Mark Grayson "Invincible" x Male Reader
Summary: A battle against a powerful adversary pushed your abilities beyond their limit, culminating in a devastating supernova that consumed you and everything in its path.
A/N: Reader has energy manipulation/projection, which in this case if you produce to much your body basically let's off the equivalent of a supernova blast (^44 Joules, or roughly 10^28 megatons of TNT). Close to 2.6k words
TW: Angst - Blood - Gore - Hurt - Comfort
The emerald tapestry of the countryside had been brutally torn asunder, replaced by a scarred landscape of raw earth and splintered timber. Craters, gaping maws in the once-fertile ground, marked the violent finales of your earth-shattering impacts. Trees, ancient sentinels of the land, lay cleaved in two, their fallen forms tracing the chaotic ballet of destruction where you and your alien adversary had traded blows with the force of small explosions. The very air seemed to hum with the residual energy of your brutal exchange.
Each clash had ripped through the idyllic scenery, gouging furrows in fields, shattering rock formations, and sending shockwaves that uprooted everything in their path. What had been a peaceful vista of rolling hills and whispering forests was now a testament to the ferocity of your struggle, a brutal masterpiece of devastation painted in shades of churned soil and broken green.
A tremor ran through your battered frame, a physical manifestation of the agony that bloomed across your skin. Deep purple bruises, like angry constellations, spread across your flesh, a stark contrast to the crimson seeping through the rents in your once-sleek suit. Jagged lacerations crisscrossed your body, each throb a fresh reminder of the enemy’s relentless assault. The protective goggles, your shield and anonymity, were gone, lost somewhere in the ravaged landscape. One eye was swollen shut, the lashes glued together by dried blood that had trickled from a gash marring your forehead.
Your fingers and arm jutted out at grotesque angles, stark white bone peeking through torn flesh. The unnatural bends left you agonizingly vulnerable, your already limited mobility reduced to the clumsy movements of a single, barely functioning limb. Yet, even as your physical form protested with every strained breath, the raw energy you had instinctively drawn from the environment, amplified by the brutal force of each impact against your body, continued to surge within you. It built, a volatile tide threatening to breach the dam of your tolerance, pushing past the established limits of your energy manipulation, a desperate gamble to keep your ravaged body functioning just long enough to end this.
Your vision swam in a hazy red film, each shallow breath a searing pain that confirmed the certainty of broken ribs. Blood welled in your mouth, a coppery taste that mingled with the grit of the ravaged earth, and trickled down your chin in thick, viscous drops. Despite the symphony of agony echoing through your bones, despite the mangled limbs and the gaping wounds, a primal refusal burned within you. You would not yield. You would not grant this alien the satisfaction of your broken form.
“You’re stronger than I thought,” the alien’s voice cut through the haze, a chillingly detached observation devoid of any genuine emotion.
A ragged breath escaped your lips, your remaining hand flickering with a faint yellow glow as you desperately focused a burst of energy at your palm. “I guess that’s what you aliens don’t understand,” you gurgled, the words thick with blood. “It ain’t over… till I say it’s over.”
A guttural scream tore from your throat, your glowing hand lashing out just as the alien lunged. His hands clamped onto your shoulders, a vise-like grip as you both plummeted through the air once more. The raw energy pulse you unleashed ripped through his alien flesh, a searing wave of force that tore through muscle and bone, just as your broken bodies slammed against the ravaged earth.
His alien eyes widened in shock, staring down at your seemingly lifeless form as a pulsing yellow glow began to emanate from your chest. “You fool!” he spat, a flicker of something akin to fear finally crossing his features.
Your body, pushed beyond its breaking point, had greedily absorbed too much ambient energy, transforming you into a volatile, ticking time bomb. You had known the potential outcome, the catastrophic cost of such extreme exertion, yet you had embraced it, a desperate gamble born from the primal instinct to survive, to end the threat.
With a final surge of adrenaline, your hand shot up, fingers locking around his throat as an inferno ignited within your chest. “Ever wondered what a supernova felt like?” you whispered, your voice a raspy caress against his alien skin.
Your body arched violently off the ground, a chorus of cracking bones accompanying the blinding light that erupted from your chest. Flesh seared and melted, consuming the alien that clung to you, his horrified scream swallowed by the incandescent bloom.
