#yandere invincible

[earlgreylatte]

Hello, You

(Invincible Variants x Reader) Of course he would come to see you. You’re the reason he’s here, after all.

After hearing the news to stay inside as the attack of Invincible copycats decimated cities across the globe, you hid under your blanket, the light from your phone illuminating your face as you watched the broadcast for any sign of your Mark.

You could only hope that he was alright, that he wasn’t blaming himself, that he knew you were waiting for him to come back safe. He already has enough problems as is.

Your distress is momentarily tempered when you hear your window slide open and your floorboards creek. When you don’t hear Mark immediately greet you or tease you for being bundled up, any concern you felt for Mark becomes overshadowed by fear for yourself as you hear footsteps near your prone form.

You can only tremble, clutching your blanket close to your body until the room goes silent. You shakily exhale, becoming confused when another quiet beat passes. When your breath returns to normal, the blanket is ripped off of you, eliciting a scared yelp.

For a moment you only stare in confusion at the sight of your boyfriend’s estranged father before realizing it’s not Nolan Grayson that stands before you, but Mark clad in a costume similar to his father’s. His face is impassive, mouth a firm line, so unlike the expressive nature of your Mark.

He calls your name. Quietly, yet there was something heavy in his tone. Something you could almost delude yourself into thinking was longing.

His hand brushes against your cheek, moving down your face before resting on your shoulder, a finger pressed against your pulse.

“You sound healthy,” he comments, deceptively neutral in his delivery, but even behind his goggles, you could feel his gaze burning into your face, “In my world, you had cancer. By the time the Viltrumites reinforcements had arrived, it was too late. All that talk about life changing technology and medicine, but it ended up being utterly useless to me.”

Your breath hitches, but he continues, “But here there’s a me that rebelled and an you that never got sick. That got to live past high school. That’s just the way it goes, I suppose.”

His hand travels lower, brushing past your collarbone before resting on your breast, your heart hammering beneath his palm.

“Do you know why I came here?” He wonders, his free hand planting itself on your bed, as he moves his body to hover above yours until the only thing you can see is him.

“No,” you whisper, staring into black lenses.

“Because even after all these years, the only heart I wish to know, to hold, and to cherish is yours. I was willing to play human for you, to tolerate the presence of the idiots that breathed the same air as us, but then they all had the audacity to outlive you. And I can’t move on. So the selfish man that I am, I’m here to take you. To have you by my side again, no matter how much blood I have to spill,” He declares before pressing his lips against yours, muffling your gasp and cries, gripping your wrist when you try to shove at him.

He only pulls away when you start to feel lighthearted, looking down at you as you struggle to catch your breath.

“You can cry and protest all you want. You loved me once, you can do it again,” he asserts, bring your wrist to his mouth, leaving a kiss against your pulse point. “This world was doomed the moment your Mark decided to rebel. I won’t let you die because of his delusions.”

“…I’m not her,” you speak up. “I don’t know you, not really.”

“I know,” he responds, “but every inch of my body is crying out to you, and I’d rather kill everyone on this planet before I let you go again.”

He releases your wrist, instead sliding both hands under your shirt, gloved hands savouring the feel of your skin, your warmth seeping through the fabric.

“…you’re shaking,” he notes, throwing a glance at your discarded blanket on the ground, “I’m sorry, I’ll warm you up. I promise.”

“Mark,” you say, out of instinct more than anything else, your mind coming to a blank.

“Shh,” he hushes you, voice gentle but firm, “Let me take care of you. Like I always do.”

A part of you is relieved that he hasn’t taken off his cowl because you knew you’d crumble under the emotion that would undoubtedly be in his eyes. The same eyes that always held so much love and adoration towards you.

His lips press against yours again, more demanding and heated, as hands travel higher and higher until—

“Looks like I wasn’t the only one that thought to come here,” an amused but familiar voice drawls out, the Mark on top of you pulling away, body covering yours protectively.

Another Invincible sat at your window ledge, black and yellow costume starkly contrasting the rest of your room. He smiles at you when you peak around Mark’s arm.

“Honestly, you were acting so high and mighty earlier, but you’re pretty desperate, huh?” He mocks as the other Mark’s face becomes stonier. “But, really, you should fuck off somewhere else because that’s my girl you’re feeling up right now.”

Before he can respond, another voice interrupts him as you notice yet another Mark, floating behind the one at your window.

“Fucking seriously? How did you even get here before me? I bet you halfassed your locations,” The Mark with a mohawk that has you raising your eyebrow complains, “I literally called dibs on this one! Find someone else!”

Feeling the tension build up, you only hope that Mark checks in and saves you from the bullshit you’re witnessing as they begin to snarl and yap at each other like feral dogs.

Why me, you lament.

Shiesty Mark: hey, babe, it’s Big Dick Friday—why the fuck are you all here??

Why is there no Omni Mark content, he and that shiesty mark were my favourite…

I feel like omni mark is the definition of ‘quite literally hates everyone but you’

Masterlist

[maliciouscottonball]

Thinking about Conquest and oblivious! reader...

You live in the woods and don't watch the news. That's why when a Viltrumite lands on your lawn, you offer him some lemonade and ask if he wants to use your phone to call someone. You take one look at his clothes and just figure that he's a new superhero. Well, not a new one. He's pretty old so you figure that someone probably dug him up from somewhere.

You offer your couch for him to crash on and two blankets because you figured that one wouldn't fully cover him. You sleep well, surprisingly lulled to sleep by his foundation rattling snores. That morning, you bake banana bread while he stares at you.

"Why do you talk about killing so much?" You ask as you snack on your generous slice of banana bread.

"That's what I do." He answers with his mouth full of a solid quarter of the loaf.

"Cool." You shrug as you take another bite.

"I will be staying here for the foreseeable future." Conquest asserts after a few moments.

"I mean, you're welcome to stay on the couch as long as you help me chop wood." You reply.

"You would willingly let me stay?" He asks as if it's the greatest deal he's ever heard.

You're a bit confused about why he seems so delighted. Your couch isn't very comfortable and you saw how his legs were dangling off of one of the armrests when he laid down the night before. Oh well. You're getting someone to chop wood for you.

"Eh, I don't really want to do it myself and I like your company. Also, you need to let me rub the bald parts of your hair sometimes." You say as if it's a normal thing to request from someone you've known for less than 24 hours.

He blinked a few times before nodding and biting off another quarter of a loaf of banana bread. You pull up the delivery app on your phone and add more bananas to your grocery list.

[vinnyvamppp]

To Be Desired

⭐: No Goggles Mark, Mohawk Mark, #17 Mark/Sinister Mark, Mentions of Invincible (requested!).

Synopsis: Variants of your childhood best friend spawn across the globe, and you find yourself in the crossfire of their previous lovers. What happens when you experience the parallel pleasure they offer?

Warnings: Power Struggles, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Morally Grey, Nipple Play, Fingering, Pussy Eating, Overstimulation, Public Sex, Squirting, Rough Sex, Switch!Reader, Switch!Invincible Variants, Plot changes for convenience, Matching Freaks, Position Changes, Porn w a Plot, etc.

Invincible Variants x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,239 (PART TWO HERE)

“You won’t believe what just happened, oh man!” Mark exclaimed with glee; an unfamiliar look of pride swam within his irises. It was the night he received his powers; a deep crater buried itself into your driveway from his failed landing. “What?” you questioned, prying your front door open as he entered. There were scuff marks littered across his naked upper body, battered and bruised from his knightly adventure. “It was incredible. I—I flew,” he explained, his hand gesturing excitedly. This was a dream of his; he would craft makeshift suits and detail desired escapades to save the world. However, for it to come true was another story.

“No way! This… this is a funny joke,” you sputtered. One doesn’t usually acquire powers at random, but in this dimension, who knows? “No, really. I took a huge leap off my roof, not really expecting anything,” he interrupted to soften the already ridiculous landing of his story. “You know, and I just took off.” The topic was so exhilarating; the thought of questioning him hadn’t dawned upon you. He leaned against the back of your couch, crossing his arms as you two reminisced.

“Wait—why were you jumping from the roof anyway? What if nothing happened and you fell?” you questioned with a raised brow. “I know, I know, it’s stupid. But I was curious and decided to give it a try,” he rationalized quietly, fingers nervously scratching his nape. “Aw… I want powers now,” you feigned sadness as you sulked. It was your attempt at being amusing, but truthfully, you felt left behind. Was it envy? Was it the need to feel important? Was it the fear of him leaving you behind to begin his journey as a hero? You didn’t know at the time. His expression became tinged slightly with guilt. “Hey, don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get powers soon,” he reassured you, but it was too humorous to be sincere.

“Yeah… soon. Real funny, wasn’t it?” you said to yourself as your body perched against a rooftop. It was the second day of the Mark variants ravaging Earth like their playground. The once-majestic towers now stand as skeletal frames, their glass windows shattered. Debris litters the streets, a tragic mix of shattered concrete and twisted metal, and the air hangs heavy with the scent of smoke and ash. Heroes formed makeshift shelters and sifted through rubble for survivors.

The Mark you once knew was head over heels for Atom Eve. It was no secret; he was a lost puppy whose ears would perk at the sound of his name on her tongue. Utterly devoted. Sickeningly in love. You were the very last to discern his truth. The two were written in stone, but it left a bitter taste in your mouth that you had long since gotten over. Until now. You were late to the news of the world's destruction. A strangely familiar face appeared on the news, a version of Mark that made your chest tighten. Within your family, a strange ability was acquired—a power bred through evolution to ensure survival in a world full of the unknown. Once in a lifetime, through a series of visions, you would discover a pivotal moment in time to peer through. That moment was now. Eighteen variants were loose internationally, each with their own tragic story and love interests. Six had dated or lost their Atom Eve, five had slain their worlds' Amber, and six had been devoted to you.

Helping where you could, you began assisting in fighting off the weaklings who figured now was the best time to attack Earth. Micro tears riddled your uniform as you tore through them mercilessly, all through a look of pity. There were days you'd resent this “job” you'd granted yourself, the little recognition and appreciation you'd receive from the public. How selfish of them—and you. You wanted an excuse to have this world fair alone without a need to rebel when no one would notice. As luck would have it, a voice suddenly dawned behind you, his body floating midair and adorned with the appearance of your dearest friend.

Mohawk Mark

“Oh, shit… I know you,” he rasped, his expression twisted into a cocky grin. His stature and pose were that of confidence—and a man who caused insurmountable damage to those he met. “You look just like her,” he continued, his feet finding purchase on the ground as his stride increased. “Sorry, you've got the wrong one—try finding her—” Just as you spoke, static buzzed in your skull—a low crackling hum that drowned out the edges of the memory before it fully formed. It was there—just beyond reach—shrouded in white noise.

The harder you focused, the more the static swelled, but for a moment, the interference cleared. A voice—the ghost of a feeling—and just as quickly, it was swallowed again. You understood the gist; he was indeed one you would find yourself tangled with. “Looks like you’ve been through some tough shit—mind if I join you?” Without waiting for a response, he lunged forward, grappling you in a powerful embrace. His intent wasn't one of danger but instead of safekeeping despite his demeanor. Reflexes took over as you slammed against his cranium with the strength you could muster, effectively knocking him back.

"Fuck, you're a feisty one," Mohawk Mark growled, his breath hot against your ear. "I like that shit. Let's see how you handle this." His chuckle was condescending—yet a thrill shot through you. “‘Won't be handling shit,” you quipped before biting into his neck—just rigid enough to draw blood. He groaned, his flight knocking you two back into an alleyway.

