#sheisty invincible

[tearvls]

200 follower special!!

INFO: Mark Grayson Variants reaction to you getting your nipples pierced!!

— warnings for nipple play!!

GN! Reader x Mark Variants!!

— SINISTER MARK

The second your shirt rides up and those piercings catch the light, his entire demeanor shifts. One moment he’s lounging like he owns the room — the next, he’s deadly quiet, sharp gaze locked on your chest like a predator locking in on prey. You can feel the change in the air around him, thick with heat and tension. “You did this without telling me?” he says, voice low and dangerous, but eerily calm — like he’s holding back something violent, or worse, possessive. He moves closer, slow and deliberate, every step radiating restrained hunger until he’s right in front of you. His hand rises — gloved, precise — and hovers just an inch above your skin. He doesn't touch immediately, just watches your body respond to the anticipation. “You let someone else mark you like this?” he murmurs, eyes narrowing. “Put metal through my favorite parts?” His thumb brushes just barely against one ring, and when you flinch — whether from sensitivity or healing pain — his smirk widens. “Still sore? Healing?” He sounds amused. Not sympathetic. And then he does touch, gently at first — thumb dragging in slow, calculated circles around the piercing, before he leans in and closes his mouth around the other, tongue warm and wet and sinful. He sucks slowly, deliberately, the pressure just toeing the edge of too much. “I don’t give a fuck if it hurts. If you’re gonna put these here,” he growls against your skin, “then I’m gonna ruin you."

— MOHAWK MARK

He clocks the piercings the second your shirt lifts, and his reaction is instant—brows shoot up, and that wild grin of his spreads across his face like a slash. “No fuckin’ way,” he mutters, already moving in, eyes glued to your chest like you’ve just handed him a gift with a bow on it. He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t give you time to explain. He just palms your chest with a calloused hand, thumbing close—too close—to one ring like he’s testing your reaction. “These real?” he asks, not really caring about the answer. “Goddamn, you just had to make yourself even more distracting, huh?” He leans down, mouthing just beside the metal, breathing hot against your skin before he gently tugs your nipple with his teeth—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you shiver. And when you twitch, probably from the healing soreness, he pauses. “Still healing?” he asks with a smirk. “Mmm. That’s cute.” He doesn’t stop. His tongue swirls around the piercing, lips closing over it, and you feel the heat of his breath as he moans low in his throat. “Bet you were thinking about me when you got ‘em done. You knew I’d go fucking crazy over this.” He alternates between licking and sucking until your knees go weak, never once letting up. “Shit, you’re gonna have to heal around me, babe. I’m not leavin’ these alone.”

— OMNI MARK

He sees them as soon as your shirt shifts���and immediately, the air gets heavier. His gaze drops, unreadable and intense, locked on your chest like he's assessing a threat or a tactical advantage. He doesn’t speak at first. He just steps in closer, slow and composed, towering over you like he already owns the moment. Then his fingers lift—bare, ungloved, clinical—and he brushes them just beneath the jewelry, not touching the piercings themselves, but skimming close enough that your breath stutters. His brows lift slightly. “You got pierced,” he says, not a question, just observation. His thumb moves in a slow, circling motion around the base of one nipple, careful not to disturb the healing—but firm enough to remind you that he’s still in control. “Tch. Reckless,” he murmurs, and for a second, it seems like he might scold you further—but then, just barely, the corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. Not quite approval. He flicks one ring lightly, just once, to watch the way you react. “You didn’t think I’d notice?” he asks quietly. “Or did you want me to?” His fingers linger for a moment longer, and then he steps back, voice cooler, but final. “They look good on you.”

— MASKLESS MARK

The moment he sees them, his whole face lights up like you’ve just given him something precious. His breath catches, and his eyes go wide—staring, but not in a crude way. He looks genuinely captivated, lips parting slightly as if he forgot what he was saying. “Whoa… seriously?” he murmurs, stepping closer like he’s afraid to touch without permission. “When did you—? Wait, why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve gone with you.” His hands hover over your chest for a moment, trembling just a little with restraint. When you nod or guide him closer, his fingers finally land—so gentle it’s barely more than a brush. He traces around one piercing, circling it slowly, taking his time to admire every detail with a quiet reverence. “God, these look amazing on you,” he says softly, in awe more than lust. “Like… really amazing.” He leans in, not to bite or suck, but to gently kiss your skin beside the metal, lips soft and warm. When he tugs lightly on one ring between his fingers, it’s playful—not rough—and the moment you flinch, he stops immediately. “Sorry, too soon?” he whispers, clearly a little flustered. “I’ll behave. Just—damn, you’re already so hot, and now you do this?” His hands cradle your sides, thumbs grazing your skin with tender reverence. “You make it so hard to be good.” He presses another kiss to your sternum, just below, murmuring against your skin, “They suit you. So, so well.”

— VILTRUMITE MARK

His gaze snaps to your chest the second your shirt is lifted, and he goes still—not with surprise, but with a kind of focused scrutiny, like he’s cataloging new data. “What is this?” he asks flatly, reaching out without hesitation. His fingers land on your skin with zero gentleness, thumb brushing one piercing, then the other, slow but firm—more curious than considerate. “You let someone drive metal through your flesh?” he mutters, not judging, exactly… but definitely not approving either. He doesn’t ask if they’re healed. He doesn’t care. He gives one an experimental tug—short and sharp. Not enough to be cruel, but enough to make you wince. He watches you closely when you flinch, eyes narrowing like he’s testing your reaction, testing you. “Sensitive,” he notes simply, as though the pain is a flaw he’s filing away for later. Then he twists one ring between his fingers, idly, as if it's nothing more than a hinge or a lever. “You humans and your modifications… always trying to make yourselves more appealing.” He hums to himself, low and almost amused. His eyes never leave your face. He doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t stop until he is satisfied. Then finally, he releases you with one last brush of his knuckles over your chest and offers a noncommittal, “They don’t look bad.” The closest thing to a compliment you’ll get from him—grudging, clipped, and barely earned. But he lingers after he says it, gaze dragging slowly back to the piercings with just a flicker of interest behind his usual mask of dominance.

— PRISONER MARK

The second your shirt lifts and he gets a look at your chest, his expression sharpens like a blade. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mutters, stepping in close before you can even speak. His hands are rough and calloused, worn from fights and restraints, and they move before you give permission—thumbs ghosting over your chest with calculated pressure. He doesn’t touch the piercings at first. He just stares, like he’s trying to figure out what the hell possessed you to do it. “You really went and did this while I was locked up?” His tone is low, pissed, but there’s something else there too—something that betrays how tightly he’s holding himself back. He wants to hate them. The idea of someone else being close enough to put them there twists in his gut, and for a moment, his grip on your waist tightens possessively. “Looks like hell to heal,” he mutters, and yet, his fingers are already drifting toward one, brushing it just enough to make your breath hitch. That smug grin curls onto his face, slowly. “Sensitive, huh?” He tugs lightly, testing your reaction. Then again—harder this time. Not cruel, but bold. Messy. Like he’s punishing you for turning him on. “Yeah, I hate ‘em,” he says, eyes still locked on the way your body tenses beneath him, “but fuck—” he breathes out a short laugh, low and hungry, “they do something to me.” He leans in, forehead resting against yours for a beat, his voice softer but still strained. “Next time you think about decorating yourself like that, maybe run it by me.” Another pull—possessive this time, slower. Then he lets go, rough hands trailing down your sides. “They’re stupid. But they look… good.” He says it like it physically hurts to admit it.