The expanding wave of raw energy, born from your self-immolation, surged outwards, a phantom sun rising from the ruined countryside. It reached the edges of the distant city, engulfing its skyline in an ethereal, pulsating glow. Buildings were bathed in an otherworldly luminescence, their stark silhouettes softened by the radiant aura. Then came the shockwave, a physical manifestation of your final act, a concussive force that rattled foundations and shattered glass into glittering rain. The ethereal glow intensified, reaching its zenith before abruptly collapsing inward, the immense energy retreating back into your ravaged form, culminating in a silent, internal combustion that left a void where life had once flickered.
News of the unprecedented event rippled through the global networks, images of the devastated countryside and the strange energy surge over the city flashing across countless screens. At the Global Defense Agency headquarters, the chaotic reports blared across monitors, catching Mark’s attention amidst the usual stream of crises and alerts. He barely had time to register the unbelievable scale of the destruction, the impossible energy signature, before the very foundations of the GDA building shuddered violently. The shockwave, even at that distance, was palpable, a brutal reminder of the raw power unleashed. Without a word, his mind a whirlwind of terrifying possibilities, Mark shot out of his chair and sprinted towards the transport bay, the image of you seared into his thoughts.
Your body lay still, a broken doll amidst the devastation you had wrought. The cold air, sharp and biting, kissed the raw, open wounds and the angry red burns that patterned your now-naked flesh. Your heart, a fragile drum against the silence, beat weakly, a thready pulse struggling to maintain its rhythm, to cling to the fading embers of life. The blast had carved a deep crater beneath you, a stark monument to your sacrifice, utterly desecrating everything within a two-hundred-mile radius.
Your mind was a blank canvas, a numb embrace that offered a tempting oblivion. You were willing to surrender to the comforting darkness until a faint, almost imperceptible whisper brushed against your consciousness, calling your name. Your eye fluttered open, a sluggish movement that revealed a world blurred and indistinct. Your mouth twitched, a silent attempt to respond, but only a weak cough escaped, followed by a trickle of blood.
Through the hazy veil of your vision, a faint blur coalesced above you, the familiar, hated colors of that suit. Mark. His voice, barely audible above the ringing in your ears, repeated your name, a desperate plea carried on the wind.
Mark knelt beside you, his movements jerky and uncoordinated, as if his own body was struggling to comprehend the scene before him. Shaky hands, trembling with a mixture of disbelief and terror, came up to cup your face, his touch feather-light, as if afraid you would shatter. His eyes, wide and frantic, scanned your ravaged form, cataloging every horrific detail: the angry red burns that marred your skin, the unnatural angles of your mangled limbs, the jagged edges of the lacerations. And then his gaze fell upon the mark on your chest, an intricate spiderweb of pure, pulsing energy that seemed to have latched onto your heart, a macabre reminder of the supernova’s destructive power. A weak breath escaped your lips, your uninjured arm reaching out, a desperate plea for connection. Mark’s hand shot out, engulfing yours, pressing it tightly against his chest, as if trying to transfer his own life force into you. “Don’t move,” he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears, a raw, broken sound.
“Cecil!” Mark’s voice cracked, the desperate cry tearing through the stillness of the devastated landscape. You turned your gaze towards him, a gurgling sound escaping your blood-filled mouth. “I… don’t… want… to die,” you murmured, the words a fragile whisper carried on a ragged breath. Mark’s heart shattered at your plea, tears finally welling in his eyes, blurring his already distorted vision. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands trembling violently as he held you close. “Don’t… don’t say that,” he choked out, his voice thick with sobs. “You won’t die. I promise.”
Deep down, a cold certainty settled within you. His words were hollow, a desperate denial of the inevitable. “I’m… sorry,” you gasped, your body going limp in his arms, the fragile spark of life within you flickering precariously.
A strangled cry tore from Mark’s throat, his head pressing against your still chest, as if by sheer force of will he could reignite the fading embers of your life. “Cecil!” he shouted again, the name a raw, desperate plea echoing across the desolate landscape, even though a part of him knew there was little Cecil or the GDA could possibly do now.
The arrival of the GDA was a blur of flashing lights and hushed voices. They moved with practiced efficiency, their faces grim as they carefully transferred your broken body onto a stretcher. Mark watched, numb and unmoving, as they carried you away, the sight a fresh wound to his already ravaged soul. Cecil stood beside him, his expression unreadable, watching the scene unfold with his usual quiet intensity. “We’ll fix him,” he murmured, his voice low and devoid of emotion. “We always do.” He turned, a brief, impersonal pat on Mark’s shoulder before he too walked away, leaving Mark alone amidst the devastation.