Similarly to your Mark, he seemed attracted to strength, his veins pumping with lust rather than adrenaline. Holding a firm grasp of your jaw, his lips collided with yours in a searing and blood-stained kiss. The muscle of his tongue forcefully parted your lips as he sought to taste you against his own. Finding yourself against the wall, your legs wrapped around the width of his waist, your ass snugly hovering over his pelvis.

He pulled away every few seconds to watch your expression succumb to your selfish wants. Sex with the enemy was enticing and you weren’t letting him escape any time soon. “You planned this?” you murmured between the saliva-ridden kisses. “That would be telling. You know enough if you’re agreeing to this.” His voice grew to tease as he licked his lips—mirroring his satisfaction before peppering kisses down your exposed neck.

His version of sex was rough, with small increments of romance—only reserved for the best prize. With muffled groans, his teeth harshly nipped their way lower, his fingers tearing through the fabric of your suit. As he continued down your now-exposed cleavage, his tongue ran along the scantily clad lace of your bra. Staring up at you, he let out a mischievous snicker before his teeth snagged the cup and tore it from your chest—leaving it discarded on the ground.

“Shit… was fucking not enough? Had to ruin my clothes too,” you complained as your hips bucked against his pointedly. This earned a guttural grunt from the flesh of your breasts, as he heaved out a response. “You’ll forget about them anyway,” he dismissed as he continued until your panties were the last to be removed. The cool air dusted your wet cunt—its arousal seeping through your folds like honey. Its chill made you shiver and like bees to nectar, his tongue feasted before his eyes.

Hoisting you up, your thighs rested against his shoulders as he knelt, the angle allowing his tongue to slip inside your already spasming pussy. An unusual pink hue dusted his cheek as he stared up at you in utter bliss. Your fingers dug into his forearms, your puffy folds pressed against his lips as he devoured you. With your head resting against the wall, your hips ground themselves relentlessly against his tongue.

"Mmm, shit, already soaking wet for me," he taunted, pumping his tongue in and out of your tight cunt. His tongue—rough and textured—lashed out to lap at your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His groans sent mild vibrations through you as his fingers reached up to paw at your tits, nipples stiffened in the cold air. You couldn't help but moan as he ate you out with relentless intensity, his tongue plunging deep into your folds. His calloused hands roamed your exposed flesh, pinching and kneading your breasts, twisting your sensitive nipples until they grew numb.

His hands couldn't stop their exploration—they explored what he had lost many years ago. Sparks flew as his tongue circled against your clit, flickering the bundle of nerves with a speed inexperienced before. Every time you neared the precipice of your orgasm, his tongue would flatten as he sucked your clit—ruining the rhythm. You tugged his hair with a frustrated groan, and his eyes rolled into his skull with an amused moan.

Finally pulling away, he stood to his feet. His lips parted to speak when suddenly, “Hurry the fuck up,” you said curtly with exasperated gasps. With lidded eyes, a Cheshire grin settled across his features. “Yes, ma’am.” Prying his suit off, he palmed his dampening erection. For once he fell silent as anticipation ate away at you both. As he freed his cock from the confinement of his boxers, it slapped against his lower abdomen.

It stood with a veiny girth—the tip kissed a rosy red like his many mistresses' lipsticks. With a pleased hiss, he stroked himself briefly—eyes just barely losing focus from the buildup before he plunged himself into you. Your pussy hugged him with a familiarity that felt like home, the painful stretch soon becoming one of bliss. His hips began to quicken, wanting to see your fucked-out expression like never before.

However, his greed overwhelmed him as the stimulation grew difficult to ignore. His usual grunts and growls diluted into groans and profanities. The alleyway echoed with the cacophony of moans that mingled in the air—inharmonious, yet emotion-filled as a flame flickered within your core. “I’ve waited so fucking long for this,” he grunted, a grin etched into his lips. “N-None of them—no ssslut compares to this. Only pussy I need—only woman I want.” A groan interrupted his sentence as your cunt contracted around him—swallowing him at the base.

That’s right—every harem formed and woman fucked was so he could ruin the image of you that plagued his mind in its grief. The vulnerability of it all made your toes curl, even if it wasn't much.

The fingers pawing at your breasts began kneading them like stress balls, until they were red. Truthfully, he missed every inch of you—not that he would admit that, especially since you weren’t exactly his. A high-pitched moan ripped from your throat as he continued to bounce you on his dick. Pre-cum coated your insides as the sounds of arousal grew louder, his balls tightening. With every thrust, he could see the air physically leave you, the scuff marks from brick marking your skin.

He could barely tell where to focus his eyes—on your tits or face? Both were gorgeous but fuck, he should just kidnap you and take you home with him, right? “Fuuuuck, Mark… I’m g-go—” you groaned as your fingernails indented into his skin, a pain and pleasure-filled gasp crawling from his throat. “Fuck, yeah…” he said, his raspy voice cracking with the slightest whine. “Take it… s-shit, take it…!” It was a growl as his eyes fluttered shut to hide his eyes practically rolling around his skull. With a clenched jaw, his dick began to milk itself. The pleasure mounted as your impending orgasm washed your body in a sweat-breaking heat. Just as he came, your cunt spasmed, once he pulled out, something within snapped as an aroused gush squirted from you.

His groin was now coated in your scent, taste, and the result of your rough fucking. The pleasure racked your brain as tears threatened to spill over. Noticing this—and pleased with his efforts—he let out a short chortle, a hand coming up to swipe your folds and have a final taste. His expression turned into a feigned sob as he silently teased—his tip running a line between your folds and ass, resisting the temptation to fill your asshole with his seed. Once you two were settled from your high, he spoke up. “Had fun, babe.” Your eyebrow lifted at the newly coined pet name.

Suddenly, a muffled voice in his ear caught his attention. “Shit…” he muttered with an annoyed grimace at Angstrom ruining his amusement. “Go on,” you beckoned. “Not yours anyway—so no need to stick around.” It was a light jab—one he received with a satisfied smirk before taking flight. “Doesn’t matter—I’ll be back,” he replied curtly before disappearing into the horizon.

You stood there—naked—processing what just happened. "Shit, I need a new suit from my apartment.”

Variant #17 Mark (I wouldn't even keep you as a slave in my Empire!) Or Sinister Mark (personalities are similar in the comics, so imagine what you will.)

"You thought you could hide from me?" he said, peering down at you with a friendly grin for someone so domineering. Staring down at the man’s shadow, his cape billowed in the wind. Unlike the other Marks you’d caught a glimpse of, this one barely had a bruise on him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he finished before he landed softly on the ground. As he approached, you remained still, eyebrows creasing into a frown. “I’m not—” You were abruptly cut off by a low voice as his head tilted to stare into your eyes. “Don’t play stupid. My version of you had the same power—but she resisted our cause.” His voice was tinged with pity as he frowned; he decided to take another route in his approach.

“I’ll tell you what—I’ll leave if you come with me,” he offered with an outstretched palm. You vehemently shook your head in disagreement. “I’m not going—it'll disrupt the timeline.”

“Why does that matter?” he asked.

“What makes you think I won't resist either…?” you retorted, causing his eyebrows to raise slightly in thought. “I’ll change your mind—and give you what you missed out on in my world.” It was such a matter-of-fact opinion—one rooted in a determination to outclass any obstacle that might deter him. Curiosity bested you the moment you turned to face the chaos erupting in the streets as a strong gust of wind obscured the debris. He was behind you. His fingers draped over your waist as he took flight—and to… your apartment? “I’ve been watching you for a while now… I know all about your preferences. Let’s have some fun, shall we?” His lips just barely grazed your ear.

Amongst the hands that roamed your body, a sense of longing lingered in every squeeze and grope. While being one of the strongest—and surely the most vile—his personality could be charming like your dimension’s Mark. Even if feigned for manipulation. He spun you around to face him, that polite smile etched into his face again as his body betrayed innocence. The erection forming within his costume became difficult to ignore—but he found a distraction. A touch, a handhold, and finally—a kiss.

“Let me show you what it's truly like to be satisfied.” His words were reassuring, yet they felt more directed toward his version of you rather than now. His tongue swept into your mouth, tangling itself in a wet heat as he sucked the air from your lungs. The warmth of his fingers spread across your cheek as his tongue attempted to delve impossibly deep. The taste was better than you imagined—not that you expected any less. If anything, finding him in a forgiving mood proved to be favorable.

His fingers shifted from your face to the back of your costume—in his attempt to be gentle, he tore the cloth from your body like tissue paper. In an instant, his costume was discarded in the corner, leaving him in snug boxers that hugged his dick. Before you knew it, you were pinned against the bed—a hand flush against your throat as he shrugged slightly. “Didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said, an amused huff exiting his nose as you exchanged knowing glances.

The remaining hand gently pried the panties from around your hips and down the length of your legs. His eyes fell upon the wet patch that seeped through the thin fabric—as the semblance of a pleased grin stretched across his lips. Focusing his attention once more, his fingers slowly parted your folds, watching as your velvety walls peeked through the slit. Its warm flesh was inviting—something he had yet to try since you retaliated so often against him at home. Just why couldn’t you be this welcoming? So willing to be corrupted? So… morally gray at the least.

Pressing two digits inside your warmth, he watched it conform to the size of his fingers. An obvious shiver ran through him with each moan that vibrated from your throat—as he imagined you hugging him and wrapped around his cock in plea. The sensations set your skin alight with gooseflesh—and each time you attempted to scurry away from his gift, the hold around your neck tightened ever so slightly. He was such a brat.

Your hips ground into his hand, clit colliding with his palm in gentle waves. As his fingers slowly retracted, his cock shyly peeked from the pocket of his boxers. His patience was running thin as he adjusted himself at your entrance—and slowly pushed through. A loud sigh escaped his lips as he bottomed out, his head falling backward as he quietly cursed under his breath. Mirroring his restlessness, your foot hooked around his lower back and pressed him deeper. A drawn-out moan echoed from your throat; he was barely holding on as he gnawed at his lip to contain himself. Reflexively, his hips stuttered before setting a relentless pace—pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes that hit all the right spots.

“Already so wet for me… pathetic. Fucking slut.” His words struck a nerve within—as you repulsively tightened around him, earning a whine. Your moans echoed through the room, mingling with the slap of skin against skin and Mark's grunts of pleasure. He hammered into you like a man possessed—his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he drove you toward climax.

The long thrusts stimulated every inch of his dick—the veins kissed with every grip of your cunt. “Did your version of me not do it for you?” you teased before taking a sharp breath at his relentless pace. “Y-You really don’t know when to be quiet,” he gritted. “But n-no… not like this. You're much better. I would take you to be a part of my empire.” He replied, his jaw tightening as his hips drilled into you with renewed conviction at the thought. A second you—not the one he’s attempting to keep as a slave for disobeying—but one he could trust to blindly follow his power. His grin grew wolfish as his other hand overlapped your throat—his gaze shifting between your bouncing tits and pleasured face.

The slight closure of your windpipe didn’t allow for much noise—but no matter, Mark began to sing like you’d never imagine. It was strange—the sound was much louder due to your silence as you clawed at his skin. His voice began to crack as his tightened jaw began to slack. "F—fucking incredible," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "I knew… you'd be worth every s-second of c-...chasing you down," he sputtered as his length began to twitch inside you.

Seeing someone as strong as him unravel before you was a greater sense of accomplishment than becoming a hero itself. With a closed-lip groan, he began overstimulating himself with the effort to get you off. “Haaa… I’m c-close. Ugh…!” you muttered through strangled gasps—as the deprivation of air made you lightheaded and sensitive. Every nerve ending inside your cunt doubled as you went taut beneath him. “C’mon, fucking cum for me,” he heaved.