— NO GOGGLES MARK

The second he sees the piercings, his grin stretches wide—too wide. There's that glint in his eye again, the one that never bodes well for your sanity. “Oh, you’re just asking for it,” he laughs, stepping up so close you can feel his breath on your chest. He doesn’t hesitate—not even a second. His hand is on you immediately, fingers curling around one of the piercings, thumb pressing down hard enough to make your whole body jolt. “Still healing?” he says with mock sympathy, and then slaps one nipple—sharp, fast, stinging. He watches the way you flinch, and a low, breathless chuckle escapes him. “Oh damn, that was beautiful.”

He tugs the ring, twists it, presses it down just enough to blur the line between pleasure and pain, giggling like it’s his favorite toy. “You look so fucking good like this—pierced, helpless, all twitchy and sweet.” His other hand joins in, swatting at the other nipple, then pinching it between two fingers with cruel amusement. “I shouldn’t be doing this. You’re probably gonna bruise, huh?” He doesn’t sound remorseful at all—just turned on. Hard. You can feel it when he presses up against you, still laughing softly.

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear. His voice is a low growl, hungry and gleeful. “Oh fuck, I can’t wait till I see you in bed,” he whispers, breath hitching. “When I’m twisting them so hard you scream for me.” He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, still grinning like the devil. “That’s the kind of music I live for.”

— FULL MASK MARK

The second he sees them, he physically freezes—like you just hit him with a brick. There’s a beat of stunned silence, and then the full mask tips downward in the most obvious attempt to not stare, which completely fails when his head jerks right back up for another glance. “Holy—wow, okay,” he stammers, voice cracking slightly through the modulator. “That’s, uh. That’s new.”

He doesn’t reach for you right away—he’s too busy short-circuiting. His hands twitch at his sides, flexing like he wants to touch but is still trying to figure out if he’s allowed. When you give him the okay, he moves in slow, reverent, like he’s afraid to break you. His fingers hover, then gently trace the edge of one piercing, careful not to brush too close. “They… they look really good on you,” he says, breath catching. “Like—too good. Like unfair levels of hot. Honestly, how am I supposed to focus now?”

His gloved hand lifts to cup your chest, firm but sweet, and he lets out a nervous laugh when you shiver under the touch. “God, you have no idea how hard it is not to stare,” he groans. “I’m gonna be thinking about this all day. All week. You already drive me crazy and now you’ve got shiny little… distractions right where I’m weakest?” He leans in close, resting his masked forehead against your shoulder for a second like he’s overwhelmed. “That should be illegal,” he mutters. “Seriously.”

Then, just before he pulls back, he whispers—soft, but honest—“You looked good before, but this? This is unfair.”

— SHEISTY MARK

The moment you lift your shirt and show him the piercings, time stops for him. His jaw drops, eyes bulge, and then—“Baby, what the actual fuck?” he exclaims, voice jumping a full octave. He’s grinning so hard it’s almost ridiculous, one hand already moving to your chest like he has to confirm it’s real. “You—you really went and got ‘em done? Like for me? Shit, don’t tell me that or I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind.” He doesn’t even pretend to hold back. His mouth is already trailing kisses down your chest, eyes flicking up with wicked delight. “Damn, they look so fucking good on you, baby. I mean—fuck. You’re trying to kill me, huh? Is this a test?” His tongue flicks out like he’s teasing a treat he’s not allowed to have, but that doesn’t last long. The second he knows you’re healed enough, he dives in. One nipple’s in his mouth, then the other—hot, greedy, wet. He’s sucking like he’s making up for some deep childhood deficiency, groaning through it like he’s never tasted anything better. His hands pin your hips like he needs you to stay still, hips grinding into yours like he’s beyond help. “Shit—shit, you don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he pants between sucks, breath hot and needy against your skin. “You’re so fucking hot—I swear to God, I’m gonna be thinking about this every damn time I close my eyes.” Then, with your nipple still lightly grazed between his teeth, he mutters, “Baby, if you thought I was bad before—just wait. I’m gonna suck on these like I wasn’t even breastfed.”

[urdreamydoodles]

MARK VARIANTS X FEM!READER

You are his lover in all universes, and in these you have joined him—what is it like to be his queen?

Characters: Sinister Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Prisoner Mark, Sheisty Mark, Bald Mark, Goggles Mark, Viltrum Mark & Omni-Mark

Sinister Mark / Capevincible

- You are his moon in a sky perpetually painted in blood. The only thing he does not destroy. He moves through the world like a blade cutting through flesh, carving out civilizations with the efficiency of a butcher, and yet, when he looks at you, there is something like reverence in his eyes. His love is not gentle; it is a possession, a claiming, a cruel kind of worship. He touches you with the same hands that have torn bodies apart, and the contrast is almost poetic—his violence does not reach you, but it is there, always simmering beneath his skin.

- When he kisses you, it is not an act of love but of conquest. His lips press against yours with the force of a war drum, his teeth scrape, his tongue invades. He wants you breathless, drowning in him, a willing offering on the altar of his dominion. There is no hesitation in his touch, no uncertainty. He owns you, and you do not resist, because resistance is meaningless. He is Capevincible. He could rip apart the cosmos itself if it dared to keep you from him.

- The nights are a battlefield. Sheets twisted like bodies in the aftermath of war, your throat hoarse from gasping his name, from the unbearable weight of his body pressing into yours, pinning you down as if he fears you might vanish into the ether. He does not love with tenderness—he loves with hunger, with ruin. There is no act between you that does not leave its mark, no moment of intimacy that does not feel like surviving something primal. And yet, you cannot imagine belonging to anyone else.

- He whispers terrible things against your skin in the dark, the same way he speaks before executing his enemies. His breath is hot, his voice like the edge of a blade, telling you how beautiful you look when you break, how you are the only thing he will never destroy. And you believe him, because even monsters can have their treasures, their obsessions. You are the one thing he will not lose, and that means he will kill for you, destroy for you, burn entire worlds if you so much as shiver.

- There is a moment, sometimes, when you wonder what you have become. You were once human, once fragile, once bound by mortal morality. But now you sit beside a god of carnage, watching the universe bend to his will. You no longer flinch at the screams, no longer care for the lives snuffed out like candles in a storm. He has made you his Queen, and a Queen does not weep for the conquered. You were beautiful before, but now? Now, you are terrifying.

- And perhaps, that is why he loves you. Because in the end, you are not just his lover—you are his legacy. When the stars finally collapse under the weight of his brutality, when there is nothing left but blood and ruin, he knows you will still be there, standing beside him, unshaken. Because you are his, and there is no fate more absolute than that.

Mohawk Mark / Movincihawk

- He is laughter in the midst of carnage, grinning wide as his fists tear through bodies like they are made of paper. He does not kill with duty, nor with hatred. He kills because it is fun. And you? You are the only thing he keeps intact. His beautiful little trophy, the only thing he does not mock, the only thing he does not break. He calls you gorgeous like it’s an insult, mine like it’s a death sentence. And it is. No one touches what belongs to him and lives.

