Can I request some hcs of a reader who can make the evil Mark’s literally melt like butter at the slightest touch or compliment. Like he’s normally very stoic and serious/scary and downright evil but as soon as the reader calls him “baby” he’s like defenseless puppy. Absolutely adores the reader but despite his softness, will still murder anyone who dares to look at them wrong.
Specifically thinking of Sinister, Viltrumite, Sheisty, and Emperor, but you can add whoever else you’d like!
Characters: Target, Shiesty, Sinister, Viltrumite
Emperor Mark (aka Target, Striped Mark)
I am still unsure how to portray this guy. He is one of the more difficult variants to write for, and I don’t know whether he’s immature and overcompensating or is a perpetually exhausted boss, but either way, he is a barking chihuahua towards anyone who isn’t you. Ferocious, loud and territorial, but harmless, as long as you’re around.
He hates it when others speak with you, especially “the help” or even your own friends. He glares at them without fail, but stays quiet because the last time he made a scene about someone disrespecting you by making unwarranted eye contact, you reprimanded him and refused to spend time with him until he promised never to get in the way of your social events.
Shiesty Mark
He used to be a total slob; not in the dirty doesn’t shower and brush teeth-way, but in the messy-leaves his clothes littered around the room-way.
Whipped. All of the Marks are, but this one's “friends” go out of their way to accuse him of this because he is a different man from who he was before meeting you.
I think I’ve mentioned it before, but he’s the type who does not repeat his mistakes. He is prone to being a manchild, but he never weaponizes his incompetence. You wish he wouldn’t scatter his laundry all over your shared home? Ask him nicely and he will fold everything and keep them in one corner for easy access. You don’t like it when he leaves his used glass unwashed on the kitchen counter? Tell him and you will never see dishes pile on the sink again.
He doesn’t care if his buddies make fun of him, but the moment they insult you is the moment they lose their right to live.
scenario:
“Am I dreaming?”
“No.”
“You’re shitting with me. This is some cruel prank, right?”
You laughed and tapped the package on the table, its plastic cover shimmering under the warm light of your living room. Today was Mark’s birthday. It was hard to forget because he’s been telling you that it was almost his special day a whole month earlier.
You hung a blue and yellow “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” banner over the flat screen TV and had his favorite songs blasting from his Godzilla-shaped speaker. His friends were coming over in a few minutes but you decided to give him his present early.
It was the newest GameCube with holographic features and a vibrating controller.
“This was just released in Japan two days ago, they say the program doesn’t even have English installed.” He held the box up like it was the most precious set of chinaware.
“I knew a guy who knew a guy who helped get the global release models.”
He set down the box and lifted you in the air. “Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have you?”
You ran your fingers through his hair just as the doorbell rang. “That will be your guests.”
He carefully set you down and started walking towards the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay? I mean, I know we have a more private thing later tonight planned, but it would be nice to have you here.”
“You’re sweet, but we’ve talked about this. I don’t think your friends like me very much so I’ll only be here for a few minutes to welcome them and then I’ll catch up on some reading in the cafe downstairs while you guys play with your new toy.”
“There is no way they don’t like you.”
You threw your hands up in surrender and went to check the food.
As you put the freshly baked lasagna on the kitchen island, the racket of Mark’s clique filled the whole condo unit.
“Imma set up the console, you guys can go ahead and eat if you want,” you overheard Mark tell them.
Familiar faces popped in, some smiling, some had their mouths in tight lines.
“Cool place,” said one of them. It was Kurtis, a guy who had bleached hair and wore really loose pants.
You smiled at him. “Thank you.”
His grin was more sardonic as he added, “Guess Mark must’ve been really good for you to let him move in.”
The others snickered.
“You got any beer here, sweet thing?”
You maintained your polite smile. “It’s in the fridge. Feel free to take anything.”
One of the girls rolled her eyes and she went back to the living room.
You refused to show them any weakness and resumed cutting up the lasagna.
***
“Look at these graphics.” Kurtis whistled as he and Mark raced against each other.
The living room boomed with music and the roar of digital car engines. The smell of booze and lasagna permeated the air.
“Right? Apparently, the stores in Japan all sold out the hour they released this thing.”
“So how did you get your hands on this thing?”