His thrusts became sloppy as he came inside without warning—doubling over as a consequence. An unfamiliar sensation painted your insides. You both saw stars as silence pierced the room—the slick produced coated his cock in a glaze. Through bated breaths, his fingers finally released their grip around you as you coughed out a response. “I have to admit… you’re hard to deny,” you said, momentarily spent as you lay before him. “Swee—” He was cut off by a voice in his ear.

It was Angstrom demanding his presence over the city. “What a nuisance,” were the final words you caught as he muttered under his breath. Every version of Angstrom was a hindrance to this Mark—nonetheless, he suited up to leave. “I’ll return—and you will join me,” he said confidently, as if there was no argument to be made. You nodded absentmindedly and sighed. Just what had you done?

No Goggles Mark

“Dude…! You’re so cool—what is that? I’ve never seen any powers like that in my world,” he said with an amused expression as he snickered at your agony. You stared up at him, your heartbeat suddenly quickening when meeting his gaze. A look of recognition flickered within his eyes. “Hey, I know you,” he said, his feet touching base on the ground as he approached you with a widening grin. “I’m not sure you know me exactly…” you replied, backing away as your eyes searched for a route to escape—his friendliness had truly taken you aback.

“Who do you work for?” he asked, words flying from his mouth without a care as he approached closer. “You're way stronger than the Guardians of the Globe dudes I fought.” He fought who?! A sense of dread filled you as a new series of questions plagued your mind. If this one could ruin the team to filth—then just how strong was he, and what exactly did he want? “I don't want to fight you, man,” you somewhat pleaded; he frowned with disapproval. “Fight? No, man… but it seems like you’re in trouble, dude.” The topic switched again—his gaze now behind you—as a flurry of aliens attempting their takeover waltzed through a portal. You didn’t have the heart to tell them it was a failed crusade before it began.

Taking a stride forward, a strong arm suddenly wrapped around your waist as you two were propelled to a lone-standing structure where steel beams and concrete floors remained. “Put me down,” you bruised him as you backhanded him into the metal beam. While he had a smile on his face, momentary irritation settled across his features. The painful sting ran to his cock. “Aw, what's the matter?” he asked, standing to his feet as you both came face to face once more.

“It would be hot, but I don't want to fight, dude. I’ve missed you. I promise I’ll be gentle… at first.” The delivery was more seductive—dropping an octave—as he approached you, hands outstretched and finding purchase against your hips. One thing other variants wouldn’t admit—was the supple touch of the right woman could caress their soul.

“I’m not the me you want,” you replied. “You can just be the one I have anyway,” he said. He was indeed serious—and while less terrifying than the other Marks you’d encountered, his strength was menacing nonetheless. “Then let’s see what other talents you’ve got.” Your response made his expression brighten with a new goal in mind. At that, the grin on his face widened as he leaned down and captured your lips in a fierce, dominant kiss.

His tongue forced its way into your mouth, battling yours for dominance as he ground his hips against yours. You two stumbled around the enclosure—footsteps echoing in the empty building. Mark’s hands cupped your ass, squeezing roughly as he whispered crude compliments into your ear. "Nice ass," he growled appreciatively, his fingers caressing the soft flesh. He couldn’t articulate it well—but you were truly beautiful in every universe—and he couldn’t wait to have his share.

Your fingers traveled up his muscled back as body heat pooled across your fingertips. Eagerness unlike any other began to rise as you longed to touch every inch of him. Hero costumes were peeled from one another, and you found his groping becoming progressively obsessive. His hardened cock stood awaiting stimulation as he bit back his urges—sacrificing the time to feel you once more.

Guiding him to the floor, you seated yourself against his lap—your legs hooked over his forearms. He was always too quick to finish battles, and that even applied to sex. Just the tip. That's what you two agreed upon. Sinking onto his cock—its girth filled you deliciously. The wet sound of arousal followed by his restrained groans filled you with delight; it was amusing to see a Viltrumite struggle to contain himself.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… and 6! On every sixth shallow thrust, you would contract your muscles—gripping his dick like a vice as every vein received a kiss from the gods inside your cunt. It had him crazed—wanting more of your warmth than you were willing to give. “F—fuck, babe, you’re killin’ me,” he hissed with an unforeseen weariness shaking his voice. “Can I?” he started. “No.” His expression hardened at your words. “You’re ruining the—” Before he could finish, he inhaled sharply as his head fell back. “Am I…?” you asked with feigned curiosity. It was undulating in a rhythm that drove him wild. He groaned beneath you—his hands digging into his palms as he fought his urges to misbehave.

The sound of your ass slapping against his pelvis filled the air—mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. Anything would be worth trading; he could watch his dick disappear within your cunt nonstop. His impending release redoubled his efforts—pounding into you with a ferocity that sent you hurtling over the edge.

The excitement overwhelmed him as he sheathed half his cock inside—the spreading warmth and moisture making his thighs quiver beneath you. His balls tightened, painfully so—that alone ripped a pornographic moan from him. If he could fuck you as desired, he wouldn’t be nearly as needy. Your combined moans echoed through the infrastructure—and you were certain that with the windows gone, someone could hear—but the thought was out of sight and out of mind. Pre-cum beaded down his length as it was smeared each time he entered your warmth. “M-Mark…” you muttered; he nodded fervently behind you as his jaw locked.

“Y-You ready for it, babe?" he asked with a faltering grin as sweat tickled his brows. Leaning your full body weight against him—you felt your orgasm building quickly. The pleasure reached new heights as you both milked each other dry for the sake of proving a point. Your body instinctively began to lurch forward as your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave. The tip of his cock was bedecked with a foam ring of cum. Mark would’ve begun convulsing had it not been for him carrying you—instead, his body stiffened as he let out a tight-lipped groan. You could’ve sworn you saw his toes curl too—but who knows? His pale skin was flushed a hue of red as his body thrummed with an aftershock.

Once you’d come down from your high, a satisfied grin beamed at you. "Dude, that was incredible," he murmured, a satisfied grin on his face. "We should do this again sometime," he said—as if this was some casual fling, not that you would mind.

Before you could respond, a message in his ear interrupted the conversation. “Ugh… this always happens; I have fun, and then—dude…” he sounded exasperated as he hurriedly redressed—reluctantly wishing you a botched farewell. “I like you. You’re coming with me.”

Feel free to request more lmao

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[panyan5654]

THANK YOU SO MUCH GUYS!! Here you go ❤️ there’s no escape for poor darling…

[kundere20000000]

If there's anyone who wants the idea or quest for young Nolan or mark grayson ( specific Viltrumite Mark or any marks you see fit) I have one for you. 🤭 you can change or do what you want with this request, especially the ending. ( but I low-key like the thought of her taking him to her universe so you can use that.) ( also, I just added this but y'all can make this yandere too?

Stronger! Kryptonian! Reader x young! nolan grayson

Stronger! Kryptonian! Reader x mark grayson

I want reader who from another dimension (the DC universe) ends up in Invincible verse. While she starts searching for a way home, She starts off as enemies at first with the Viltrumites, seeing them as just blood thirsty brutes that are in her way of getting home since they have a special material that she needs in order to create a device so she can send herself home.

while they view her as a threat / a worthy conquest so many of them approach her to fight to prove themselves. Despite repeated fights, she easily defeats those she meet but spares their lives usually, unintentionally earning their respect in a weird way and a reputation for her strength and other abilities.

Enter young! Nolan / mark and Other Viltrumite, who are eventually sent to defeat / recruit her but is quickly overpowered. Humiliated yet intrigued, he returns for multiple rematches while still trying to recruit her, and she sees it as some kind of light training for herself. over time their rivalry softens into a strange bond. As they grow closer, Nolan / Mark begins to fall for her and awkwardly tries to ( Viltrumite Style ) court her by prove his strength to her.

( she's oblivious because she doesn't know much about Viltrumite culture) When he learns what she been looking for, Nolan / Mark ultimately retrieves it for her as a sort of a weird courting gift but is reluctant to give it to her after finding out what she needs it for since he doesn't want her to leave him. At least just yet anyway.

[mirai-lunar]

Invincible Variants x Fem! Reader Pt.1

Includes: Sinister Mark, No Goggles Invincible, Goggles Invincible, Mohawk Invincible, Omni Invincible

(I love these names sm lol)

Word Count: ~3.5k

Part 2

Warnings: Dark Content, Violence, Yandere Behavior

Sinister Mark 

“Oh, you’re pretty tough.” 

He was terrifying.

You made the horrible mistake of attempting to trade blows with this variant clad in yellow and black. You were strong, but nowhere near his level. A single hit to your gut gave you visions of the afterlife. 

It took all your strength to stay conscious. 

You fell harshly to the ground, and within an instant he was on top of you.

You tried to fight him off, but his hands pinned your arms to your sides.

Blood trickled down your forehead as you breathed heavily, your eyes staring back into his black goggles.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said, almost too casually. “Scream if you want, it’ll be music to my ears.”

You couldn’t beat him, but you could endure. 

Your body relaxed, your eyes unwavering. He raised a brow.

“Not going to plead for your pathetic life?”

“There’s no point,” you said. Those words felt like daggers to your throat. “Either way I die.” 

His gaze flickered up to the cut on your head, noticing the wound was closing ever so slowly. A healing factor? 

He then looked back at you and lifted a hand, before harshly jabbing it into your side, just below your ribcage. His fingers opened your skin easily. You gritted your teeth at the newfound pain, him examining the bloody tips of his fingers and your newly opened wound.

Was he going to torture you? Why couldn’t he just rip your head off and be done?

Every fiber of your being wanted to scream out. But you couldn’t give him the satisfaction. 

He noticed that your body was already attempting to close the wound, and you shut your eyes to collect yourself. You didn’t know how long they were shut, but once you opened your eyes you were still under his gaze. A smile graced his features. 

He… waited for you to collect yourself? 

He then leaned in, and for the first time you were afraid of him. His tongue dragged against your forehead, licking off the blood there. His chest was dangerously close to yours, and you could feel the warmth emanating from his body.

Strange. You were certain he was a cold blooded monster. 

“I don’t recall ever seeing you in my world,” he said. You felt a hand on your neck and your blood went cold. The pressure was terrifying, but he wasn’t choking you. He tilted your head up. “...Then again, I lost track after killing so many.” 

His lips then locked with yours. As you tried to resist he squeezed your neck, causing you to gasp. He then shoved his tongue into your mouth, the metallic aftertaste of your blood leaving you queasy.

In the heat of the moment, you noticed that he now only had one of your arms pinned down.

You needed to stop this. 

A punch was hurled at him and he easily caught it, pulling away from your lips. A cold smile graced his features.

“Feisty~” His hand rested on your shoulder and you felt something crack. You immediately lost feeling in your arm, it plopping back down to the ground beside you. 

Oh God. Oh God.

Your head shifted to look at your arm. Thankfully, thankfully it was still attached. 

“Now should I do your other arm?” He mused. “Or will you be good for me?” 

No Goggles Invincible

“This is so much fun!!” 

This variant was wild. You didn’t even know you had even encountered him. All you saw was a destructive blur.

Tremors caused you to lose your footing and you fell flat on your face, colliding onto a nearby rock. As you pulled yourself up, you heard a distant cheerful voice and noticed something, no, someone approaching fast.

You threw your hands out in front of you, fear now overtaking your splitting headache. Your last line of defense were your words.

“Stop!!!” 

That seemed to have worked because whatever was approaching suddenly halted, you feeling a strong rush of wind in the process. The force was enough to knock you over yet again, but this time someone had caught your hand, preventing your fall.

“Stop? Why?” A voice asked. 

It took some time for your vision to clear, but once it did you came face to face with a person clad in blue and yellow. He was smiling at you, and a look of curiosity was in his eyes.