- He does not worship you—no, that is not his way. But he adores you in his own twisted fashion, in the way he pulls you into his lap as blood pools around his feet, in the way he tilts your chin up to kiss you even as his hands are still warm from crushing a skull. He loves you the way a wildfire loves a forest—devouring, consuming, leaving nothing untouched. You burn under his attention, and you love every second of it.

- The bed is not a sanctuary; it is just another battlefield. He is relentless, insatiable, merciless in his desire for you. His strength is overwhelming, his need all-consuming. He does not ask permission—he takes, he claims, he leaves bruises like war paint on your skin. And you let him, because there is no greater thrill than surrendering to a force that could end you, yet chooses to keep you instead.

- He talks while he fucks you, taunting, teasing, mocking. What, can’t take it? And here I thought you were my little Queen. Pathetic. But his grip tightens when you moan, his breath stutters when you rake your nails down his back. He wants you, needs you, in a way he will never admit. So instead, he laughs, bites at your throat, leaves marks that scream to the world that you belong to him.

- There is no peace with him, no soft moments of love and tenderness. There is only the thrill, the rush, the violence of passion that never fades. He does not say I love you. He says you’re mine. And it means the same thing.

- One day, when the universe is nothing but dust beneath your feet, he will still be laughing, still be reveling in destruction. And you will be beside him, his Queen, his equal in this glorious, endless reign of chaos. Because love, for Movincihawk, is not a chain—it is a fire. And he will burn for you forever.

No Goggles Mark / Nogogglesible

- He is arrogance incarnate, a god among insects, untouchable, invincible. And yet, you have touched him. You have brought him to his knees, not with force, but with something far more dangerous—desire. He is cruel to everyone, but with you, it is different. He does not kill you. He does not mock you like the others. Instead, he craves you, like a dragon hoarding treasure, like a king unwilling to share his throne.

- He is insufferable, cocky, and childish in his amusement, always grinning, always talking, always taunting. But when he touches you, all that arrogance melts into something sharper, hungrier. He does not like to be denied, does not like to be challenged. And you? You challenge him. You push back. You make him work for your affection, and it drives him insane.

- The way he takes you is almost playful—almost. He grins as he pins you down, as he makes you beg, as he ruins you. Is that all you’ve got? he teases, even as he’s shaking, even as his hands tremble against your skin. He is obsessed with making you fall apart beneath him, with proving that even the Queen of Invincible is his to break.

- But the moment someone else so much as looks at you? That arrogance vanishes, replaced by something much darker. He is a nightmare when jealous, a force of pure annihilation. He will kill without hesitation, will make sure the universe knows that you are his and his alone.

- He likes to watch you after, basking in his victory, stroking your skin like a dragon hoarding gold. He tells you you’re beautiful in the same breath that he tells you how easily he could break you. And yet, he never does. Because he is already broken for you.

- In the end, the universe will crumble, the stars will die, and he will still be here, grinning, mocking, loving you in his own twisted way. Because he is Nogogglesible. And you? You are the only thing he has ever truly wanted.

Prisoner Mark / Prisonincible

- He is not the Mark you once knew. That Mark—the hesitant boy with wide eyes and too much hope—died long ago. What stands before you now is a man sharpened into a blade, honed by violence, stripped of mercy. He is not kind. He does not pretend to be. The world tried to break him, so he broke it first. And yet, despite all his cruelty, all his rage, you are the one thing he cannot hurt. He holds you with hands that have wrung the life from countless enemies, hands that have tortured, ripped, shattered. But when they touch you, they are careful. Reverent. As if you are the last beautiful thing in a world of ruin.

- He doesn’t ask for your love. He takes it. The way he takes everything else. His kisses are bruising, possessive, his grip unrelenting. You feel his strength in every touch, in every whispered threat against your throat—Mine. Mine. Mine. He is not gentle. He is not soft. He does not worship you; he claims you. And you let him, because what else is there? He has remade the world in his image, and you are the only thing that remains untouched. Untouched, but not unmarked. He ensures that.

- The bed is a battlefield, a place where he does not have to hold back, where the rage that simmers beneath his skin finds its release in you. He grips your wrists too tight, drags his teeth along your skin, leaves bruises that bloom like violets against your flesh. He loves the sight of them. Proof of his claim. Proof that even the Queen of Invincible belongs to him.

- He whispers terrible things when he is inside you—promises, threats, dark admissions. If anyone ever touched you, I’d rip their spine out through their mouth. His lips are at your ear, his breath hot, his voice raw. He does not speak of love. He speaks of possession. And you don’t need to hear the words to know what he feels. His love is in the way he would burn the world for you. In the way he already has.

- And when it is over, when the sweat cools on your skin, when the bruises begin to fade, he holds you. Tightly. Desperately. As if letting go would shatter him completely. His lips press against your temple, his breath ragged. There are no apologies. No guilt. There is only the silence, the aftermath, the unspoken truth that neither of you will ever leave. You are bound to him, by blood, by war, by something darker than love.

- And in the end, you do not want to leave. Because if he is a monster, then you are his Queen. And monsters do not weep for the fallen. They stand among the ruins and rule.

Sheisty Mark / Hoodvincible

- He is chaos given form. A force of destruction wrapped in arrogance, in crude words and bloody knuckles. He does not fight for duty, does not conquer for power. He does it because he can. Because he enjoys it. Because he looks at the world and sees something to break. And yet, when he looks at you, it is different. He does not see something to destroy. He sees something to keep.

- His love is reckless, feral, unyielding. He grabs your chin when he kisses you, bites at your lower lip, pulls at your hair like he is daring you to fight back. He wants you to. He wants the challenge, the game. But you never win. You can’t. He is stronger, faster, crueler. He does not let you have the upper hand. Not in the fight. Not in bed. Not ever.

- He fucks like he fights—wild, unpredictable, merciless. He throws you down and drags you back up, leaves scratches down your thighs, bruises on your hips. His voice is raw with laughter, with dark amusement. You’re still breathing? Damn. I must be getting soft. But his hands tell a different story. They shake when they touch you, as if the thought of losing you makes something inside him unravel.

- He hates how much he needs you. Hates the way his body betrays him when you sigh his name, the way his chest tightens when you smile. He is cruel to everyone else, but with you, there is something else beneath the mockery, beneath the swearing and the sneers. Something fragile. And that terrifies him. So he covers it with arrogance, with insults, with violence. But you see through it.

- When the world is quiet, when the battles are over, when his body is slick with sweat and exhaustion, he does not let you leave his arms. He holds you with a grip that is too tight, too desperate. Don’t fucking go anywhere, he mumbles into your skin, voice slurred with sleep. And he will never say it, never admit it, but you know what it means. Stay. Stay. Stay.

- And so you do. Because you are his, and he is yours, and there is no world where you would ever choose anything else.

Bald Mark / Capvincible

- He is a nightmare wearing a smirk. He does not kill out of duty, or necessity. He kills because he enjoys it. Because he loves the way people scream, the way their bones crack beneath his fists. He is the worst kind of monster—the kind that does not believe he is one. And you? You are his one exception. His one indulgence. His one weakness.

- He touches you with the same hands that have torn men apart, but with care. Not because he is gentle, but because he wants to savor it. To take his time. To draw out every moment, every sound, every shudder of your breath. He likes when you squirm beneath him. When you beg, when you break. Not out of cruelty—no, this is love. Love, for him, is the act of unmaking you piece by piece, then putting you back together just to do it all over again.