Mark beamed proudly as he crossed the finish line first, the controller almost vibrating out of his grip. “What do you think?”
“You stole this thing from Japan?”
“No, dumbass, they got it for me. Best part is that there shouldn’t even be an English setting but lo and behold. They gave it to me right before you guys came here. It was quite the surprise.”
“Ah.” Kurtis put down his controller and reached for his beer.
Mark did the same and looked at him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. Tell me.”
Kurtis shrugged. “You changed.”
“What?”
Their friends who were in the room with them suddenly stiffened.
Kurtis shrugged again. “Dude, you just said ‘quite.’ And who the Hell uses ‘lo and behold’?”
“They use those words.”
“Exactly. Just a few months together and now, you act like–” He waved his bottle “–like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like the kind of guy we used to make fun of. Look at this place, bro.”
Mark wasn’t an interior designer, and he would’ve been fine living in a dingy apartment so long as he had his essentials, but since he started living with you he has learned to appreciate a good painting or a potted plant, how one piece can really bring an entire room together. The old him would have scoffed at the person he has become.
But Mark didn’t like who he used to be before he met you.
He was about to make a retort when he caught a whiff of cigarettes. He walked into the kitchen. Two of the girls were smoking and drinking orange juice straight out of the jug.
“Nah, you guys can’t smoke here, and for the love of God, we have glasses for a reason,” he reprimanded, confiscating their cigarettes in one swift motion.
Kurtis was right behind him. “See what I mean, man? You’re a total pussy now. You never used to care about this kind of shit before.”
“Okay, okay.” Mark nodded. “I get what you’re saying, but I’m still me. I just… I dunno, I just like this place, and I like following the rules here.”
“You like–ugh, bro, you are whipped.”
He chuckled. “I guess I am.”
His friends blinked. No one expected that.
Kurtis recovered and smirked. “They really that good of a lay?”
“What?”
“I mean they got you acting like this after a few months of dating when the cops couldn’t even keep you in jail. Come on, man, are they that crazy in bed?”
Something ticked in Mark’s jaw. “Hey–”
Kurtis wrung his arm around his shoulders. “Maybe we’ll understand if you let us have a taste, hm?”
***
You were forcing yourself to remain interested as you read an entire book chapter dedicated to the whiteness of a whale. You were determined to finish Moby Dick today, or at least finish this boring part before your date.
The gentle ringing of the coffee house door signaled the entrance of a new customer, but you didn’t look up, intent on overcoming this damn novel.
“Babe?”
Goodbye, Ishmael.
You looked up. “Mark?”
His hair was ruffled, like he just blowdried it, and he had changed clothes.
You set down the book. “What’s wrong? Party already over?”
“Yeah, um, we kinda got into a fight.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Oh my God.”
“I may have made a mess of the living room, I’m sorry.”
“Oh–”
“I also accidentally broke the GameCube.”
You put a hand over your chest. “Must’ve been some fight.”
He hung his head. “I’m sorry, it must’ve cost you a lot to get that gift.”
“Oh, sweetie.” You rose from your seat and pulled him into an embrace. “It’s okay, it was your GameCube. I’m just sad that you didn’t get to use it for long.”
“I think I’m going to have to take a break from gaming. At least for a week.”
“Don’t you have that online competition next weekend?”
“My team and I decided to disband.”
You stepped back.
He answered your silent inquiry without meeting your gaze, “Long story, I’ll explain someday.”
“Well, it’s still your birthday, what do you wanna do?”
He played with your hands. “I just want to spend time with you.”
“I know, let’s go watch a movie–”
“Um, I just cleaned the living room and kitchen, so I think it would be good to let the place air out.”
You laughed like you didn’t see the rust on the sleeves of his jacket. “We do have a cinema. C’mon, birthday boy.”
Sinister Mark
Oh, boy.
This one lives for conflict, second only to one specific variant (I think you know who). Fortunately for him and unluckily for the rest of the world, you don’t care. Hell, a part of you even enjoys seeing him drenched in blood.
He has no restraint and will pick on people for the pettiest reasons. Man breathed too close to you on the subway? He’s hunting him down. A woman pushed you and cut in line for the cashier? He’s taking her hair.
Others have tried to ask you to stop him, but you don’t, because your Mark is always stressed because of work and he deserves the fun.
