chat how bad do we think I have it that I 1. Don’t really like (romantically) the dude I gave a second chance to, but I now instead like my already taken friend </3 (not in a homewrecker way, in a poly way)
never be good at your job. it's a trap. they'll just give you more and harder stuff to do and it'll pull you away from your true passion of writing gay fanfiction for people on the internet
okay so we remember my ex bf that I broke up with for personal reasons, yes? Well we decided to stay friends and have been messaging on TikTok- tell me why the mf pays more attention to me now then before when we were DATING
⚠️: reader hates (!!) Mark Grayson, Mark variants are here and in love with you (!!), mentions of Mohawk’s harem of women that look like Eve (he would never desecrate your memory like that), reader probably (definitely) is a little traumatized, mentions of broken bones, bruises and physical violence, reader has/had a stalker, you find a kid (you know her) and rebuke the idea of leaving her alone in the crumbling city, Mohawk is a pervert, Viltrum Mark is kind of a sweetie (Anissa mention but she’s dead because I say she DESERVES IT!!) I think that’s it. Anyways.
This is long. I got carried away. I apologize.
———
“Get off of me.”
Your tone is much more sure than you know it should be but he’s still here— the Mark that gutted his Eve. He’s still here, still gripping at you in a way that makes you feel restrained. It reminds you of the taste of copper from your blood in your mouth and the hands of a stranger holding you down.
He’s since pressed his face back into your throat, huffing there like you’re some kind of drug, “Fuck, I can never get them to smell just right..” You stiffen — what the fuck does that mean?
You’re wiggling in his grip, trying to desperately get the fuck away from him, “quit fucking sniffing me and get off!” He pulls back just enough for you to see the shadow of his brow, as he presses his face into your chest, “nah, babe. I can’t do that— haven’t had this smell direct from the source in years.”
It’s simple and enrages you so much you begin to panic at the feeling of his hands tightening at your hips, holding your steady as he nuzzles his face into anywhere he can reach. You heave, unbelievably uncomfortable, and peer up into the sky where your Mark is pushing back the other versions of him to create some sort of distance between you and them.
Your tone is confused when you speak again, “what the fuck does that mean? direct from the source?”
He pulls back, eyes meeting yours, his hands moving from your hips to cup at your face, one thumb tracing the line of your jaw, the other smoothing over your eyebrow, “god — forgot how fuckin’ pretty you are,” he’s still looking at you like you’re something to be worshipped, “listen, babe, I’ve got these girls back home who may or may not look like Eve — but I make ‘em smell like you. Make ‘em use your body wash, shampoo, perfume — everything I could find in that bathroom of yours.” His look turns thoughtful, “it’s never the same.”
You feel insulted, disgusted and despite yourself, pissed off, “oh — you think I’m pretty but you found girls that look like Eve? That’s real fucking smooth, you fucking asshole.” You use the startle of your scolding to get away from him, jerking your head free haphazardly, “Jesus Christ — like I needed someone else to step on my fucking self confidence.”
He looks panicked for a second, you feel grossly smug about that, and then you turn to leave with a roll of your eyes, “it — it’s not like that, baby.”
He’s chasing after you on the ground, “they’re nothing, promise. I just couldn’t do that to you— to her. I wanted to remember you how you were!”
You don’t stop, you stay steady and keep moving away from him — begrudgingly, you’re making your way back towards your Mark.
Your hands shoot up when you notice he’s looking down at you, “is your offer to get me out of here still standing? I’m ready to leave! Right now!” You watch as all their heads snap toward you — fuck.
You’re sure it’s a sight, you trying to wave down Mark fucking Grayson, the real one, who is subsequently fighting off three other versions of him and then there’s another him, the one with the Mohawk— looming over your shoulder. This is fucking ridiculous.
Your Mark doesn’t hesitate, he’s on the ground in front of you before you can blink, hand outstretched, “yes — yeah, of course it is.”