- He makes you beg. Not because he needs to hear it, but because he wants you to admit the truth. That you need him. That you want him. That you are his. He drags it out, teasing, taunting, watching your resolve crack like fragile glass. Say it, he purrs against your throat, breath hot, hands relentless. Say you belong to me. And you do. Of course, you do.

- He whispers against your skin as he takes you apart—dark promises, wicked threats. You’d look so pretty covered in blood, sweetheart. Maybe next time, I’ll let you have a little fun with me. He means it. You know he does. He would kill for you. He already has.

- When it is over, he watches you. Eyes dark, unreadable. There is something terrifying about the way he looks at you—like a lion watching its mate, possessive, protective, utterly devoted. You own him as much as he owns you, and he knows it.

- And so, when he kisses you again, slow and deep, it is not a claim. It is a vow. No matter what happens, no matter who dares to stand in his way, he will never lose you. And if the universe tries to take you from him, well—he will simply have to burn it all down.

Goggles Mark / Gogglesvincible

- He is stillness—a predator that does not need to snarl, a killer that does not need to raise his voice. Where others rage, he is quiet. Where others lose themselves in the thrill of bloodshed, he remains composed. There is no excess in him, no wasted movement, no unnecessary cruelty. When he kills, it is efficient. When he destroys, it is deliberate. And when he looks at you, it is with that same terrible focus.

- His love is calculated, methodical. He does not indulge in theatrics. He does not waste words on affection. Instead, he watches you, memorizes you, understands every detail—what makes you shiver, what makes you whimper, what makes you beg. When he touches you, it is with the same precision with which he tears the world apart. There is no hesitation, no uncertainty. He knows exactly how to unravel you, and he does. Slowly. Mercilessly.

- He does not speak of love, but he shows it in the way he possesses you. His fingers trace the marks he leaves behind, his lips linger over the bruises, his grip tightens when another dares to look at you too long. They are insignificant, he murmurs, voice calm, deadly. They don’t matter. But I will kill them anyway. And he does.

- In bed, he is merciless. He does not give without taking. He does not allow you to simply exist beneath him—you must surrender, you must earn every touch, every moment, every gasp of air. He denies you what you crave until you are shaking, pleading. Until you forget your own name and can only sob his. He listens to your every breath, your every sound, adjusting, fine-tuning, perfecting the torment he inflicts. And when he finally gives you what you need, it is overwhelming.

- He does not rest after. He remains awake, watching, waiting. He traces patterns over your skin, his expression unreadable. You ask him what he’s thinking, and he only tilts his head, gaze unwavering. Nothing. A lie. Everything.

- And when you sleep, he remains at your side, a silent sentinel, guarding the only thing in the universe he has ever allowed himself to keep.

Viltrum Mark / Viltrumincible

- He was raised with purpose. Raised to be strong, to be ruthless. To conquer, to rule, to win. There is no hesitation in him, no doubt. He knows what must be done, and he does it. Earth belongs to the Viltrum Empire. You belong to him. There is no question, no argument, no alternative. You are his Queen, his consort, his everything.

- And yet… there are moments. Small, quiet moments. A flicker of something behind his eyes when you say his name softly. A hesitation in his grip when his hands are rough against your skin. A sigh, barely audible, when he allows himself to rest against you. A part of him still remembers the boy he was before he chose power over love. Before he became this. He does not speak of it. He will not speak of it. But you see it all the same.

- When he takes you, it is with the force of a conqueror. His hands do not ask—they demand. His kisses are not gentle—they are devouring. He does not let you hide from him, does not let you breathe without his permission. You are mine, he growls against your throat, his body pressed against yours, unyielding, overwhelming. He does not need to hear you say it. He already knows.

- He does not tolerate weakness. Not in himself, not in you. If you dare to challenge him, if you dare to push, he meets you with force—pinning you down, forcing obedience from your lips, making you submit with teeth and tongue and hands that refuse to let go. And yet, there is a thrill in it. In the way he wants you to fight, to resist, just so he can remind you who you belong to.

- When it is over, he does not move. His arms remain around you, his breath warm against your shoulder. He does not speak, does not soften. But his grip tightens, just for a moment. As if he is afraid. As if he knows that, despite everything, you are still the only thing he cannot afford to lose.

- And so, he does not lose you. He will not. If the Viltrum Empire demanded it, if his father ordered it, if the entire universe conspired against him—he would burn it all before he let you go.

Omni-Mark / Omnivincible

- He is cold. Detached. The world means nothing to him. His past means nothing to him. Even his own name is an afterthought. He does not care for nostalgia, does not waste time on regret. He has seen too much, lost too much. Love is a weakness, attachment a liability. And yet—you.

- You are the one thing he cannot ignore. The one thing he cannot abandon. He tells himself it is not love. He tells himself it is possession, a claim, a consequence of habit. But even he is not so deluded. He needs you. And that terrifies him.

- He does not speak of his feelings. He does not tell you he loves you. Instead, he shows it in the way he keeps you close. In the way he stands at your side, unwavering, even when it would be easier to let you fall. In the way he touches you—not with passion, not with desperation, but with certainty. As if you are the only thing in existence that he will allow himself to have.

- When he fucks you, it is methodical. Efficient. Every movement is controlled, every touch calculated. And yet, there are moments—brief, fleeting, almost imperceptible—where the control slips. A sharp breath, a tremor in his hands, a growl that is just a little too raw. He buries them quickly, forces them down, but you notice. And it is in those moments that you understand—he is afraid of how much he feels.

- After, he does not speak. He does not hold you. He does not linger. He watches. As if waiting for something. As if expecting you to vanish. And when you do not, when you remain at his side, when you reach for him with hands that are too warm, too soft, too human—he exhales. A slow, quiet thing. As if he has been holding his breath for years.

- He will never say it. He will never admit it. But you know. You are the only thing in the universe that he has not abandoned. The only thing he will never let go. And if the world burns because of that—so be it.

[sillygoofes]

too many damn tags

[tokoyamisstuff]

Hear me out…

Variants finding out that reader who is their S.O in their universe is dating somebody else in this one

All the possible reactions from them ESPECIALLY if the seeing reader again was their main motivation for coming to this dimension in the first place

(Pretty please can you include No goggles Mark and the variant that got blown up with Rex,,,,he had such an evil yet sweet and soft voice it still scratches my head so good)

Warnings: every red flag imagineable, forced relationship, abduction, manipulation, canon-typical violence + death, not proofread

He's calm. Too calm. Because he knows exactly how to resolve this.

You'd surely hate him if he was to kill your mate - which wouldn't be a hindrance, but still bothersome - so instead he resorts to more sophisticated measurements.

Got your partner dangling helplessly in the air while making it crystal clear that if he was to ever approach you again, the consequences would be worse than death.

Of course he'd be there to comfort you immediately after you get broken up with 'out of the blue'. You'll never know.

Surprisingly, I think he'd be the most chill about it. After all, he knows best what it's like to try and fill the void with meaningless partners.

But anyways, it's time you stop this bullshit, because your real soulmate is here now. He wouldn't even feel threatened by this nobody, confident that you'll eventually see just how much better he is in every way.

However, he is not a patient man. If you take too long to accept your fate, he might have to become a little more aggressive in his attempts.