When you do want him to stop, maybe because you’re tired or hungry, all you have to do is call his name and he will dump what he’s doing to come to your side.
scenario:
Your little bee was late. Normally, you wouldn't have cared. You can forgive waiting for a few minutes, but tonight was a Friday and your favorite murder mystery show was premiering a new episode.
Plus it was exceptionally hot and humid today, and your cheap-ass boss refused to lower the AC temperature than the standard.
So here you stood at the steps of your office building at five p.m., foot tapping impatiently as you waited for your ride home. Sweat soaked you in every possible place.
And like the universe's idea of a joke, a co-worker you hated suddenly joined you.
He was being the usual twit that he was. Hitting on you despite the ring on your left finger.
After ten minutes of getting nothing from you aside from stone silence, the creep snidely remarked, “You know what I think?”
He slowly stepped closer to you, close enough that you could smell his rancid breath as he said, “I think that you're not actually taken, I think your ring is a fake and your fiancé is fake, all so you can have an excuse to be a frigid and stuck-up–”
He never got to finish.
Your “fake” fiancé was here.
More of your colleagues were on their way home when they found your Mark beating the tar out of the resident creep.
A woman turned to you and barked, “Do something!”
You tilted your head. “But he deserves it.”
Your answer made her take a step back. Why did people seem so shocked when you revealed that you supported your future husband? Did they think you had compunctions when it came to punishing annoying creatures?
You watched Mark throw the man on the ground. You didn't see why the others were so concerned. They should be grateful. That prick has been a nuisance since the day he joined the office. Mark was making the world a little better; not that you cared about the state of the world.
You pulled on your collar. It was getting hotter though, so you approached them.
“Marky, let's go,” you whined, circling your arms from behind him. “My head hurts and I'm all sweaty.”
He stopped punching. The fact that the pervert was still breathing meant that your honeybee was holding back.
Mark turned his head towards you and you kissed him on the lips.
“Hey.” He smiled.
“Hey, you're late.”
“I know,” he sighed and rose to his feet, twisting around so he could hold you by the waist. “I'm sorry. I had to deal with some pests that wanted to invade the planet.”
“Again?”
He shrugged. “They never learn.”
“Mmm, you're getting blood all over my coat.”
“I'll get you a new one.” He kissed your forehead. “You said your head hurt?”
You nodded softly.
“I'll give you a full body massage in the bath.” Securing you in his arms, he began to hover.
“Just a bath and a massage this time?”
He grinned and flew so high you can see an ambulance rushing towards your office building. “No promises.” He nuzzled your cheek. “I've barely seen you this week.”
Viltrumite Mark
This one was trained to be the perfect murder machine from the moment he could walk. Quiet, precise and deadly as a sharpened blade, Mark has no issues with killing even children if that is his assignment.
However, in your eyes, he’s a stray dog who has never known love.
The first time you hugged him, he went still as a statue and you spent thirty minutes explaining how humans express affection through physical contact. After that, he has no shame when it comes to touching you. He likes to hold your hand, the fabric of your shirt, cradle your cheek, pat your head and lay his chin on the top of your skull.
scenario:
“So it’s just pure sugar? And you humans actually pay for this?” Mark asked, turning the frog-shaped cotton candy. It was mostly pastel green and had two big black circles for eyes. “It’s hideous.”
“Don’t be like that,” you said, glancing at the plastic headband you bought from a vendor at the theme park entrance. Rather than animal ears, two green barrel springs bounced on top of his head, each one bearing a golden star. “He reminds me of you.”
Mark furrowed his brows. “I am not green.”
“He has your eyes.”
“My eyes are not black.” So he claimed, but from where you stood, his brown eyes resembled two pools of obsidian liquid, absorbing light everywhere, taking in as much information as they can.
You picked off one of the frog’s eyes and Mark made an offended face. Smiling, you held the piece of sugar cloud to his mouth. “Open up, space boy.”
Those dark eyes flitted from you to the green fluff, then at you, then back to the fluff. Finally, he obeyed. The sugar melted instantly on his tongue.
He pursed his lips.
“Well?”
“It is… not disagreeable.” He smiled and bit down on the other eye before pushing the cotton candy towards you. “You take a bite as well.”
“It’s okay, this one is all yours.”