“Invincible…?” You asked. But he was missing his goggles. “Is that you?”

“Yep! That’s me!” He happily said. You had a terrible headache, but was glad a hero was here to help. 

“I think someone’s attacking this place,” you told him. Since he was still holding your hand, you squeezed his. Concern was in your voice as you spoke to him. “Stay safe out there okay? I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

His smile widened.

“Aww! My heart! Don’t worry about me, cutie! I’m-”

[TITLE CARD]

You laughed, enjoying his enthusiasm. 

“I’m well aware,” you said. He was now beaming. He let go of your hand and floated around you in circles, a smile never leaving his face.

As you wiped the small trickle of blood from your nose, he then stopped behind you, before speaking. 

“But I’m actually not the Invincible you know,” he said. You froze at his words, confusion setting in.

“You’re…not?” 

“Nope! Do you see all this destruction across the city? That was all me! And oh, it was so much fun!!”

Your heart dropped at the newfound knowledge.

“You did this…” you whispered. 

“That’s right!” 

He hoisted you into the air and spun you around, vertigo now added onto your headache. He continued to speak.

“And it was awesome! The screams, the destruction, Oh ho! I enjoyed every second of it!”

…How could someone be so sadistic? Why was he telling you this?

Only one morbid reason came to mind.

“Oh God,” you said. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” 

“I mean, I definitely considered it!” He admitted. The fear on your face made his smile widen in response. “...But, you’re so sweet. I’d much rather not.”

He then pressed a kiss against your cheek and you froze, hearing the “Mwah!” sound from him as he pulled away.

“I’ll just make you my girlfriend instead, okay? How’s that sound?”

Sounded like a nightmare. You were panicking now.

“What’s your name?” He asked you.

“Let me go!” You exclaimed. He laughed.

“That’s a weird name-”

“No! I said let me go!!”

“Oh, okay! You’re the boss!”

He then dropped you, the sudden fall causing you to scream. You had completely forgotten you were hundreds of feet in the air. He watched your descent in good humor, before frowning. 

“Why isn’t she flying?” He asked. It immediately dawned on him. “Oh shit, she can’t fly.”

He then flew down and caught you, laughing at your terrified expression. You were mere moments away from death. 

“Why’d you tell me to let go when you don’t have powers?” He asked, still laughing at you. “I thought you did! You’re hilarious~” 

You were at a loss for words. As you tried to calm yourself, he smooched your face, only adding to your fear.

“Don’t worry!” He assured you. “I’ll be sure to hold onto you much tighter from now on!”

Goggles Invincible

“Let. Me. Go.”

This variant was condescending. Mostly towards others, but occasionally towards you. He had grabbed you in the midst of the turmoil and taken you into the sky. He now just casually floated in the air, with you in his arms.

“Now why would I do that?” He asked you. “I worked so hard to find you. It would be nice if you reciprocated my feelings.”

Buildings burned in the background, and it was all his doing. You couldn’t even push him away, his grip was too strong. 

“You can’t expect me to love you. I don’t even know you,” you said.

“But I know you, Y/n.” He brushed through your hair, removing some stray rubble. “And I know that you’ll love me. Eventually.”

You were sure you never met him before, but somehow he knew you by name?

He then abruptly turned, holding you closer as a stray bullet hit his back. He looked down, and you craned your neck, seeing a few police officers in the distance, guns outstretched.

“Surrender! Now!!” 

He sighed, before returning to the ground, setting you down gently. You barely blinked and he had already closed the gap, violently slicing through every person that opposed him. 

You watched in horror as he held one last person by their throat, lifting them off the ground. Blood seeped from that officer’s mouth as they gasped for air.

“You almost shot my girlfriend,” he told the officer. His voice was calm, but his tone was terrifying. “Maybe I should sever your spine for that.” 

He squeezed their throat harder.

“Or just rip you in two-”

“Don’t!!” 

He paused, turning to you, the officer still in his vice grip.

“Please,” you pleaded. “Don’t hurt them.”

You looked at him with so much desperation in your eyes. He smiled, thoroughly enjoying your expression.

“You don’t want me to hurt them, sweetheart? Well, unfortunately I already have-”

“Anymore.” You quickly corrected yourself. “Don’t hurt them anymore. Please…”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could hear your heart violently beating in your chest, awaiting his response. 

He then turned his attention back to the officer.

“Consider yourself lucky.” 

He released the officer from his hold, much to your surprise (and relief). The now freed officer collapsed to the ground and gasped for air.

You had saved that officer, but unfortunately not the others. It was a horrifying realization. 

“Shh, it’s okay…”

As he hovered towards you, you instinctively took a step back, before his hands reached out to grab you. He held you in place, leaning in so only you could hear. 

“I did that for you, Y/n. Can’t you see how much I love you? …And I think I deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Your startled look was adorable to him. He leaned in, pushing his lips against yours. 

He was gentle. And you had to reciprocate, or he’d kill that last officer, you just knew he would.

So you swallowed your fear and pushed your lips against his. He smiled into the kiss before capturing your lips again, holding you as close as humanly possible this time.

Once you both pulled apart you were breathless, and a knowing smile was on his face.

“See? I told you you’ll love me.”

Mohawk Invincible

This variant was maniacal. The second the prison was attacked you cursed under your breath, gathering your files in hand before making your way down the now crumbling hallways. 

You were the head nurse of the psychiatric ward in this prison, and to say you were desensitized to all situations was an understatement.

“I quit,” you grumbled, hearing the sounds of what seemed to be mass destruction outside. “Once I file these reports, I’m getting a new job-”

You stopped when someone slammed through the roof of the prison right in front of you and into the hallway, landing harshly in a pile of cinder blocks.

That person then quickly pulled himself up, wiping the blood from his nose.

“Fuck,” he spat. He was wearing black and blue, and had a mohawk.

Judging by how he looked more pissed than hurt, you decided your best course of action was to remain silent. 

He then crouched low, you assuming he was going to take off, but he paused midway when he saw something in his peripheral vision.

You stood there, clad in high heels, a ruffled blouse, and a pencil skirt. Notes were in one hand, and your other hand was on your hip. Although you were frowning, his eyes lit up, his attention now solely on you.

“Hey baby~” Those words rolled off his tongue too smoothly. “How’d you end up in a hellhole like this? I’d be breaking in just to see you.”

“I’m assuming you’re the cause of all this chaos?” You asked him. He made his way over to you, a smile on his face. 

“Yea, you’d be right.” 

Just your luck to meet the person behind all this. Fire was slowly beginning to spread, and your way out was now obscured by smoke. 

“You know…” he said. “I thought this world sucked, but you just might change my mind.”

He seemed completely unfazed by the now raging fire farther down the corridor. You on the other hand had internally panicked, your way out now engulfed in flames.

“Can’t change anything if I’m dead. I don’t suppose you’ll get me out of here?” You asked him. He laughed.

“I mean I could get you out, but I’d want something in return.”

“I see. I’m on my own then,” you said.

You then spun around and raced off, heading back the way you came. Much to your surprise, a few seconds later, he flew right beside you, continuing the conversation.

“You’re going to fucking die at this pace,” he casually said, his tone somewhat amused. Although annoying, he was right. Your high heels were slowing you down significantly. So you pulled them off and ditched them. “Aw, that was my third favorite thing about you.”

Third? "What’s the first thing?” 

“Your ass."

Classic.

You stopped when faced with a wall of fire, your new route now also engulfed in flames. 

You were trapped. 

Sweat dripped down your face as you took a cautious step away from the fire, your back bumping right into his chest. His arms then wrapped around your waist, keeping you still as he leaned in over your shoulder.

“So, are you gonna die here? Or do you want my help?” He taunted you. You were already feeling lightheaded, it wouldn’t be long now. 

You kept quiet for a bit, your body becoming heavy. 

“...Guess I’ll…” you choked out. “Just die…”

Your legs then gave out, and everything went black.

~

As you regained consciousness, you noticed two things. The first was that you were laying on your back, a ways away from the prison. The second was that someone had pulled their lips away from your lips, their body on top of yours.

“Oh shit, that actually worked-” 

“Get! OFF ME!”

You pushed as hard as you could, the person pulling back a bit. It was him. You coughed as you spoke.

“The hell’s wrong with you?! Kissing me while I was unconscious!?”

“I was RESUSCITATING you!” he yelled. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’d rather die than ask for help?!”

“I don’t want your help!”

You tried to move away from him, but his arms locked you in place.

“Oh no you don’t! I saved you, so you owe me.”

“I didn’t want-”

His lips were on yours again, and since you couldn’t push him away, you bit his bottom lip as hard as you could. 

Sadly for you, it seemed to have no effect. 

He laughed into the kiss, before pain then seared through your lip.

“AH! What the hell?!” You exclaimed, blood now dripping from your top lip. He rolled his eyes.

“You started it.”

Omni Invincible

“...”

This variant was calm.

Of all the people he could encounter, of the billions of people on Earth, he had to spot your variant.

He knew you quite personally in his world, so seeing a different version of you here was jarring to say the least. 

He didn’t believe in fate, but this… the probability of seeing you here, at this exact moment? That alone made him question himself.

So he remained silent, and just watched you from the sky.

Amidst the chaos, your car had refused to start. You turned the key as many times as you could, the engine whirring for a few seconds, before coming to a complete halt. 

“Well, there goes my escape plan,” you sighed. 

You then exited the car, shutting the door behind you. People were screaming and running past you, trying to get as far away from the destruction as possible.

“Guess that’s my next course of action,” you mused. You locked your doors, and paused, staring at your reflection in the car window. 

He frowned. 

You should really be focused on getting away from the turmoil, but you were taking time to sort out your thoughts instead? 

You never really had survival instincts. 

“If I die here, then so be it,” you murmured.

You then ran, moving away from the middle of the street, opting to stick more to the sidelines. You had gotten a ways away from the destruction until you heard explosions, noticing a building in the distance was crumbling. Your head whipped to the left, thankful you weren’t in that area. 

In your rush, you failed to notice that you were heading towards a large sinkhole where the ground had crumbled. 

He furrowed his brows, arms crossed.

He shouldn’t interfere. 

You got dangerously close to the edge, more focused on the destruction behind you and not the impending doom directly in front of you.

He shouldn’t interfere.

You then fell over the edge. A gasp of surprise escaped your lips, quickly followed by an ear-piercing scream. 

He was forced to act. 

Your screaming stopped when you realized you were no longer falling. Relief washed over you in waves, before confusion followed, your eyes looking up to meet your savior. He was clad in red and white. You recognized that outfit.

Omni Man? 

Wait no, it wasn’t him… who is this? 

“Hey.” Was all he said, his expression neutral as he looked down at you. You could see your reflection in his goggles. “You should be more careful.”

You didn’t care who it was. He saved you, and that’s all that mattered. 

Tears spilled from your eyes as you thanked him profusely, causing him to frown.

“I thought I was ready to die,” you said in between tears. “But I’m terrified of meeting my end.”

Those words…

It was the exact words his version of you said before she died. 

It was… unpleasant to hear them again. 

He didn’t say anything, and you noticed that you were both ascending. Now out of the large sinkhole, you were greeted with the gentle breeze from the world above. You assumed he was going to set you down here, but instead he veered to the right, leading you far away from the destruction. 

The once large city was now a speck in your peripheral vision.

He landed in an open field of flowers, before setting you down. 

“I need to go back,” he told you. As he turned away from you, you nodded in agreement.

“I understand. You have to help more people, right? And stop the bad guys!”

“. . .”

“Just be safe out there, okay?” you said. 

While he was faced away from you, you noticed how darkly stained his cape was towards the bottom. 

What was that?