Oh, so you want to make him jealous? Cute. Challenge accepted.

But don't be fooled by his confident facade, on the inside he is seething with rage and heartbreak. There's no way to calm him down, couldn't care less and didn't ask for your opinion, feelings, or whatever excuse you'd come up with to soothe his hurt pride.

He'd keep your 'pathetic attempt at replacing him' around, torturing him for his own amusement, and also as means of punishment because you 'cheated' on him. To 'mark his territory', he will constantly force your partner to watch the things he does to you.

In between his cruel way of venting his anger, he'll have brief moments of weakness, revealing just how desparate he is for your affection.

Won't harm your partner if you comply and come with him. They're insignificant either way.

He's pretty chill about the whole situation, certain that given time you'll surrender to your new circumstances. Treats you strict yet caring - as far as he is able to be - and gives you clear instructions of how to act around him.

Other than that, you'll be granted a rather peaceful life with as much freedom as he is possible to give to make you adapt easier. Asks you to never mention your ex in any way, though. Sore topic.

As far as he's concerned, your life before his arrival never existed.

This whole situation is weirdly amusing to him. He'll have a fit of laughter seeing you with this fucking loser, slapping his ankle and acting all silly, while degrading them and also you for choosing someone like this.

Will challenge your partner to a 'duel to win your favor' just for the fun of it. Might even let them land a hit or two, just to toy with them. We all know how this ends, but hey, it got the point across pretty well.

Afterwards he'll act all cheerful and whimsy, twirling you around and expecting you to be thrilled that he's here and got rid of this 'disgrace' for you.

Would be very underatanding. You are not to blame, after all. It's just that your kind is so weirdly obsessed with the concept of love, that you'd rather stay with the wrong companion than be all alone.

But now he has arrived, and by Viltrumite logic you should practically launch yourself onto the superior choice.

Acts as callous and neutral as always, claiming that this union is strictly strategical, but in reality it's eating him alive that he keeps failing to recreate a bond similar to the one you had with your partner.

At some point he pours out his heart, despite having a hard time to verbalize those feelings he was never taught. It's a beginning, though.

Amused, at least initially. But his mood is pretty erratic in general and can switch drastically.

Depending on your reaction, he might either adapt to the situation pretty easily or do something he regrets later. It's a thin line honestly, and there's no right or wrong action.

Most likely he's a petty bastard and will disregard your partner completely. Flirts with you constantly like a damn bully that tries to steal someone's girl in the most disrespectful way possible. And given his power he just knows neither of you have the guts to resist his antics. If you do play hard to get however, it only spurrs him further!

He can work with whatever you decide on doing.

This is his breaking point.

As soon as the reality of the situation sets in, he'll have a complete mental breakdown. You're finally in reach and yet so far away, with someone better that can provide a normal life for you.

Without any hope to hold onto, he'll start destroying everything in his path in a nihilistic fenzy. Without you, nothing matters anymore - it's better to end it all and take everyone with him.

You'll sacrifice yourself by making the heroic offer to stay at his side if he spares your world - and really, he'd rather have you like this than not at all.

Abducts you right then and there, no questions asked.

This man is so lost in his delusions that he seamlessly continues where he left off with his world's version of you. He refuses to acknowledge that you're a completely different person and gets unstable if you act any different than he expects you to.

The most horrifying thing is that he's a talented manipulator without even trying to be. Gaslights you into obedience by claiming it's the only way to keep you safe, and his gentle way of tending to you in huge contrast to his true nature. Over time he's able to actually make you care for him in a twisted way.

His intentions might be pure, his methods on the other hand are anything but that.

But hey, he never seeked out to be absolved anyways. All he wanted was to have you back.

Be prepared to hear all insuslts in the book being hurled at you.

Kills your partner out of a whim, but regrets his approach later on since he should have made them suffer way more. You can be glad he has a soft spot for you in his heart, otherwise would've died right then and there together.

Better make up to him after your 'mistake' by every means necessary. Get on your knees and beg for his forgiveness - even though you have no idea who he is or what he is talking about.

But hey, luckily he just can't be mad at you for too long.

Bonus: Retro Invincible

"I'm not mad, just disappointed" he states flatly with that smooth, balmy voice of his. He is definetly mad. Run.

Takes his sweet time ending the life of the person that dared defiling you with their unworthy touch, making you watch the entire thing so you'll 'learn your lesson'. And don't you dare to scream or even cry for them, or he'll unleash pain a thousand times worse.

Becomes awfully possessive afterwards. Even while holding you in captivity he'd still find reasons to lash out randomly at people he deems suspicious. You are always under his scrutiny, and the fact that you'll never truly be his is slowly driving him insane.

What a cruel turn of fate for both of you, eh?

[gatorbites-imagines]

could you do something were one of the mark variants likes ftm reader who has a 1 sided crush on his mark (if that makes sense lol)

bottom/sub reader pls😔

Shiesty Mark x ftm reader 

Drabble��

I just... really like this Mark. The mask does something to me. I also learned that shiesty Mark was inspired by Cole Cash from DC, which is really cool. 

Bit of a mixed bag when referring to readers bits, and hinting at front hole penetration at the end.  

It's been so long since ive written smth like this, so bear with me. 

You hated this fucking city, and country, and probably world. Just because you had powers, because your mom just happened to be some hero, who fucked some government guy, you were expected to keep her legacy. 

Your dad wasn't much of a dad, even less so when your mom kicked the bucket when you were little. Your powers weren't even that impressive, you could make force fields and different shapes with your will, but it was nothing compared to the powerhouses of this world. (imagine like an off-brand green lantern, but without the ring) 

Dear old dad had you trained from the very moment you could walk, and it was clear from a young age that you were not his son, or rather daughter at the time, but an asset. But what else could be expected from the guy that turned your mom's corpse into a reanimen. 

Life was a chore, a drag, you didnt get a social life, it was all about training and becoming a better asset for the GDA, for your so called dad. There were days you wanted to use your powers to just... kill him, to kill everyone.  

Or yourself. Those days were growing more and more common. It made you wonder if your will was so strong you could surpass the human want to survive, and just... take yourself out. 

At least your top surgery and testosterone were given to you for free, like some kind of reward, like the GDA were dangling a carrot, after you had sacrificed so much of yourself with as little as a thank you being given in return. 

It all became a little less shit when Invincible appeared. In the beginning you liked him only because your dad feared him so much, after seeing what omni-man did to the guardians and world.  

Invincible, or Mark, didn't help these blooming feelings. He was just so kind, so willing to help and so determined. He hadn't been crushed under the weight of the universe, of his father's legacy, like many others would have. Like you had. 

You two had worked together on multiple occasions, since you didn't have much of a choice about joining the new guardians.  

Being raised by the government to live as a tool meant your ability to communicate and build relationships was very lacking, so you two never became more than acquaintances, but Invincible still made your heart flutter and your body heat up. 

Maybe that was why it was hard to fight these alternate variants of him. It wasnt like your forcefields and will created tools were much help, as they shattered under the punches and kicks of the Mark variants.  

The Mark variant you had ended up with was an extra rude one, he cursed and spat and growled like some kind of animal. He fought manically, clawing and bloody from all the lives he had taken. Maybe dying wasn't too bad, if you got to die by Invincibles hand. 