He cocked his head, the stars slinking to the side. “But is it not customary for lovers to share food?”
Cliche as it was, your heart skipped a beat with how he looked at you as he said those words. Your stomach dropped a bit, too.
You’ve never had the talk with him regarding the exact nature of your relationship, because you were having fun with the way things were, but now you were afraid. Mark was sweet. He was also clueless with how human relationships work. You were his only friend so far, so it was natural that he would feel attached to you. He was naive, so wouldn’t agreeing to be his count as taking advantage of him?
Gentle fingers on your cheek grounded you. “I can see that my words have troubled you. If you are full then I won’t force you to eat, I will, what is the phrase…” He paused, then grinned proudly as he continued, “I will hide away your share for you.”
You laughed. Mark wasn’t always so touchy, but ever since you explained how it was normal for humans in a close relationship to express affection physically, he has been liberal with his touches.
“You mean, you will put away my share,” you corrected, taking his hand and swinging it beside you.
He frowned and dipped his chin. The stars drooped like dog ears. “I thought I got it right for sure.”
You smiled. You have a lot of things you wanted to show him. “Come on, let’s go try and win a bear–!”
Your words were cut short when Mark’s arm disappeared from your side and extended firmly behind you. His hand gripped firmly over a young man’s wrist.
He twisted his arm and the boy yelped.
“This one was reaching for your bag,” he explained calmly, black eyes boring into the teenager trying to wriggle out of his grasp.
“I-I’m sorry, it was a prank, I swear! I didn’t plan to steal anything–augh!”
“Mark, stop!” You put your hands over his arm. “He’s just a kid.”
“Do you know this person?”
“No.”
“He was trying to touch you without your permission.”
“I’m sure he was just being stupid–” you turned quickly to the teenager “–right?”
“Y-yeah! Yes! I just made a bet that I could get close enough to open your bag, s-swear to God! I wasn’t gonna steal or grope you! It was a prank!”
Mark faced you and blinked slowly. “You once said that pranks are dangerous and foolhardy and often break the law.”
“Well–”
“Where I hail from, miscreants have their bones broken.”
You heard the kid mutter an oh, God and you did the one thing you could think of at the moment: you grabbed Mark’s face and kissed him.
That seemed to reset his brain because he let go of the kid and dropped the cotton candy to the ground. His arms stiffened beside him like two metal limbs, unsure of what to do next.
When you finally pulled back, he stared at you. “That was a kiss,” he muttered, his prior coldness had melted away entirely, leaving nothing but wide-eyed surprise.
You tried to pull back your hands but his arms came back to life and held them in place. “You said kisses are special, and we shouldn’t give them recklessly.”
You chuckled nervously. “I know, I’m sorry.” Consent was a bit tricky to teach.
You averted your eyes and dared to ask, “Did you hate it?”
Tender fingers touched your chin and pushed you to look back at him.
“It was not disagreeable.”
this author has a few things to say:
There may be mistakes that I did not spot because I wrote half of this on my phone while lying on my back. The heat in my country is killing me.
I could not think of a good scenario for Target and I’ve kept anon waiting long enough so I just left it alone.
I know that a lot of people headcanon Shiesty to be a fuckboy, and honestly, he can be, but I remember watching him and thinking that bro gave strong "girls have cooties" vibes. Not saying he's a virgin (but he can be), but he feels more like a virgin than a playboy. He strikes me as someone who is more into playing video games than he is getting laid.
Viltrumite Mark is so cute, he is just perfect for corruption.
My variants keep raising the bar for my future spouse.
Disclaimer: The images above are not mine but are screenshots from the Invincible TV series.
I want to thank you for writing male reader!! It’s so, so hard finding them in this fandom, so it really makes me happy to read yours. 🥺🥺🥺🥺 can I make a request? Male reader x Shiesty Mark with reader who gets severely injured and tries to hide it.
TIS' BUT A SCRATCH
pairing shiesty! mark grayson x male reader
you’re bleeding out. you’re definitely bleeding out. but hey—if you play it cool, maybe mark won’t notice?