The GDA worked tirelessly, a silent army of medics and scientists battling against the odds. They mended shattered bones, stitched gaping wounds, and desperately attempted to coax your heart back into a steady rhythm. Days bled into nights as they fought for every flicker of life, their efforts finally rewarded with a weak, thready beat. Your body slowly began to heal, a testament to your resilience, but the scars remained, a stark roadmap of the unimaginable power you had unleashed and the devastating cost it had exacted. The healing process was agonizing, a relentless cycle of pain and discomfort that kept the GDA medical team on edge and haunted Mark’s restless nights. Cecil, with his usual detached pragmatism, had barred Mark from seeing you, a cruel mercy perhaps, until the “bloody mess” you had been transformed back into something resembling the person he knew.
The moment Mark was finally allowed to see you, he was a ghost haunting the sterile halls of the GDA medical wing. He came nearly every night, a silent vigil beside your still form. You were more than just a friend, more than someone he had grown up with, more than the reckless hero StarBoy who seemed incapable of self-preservation. You were someone special, someone who had shown him the quiet beauty in the mundane, the immeasurable value of the bonds he shared with his chosen family. You were a silent counterpoint to his father’s cold ambition, a living embodiment of the empathy and connection he desperately craved. He loved you for that, a quiet, unspoken affection that had taken root and blossomed amidst the chaos of his life. He had been too caught up in his own turmoil to voice it, afraid of disrupting the delicate balance of your friendship. But seeing you broken, hearing your whispered plea not to die, had shattered his carefully constructed walls. Now, all he prayed for was your return, a chance to finally bridge the unspoken space between you.
It was late, the sterile silence of the GDA halls broken only by the soft hum of life support machines. Mark had slipped in again, a familiar ritual that Cecil seemed to tacitly condone, a silent acknowledgment of the depth of Mark’s unspoken feelings. The doors to your private room slid open with a soft hiss, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors a bittersweet symphony in Mark’s ears. He pulled a chair close to your bedside, his gaze fixed on your still form, a silent vigil of hope and fear. He hadn't noticed your eyes were open, watching his every move with a quiet intensity. A weak hand, pale and still bearing the marks of your ordeal, emerged from beneath the crisp white sheets, lazily grasping at the fabric of Mark’s sweater as he sat down. He let out a startled gasp, his eyes widening in disbelief as he met your gaze. “What’s wrong, Grayson?” you croaked, your voice raspy and weak. “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.” A faint, weary smile touched your lips as you licked your chapped lips.
Mark shot up, his hands instinctively reaching out to cup your face, his touch gentle, reverent. He wasn't thinking, his mind a whirlwind of relief and disbelief at your awakening. He hadn’t considered your potential reaction, lost in the overwhelming joy of your return. His lips met yours in a slow, hesitant kiss, a silent outpouring of emotions he had never dared to voice. Your eyes fluttered closed, your own hand rising weakly to hold his against your cheek as you kissed back, a fragile affirmation of his unspoken feelings. His tongue tentatively pushed past your lips, a soft gasp escaping you at the unexpected intimacy. Mark pulled back, his eyes wide with panic, a rush of apologies forming on his lips. But you lay there, a small, genuine smile playing on your lips. You didn't release his hands, keeping his warmth pressed against your skin. You looked up at him, your voice barely a whisper. “About time you kissed me, Grayson.”
A blush crept up Mark’s neck, painting his cheeks a soft pink. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his thumbs gently brushing against your cheekbones, his gaze tender and unwavering. He didn't speak, his answer a soft, lingering kiss that deepened with unspoken longing. Your lips moved in sync, a silent dance of shared desire, as if both of you had been waiting an eternity for this connection. Mark pulled away slightly, his breath warm against your lips, his nose brushing against yours in a tender caress. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice surprisingly steady, a declaration that had been brewing beneath the surface for too long. A ragged breath escaped your lips, your heart monitor spiking with a sudden surge of adrenaline at his words. “I love you too, Mark.”
Your lips met again, a deeper, more fervent kiss that spoke volumes of unspoken emotions. Mark’s fingers tangled in your hair, a gentle caress against your scalp, while your hands clutched at his sweater, holding him close as if afraid he might disappear. He broke the kiss, trailing soft, lingering kisses down your bare chest, his lips careful to avoid the tangle of wires and medical devices still attached to you. His lips brushed against the raised, angry scar on your chest, a permanent reminder of the devastating power you had unleashed. “Don’t ever do something stupid like that again,” Mark whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His lips trailed back up to yours, a soft peck before he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close against his chest. “No promises,” you whispered back, a shiver running through you at the warmth enveloping your fragile body.
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