That was why you had ripped out the earpiece you always wore, even using your will to shape a little sharp contraption to dig out the one that had been placed under your ear with surgery, a long time ago. 

It could explain why you allowed this veiled Mark passed the multiple layers of glowing green walls, when you let him clasp a bloody hand around your throat, and why you only groaned a little as he slammed you down, the very pavement shattering into rubble. 

“Im getting tired of your fucking lightshow” he snarled, his voice so similar to Marks put different in its roughness. There was a familiar heat pooling in your gut, your thighs clenching together as this Mark variant choked the very life out of you. 

You weren't reaching up to hit him as he choked you, instead gripping onto the veil he wore. Part of you wanted to look him in the eyes as he killed you, so you could at least see the face of the one person who made you feel alive, even if those feelings were never returned. 

Black spots were swimming across your vision, your grip weakening and focus wavering, enough for your green domino mask to disappear in a flicker of green.  

There must have been something in your eyes, as this Mark variant furrowed his brows, his hand loosening just enough for you to gasp in a few breaths of air, ripping the sweet release of death out of your hands once more. 

“Shit, you are into this, aren't you? You disgusting freak” he snarled, a cruel animalistic smirk growing on his lips, Marks eyes widening like a tiger spotting a wounded rabbit. His pupils were blown, but if it was adrenaline or lust, you couldnt be sure.  

One thing was sure, that expression on his face, was never one you would see on your Mark. He would never look so wild, so feral and violent. It made your cock throb and front hole grow wetter than you had ever been before, the inside of your suit growing uncomfortable. 

The Mark variant gave a snarl, grabbing you like a ragdoll and blasting off in some random direction, his veil falling back in place as he did so. 

You weren't sure where you guys ended up, but it was somewhere not destroyed by the invasion. The near-death choking had left you with an aching headache and blurry head, so you ended up just flopping down on the ground Mark threw you on. 

“I love nasty freaks like you. Always aching for dick as much as you ache for pain.” the Mark variant purred, settling between your thighs, his hands strong and tight as they gripped onto them, spreading them apart far enough for it to burn. 

“Fuck, i could break both of these, and i bet you would just beg for more” he groaned out, voice somehow more growly and hotter than before, as he squeezed your thighs, right above your femur. 

“Come on, give me that dick” he chuckled, bending forwards just enough for his veil to move, enough for you to see his hungry shark-like grin, and the way his tongue licked against his teeth. 

There hadn't been much thought in your head about your body this whole time. You had never been very active in that regard, what joy was there in jerking off and exploring when you were always under watch.  

So, you hadn't thought of this Mark variant's reaction when you willed away your suit, just enough for your crotch to be freed, your t-cock hard and filled with blood as your slit oozed. 

Mark stopped for a second, his brow furrowing so visibly you could even see it through his veil, and for a moment you felt something akin to dread. Damn, did you fuck it up? Maybe he was disgusted by it, it was a fear you had of your Mark, that he would think you were a liar, or something. 

That was, until the Mark Variant laughed, his tone like somebody who just won the damn lottery. “Shit, fuck yeah! Spread those fucking legs, open up for me” he cackled, hands pushing at the back of your thighs, almost folding you in half. 

You weren't given much time to reach before he leaned down, his veil almost innocently covering your pubic mound, before his lips closed around your engorged t-cock. 

Your legs kicked at the sudden feeling, a noise leaving you like he had just punched you in the gut. There was no damn finesse in this Marks movements, as his arms kept your folded in half, as he feasted on your slit like a starved animal. 

It was so loud and wet, his tongue and lips pulling you open, sucking, biting and flicking anything he could reach. Mark groaned as if your slit was a five-star meal, his tongue wiggling inside your slit as he released your legs with one of his arms, only so he could pinch and jerk your t-cock in cock cruel movements. 

There was no control over the noises you let out, your hands gripping at his hair, his arms, shoulders, anything, the blank yellow goggles of his veil staring back at you as Mark slurped up all the juices you had gushed out. 

“Ffffuck, I could suck this cunt for days” he gurgled out, even his voice sounded wet from feasting upon you like this. Marks tongue returned to your t-cock, his fingers plunging inside you and fucking back and forth with a speed that had you wailing. 

Not being able to see what was happening only made your legs shake more, your spine arching upwards as he wrenched an orgasm out of you.  

“There we go, god damn, fuck. I wanna see you fucking squirt” Mark panted, his mouth descending back on you as his fingers twisted and worked even faster. He sounded near drunk, almost as much as you as your entire body tensed and jolted from overstimulation. 

But you had nothing against viltrumite strength, and hunger, it seemed. “Come on, come on, on my face, give it” the Mark variant growled, and for a moment, you could imagine it was your Mark, slurping and licking at you like a hound lapping up a puddle.  

The noise you let out must have been loud, as your throat ached from what you could only assume was a scream, or perhaps a screech of some kind. Your entire body felt like jello, as you shivered and shook through what must have been the most powerful orgasm you had ever experienced. 

It was difficult to open your eyes, even as Mark dumped your legs back down, letting them splay open to give him a perfect view of your sore reddened cock and slit. 

When you finally succeeded, you almost shut them again. Marks blue veil was soaked, giving it a darker hue. It was so wet that it stuck to his face, draped over the bridge of his nose so you could see his pink wet lips, and his wet tongue as he licked at his chin, trying to lap up the last of your fluids. 

“Shit, might just have to keep you if you keep doing that” the Mark variant chuckled, voice rough as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  

“I'll have to be sure though, might have to make you do it again” Mark borderline giggled, as he ripped the front of his suit, letting his own very large, aching problem, slap against your abdomen.  

“You gonna show me freak? Huh?” the tone was so degrading, but hungry. “Let's see if it's just my mouth you can't resist, or if this works too” Mark groaned, slapping his length against your t-cock, before shuffling down to press it against your hole. 

Maybe it wasn't all bad... and they couldn't say you hadn't distracted one of the invincible variants, so technically you had done more than others at the end of the day. 

[snailbangtea]

petty fights

(messy sketch I'm not ganna finish couse im too lazy)

[boileddemon69]

Shakes them all rlly hard

[serials1nner]

kinks are generational, are they also, ya know, multidimensional?

[mintyys-blog]

Can you do a shy and very nervous hinata reader when around different mark variants? Also with her powers ?? And Also I’m a huge fan of your writing ,you are really talented!!!✍️💕💖

HEADCANON | mark variants with hinata! reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

WARNINGS:

MASKLESS MARK

He’s intense, eyes always scanning. He notices the small things—like her glancing at him and quickly looking away.

“You’re always watching me,” he says one day, stepping closer.

She squeaks, waving her hands. “No! I mean—I was just—um—it’s not—!”

He leans down, voice soft. “Then come closer. Tell me what you see, Y/N.”

Her eyes glow faintly, but she hides behind her bangs. “I-I… I see someone very warm… but sad…”

Mark blinks. No one’s ever said that to him before.

SHIESTY MARK

He’s cocky, confident, always flashing a grin and a chain. He calls her “Lil Ghost” because of how quiet she is.

“Girl, why you actin’ like I’m gon’ bite you? C’mere,” he says, tossing an arm around her.

She stiffens like a board. “U-Um, I-I’m fine! T-Thank you!”