(keyword: maybe.)
turns out, hiding a gaping wound from your superpowered, hyper-observant boyfriend isn’t exactly your best idea. especially when said boyfriend is the kind of guy who swears like a sailor, fights like a berserker, and somehow still manages to be the most overprotective idiot alive.
you hiss through your teeth, fingers pressing hard against your side—warm, wet blood seeps through the torn fabric of your suit, sticking to your skin. every breath is a sharp, stinging drag, like fire licking at your ribs from the inside. you can’t let him see this. not now, not when he’s already pissed off, still buzzing with leftover adrenaline from the fight, his muscles coiled tight under that damn suit of his.
speaking of.
you glance up, and fuck, even hurt and half-delirious, you can’t help but notice the way the setting sun hits him—golden light catching on the sweat-slick curve of his shoulders, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, the way his thighs tense as he hovers effortlessly above you. his mask tilts, that ragged veil shifting just enough for you to catch the sharp line of his jaw, the faintest hint of his scowl.
"the hell’s takin’ you so long?" mark calls down, voice rough with impatience. his arms are crossed, biceps flexing under the tight yellow and blue fabric, and you can practically feel the heat rolling off him even from here. "we gotta get movin’ before more of those freaks show up."
"i’m coming, i’m coming," you mutter, forcing your legs to move despite the way your vision blurs at the edges. you bite back another groan, swallowing the metallic taste in your mouth. shit. this is worse than you thought. your head spins, but you can’t stop staring—the way his suit clings to every dip and ridge of his abs, the way his hips taper just right, the way his thighs could probably crush you in seconds and you’d thank him for it.
god, you’re so fucked. in every sense of the word.
"hah, that's what she said."
you roll your eyes at the dumb joke, a witty remark of your own about to leave your lips when your knees buckle slightly, and you catch yourself just in time, but not before mark’s sharp eyes zero in on the stumble. his posture shifts instantly, shoulders squaring, that protective edge creeping into his stance. you know that look. it’s the same one he gets right before he tears someone apart for looking at you wrong.
and fuck if that doesn’t do things to you.
he drops down beside you with a soft thud, boots kicking up a small cloud of dust. his arms are crossed, shoulders tense, but his head tilts just slightly as he studies you. "you good? you’re walkin’ like a damn zombie." his voice is rough, but there’s an edge of concern under the sarcasm.
you swallow hard, forcing your steps to steady even as your side throbs. "just tired," you lie, waving him off with a weak flick of your wrist. your fingers tremble, but you curl them into a fist before he can notice. "those things were annoying as hell."
mark snorts, rolling his eyes before nudging you with his elbow—too hard, like always, and the sudden jolt sends a sharp spike of pain through your ribs. you sway, barely catching yourself before your knees give out. "yeah, well," he says, not noticing your stumble at first, "next time, maybe don’t try to play hero when you ain’t bulletproof, dumbass."
you force a laugh, but it comes out weak, more of a breathless exhale than anything. your free hand presses against your side, hidden by the torn fabric of your suit. "since when do you care?"
"since always, dumbass." he rolls his eyes again, but the usual bite in his tone is missing, replaced by something softer, something almost fond. then his gaze drops, catching on the dark stain seeping through your fingers. his body goes rigid. the air between you shifts, tension snapping tight like a wire. "...you’re bleedin'."
your stomach drops like a stone. "what? no, i’m not," you say, voice pitching higher than intended. you take a half-step back, but your legs wobble, betraying you.
"the fuck you mean 'no, i’m not'?" his hand snaps out, fingers skimming your side—just a brush, but it’s enough. when he pulls back, his gloves are streaked crimson. his breath hitches, just for a second, before his voice drops into something rough and furious. "you’re fucking hurt."
you force a grin, even as your pulse kicks into overdrive. "tis’ but a scratch," you jest, throwing in a terrible british accent for good measure. your fingers twitch at your side, sticky with blood. "just a flesh wound, really. very knight’s tale of me. very—ow, fuck—" you hiss as your own movement jostles the injury.
"a scratch?" his hand clamps around your wrist before you can retreat, fingers tight but careful as he lifts your arm. the second he sees the mess underneath—torn suit, dark blood, the ugly gash that’s definitely not surface-level—his whole body locks up. the air around him practically crackles. "this ain’t a scratch. this is a goddamn hole."
you swallow hard, but the bravado doesn’t fade. "i’ve had worse."