Before you could examine any further, he had turned to face you, a small smile on his face. He offered a hand, and you happily accepted, intertwining your hands with his. 

When certain words left his lips, you were taken aback.

“You… want to kiss me?” you whispered, disbelief in your voice. A nod from him confirmed you heard him correctly. “O…o-kay.”

He then leaned in, his lips pressing gently against yours. You returned the gesture, the two of you sharing a kiss. He was so sweet, so gentle. That set your heart ablaze.

You didn’t know who he was, but you knew you loved him. 

As he pulled away you quickly leaned again for a quick peck, kissing his cheek. 

“Thanks for that, you should go now. People need you,” you said. Your eyes held so much adoration for him. He then ascended into the air, pausing to say something else.

“I’ll check in on you later, Y/n.”

And with that, he was gone.

Your heart was still pounding from the kiss. But as you calmed, you furrowed your brows, letting your thoughts sink in.

“...How did he know my name?”

~

I love the invincible variants so much! Also this is my first ever post! Feedback is very much appreciated ♡

[battraction]

Look Up (Prologue)

SYNOPSIS: Seriously, whose bright idea was it to drop off a comic nerd with the abilities of everybody's favorite symbol of hope in the [TITLE CARD] world???Now you've gotta figure out how to become a beacon of light in this overly bleak dimension.

PAIRINGS: More focus on Mark x Fem!Reader, but I'm greedy so it's most likely gonna turn into a Various x Reader

TW: Not too many this chapter since it’s the prologue, but I do plan to add more yandere (wow, what a surprise) undertones as the story goes on :)

WC: 1.4k

NOTE: My knowledge of Superman and his infinite well of kindness begins and ends with the newest Superman movie (Along with a handful of comics). That is what sparked this idea, that is what y'all are getting

Chapter1. Chapter2

You knew you shouldn’t have started it again.

Watching Invincible for, what, the ninth time in a row was, objectively, a bad idea.

Sleep deprivation? Imminent. Emotional damage? Guaranteed. Obsession? Already too late.

But could you stop? Absolutely not!

You already knew this entire show like the back of your hand, and yet, there was this strange compulsion to watch it over and over and over again. You’re pretty sure your mom is close to calling it an addiction at this point. Which…. fair.

She’d have a heart attack if she saw you right now.

“Just one more episode,” you mumbled for the fourth time this night, wrapped in a blanket burrito, the glow of the TV flickering across your face. Somewhere, in the very back of your mind, you registered just how ridiculous this has gotten— how you could quote entire scenes, how you had very strong (and sometimes crass) opinions about the story’s politics like it was real-world discourse.

Maybe your mom was right—

By the time you finally conked out, the sun was already threatening the horizon, Mark’s monologue to Conquest serving as background noise to your slumbering thoughts.

═══════

When you opened your eyes again, everything was… wrong.

No ceiling fan, no tangled charging cable, and most concerningly, where the hell is all your merchandise?! Your posters, the various comic books scattered across your room, your limited edition Atom Eve figurine?!?!

Before you can spiral any further— seriously, you spent hundreds on all of your shit— you finally take notice of where you are.

Just white.

Endless, blinding, sterile white.

“…Okay,” you say slowly, nodding along like this is all completely normal. “Either I’m dreaming, dead, or I finally snapped.”

A soft ping answered you.

A translucent screen flickered to life in front of your face. Its color was a soft blue, almost like it was trying to seem nonthreatening. Wasn’t really working, if you’re being honest—

WELCOME, USER.

PLEASE SELECT YOUR ABILITY.

You stared at it.

Then squinted.

Then reached out and poked it.

Your finger passed through the surface like mist, but the screen rippled in response.

“Oh, this is definitely a dream,” you decided. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Love that for me.”

The screen remained.

Waiting.

Expectant.

Can… machines be expectant…?

ENTER DESIRED ABILITY:

You hesitated— for just a moment.

I mean… if this was a dream…

A grin tugged at your lips.

“Alright,” you muttered. “Let’s make it count.”

Your fingers moved instinctively, like you’d typed it a thousand times before in debates, forums, comment sections—

Superman.

You didn’t elaborate, didn’t specify, didn’t think.

Why would you? This wasn’t real. Nothing that happened here meant anything out of this small moment. You’d wake up the next morning with a pounding headache, a few missed messages from your mom, and go on about your day. Nothing mattered—

The screen pulsed.

Once.

Twice.

You get the sudden feeling that you just fucked up.

Then—

INPUT ACCEPTED.

Your smile faltered.

“Wait—“

FINALIZING SELECTION.

“Hold on, I didn’t—“

POWER SET: SUPERMAN— CONFIRMED.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

The world dropped out from under you.

═══════

You didn’t move at first.

Not because you couldn’t— but because you were afraid to.

The last thing you remember was that white room, the screen, the very questionable life choice of typing in “Superman” like you were picking a username instead of rewriting your entire existence. And now—

Now everything felt too sharp.

Your eyes were still closed, but light pressed insistently against your eyelids, brighter than it had any right to be. The air brushed against your skin in a way that felt… detailed. Individual. Like you could map every current, every shift in temperature without even trying.

And the noise.

God, the noise.

It wasn’t loud, exactly. Not overwhelming in volume, but it was layered. Complex. A thousand tiny sounds stacking on top of each other until your brain didn’t know what to do with them.

A clock ticking somewhere nearby.

Footsteps— no, multiple sets— moving above you.

Voices. Muffled through walls, but still clear. Too clear.

A car passing outside.

Another one, further away.

A siren in the distance.

Your breath hitched.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling despite how steady it sounded to your own ears. “Okay, okay, okay…”

You forced yourself to open your eyes.

The ceiling came into focus instantly— no blur, no adjustment period. Just crisp, clean lines. White paint. A faint crack in the corner you could’ve sworn you counted the edges of without even trying.

“…That’s not normal,” you muttered.

You really need to quit talking to yourself.

Slowly, carefully, you pushed yourself upright.

Big mistake.

The moment you moved, your hand twitched instinctively against the surface beneath you— and the metal frame of the bed groaned.

You froze.

“…No.”

You looked down.

Your fingers were curled into the edge of the frame, the metal bent inward like soft clay. Like it hadn’t stood a chance.

You released it immediately, jerking your hand back like you’d been burned.

“NO.”

Your heart was racing, and you heard it. Not just felt it. Heard the rapid thud-thud-thud echoing in your chest like a drum.

Along with it came everything else.

Louder now.

Closer.

Someone talking in the hallway outside—“…told you, man, it’s not my shift—“

A phone vibrating in another room.

Water running through pipes somewhere below.

You slapped your hands over your ears.

Tried to ignore just how easily you could’ve smashed your own head like a god damn melon—

It didn’t help.

“Too much— too much, too much—“ you squeezed your eyes shut again, curling in on yourself. “Okay, okay— think. Think. This is— this is just sensory overload. Like— like Superman. First time. Focus, focus—“

Superman.

The word landed heavily. Your stomach dropped.

“…No way.”

Slowly, you lowered your hands.

The noise didn’t stop— but it… shifted. It wasn’t any quieter, but your brain started picking it apart, separating it into pieces you could almost manage.

Almost.

You swallowed hard and and swung your legs off the side of the bed, placing your feet carefully on the floor like you expected it to crack beneath you.

It didn’t.

“Good,” you whispered. “That’s good. Floor is good. Love the floor.”

Your gaze lifted, drawn toward the window across the room.

Sunlight poured through it— too bright, too vivid. You could see dust particles floating in the air, each one catching the light like little stars. Beyond the glass, the world stretched out in impossible clarity.

Buildings.

Streets.

Cars.

People.

You walked slowly, every movement deliberate, controlled.

“Don’t break anything,” you murmured under your breath. “Rule number one: don’t accidentally punch through a wall.”

Step by step you made your way to the window.

Your hands planted themselves on the glass— rather unnervingly, you don’t leave behind any fingerprints.

The city sprawled beneath you— but it wasn’t your city.

It took a second for your brain to process why.

The layout was wrong. The buildings unfamiliar. The skyline is just off enough to trigger that uncanny, creeping realization.

A sharp, whistling sound catches your attention— demanding you to look up—

A blur streaks across the sky.

Your breath catches in your throat.

A figure— no, a man— is flying.

You lean closer to the glass, eyes widening as your vision— traitorously, helpfully— zooms in without your permission.

The man slows down midair, hovering for just long enough for you to recognize him.

The red and white suit, the dark hair with streaks of gray, and that insufferable mustache—

Omni-Man himself lingers long enough outside your window for you to catch a glimpse of his furrowed brow before he’s taking off once again, disappearing between buildings.

Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.

“No way,” you said again, weaker this time.

Your mind scrambled, piecing it together faster than you could stop it.

“Oh no.”

You stumbled away from the window like it had shot you, shaking your head rapidly.

Of all the worlds, of all the fictional universes you could’ve landed in.

It had to be this one!

The one where cities got leveled, where heroes lost, where people—

Your thoughts cut off abruptly.

Your breath leaves you in a shaky exhale, you gaze drifting up towards the window once again.

Your reflection stares back at you faintly in the glass— wide-eyed, pale, terrified.

“I picked Superman.”

You have to resist the urge to reach up and tug on your hair.

“… in the Invincible universe.”

Silence hung heavy in the room.

You let out a weak, hysterical laugh, dragging a hand down your face.

“Yeah,” you muttered. “This is going to go great.”

So, uh, long time no see—

[pluto-cerberus]

Sweet Rebel

Synopsis. Raised under the obsessive protection of several powerful and dangerous men, you begin to seek independence. However, their possessiveness soon reveals itself to be far darker and more controlling than you ever imagined.

Pairing. Yandere! Homelander, Superman, Nolan & Thragg x Daughter! Reader (Platonic)

Content. MDNI. Dark themes. Yandere behavior. Platonic obsession. Extreme possessiveness. Isolation. Parental murder implication. Violence in front of the reader. Breaking moral codes. Forced pregnancy termination. Stalking. Overprotective fathers. Manipulation. Emotional and physical control. Power imbalance. Psychological tension. Blood and gore. Obsessive protection. Loss of autonomy. Dark romance elements. Viltrumite culture. Superpowered characters. Unhealthy family dynamics. Jealousy. Gaslighting. Moral corruption. And More, but, you know how this mens are.

Word count: 7k

N/A.It took me quite a while to finish this because I’m in the middle of exams, and on top of that, work has been very busy with the arrival of summer. I even had to rewrite it because it ended up being way too long. Still, I can say my favorite part is Thragg’s. I hope you like it.

Homelander

John remembered with an almost painful clarity the day he first saw you. He didn’t usually attend young heroes’ competitions; he considered sitting on a jury to be an unnecessary humiliation. However, public image demanded his presence, and he always did what public image required.

Until he saw you.

You were on stage, with your mother beside you offering silent support, wearing an improvised suit that unintentionally mimicked the colors he himself wore. In that instant, something inside him tightened. It wasn’t just the coincidence of the colors. It was the way your powers manifested: identical to his. Exact. Unmistakable.

Doubt turned into certainty when the presenter compared your abilities to his. A coincidence, they said. A simple genetic chance. But John didn’t believe in coincidences. His paranoia, sharpened by years of lies and control, whispered that this could not be the result of mere chance.

When your victory was announced, he made a decision.

He didn’t enter the dressing room right away. He stood motionless in front of the door for a few seconds. John was not a man who doubted; he took, possessed, claimed. And yet, with you, he felt something different. A strange curiosity. Deep. Almost dangerous.

When he opened the door, he found you still wrapped in the excitement of your victory. Your mother was beside you, leaning toward you. You, on the other hand, were radiant. Your eyes bright, cheeks flushed, wearing that open, pure expression that only children possess.