“You always stutter like that?” He laughs. “Cute. I could get used to that. Go ‘head, do that teleport thing you do—lookin’ like a lil’ ninja.”

She hesitates, then blinks behind him—and gently taps his back. His body jolts slightly.

“Damn!” he chuckles. “Okay! You dangerous for real. I like that.”

PRISONER MARK

Worn down, chains on his wrists. He doesn’t speak unless forced. But she visits his cell anyway, bringing warm food, never looking him in the eye.

“Why… are you here?” he rasps one day.

She bows her head. “No one else talks to you… and… I thought maybe you’d like soup…?”

He stares at the bowl. “You’re too kind for someone like me.”

“N-No… I just… I think everyone needs someone… even if they’re not good…”

For a moment, something cracks in his eyes. She doesn’t see the tear that hits the ground when she turns to leave.

VILTRUMITE MARK

Regal. Intimidating. Always standing tall, arms crossed. He looks at her like a general analyzing a weapon.

“Your power is… elegant,” he says after watching her spar. “And lethal.”

“Thank you… I-I try not to… use it unless I need to…”

“Why? You could dominate.”

She trembles a little. “Because I don’t want to be feared…”

For once, his brow furrows. He kneels to her height. “You don’t need to fear being feared. You just need someone who understands you.”

“Do… you understand me?” she whispers.

He touches her forehead gently. “More than you think.”

MOHAWK MARK

Mohawk Mark is loud, violent, full of confidence, and fueled by adrenaline. He fights dirty, lives fast, and is always trying to get a reaction. So when he first meets Y/N, her calm quietness doesn’t just confuse him—it pisses him off a little.

“You just gonna stand there like a shadow?” he barks, blood dripping from his knuckles after a scuffle.

She looks at him briefly, then lowers her eyes again. “I only speak when it’s needed.”

“Tch. Thought you’d be more fun. You look like you’d cry if I raised my voice.”

“I don’t cry easily,” she replies softly, and he pauses—something in her voice was… certain. Not defensive. Just true.

Later, he watches her in a sparring match. She’s graceful, blinking in and out of range, striking pressure points that leave even Viltrumites stunned.

“The hell,” he mutters. “You got a death touch or something?”

“I know where to hit,” she says. “And where not to.”

Mark whistles, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So you’re a killer in a silk wrap. I knew it.”

He steps closer, all cocky heat. “You should stop looking down when I talk to you.”

She looks up. Eyes glowing faintly. “You should stop trying to provoke me.”

Silence. Then he laughs, loud and real. “Okay, damn, I like you.”

SINISTER MARK

Sinister Mark is all tension and silence. His eyes follow everything. He reads people like open books and treats most of them like meaningless pages. But Y/N… she doesn’t make sense.

He senses no pride, no fear, no deception. Just… stillness. Like fog at dawn.

“You don’t flinch when I look at you,” he says one night, voice flat.

She doesn’t look at him. Just sits beside him on the rooftop, legs folded. “I don’t mind being seen.”

“You should,” he mutters. “People like me don’t look kindly.”

“Then I won’t look back.” That stuns him. He studies her face—expression unreadable, posture relaxed. No arrogance. No attempt to control the moment. Just honest stillness. It disarms him in a way he can’t explain.

Later, when she appears behind him in the middle of a battle—blinking in like a ghost and disabling a threat with a single hit—he just stares. “You could’ve killed him.”

“That’s why I didn’t,” she replies.

Sinister Mark isn’t used to softness that’s also strong. It unsettles him. But when she’s gone, he finds himself watching the empty space she left behind, like something important was just taken.

OMNI MARK

He’s experienced. Ruthless. Carries himself like someone who’s seen too much and doesn’t trust easy. He’s not as bloodthirsty as Nolan, but he is colder.

Y/N’s soft approach doesn’t get through at first. He sees her as fragile.

“You don’t belong in a battlefield,” he says flatly after their first encounter. She blinks. “I’m not asking to belong.”

“Then why stay?”

“Because I can protect people. That’s enough.”

Later, he observes her fighting a gang of rogue Viltrumites. She moves like smoke—untouchable, precise. When one of them grabs her by the throat, she grabs his wrist… and within seconds, he’s unconscious.

Mark appears beside her, scanning the aftermath. She’s breathing hard, hands glowing faintly. “You could’ve killed them.”

“I didn’t need to.”

“That restraint will get you killed.”

“Then I die on my terms.”

He stares at her, this girl with eyes like storm clouds and a voice like still water. He doesn’t know if he admires her… or wants to push her just to see what’s under the surface. “You’re either the calm before the storm,” he says, voice low, “or the eye of it.”

“Would it matter?” she asks. “To me?” His eyes narrow. “Yes.”

[dazedantics]

Squishies

[1-800-local-slut]

Can you please do a shiesty mark x reader? It’s okay if not

Of course I can pookielicious! I couldn't take his ass seriously like at all. His mask was goofy asf 😭. But the other thing is he’s more crude than mainstream mark so it creates a fun character to explore. So here’s a fun blurb about sheisty mark and his human girlfriend, where he has no filter at all. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: swearing, fighting, reader and Mark get into a car accident but no one is hurt, reader has a bad relationship with her mother and basically lives with Mark and Nolan so she's also a bit angry which is why she works well with Mark. Their two different types of anger, he's explosive and she can contain herself but when she's set off it gets really bad. They understand each other :)

Notes: I feel like sheisty Mark's Debbie died in child birth or when he was young. Nolan couldn't fly Mark to Viltrum when he had no powers and couldn't survive in space. Through the show we see Nolan being insensitive to other people (Olga, dude would not get off her neck) and Debbie had to teach him how to interact with people when he first came to Earth. The interactions we see him have with people outside of Mark and Debbie are never positive (I feel like its representative of how he was evil all along and only Mark and Debbie never saw it because in his interactions with others they all see he's either rude or kind of weird, but Debbie and Mark couldn't see that because he's their family member) so Mark would grow up being a little bit more insensitive creating a different dynamic with Mark and Nolan

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

Your boyfriend had no filter. It was like that thing that people were born with that tells them, 'maybe I shouldn't say that' just wasn't in his head. Or maybe it was just his parents; his dad seemed to operate pretty much the same. Both just said anything the moment it came into their heads. It didn't matter the situation, if Mark Grayson felt it, he was going to say it.

You and Mark were on line at the store? "Can this bitch in front of us move, what is taking her so long?"

You two were walking in the hallway and there was a group of people going slow in front of you? "MOVE, why is it so hard for you guys to walk?!" Before he's shoving people out of your path and dragging you along while you whisper mortified apologies.

No one can tell him shit either. He's confident in his ability to beat someone's ass even before he got his powers. And you're his girl, so he's confident in your ability to beat someone's ass as well. To date someone so sure of his abilities like Mark Grayson, he'll hold you to his standards of a strong woman. He likes a woman who can stand her ground.

He'll beef with anyone. Man, woman, the elderly, babies and toddlers too, the man does not care. It's worse when his mouth gets you two into a situation.

"What'd you say? My girlfriend and I will beat you and your ugly bitch up." Then you're looking up in confusion, because why do you have to fight some random girl? Couldn't you just record like always?

The worst time was when y'all got into a car accident. The entire left side of your car smashed because the other couple driving thought road head would be a good idea. And Mark was NOT pleased when he had to get out of the car to handle the situation.