"not with me around, you haven’t." his grip tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough that you feel the barely-leashed tension in his fingers. his other hand hovers near your side like he’s afraid to touch. when he speaks again, his voice is low, almost too calm. "why the fuck didn’t you say anything?"
your throat clicks as you swallow, the coppery tang of blood thick on your tongue. "didn't wanna slow you down," you mumble, avoiding his gaze by studying a very interesting crack in the pavement near your boot.
"slow me—?" his voice does this thing where it jumps an octave before he chokes it back into a growl, gloved fingers dragging down his mask like he's physically restraining himself from shaking you. the fabric wrinkles under his grip. "christ. you're such a dumbass. you know that, right? like, clinically. should be studied."
"yeah, yeah," you wave him off, attempting a casual shrug that immediately backfires. white-hot pain erupts from your side, forcing a punched-out gasp between your teeth. your fingers spasm against the wound, coming away slick. "fuck—okay, new rule: no more cool guy poses when i'm busy leaking everywhere. noted."
mark goes statue-still. for one terrifying heartbeat, you're certain he's about to scream loud enough to shatter windows. then—with zero warning—he ducks down, one arm sliding behind your knees while the other braces against your back, lifting you like some kind of disgruntled fairytale protagonist. your stomach lurches as the ground disappears. "what the hell—?!" you squawk, scrambling to fist your hands in his suit fabric like a startled cat clinging to a curtain.
"shut up," he grumbles, but his arms tighten just enough to press you closer to his chest. you can feel his heartbeat hammering through the layers of fabric—fast and furious. "if you're gonna pull this self-sacrificing bullshit, i'm gonna haul your dumbass home like groceries. consider it your fucking consequence."
you gasp, free hand fluttering to your forehead in your best damsel impression. "consequence? this feels suspiciously like premium boyfriend treatment. very five-star service. do you do this for all the dumbasses, or am i special? this feels awfully sweet and gentle for a punishment."
"title of your fucking sextape," he deadpans immediately, voice so flat you'd think he was reading a grocery list.
you choke on a laugh that quickly morphs into a pained wheeze. "oh my god—was that—did you just brooklyn nine-nine me while i'm actively—"
"don't." his boots leave the ground with a quiet crunch of asphalt. "just. don't fucking finish that sentence. i don't even fucking know why i said that." the wind kicks up around you both, ruffling his stupid perfect dark locks.
you mean to fire back something clever, but the second you're airborne, the adrenaline finally sputters out. your head lolls against his shoulder without permission, eyelids suddenly heavy. the steady thrum of his flight vibrations feels weirdly soothing against your aching ribs.
"...you better not pass out on me," he mutters, but his voice has gone all rough around the edges. his grip shifts, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head like he's afraid you'll slip away. "seriously. i'll drop your ass."
"wouldn't dream of it," you slur, nosing unconsciously into the warm space between his collarbone and jaw. his stupid veil tickles your forehead.
he huffs, but you feel the way his throat works against your temple. "next time you pull this shit, i'm grounding you for a month. no flights. no rooftop hangs. just you, your busted ass, and public fuckin' transportation."
your lips curl despite everything. "worth it."
"fuck you."
“love you too, drama queen,” you sigh, your voice already slurring a little as exhaustion drags at you. before he can snipe back, you tug at the edge of his veil—just enough to sneak your fingers under it—and press a quick, smirking kiss to his lips. then, because you’re extra and bleeding and maybe a little delirious, you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, breathing him in: sweat, the sharp ozone-tang of spent energy, that stupid cologne he insists he doesn’t wear but definitely does. your nose brushes his pulse point, and for a second, you let yourself pretend this is the last time. (it never is. it won’t be. not if he has anything to say about it.)
he doesn’t answer. but his arms tighten around you, just a fraction, and his thumb starts tracing slow, absent circles against your thigh—gentle, reverent, like you’re something fragile. like you’re something his. and yeah. that’s answer enough.
1.6k words full of shiesty mark and his ADORABLE ASS AHHHHHHHH i never really like, thought of him as often as my top three favourite invincible variants BUT HE IS SLOWLY CRAWLING UP THERE BECAUSE OF SOMEONE'S HEADCANONS OF SHIESTY MARK AND I JUST LOVE HIM I JUST LOVE HIM NOW LIKE AHHBOFAUBWOUDSHAWOUSHOU
could you do something were one of the mark variants likes ftm reader who has a 1 sided crush on his mark (if that makes sense lol)
bottom/sub reader pls😔
Shiesty Mark x ftm reader
Drabble
I just... really like this Mark. The mask does something to me. I also learned that shiesty Mark was inspired by Cole Cash from DC, which is really cool.