So innocent.

So genuine.

So different from anything he had ever known.

Your mother was the first to notice him. The stiffness in her shoulders betrayed her shock. John observed her for only a second before turning his attention back to you.

And then you smiled.

Not with rehearsed admiration, but with that pure, childish emotion of someone standing before someone they had idealized. You approached him with clumsy enthusiasm and began speaking to him in a rush, telling him how much you admired him and how long you had wanted to meet him. Your words were fast and disorganized, filled with such absolute sincerity that for a moment, John could only stare at you.

And then you hugged him.

It was a spontaneous, impulsive gesture. Your small arms wrapped around him with complete trust, as if your innocence had decided he was a safe place. John remained still. Time seemed to suspend itself.

In that very moment, he knew.

He would adore you forever.

It didn’t matter what secrets lay behind your existence. The only thing that mattered was the fierce certainty that settled in his chest: he would never allow anyone to take you away from him.

Days later, John no longer needed more proof.

He had investigated on his own. Vought kept secrets the way one keeps weapons. And among them, he found what he was looking for: his semen, extracted years ago, had been stored in the company’s sperm bank. A sample used in a confidential procedure. Why? Nobody knows. Maybe a mistake

The result was you.

You were his. Of his blood. Of his legacy.

He said nothing. He asked no questions.

He simply appeared one morning accompanied by Vought personnel. With only a few curt orders, he integrated you into his world. Your mother had no choice but to accept.

He installed you in the tower, in one of the highest and most protected residences. John officially presented you to the world: you were his daughter. His blood. His legacy. From that moment on, you were rarely separated from him. He kept you constantly by his side, showered you with gifts, and watched you with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the coldness he showed everyone else.

But everything came at a price.

He kept you away from everyone. Especially Ryan. He never allowed his son to get too close to you. He wanted his little girl to remain pure, untouched, completely his.

And for a while, it worked.

Until the public discovered you.

At first, John tolerated the attention. But when he saw how people looked at you with affection, how they cheered for you and sent you gifts, something dark stirred in his chest. Jealousy. He couldn’t stand the idea of anyone else claiming you, even innocently. Because you didn’t belong to the world. You belonged to him. Only him.

John didn’t usually lose control like that.

But that afternoon, when he returned earlier than expected and discovered you had been with Maeve, something inside him broke. He had left you with strict orders that no one was to disturb you. Yet Maeve had spent the entire afternoon with you.

When he opened the door to the room, the atmosphere changed completely. He was covered in blood. Fresh. Dark. Stains splattered across his white suit, marking his hands and part of his face. Blood dripped slowly from his fingers onto the floor.

Maeve stood up immediately. John didn’t raise his voice. He simply took a step toward her and spoke with terrifying calm:

“Stay away from her. If you come near her again, there won’t be a second chance."

Maeve didn’t argue. She gathered her things and left without looking back.

The door closed.

You were looking at him with pure, silent terror. John stood there, soaked in someone else’s blood, watching you with ragged breathing. He wanted to explain that everything he did was for you. But he didn’t.

He remained silent for several long seconds, staring at you with an expression that held no trace of tenderness. Then he spoke, his voice low and sharp:

“I gave you one order. Just one. And you disobeyed it.”

You began to cry, pleading with that broken voice only children have when they’re terrified. John didn’t soften. He took a step toward you and grabbed your arm with force. The pain came quickly. His fingers tightened until they left a dark mark on your skin, a bruise that would form within minutes.

“Don’t cry,” he said, almost in a whisper. “Now you only have me. Only me.”

He didn’t mention your mother. He didn’t need to. The fact that he had returned covered in blood and that no one spoke of her anymore said everything. Your mother no longer existed.

He slowly released your arm. The bruise throbbed. John knelt in front of you, ignoring your sobs, and looked directly into your eyes.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, with absolute possessiveness. “And no one else is going to have you.”

The blood continued to drip from his hands. And you, marked and crying, no longer had anyone else.

Only him.

Clark Kent

If there was one weakness for the Man of Steel, it was you.

From the very moment he first held you in his arms, Clark understood that the entire world had shifted on its axis. It no longer revolved around Metropolis, nor around crises, nor around cries for help from the other side of the planet. It revolved around you. Around your small laugh. Around your hands clutching his shirt. Around the way you searched for his face the moment you heard his voice.

You had grown up on the farm in Smallville, surrounded by the scent of wheat, golden sunrises, and the constant warmth of a home that, to anyone else, would have seemed perfect. Lois raised you with intelligence and firmness; she taught you to think for yourself, to never let anyone intimidate you, and to speak clearly even when the world didn’t want to listen. Clark, on the other hand, loved you in a much quieter and more overwhelming way.

He was always there.

When you were little and ran through the fields, he would watch you even while repairing the fence or helping Martha in the kitchen. If you tripped, he was already at your side before you hit the ground. If the wind blew too hard, he would wrap you in a blanket even when you insisted you weren’t cold. If you got sick, even with just a mild cold, he would stay awake by your side all night, listening to every breath with almost painful attention.

“Clark, she’s fine,” Lois would say tiredly when she saw him enter your room for the third time in the middle of the night. “She’s just sleeping.”

He would nod, but still return to your bed, adjusting your blankets with reverent care, as if even the air itself could hurt you.

Because to Clark, you were never just his daughter.

You were something far more fragile and far more sacred.

The happiest days of his life were almost always the simplest ones. The mornings when you sat on the kitchen counter while he made breakfast. Your small hands stealing pieces of fruit before they were ready. Your endless questions. Your laughter when he pretended not to notice that you had stolen a piece of toast.

“Dad, what if one day I can fly with you?”

Clark would smile, that soft, warm smile the world only ever saw in pieces.

“When you’re older.”

“You always say that.”

“Because I want to do it right.”

And he said it like a solemn promise. As if even something as beautiful as flying with you could become dangerous if he didn’t handle it with enough care.

Sometimes he would carry you out to the porch at dusk and sit with you, watching the horizon while you rested your head on his shoulder. Other nights, when you couldn’t sleep, he would lift you with infinite patience and walk across the farm under a sky full of stars. You would talk to him half-asleep, telling him whatever nonsense came to mind, and Clark would listen as if every word deserved to be kept forever.

He adored you in a way that bordered on devotion.

And at first, when you were a child, it seemed natural.

You reached for his hand everywhere. You wanted him to read you stories, teach you how to ride a bike, and carry you when you pretended to be too tired to walk back home. Lois would smile when she saw the two of you together, though sometimes she watched him with a more difficult expression, as if even then she could sense that there was something excessive in Clark. Something that went beyond simple paternal love.

Because when he held you, he didn’t seem like just a father holding his daughter.

He seemed like a man clinging to the only thing in the world he couldn’t afford to lose. His soul.

Over the years, however, childhood began to fade.

And Clark noticed it before anyone else.

He noticed it in the way you stopped running to the door every time he came home. In how you started spending more time locked in your room. In those afternoons when you preferred going out with friends instead of walking with him around the farm. In your increasingly short answers, in your growing need for space, privacy, and a life that didn’t always revolve around your parents.

It was normal. Lois knew that. She even celebrated it to some extent, because it meant you were growing up.

Clark did not.

Every step you took toward adolescence felt like a loss to him.

He didn’t say much about it. Or at least, not at first. He simply watched you more. Listened more. Paid attention to the smallest changes: a door closed harder than usual, a distracted smile while looking at your phone, any excuse not to have dinner with them. He could hear screams from the other side of the planet, hearts stopping, buildings creaking before they collapsed… and yet, none of those things unsettled him as much as the silence of your room when you chose not to speak to him.

“Clark, you’re suffocating her,” Lois told him one night in a low voice, thinking you were asleep.

He stood still by the sink, his jaw tight.

“I’m just looking after her.”

“No,” Lois said, looking at him directly. “You’re trying to keep her as if she were still eight years old.”

Clark didn’t answer. But the way he lowered his gaze, the almost wounded hardness in his expression, showed something Lois couldn’t fix.

Because she was right.

And that was exactly why it hurt.

So when you insisted on going on a short vacation to the center of Metropolis with just one friend, Clark refused immediately.

He didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to discuss it. Didn’t want to consider it.

Metropolis was too big, too loud, too unpredictable. There were dangers on every street, every corner, every unfamiliar face. How could you even think of leaving like that, as if the world were harmless? As if he had no reason to worry?

“Dad, it’s only a few days,” you said, trying to sound calm. “I’m not going to the end of the world.”

“To me, it’s far enough.”

“Clark,” Lois intervened with that firm patience only she could maintain with him, “you can’t keep her locked up here forever.”

He turned his head slightly, looking at her with contained tension.

“I’m not trying to lock her up.”

But even you knew that wasn’t entirely true.

Because Clark did want to keep you. Not in a room, perhaps, or behind visible bars, but inside a space where nothing could touch you without going through him first. A reduced, safe, clean world where you would still look at him with the same trust you had as a child.

In the end, he gave in.

Or at least pretended to.

He let you leave with a smile that was too stiff, a kiss on the forehead, and an absurd list of instructions you repeated from memory with tired resignation. Don’t walk alone at night. Text him when you arrive at the hotel. Don’t go into quiet streets. Don’t trust strangers. Don’t separate from your friend. Don’t…

“Dad,” you murmured, almost embarrassed, “I’ll be fine.”

Clark held your gaze for a second too long.

“I hope so.”

But he didn’t believe it.

Not even a little.

From the moment you left, Metropolis stopped being just the city he swore to protect. It became a living, immense, unbearable threat. Clark continued responding to emergencies, continued smiling for the cameras, continued being Superman to the rest of the world. But a part of him remained fixed on you. On the hotel where you were staying. On the streets you walked. On the heartbeat he would recognize even among millions.

He watched you from afar.

Not in a clumsy or obvious way. He never let you see him. Sometimes he would descend onto a nearby rooftop just to make sure you had entered a café safely. Other times he would listen to your laughter mixed with your friend’s and force himself to stay still, reminding himself that he couldn’t interfere every time someone approached you. But the need remained there, constant and fierce.

He saw you buying ridiculous souvenirs in a tourist shop. He saw you taking photos of the skyline with a genuine smile. He saw you stop in front of a bookstore window, excited about some special edition you would probably end up buying even if it no longer fit in your suitcase. And for a moment, just for a moment, he almost seemed calm.

Because you were happy.

And yet, even while watching you laugh, something tormented him.

You weren’t happy with him.

Not in that way.

You no longer reached for his hand to cross the street. You no longer turned around expecting to find him behind you. That light, carefree joy was given to other spaces, other people, a life that was beginning to exist outside his reach. And Clark resented it in silence, with a sadness so deep it almost felt like anger.

The night of the incident, the air in Metropolis was heavy and humid, as if the city itself sensed something was coming. You and your friend had gone out after dinner. Nothing serious. Nothing particularly reckless. Just two teenagers wanting to stretch their freedom a little longer. Laughing. Walking. Feeling older in a bright, enormous city that promised more than it should.

Clark was already uneasy before he found you.

He had gone too long without hearing your voice up close. Your heart was beating faster than normal. Not from joy, but from fear.

And then he found you.

The alley was half-hidden, far from the illuminated avenues. Your friend lay on the ground, motionless, far too still, and in front of you stood two men. One was holding you roughly while the other smiled with the miserable confidence of someone who believed they had control for a few seconds.

Clark landed without making a sound.

But by the time they saw him, it was already too late.

There was no warning. No speech. No trace of the firm compassion the world adored in Superman.

There was only fury.

Pure, ancient, and irreparable.

