down the corridor, leaning heavily on the wall. His reflection in the window glass looked like a ghost. Pale. Hollow-eyed.

And then his legs gave out.

He collapsed hard, the breath knocked from his lungs, the linoleum cold against his cheek. Gritting his teeth, he tried to push himself up again, but something stopped him—not pain.

A sound.

The doors at the far end of the hallway slammed open.

Wheels. Metal. A panicked voice calling for plasma. A string of gurneys—seven, no, eight—being rushed through the hallway at full speed. Mark turned his head.

His breath caught in his throat as he caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye. As if the world started playing in slow motion, he saw a hand—rough, calloused, and twisted in ways it should’ve never been—dangled limply off one of the gurneys.

Mohawk Mark.

His heart dropped. It was them.

Eight gurneys. Eight broken versions of himself.

Prisoner Mark was barely breathing, chest sunken, his burnt skin somehow even more unrecognizable with the blood sticking to him and the multiple injuries and bruises that ranged from purple to black. His chest caved in as a doctor desperately pumped his heart.

Sinister Mark had a crater punched into his torso. His eyes were rolled back as he babbled something unintelligible through bloodied lips. 

Full Mask Mark’s mask was still on—cracked right down the middle. One eye dark. 

Omni-Mark had burn marks down one side of his face, barely recognizable. He had a respirator covering his face. 

Viltrumite Mark was missing an arm. Stripevincible’s uniform was torn to shreds, his signature stripes barely distinguishable through the gore. His eye swollen shut, coughing up blood. 

Maskless Mark was still in a state of sufficient consciousness to cry and groan uncontrollably at the pain he was experiencing. They had to strap him down to the gurney just to stop him from further hurting himself. 

Mark felt fear. Not for himself, but for them.

These were the same monsters that once laid waste to his world. But they weren’t just monsters anymore. He knew that. Not after the war. They had tried. Tried to be better. Tried to become something more than their pasts. Helped clean up the wreckage. Some had even apologized to people they had hurt.

But now?

“Conquest,” one of the medics muttered into their comms. “Multiple high-priority casualties from the Conquest encounter. Immediate surgery needed. We’re losing them—fast.”

The hallway spun as Mark reached out weakly, his hand stretching toward the retreating gurneys as if he could hold them back—bring them back.

“No…” he whispered hoarsely. “Not like this…”

A nurse knelt beside him, calling for assistance, trying to lift him—but he wasn’t listening. His eyes were locked on the blood-smeared tiles...and the trail left behind by his broken brothers. He could only stare, trembling, as the echoes of his other selves were carted away into surgery bays, emergency rooms, and maybe… to their deaths.

Tears welled in his eyes—not just from the pain—but from something deeper.

They had tried. They had really tried. And now, they might never get the chance to finish redeeming themselves.