The taste of resentment is bitter in your throat when your fingers brush Mark’s. You’re too slow. Mohawk has his hand around Mark’s wrist, twisting it away from you before you can bring yourself to fully grasp his hand, “you’re not taking her from me, you weak fucking traitor.”
The nerve you lost when you were alone with Mohawk suddenly rears its head, “uh — yes, he fucking is.” You’re scowling at Mohawk, watching as he smiles, “yeah? you think I’m going to let you go again?” Your gaze flickers to the other versions, landing in a wide circle around the three of you before lingering back on him, “you didn’t let me go, asshole,” you pause for a second, “you let me get killed over some fucking pussy.”
Your Mark winces at your tone, Mohawk licks his lips, eyes turning hot, “so fuckin’ mouthy, aren’t you baby? You’re right, should have just stayed with you— bet you would’ve given me the best pussy I’d ever have.”
You’re almost snarling at him when another voice, still Mark’s but different, cuts through, “That’s enough.”
It’s the one in the full Viltrum uniform, closing the distance between the three of you, “she is permitted to leave if that’s what she wants.”
You aren’t paying attention anymore, you’re too busy looking past them. No — oh god, no. Is that? It is. You’re speaking before you can stop yourself, “Lily?”
Her little head snaps straight towards you, echoing your name back at you like a prayer. She looks terrified of the men surrounding you. You can only imagine what she’s seen.
It’s your neighbor’s sweet little girl, alone and far too close to whatever fighting was just happening.
————
She’s covered in soot, gripping her little bunny like it’s the only thing keeping her safe. You’re pushing past all of the variants before you can think, movements quick and terrified, “where’s your mom, honey?”
Her hands are reaching up for you and you don’t hesitate, wrapping her up and keeping her close to your chest. Lily sniffles in your arms, whimpering against your neck, “she was inside.”
You begin to scan the area. You’d been lucky. You weren’t home when your apartment building collapsed. You want to scream at the implication of what that means for Lily’s mother — the only friend you’d managed to make and keep after the attack on your life.
Lily begins to cry and with her, so do you.
“Awwwwh — isn’t that sweet?” You stiffen, teary-eyed and furious when you turn to look at the one with the Mohawk, “is this funny to you?” You’re serious when you ask. You want to hear him say it — show you the monster you know has been biting under the surface this whole time.
He doesn’t get the chance, your Mark wrenches free of his grip, driving a fist into his face before you can blink, “go!”
It’s all you need.
You tuck Lily closer and sprint away.
————
You do it again. You make the same mistake of watching your feet instead of the sky. You hear him before you see him, “you are going to get hurt.” Your head snaps up and you skid to a stop, keeping Lily tucked so she can’t see.
It’s the one in the Viltrum uniform, “is that a fucking threat?” He’s staring down at you, stoic and sure, “no.”
You stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate, “it is an observation.” Your lips are curling up at him already, “fuck you!” You turn and head the opposite direction, thinking quick on your feet about the bank, more specifically, the vault. It should be close— you bet that if you get Lily there she can hide until rescue teams make their way through.
You know he’s following, you can see his shadow on the ground next to you, “listen, fucker — I already had a stalker, I don’t need another one!”
He isn’t phased, “I am just making sure you get where you are going safely.” You scowl, but keep moving, breathing a sigh of relief when the bank comes into view, “I can handle myself just fine.”
You note the thick difference, the shift in his tone, “I have heard that before. It was not true.”
You blink up at him, suddenly feeling how tired you truly are, but you don’t stop moving— you can’t, “am.. am I dead where you’re from too?” He doesn’t answer — not with words but you can see the shift in his jaw, the way his hand twitches. He flys away before you can push for an answer.
You brush at Lily’s hair to comfort her before guiding her into the vault, “go, honey.” She does, squeezing under the table there, “you’ll be safe here, okay? You stay here and you don’t move until you hear me come back.” And Lily, sweet Lily — she’s so brave when she answers, “okay, I’ll stay here.”