The screams didn’t last long. Afterward, only silence remained. A heavy, horrifying silence broken only by your trembling breathing.

When he finally looked up at you, Clark had already crossed a line from which he could never return.

His hands were stained. His chest rose and fell with controlled slowness. And his eyes… his eyes were not those of a hero who had arrived in time.

They were the eyes of a man who had almost lost the only thing he loved more than his own morality.

You took a small step back.

That tiny movement hurt him more than any weapon could have.

“Look at me,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t an order spoken harshly, but it didn’t sound like a request either. You were shaking. There were tears in your eyes. And yet, you lifted your gaze.

Clark approached slowly, as if any sudden movement could break you. With trembling hands, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, checking your features, your arms, your shoulders, searching for signs of injury even though he already knew, from the sound of your heartbeat, that you weren’t seriously hurt.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

Then he pulled you into an embrace.

A tight one.

Too tight.

Not like a father comforting his daughter, but like a man desperate to make sure that what had almost been taken from him was still his, tangible, real. His hand sank into your back, holding you against him as he pressed his face into your hair.

“Don’t ever do this to me again,” he whispered.

And that sentence, spoken in a broken voice, was perhaps more terrifying than everything else.

Because he wasn’t talking about danger in general.

He was talking about himself.

About what your absence did to him. About how the simple fact of not feeling you close was enough to unravel him from the inside. About how he had broken his code, his principles, and the entire image the world had of Superman, simply because someone had dared to touch you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you again.

There was relief in his expression, yes, but it was twisted by something deeper. Something possessive. Something almost feverish.

“I told you Metropolis wasn’t safe,” he said, his voice soft but every word carrying unbearable weight. “I told you not to go so far.”

“Dad…” your voice came out weak and broken.

And then something worse happened: his expression softened.

Not because he was any less agitated, but because he seemed convinced of something. As if everything that had happened had confirmed a truth he had been denying for too long.

“It’s over now,” he murmured, stroking your hair with a tenderness that, in that moment, felt almost suffocating. “It’s over. I’m here.”

But it didn’t sound like comfort.

It sounded like a sentence.

Because what Clark had understood that night wasn’t just that the world was dangerous.

It was that letting you go had been a mistake.

A mistake he had no intention of repeating.

After that, there was no real distance between you anymore. Although he tried to maintain some sense of normalcy for Lois’s sake, something in him had changed irreversibly. He began treating you with the same gentleness from your childhood, perhaps even more so. He would bring you breakfast in bed when you stayed home. He would leave books and small gifts on your desk without saying they were from him. He would sit beside you on the porch at night like he used to when you were little, calmly asking how your day had been, even though he already knew the answer.

And yet, beneath all that tenderness was constant surveillance.

If you took too long to reply to a message, he had already noticed. If someone new approached you, he knew their name before you even mentioned it. If you seemed uncomfortable with someone, even for just a second, Clark would become quieter, more attentive, more present.

Closer.

Always closer.

As if he wanted to forcefully rebuild the version of you that once ran to him without hesitation. As if he could shrink you back into the little girl who believed everything was safe as long as he was there.

But you were no longer that little girl.

And perhaps that was what made it even more terrifying.

Because Clark still saw you that way.

His daughter.

His most precious weakness.

The only part of the world he was unwilling to share.

Nolan Grayson

Nolan Grayson adored his daughter from the very moment she was born.

If Mark had been his first attempt at seeing how far his Viltrumite blood could go on Earth, you were something else entirely: a certainty. A living promise. And when, at barely four years old, you manifested your powers for the first time, something inside him settled with a silent and fierce satisfaction. He always remembered it clearly: your small body lifting slightly off the ground, your eyes shining with excitement, and him standing there, watching you with a pride so intense it bordered on devotion.

He adored you.

In a deep, almost unsettling way, though he would never have admitted it out loud.

He was always attentive to you, to your progress, to your strength, to every small sign that confirmed how special you were. He worried about you with an attention he rarely gave Mark. While he usually treated his son with a certain distance, as if he were still waiting for something from him, with you it was different. There was an unusual patience in his voice, a softer firmness in his gestures, and a constant need to watch you and shape you with his own hands.

Debbie noticed, of course.

The difference was too obvious to ignore. Nolan could overlook Mark’s frustrations, his insecurities, or his need for approval, but he never let anything concerning you slip by. If you fell, he was already there. If you trained, he watched you with absolute attention. If you doubted, your voice was the first one he listened to. And although he never stopped fulfilling his role as a father on the surface with both of you, it was impossible not to see that there was something about you that pulled him with greater force.

Perhaps because you were the early proof that his legacy had not been in vain.

Perhaps because in you he saw a cleaner, more promising reflection of himself.

Or perhaps because, quite simply, Nolan had decided very early on that you were his in a sense that went far beyond paternal affection.

Time passed, and the little girl he used to carry in his arms eventually became a woman.

You grew up strong, brilliant, and confident. And although Nolan continued to look at you with the same stern pride as always, he also began to feel something harder to name: a silent discomfort with your independence. You were no longer the little girl who followed him everywhere, who looked at him as if he were invincible. You had grown up. You had formed your own opinions. And although you still cared for him, you no longer orbited around him in the same way.

He didn’t like it.

He tolerated it, because he had no choice, but he didn’t like it.

That was why, when Mark finally gained his powers and began taking his first steps as a hero, Nolan quickly assumed that you would do the same. In his mind, it was natural. Correct. Inevitable. You were his daughter, after all; you had shown your abilities long before Mark, with an ease he would never forget. If his son was destined to rise, then so were you. Perhaps even better than him.

And deep down, that idea awakened a dark and possessive pride in Nolan.

Because it wasn’t just about watching you fly.

It was about watching you take the place he believed belonged to you.

But everything came crashing down one day.

Your eighteenth birthday dinner proceeded with apparent normalcy. Debbie had prepared your favorite meal, Mark joked with his usual clumsiness, and Nolan… Nolan watched you from across the table with that calm, calculating gaze only you knew how to interpret.

He had been looking at you more than usual all night. As if he somehow knew that something was about to change.

When you finished blowing out the candles and the applause died down, Debbie smiled at you warmly.

“So, what are your plans now that you’re officially an adult?” she asked, pouring herself a little more wine.

You hesitated for just a second before answering. You had rehearsed the sentence several times in your head, but even so, saying it out loud made it sound more final than you expected.

“I’ve decided to accept the scholarship at the University of Atlanta.”

The silence that followed was brief but heavy.

Mark looked up, surprised but not particularly alarmed.

“Atlanta… really? That’s pretty far.”

Debbie blinked, processing the information.

“Atlanta,” she repeated, forcing a smile. “It’s a good university. When were you planning on telling us?”

You took a deep breath.

“Also… I’m going to move in with my boyfriend.”

The sound of Nolan’s fork against the plate was barely noticeable, but enough to make everyone go still. He slowly lifted his gaze, and for the first time that night, his expression lost every trace of warmth.

Nolan didn’t say anything at first.

He simply looked at you.

That look he usually reserved for enemies, not his daughter. His eyes, normally serene and controlled, darkened in a subtle but unmistakable way. His jaw tightened, and although he kept his posture relaxed, his fingers gripped the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Debbie was the first to break the silence.

“Your… boyfriend,” she repeated, clearly taken aback. “Since when do you have a boyfriend?”

“A few months,” you answered, trying to sound confident. “He’s from Atlanta. That’s why I decided to accept the university there. We’re going to move in together.”

Mark glanced sideways at Nolan, as if expecting his father to say something. But Nolan remained silent, watching you with an intensity that made the air in the room feel heavier.

Finally, he spoke.

His voice was low. Too low.

“Move in with him?”

You nodded.

“Yes. We’ve already talked about it. It’s the most practical option.”

Nolan let out a short, humorless laugh. He leaned back in his chair and looked at you directly, completely ignoring the worried glances from Debbie and Mark.

“Practical?” he repeated, as if the word offended him. “You think moving in with some boy on the other side of the country is ‘practical’?”

“Nolan…” Debbie tried to intervene, but he raised a hand without taking his eyes off you.

“No,” he said with dangerous calm. “I want her to explain it to me.”

You swallowed, but held his gaze.

“Dad, I’m eighteen. I can make my own decisions.”

Nolan tilted his head slightly, studying you as if he were seeing you for the first time. There was something in his expression that chilled you from the inside. It wasn’t just disappointment. It was something deeper. More possessive. As if you had just taken something he considered rightfully his.

“Eighteen years old,” he repeated slowly, savoring the words. “And you think that means you can walk away from this family? That you can go live with a stranger?”

“He’s not a stranger,” you replied, though your voice came out weaker than you wanted.

Nolan smiled, but it wasn’t a kind smile. It was cold. Almost cruel.

“To me, he is.”

The silence that followed was thick. Debbie looked at her husband with concern while Mark shifted uncomfortably in his chair. But Nolan only had eyes for you.

And in that gaze was something that made you understand, with uncomfortable clarity, that your father wasn’t angry about your independence.

He was angry because you were pulling away from him.

The silence that followed your announcement was broken by your own voice, firm despite the tension hanging in the air.

“Ray is a good man, Dad. You don’t know him, but I do. He’s kind, responsible, and he supports what I want to do. I’m going to go to university, I’m going to study what I’ve always wanted, and I’m going to live a normal life. I’m not going to stay here just because you prefer it.”

Nolan stared at you. His eyes, normally cold and calculating, now burned with something much more dangerous. A muscle tensed in his jaw.

“A normal life?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low. “You think you can have a normal life with some random human? That you can just… leave?”

“Yes,” you answered, not looking away. “Because I’m not a child anymore. And because I want to follow my dreams, even if you don’t like it.”

Nolan let out a brief, humorless laugh. He leaned slightly forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

His tone was no longer that of a father arguing. It was that of someone used to things going his way.

You shook your head, keeping your calm even as you felt the pressure in the room increase.

“I’m going with Raymomd. And I’m going to live my life. Even if you don’t like it.”

That was what finally broke Nolan’s control.

In one swift movement, he slammed his palm down on the table. The impact was brutal. The wooden table split in half with a dry crash, and the floor beneath it cracked violently, sending fissures toward the legs of the chairs. Plates and glasses fell to the floor, shattering into pieces.

Debbie let out a choked scream and pushed her chair back, pale with terror. Mark froze, staring at his father with wide eyes.

But you didn’t.

You looked him directly in the eyes, with pure anger.

Nolan was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he stared at you with a mixture of fury and something much darker. Something possessive. Something that went far beyond paternal concern.

“You’re not leaving,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with contained rage. “You’re not moving in with that boy. You’re not going to Atlanta. You’re not walking away from this family.”

You slowly stood up from your chair, never breaking eye contact.

“I’m going to,” you replied clearly. “And you can’t stop me.”

You turned and walked toward the door.

Nolan shot to his feet so fast that his chair fell backward.

“Don’t you dare walk out of this house!” he shouted, his voice echoing with a force that made the windows rattle. “Get back here right now!”

But you didn’t stop.

You opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch, feeling the cool night air hit your face. Behind you, you heard Nolan scream your name with a mixture of anger and desperation you had never heard from him before.

“Come back here! You’re not leaving!”

You ignored his shouts.

You walked down the steps of the house and continued along the driveway, your heart pounding hard in your chest. For the first time in your life, you had openly defied your father.

And although you didn’t look back, you could feel his gaze burning into your back — heavy, furious… and dangerously possessive.

Nolan Grayson wasn’t used to having what he considered his taken away from him.

And certainly not by his own daughter.

Days later, you continued with your plans.