Bit of a mixed bag when referring to readers bits, and hinting at front hole penetration at the end.
It's been so long since ive written smth like this, so bear with me.
You hated this fucking city, and country, and probably world. Just because you had powers, because your mom just happened to be some hero, who fucked some government guy, you were expected to keep her legacy.
Your dad wasn't much of a dad, even less so when your mom kicked the bucket when you were little. Your powers weren't even that impressive, you could make force fields and different shapes with your will, but it was nothing compared to the powerhouses of this world. (imagine like an off-brand green lantern, but without the ring)
Dear old dad had you trained from the very moment you could walk, and it was clear from a young age that you were not his son, or rather daughter at the time, but an asset. But what else could be expected from the guy that turned your mom's corpse into a reanimen.
Life was a chore, a drag, you didnt get a social life, it was all about training and becoming a better asset for the GDA, for your so called dad. There were days you wanted to use your powers to just... kill him, to kill everyone.
Or yourself. Those days were growing more and more common. It made you wonder if your will was so strong you could surpass the human want to survive, and just... take yourself out.
At least your top surgery and testosterone were given to you for free, like some kind of reward, like the GDA were dangling a carrot, after you had sacrificed so much of yourself with as little as a thank you being given in return.
It all became a little less shit when Invincible appeared. In the beginning you liked him only because your dad feared him so much, after seeing what omni-man did to the guardians and world.
Invincible, or Mark, didn't help these blooming feelings. He was just so kind, so willing to help and so determined. He hadn't been crushed under the weight of the universe, of his father's legacy, like many others would have. Like you had.
You two had worked together on multiple occasions, since you didn't have much of a choice about joining the new guardians.
Being raised by the government to live as a tool meant your ability to communicate and build relationships was very lacking, so you two never became more than acquaintances, but Invincible still made your heart flutter and your body heat up.
Maybe that was why it was hard to fight these alternate variants of him. It wasnt like your forcefields and will created tools were much help, as they shattered under the punches and kicks of the Mark variants.
The Mark variant you had ended up with was an extra rude one, he cursed and spat and growled like some kind of animal. He fought manically, clawing and bloody from all the lives he had taken. Maybe dying wasn't too bad, if you got to die by Invincibles hand.
That was why you had ripped out the earpiece you always wore, even using your will to shape a little sharp contraption to dig out the one that had been placed under your ear with surgery, a long time ago.
It could explain why you allowed this veiled Mark passed the multiple layers of glowing green walls, when you let him clasp a bloody hand around your throat, and why you only groaned a little as he slammed you down, the very pavement shattering into rubble.
“Im getting tired of your fucking lightshow” he snarled, his voice so similar to Marks put different in its roughness. There was a familiar heat pooling in your gut, your thighs clenching together as this Mark variant choked the very life out of you.
You weren't reaching up to hit him as he choked you, instead gripping onto the veil he wore. Part of you wanted to look him in the eyes as he killed you, so you could at least see the face of the one person who made you feel alive, even if those feelings were never returned.
Black spots were swimming across your vision, your grip weakening and focus wavering, enough for your green domino mask to disappear in a flicker of green.
There must have been something in your eyes, as this Mark variant furrowed his brows, his hand loosening just enough for you to gasp in a few breaths of air, ripping the sweet release of death out of your hands once more.
“Shit, you are into this, aren't you? You disgusting freak” he snarled, a cruel animalistic smirk growing on his lips, Marks eyes widening like a tiger spotting a wounded rabbit. His pupils were blown, but if it was adrenaline or lust, you couldnt be sure.
One thing was sure, that expression on his face, was never one you would see on your Mark. He would never look so wild, so feral and violent. It made your cock throb and front hole grow wetter than you had ever been before, the inside of your suit growing uncomfortable.
The Mark variant gave a snarl, grabbing you like a ragdoll and blasting off in some random direction, his veil falling back in place as he did so.