You want to squeeze her, kiss her, stay with her — but you have to keep moving. You have to find your Mark.. maybe help some other people make it to safety.
————
Viltrum hits the ground next to you the moment you step out of the vault, “this block is secure — no fires or imminent threats. She will be safe.” You nod, mouth dry as you settle against a steady piece of rubble. You just need to rest. All the walking has made the pain in your bad ankle flare. You promise yourself you’ll rest for just a moment.
He’s still there, close by — staring at you, but not in the uncomfortable way Mohawk was. The look like you need to be worshipped is still there but there’s something else, something almost akin to shame.
“Was I killed there too?” You break the heavy silence, fingers rubbing at the scar on the ankle that was once stomped to shatters, the one that still causes you trouble when it’s cold or raining. “Yes.” It’s simple enough but you can’t help the curiosity, “you weren’t there?”
Viltrum looks utterly uncomfortable now, stoic expression breaking to show something that’s almost disgust at himself, “I did not make it in time to save you.” Your head tilts, “another woman?” He looks even more disgusted now, “no. never.”
“What happened then?”
He moves closer, eyes trained on where you’re rubbing, “Anissa. A Viltrumite.” You look up at him in confusion, “I thought you said there wasn’t another woman.” His gaze levels with yours, “she was not ‘another’ woman. You were the only woman and she thought taking you from me before I could confess would make me open to fathering a child for her.”
“Did it?”
“No. I killed her the way she killed you.”
You’re unnerved by how simple Viltrum says it but you don’t show it. You test your ankle and it twinges under your weight. You wince and Viltrum is by your side, hands stretched to catch you if you fall, “you are hurt.”
You scowl at him, swatting his hands away as you adjust through the pain, “it’s nothing fresh. when,” you swallow hard, trying to fight through the memory, “when I was attacked — he broke my ankle so I couldn’t run from him again. It took four surgeries and a metal rod, but at least I can walk.”
You don’t want him to see the quiver of fear in your jaw, so instead you look up. You’re scanning the sky, watching for any sign of your Mark. You seem him, distantly. He’s currently being strangled by the one dressed like Omni-Man, “why’re you guys here anyways?”
“To conquer.”
You want to roll your eyes at the simplicity of his answer, but you don’t. Your gaze is drawn to the roof across the street. The one with the yellow cape is perched there. Viltrum moves to shield you from his visor covered gaze.
“Sinister,” Viltrum’s tone is clipped, more than usual.
His tone is coy and sharp, his grin is all teeth, “was wondering where you went, soldier boy.”
“you’re trying to steal the girl?” Your peer from behind Viltrum, despite the voice in your head telling you not to.
You make eye contact with him, Sinister. You can’t see his eyes— but you can feel them, observant and cruel.
He reiterates, still speaking to just Viltrum, “you’re trying to steal my girl?”
Mulan AU where she does get caught by the other fresh recruits while she's bathing but Mushu helps her spin it like the lake is cursed by an evil lizard demon and will turn men into women if they stay in it for too long.
From there it's not actually difficult to get the other soldiers onboard with covering up the fact that poor Ping took one for the team and got afflicted by the vagina curse, especially since it would have been all of them if they hadn't gotten the warning ahead of time. So they agree to help him cover it up, because obviously the army's not going to understand.
Shang is... tentatively glad that the men are bonding and getting along, even if they continue to be deeply weird about it.
Mulan: Uh, what boobs? Huh? Where did these come from?
Mushu: *facepalms and thinks quickly* (speaks from the shadows) I AM THE SPIRIT OF THE LAKE! BEWARE MY CURSED WATERS FOR THEY WILL TURN MEN INTO WOMEN!
Ling, Yao, and Chien Po: Oh no! The spirit of the cursed waters!
okay so we remember my ex bf that I broke up with for personal reasons, yes? Well we decided to stay friends and have been messaging on TikTok- tell me why the mf pays more attention to me now then before when we were DATING
theartofmadeline
gummygunk
jimmyeatworldofficial