You had spent the last few days avoiding your father as much as possible. Although Nolan hadn’t brought up the subject again in front of the others, his silence was far more dangerous than his shouting. He watched you constantly, with that calculating gaze that followed you even when you thought you were alone. Still, you refused to back down. You had packed your bags, organized your university documents, and that afternoon, you were at Ray’s house, finishing packing the last of your things.

You were carrying a heavy box in your arms when you stepped out the front door.

What you saw outside froze you in place.

Raymond was on his knees in the garden, his face bloodied and his expression dazed. Standing in front of him, dressed in the red and white suit of Omni-Man, was your father. Nolan was holding him by the neck with one hand, as if he weighed nothing. Before you could react, Nolan twisted his wrist with a sharp, brutal motion.

The sound of Ray’s skull cracking was horrifying.

His body fell lifeless to the ground, his head deformed and blood quickly spreading across the grass. Nolan stood over him, unfazed, as if he had just crushed an insect.

You dropped the box.

“Dad…” your voice came out broken, caught between disbelief and rage.

Nolan slowly turned his head toward you. His expression was calm, almost serene, as if he hadn’t just murdered your boyfriend in front of your eyes. Blood stained his glove.

You felt fury rise in your chest. Without thinking, you dropped the box and ran toward him.

“What did you do?!” you screamed, hitting him with all your strength against his chest.

Nolan didn’t move. Your blows did nothing to him. When you tried to hit him again, he acted quickly.

His free hand rose and struck you with an open palm.

The impact was brutal. You felt your nose break with a sharp crack. The pain was immediate and intense. Blood poured down your face as you staggered backward. Before you could fall, Nolan grabbed you tightly, pulling you into an embrace that pinned you against his chest.

“Don’t worry,” he said in a low, almost gentle voice as he held you against him despite your struggles.

The blood from your nose stained his suit. He held the back of your neck with one hand, keeping you trapped in his embrace with a strength that didn’t allow you to escape. His other hand stroked your hair with a sickening tenderness, contrasting sharply with the violence he had just shown.

“Soon it will be just the two of us,” he continued with terrifying calm. “When Earth finally accepts its fate, there will be nothing and no one left to stand between us. No boyfriends. No universities. No normal lives.”

You tried to pull away, but he only held you tighter, ignoring your attempts to free yourself. You could feel how calmly his heart was beating, as if all of this were perfectly natural.

“Just you and me,” he whispered against your hair. “Father and daughter. The way it was always meant to be.”

Blood continued to drip from your broken nose, staining his red suit. Nolan held you even tighter, as if he feared that even now you might slip away from him.

And in that moment, you understood with horror that your father no longer saw Ray as a simple obstacle.

He saw him as the first step toward having you completely to himself

Thragg

Over the years, Thragg stopped being content with watching you through glass and screens.

At first, his visits were scarce. Brief. Calculated with almost surgical precision. He would enter your chambers without making a sound, accompanied only by the weight of his presence, and stop a few steps away to look at you with that silent severity that seemed to fill the entire room. He was never a man given to visible tenderness, especially not with you — not because he loved you any less, but because he considered you far too valuable to be treated with weakness.

The first time he began appearing before you regularly, you were no longer a child crying for a familiar face. You had grown up in discipline, silence, and isolation. The machines had taught you obedience, knowledge, and control; but it was he who began to shape something far more important in you.

Character.

You remember not saying anything the first time you saw him cross the threshold and stand before you, enormous and imposing, with his arms behind his back and that cape falling like a shadow of war. You looked at him without fear. Without hesitation. As if, somewhere inside you, you had always known there was someone on the other side of the walls.

Thragg noticed.

And that pleased him more than he would have ever admitted.

“So you don’t tremble,” was one of the first things he said to you.

His voice was deep, dry, with no trace of warmth. But there was no disapproval in it either. Only observation.

You lifted your chin with a stillness that didn’t entirely match your age.

“I don’t see why I should.”

For a moment, silence stretched between the two of you. And although Thragg’s face barely changed, something in his gaze sharpened with a deep and dark satisfaction.

Because you weren’t just strong.

You were worthy.

From then on, he began visiting you more frequently. No longer as a distant figure lurking in the shadows, but as a constant and rigorous presence. He personally oversaw your training, correcting your posture, your responses, even the way you held your gaze. He taught you the history of Viltrum not as a lesson, but as a heritage. He didn’t speak to you of ruin or loss with sadness, but with a stern devotion that turned every word into a command.

He showed you star maps, records of conquest, names of fallen generals, and worlds brought to their knees under the weight of a race that had once been unstoppable. And you listened in silence, motionless, with such perfect attention that even he found himself watching you longer than necessary.

There was something almost disturbing about the seriousness with which you absorbed everything.

You didn’t interrupt with unnecessary questions. You showed no sentimentality. You weren’t distracted by the weight of blood or the magnitude of what had been destroyed. You listened as if every fragment of the empire belonged to you by right.

As if you understood it.

As if you had been born for it.

That pleased Thragg in a dangerous way.

Little by little, he began taking you out of your chambers. First to internal corridors, then to command chambers, strategy rooms, and hangars where the organized ruins of what had once been the heart of an immense empire still remained. What little remained of Viltrum was not beautiful in a human sense; it was severe, functional, wounded. Metal, silence, and memory. And yet, when you walked beside him through those structures marked by war and decay, Thragg felt something close to pride.

He didn’t allow anyone to walk at his height.

Except you.

The few who still served under his command soon understood your position. Thragg didn’t need to announce it openly. It was enough to see him stop to wait for you. Enough to see how his attention shifted toward you before any commander. Enough to notice the absolute coldness with which he responded when someone spoke to you without permission.

You were his daughter.

The first.

The only one he looked at not as a tool, but as the untouched continuation of something he refused to let die.

On one occasion, while walking through an observation room from which fragments of destroyed fleets could be seen floating in the void, one of his subordinates — too slow, too clumsy — interrupted with a poorly presented report. Thragg barely turned his head to listen. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t make any sudden movements. He simply pointed out the mistake with a calm so lethal that the soldier froze instantly.

You didn’t look away.

You watched everything with the same impassive expression you used for anything else. Without horror. Without discomfort. Only attention.

When the man left, trembling with shame, Thragg turned slightly toward you.

“Misplaced compassion weakens judgment,” he said.

You took a second to respond.

“Then it isn’t a virtue. It’s a defect useful only to enemies.”

That time, Thragg did smile.

It was a minimal, brief, almost imperceptible smile. But in someone like him, that was equivalent to immense approval.

“Correct.”

From that moment on, he began showing you more. Not only the structure of the empire, but its logic. The order. The hierarchy. The necessity of strength, purity, and obedience. He wanted you to understand not only what Viltrum had been, but what it needed to become again. And every time he saw you standing beside him, with an impassive face and a steady gaze, the idea became more firmly rooted in his mind.

He wasn’t just introducing you to a legacy.

He was preparing you to inherit it.

There were moments, rare but revealing, when even he seemed to forget his own reserve. Watching you respond harshly to a disrespectful officer, noticing the precision with which you analyzed combat reports, confirming that there was no unnecessary softness in you — Thragg felt a satisfaction so intense that it bordered on obsession.

Because he didn’t see only a daughter.

He saw confirmation.

Proof that something pure still remained in the universe. Something worthy. Something his.

And the more he integrated you into what little remained of the empire, the clearer a truth became — one that no one around you dared to name:

Thragg didn’t just favor you.

Thragg had reserved a place for you that he would never allow anyone else to occupy.

It didn’t matter how many children he had fathered. It didn’t matter how many descendants carried his blood. None had been watched like you. None had been preserved like you. None walked beside him with the same silent closeness that made others fall quiet the moment you entered a room.

You were his fiercest pride.

His favorite daughter.

And in many ways, the only thing he regarded with something close to reverence.

With time, Thragg decided that you were no longer just his daughter. You were a soldier. You needed a position.

He named you general.

It wasn’t an empty title. Thragg placed you in a position of power within the Viltrumite fleet, and to ensure you were prepared, he put Kregg in charge of your training. He was one of his most loyal and competent warriors, someone he trusted enough to leave you under his guidance. Thragg believed that with Kregg by your side, you would be protected and well-trained.

What he didn’t imagine was that Kregg would become attracted to you.

At first, the advances were subtle. Looks that lingered longer than necessary, words that brushed the edges of military respect, small gestures that a normal Viltrumite wouldn’t have noticed. But you noticed them. And instead of rejecting them, you felt curious. You had never experienced anything like it. Viltrumites didn’t speak of romance or affection in that way; for them, relationships were something functional, almost nonexistent. However, the way Kregg looked at you awakened an interest in you that you didn’t know how to handle.

You didn’t see anything wrong with it.

Without Thragg knowing, you began spending more time alone with Kregg. What started as training gradually turned into something more. It wasn’t a romance like those that existed on other planets; it was something clumsy, silent, and filled with tensions that neither of you knew how to name. But for you, it was enough. You liked the way Kregg treated you, as if you were more than just Thragg’s daughter. As if you were someone he could desire.

For weeks, you kept it a secret. You slipped away from his gaze when you could, met with Kregg in secluded areas of the main ship, and allowed his hands to touch you in ways your father would never have permitted. To you, it wasn’t betrayal. It was simply something that belonged to you.

What you didn’t know was that Thragg, although he trusted Kregg, never stopped watching you.

And sooner or later, he would discover what you were doing.

Because even though he had named you general and given you power, Thragg still considered you his absolute possession. And he was not willing to share you with anyone.

Not even with one of his own warriors.

But Thragg didn’t suspect anything at first.

He was satisfied with your progress as a general. He believed Kregg was fulfilling his duty by training you, and that you were fulfilling yours as his daughter. However, as the weeks passed, something began to change in you. You became more reserved, avoided his direct gaze, and kept a distance that hadn’t existed before. Thragg noticed, but attributed it to the weight of your new responsibilities.

Until one day he asked you to come closer.

He wanted to personally check your physical condition, as he used to do when you were little. When you stood in front of him, Thragg observed you carefully. And then he saw it.

The slight swelling in your abdomen.

It wasn’t something that could be mistaken. As a Viltrumite, he immediately recognized what it meant. You were pregnant. And not by just any Viltrumite.

By Kregg.

Something dark and violent ignited inside him. Thragg had planned to repopulate his race, yes, but never like this. He had never imagined that another Viltrumite would dare to touch you, to taint you, to leave his seed inside what he considered exclusively his. The idea of his daughter carrying the child of another filled him with a cold and silent rage.

Without saying a word, he took a step forward and wrapped his arms around you in a firm, almost crushing embrace. His large hands rested on your back, holding you tightly against him. For a moment, the silence was absolute.

“Everything is going to be fine,” he murmured against your hair, his voice low and controlled, in stark contrast to the storm raging inside him. “I’m going to fix this.”

You felt his embrace tighten slightly, as if he feared you might slip away. Thragg closed his eyes, breathing deeply as his mind already began mapping out the path he would follow. He would not allow that creature to be born. He would not allow Kregg’s legacy to mix with his blood. He had raised you to be perfect, strong, and loyal only to him. He would not allow anything or anyone to contaminate you.

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. His expression was serious, almost solemn, but his eyes burned with a dangerous obsession.

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” he continued, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “After this, everything will return to order. You will only have to continue being a good soldier… and a good daughter. That is all that will be asked of you.”

His voice was calm, almost reassuring, but the words carried an oppressive weight. There was no room for discussion. No room for choice. Thragg had already made his decision.

So he thrust his arm through your stomach, becoming completely covered in your blood.

"You'll recover, don't worry."

Because Thragg was not willing to share you with anyone.

Not even with your own child.

Have I been too violent? I mean, I feel like the warnings might be an understatement.

I hope I don't get penalized.