You weren't sure where you guys ended up, but it was somewhere not destroyed by the invasion. The near-death choking had left you with an aching headache and blurry head, so you ended up just flopping down on the ground Mark threw you on.
“I love nasty freaks like you. Always aching for dick as much as you ache for pain.” the Mark variant purred, settling between your thighs, his hands strong and tight as they gripped onto them, spreading them apart far enough for it to burn.
“Fuck, i could break both of these, and i bet you would just beg for more” he groaned out, voice somehow more growly and hotter than before, as he squeezed your thighs, right above your femur.
“Come on, give me that dick” he chuckled, bending forwards just enough for his veil to move, enough for you to see his hungry shark-like grin, and the way his tongue licked against his teeth.
There hadn't been much thought in your head about your body this whole time. You had never been very active in that regard, what joy was there in jerking off and exploring when you were always under watch.
So, you hadn't thought of this Mark variant's reaction when you willed away your suit, just enough for your crotch to be freed, your t-cock hard and filled with blood as your slit oozed.
Mark stopped for a second, his brow furrowing so visibly you could even see it through his veil, and for a moment you felt something akin to dread. Damn, did you fuck it up? Maybe he was disgusted by it, it was a fear you had of your Mark, that he would think you were a liar, or something.
That was, until the Mark Variant laughed, his tone like somebody who just won the damn lottery. “Shit, fuck yeah! Spread those fucking legs, open up for me” he cackled, hands pushing at the back of your thighs, almost folding you in half.
You weren't given much time to reach before he leaned down, his veil almost innocently covering your pubic mound, before his lips closed around your engorged t-cock.
Your legs kicked at the sudden feeling, a noise leaving you like he had just punched you in the gut. There was no damn finesse in this Marks movements, as his arms kept your folded in half, as he feasted on your slit like a starved animal.
It was so loud and wet, his tongue and lips pulling you open, sucking, biting and flicking anything he could reach. Mark groaned as if your slit was a five-star meal, his tongue wiggling inside your slit as he released your legs with one of his arms, only so he could pinch and jerk your t-cock in cock cruel movements.
There was no control over the noises you let out, your hands gripping at his hair, his arms, shoulders, anything, the blank yellow goggles of his veil staring back at you as Mark slurped up all the juices you had gushed out.
“Ffffuck, I could suck this cunt for days” he gurgled out, even his voice sounded wet from feasting upon you like this. Marks tongue returned to your t-cock, his fingers plunging inside you and fucking back and forth with a speed that had you wailing.
Not being able to see what was happening only made your legs shake more, your spine arching upwards as he wrenched an orgasm out of you.
“There we go, god damn, fuck. I wanna see you fucking squirt” Mark panted, his mouth descending back on you as his fingers twisted and worked even faster. He sounded near drunk, almost as much as you as your entire body tensed and jolted from overstimulation.
But you had nothing against viltrumite strength, and hunger, it seemed. “Come on, come on, on my face, give it” the Mark variant growled, and for a moment, you could imagine it was your Mark, slurping and licking at you like a hound lapping up a puddle.
The noise you let out must have been loud, as your throat ached from what you could only assume was a scream, or perhaps a screech of some kind. Your entire body felt like jello, as you shivered and shook through what must have been the most powerful orgasm you had ever experienced.
It was difficult to open your eyes, even as Mark dumped your legs back down, letting them splay open to give him a perfect view of your sore reddened cock and slit.
When you finally succeeded, you almost shut them again. Marks blue veil was soaked, giving it a darker hue. It was so wet that it stuck to his face, draped over the bridge of his nose so you could see his pink wet lips, and his wet tongue as he licked at his chin, trying to lap up the last of your fluids.
“Shit, might just have to keep you if you keep doing that” the Mark variant chuckled, voice rough as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I'll have to be sure though, might have to make you do it again” Mark borderline giggled, as he ripped the front of his suit, letting his own very large, aching problem, slap against your abdomen.
“You gonna show me freak? Huh?” the tone was so degrading, but hungry. “Let's see if it's just my mouth you can't resist, or if this works too” Mark groaned, slapping his length against your t-cock, before shuffling down to press it against your hole.
Maybe it wasn't all bad... and they couldn't say you hadn't distracted one of the invincible variants, so technically you had done more than others at the end of the day.