Now, you were already mad enough. You just paid your fucking insurance, and your car was already a piece of shit that you did the best you could to keep looking and running nice. You pleaded with him to try to handle the situation without violence, you were upset enough already but he lost it pretty fast when YOU got blamed.

"She wasn't even driving, I was driving!" Mark argued while you sobbed on the curb, on the phone with your insurance company.

"Then maybe YOU," The man jabbed his finger into Mark's chest and Mark looked at his own chest in disbelief where he just got touched. "Should be a better driver."

"Don't touch me." Mark bit out. In his head, he recalled how you woke from your sleep the moment you felt your car spinning out of control and pleaded with him not to go crazy. But the moment your head slammed into the window, startling you out of your sleep, he was ready to kill someone. This was just strike two.

"Listen homie, you and your girl are some little kids. Don't try to fight adults, get on up out of here." The man scoffed, and his girlfriend hid behind him like the weak bitch she was. They ruined your car; no way they thought they were getting away with this?

"And go where? You wrecked my car; I need your insurance information 'homie'." You seethed, rising from the curb. Your blood boiled the minute you saw him touch your man. So, this guy crashed into your car in the middle of the day AND had the nerve to try to scare your boyfriend AND touch him? And his dumb, dick gobbling, slut of a girlfriend just stood there looking stupid?

"Well, we can't help you because your boyfriend can't drive." Oh, now she pipes up to pop her shit at you. At least you all seemed to be evenly matched. She was a few inches shorter, maybe a few pounds lighter than you. The man was just the same height as Mark, but his muscles looked less defined than Mark's. You two could win this.

You stepped in front of Mark, the woman stepped out from behind her car and was now standing closer but not close enough for you to just slap her.

It was like you were possessed. You were suddenly filled with rage, the rage that got you into fights at school, the rage that got you in ISS with Mark which is what led to your long relationship. "Girl, I'm NOT standing out here and arguing with your hoe ass! Give me your insurance or we beat the fuck of y'all and rob you." Your knuckles slapped your palm, you illustrated with your fingers and hands as you emphasized that you were never above fighting. Sure, Mark was more likely to get into a fight but that didn't mean there was no fight inside of you.

"AND WILL!" Mark instigated from behind you, using one of the terms he's picked up from you over the past year of dating.

Wind blew through the empty street, a few people had come outside when they heard you losing your mind, and the tension was thick. This feeling was familiar- the blood pumping in your chest so hard it had you almost out of breath, your eyes could only focus on the target in front of you, you stood straighter, prepared for anything.

And Mark was right behind you- just waiting. Waiting to jump in, throw the first hit, record you beating this bitch up, anything. He waited patiently.

She said nothing, you extended your head tilting your ear towards her.

"NOTHING? Nothing to say? You wrecked my car and had the audacity to try to come for my man, I'm gonna beat the fuck out of you."

"Broke ass bitches." Mark adlibbed shaking his head behind you in mockery of the other couple.

"Shut the fuck up!"

"COME DO SOMETHING THEN!" Mark bellowed, pulling up his pants and preparing to deliver a beat down. The bald brokie made his way to your handsome, supportive boyfriend who had a head full of beautiful hair.

Then the cops pulled up. It was like a scene from a movie. The next thing you knew, you were being collected from the police station by Nolan and Mark was silent.

As you two drove home, Nolan grumbled about the audacity of people. Mark kept his gaze on the window, watching the setting Sun blanket the neighborhood in a beautiful array of colors. His mouth stayed pressed into a firm line, and you could see something in the reflection of his eyes.

Across the cool leather seats, you clasped Mark's hand in yours and he snapped into reality.

'Are you okay?' You mouthed to which he nodded. Then he stopped mid nod before he frowned deeply with his brows furrowing. The nod turned into a shake of the head no.

Was it you losing your cool that made him feel so bad? It wasn't helpful but you saved up for your own car and everything only to have it damaged almost beyond repair in a moment. He pulled his hand out from under yours, before hesitating to give it a soft pat to reassure you.

It was after hours of concern Mark was able to let you in. You got back to Mark and Nolan's house, took a shower, Nolan ordered Chinese food before he got a call from his publisher and stormed out in a rage. All through dinner, you and Mark ate in silence. You in a pair of Mark's boxers and a sweater of his with your bonnet tied in a cute bow on the front of your head, Mark in plaid pajama pants with no shirt sat across from you slowly eating an egg roll.

After a moment of pure silence, you were unable to bare the silence and spoke up.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Fine."

You ate another piece of chicken before Mark cleared his throat. The silence now uncomfortable as you left Mark alone in his thoughts. Over time you learned sometimes it was best to leave Mark alone. He chewed; eyes filled with thoughts unknown to you.

Just like that, you sat in the empty house with your boyfriend eating in pure silence. The only noise that filled the kitchen was the crunch of you two eating together. He dropped his fork and pinched the bridge of his nose, posture exuding irritation and stress.

"I didn't mean to fuck up your car."

"You didn't fuck up my car. That hoe and her bald ass boyfriend destroyed my car." You reached across the table and placed your hand on top of his comfortingly.

"The insurance said that the accident wouldn't be covered because I was driving. You and I both know your mom is not helping you with this. You can't drive anymore."

Another thing you knew about Mark was that he cared. He cared deeply when it was someone he loved. He takes on your stresses, victories, losses, anger and joy, he takes it on as if it was his. When you failed your algebra final, he took that loss with you and studied all night. He studied with you while he drove you to school that morning, and when you passed and announced you'd be graduating with him he jumped for joy with you.

Mark hates your mom more than you hate your mom and you REALLY hate your mom. It's why he lets you practically live with him even when it was hard to adjust to having to share his bedroom with another person so suddenly. He cares. He cares so much he even punched your mother's boyfriend in the face for you over dinner.

You work for every bit of money you have. Your clothing, your hair appointments, your nails, your car. Oh God, you worked so hard for your car.

Mark buys you whatever he can. He doesn't ever let you pay for things. Not dinner, lunch, not even a bottle of water. But it doesn't change the fact that you know he partially does it because there's no one else who will take care of you.

No matter how much you try to tell him you don't need anyone to take care of you, you can't deny the warm feeling it gives you knowing Mark has your back come Hell or highwater. And you also know he's been stressing about car as much as you've been.

You placed down your fork with a sigh and shook your shoulders.

"Baby. I love you-." You began and Mark looked up from the table instantly when you moved your hand.

"I love you too but-!" He interrupted before you put a finger to your lips, and he went quiet. You rose to your feet and went round the table. He pushed his chair back, letting you sit on his lap, and he leaned into your touch. You stroked through his dark hair. He closed his tired eyes with a sigh and wrapped his hands around your lap. The feeling of his muscled thighs under your soft ones generated a warmth between your bodies and in your heart.

After settling into the comforting silence of cuddling together, you spoke.

"The car is wrecked. There's nothing we can do about it now. When your powers come in then we can fly, and we never have to worry about driving again! But at the same time baby, you stood by my side when things got hard. I appreciate you for having my back and worrying about the car with me. But this is my burden to bear."

"I'm your man. I shouldn't be adding to your burdens; I should be helping you get rid of them." His head rested on your breast, and his sad eyes gazed into yours.

"And you always do. Things happen. It's not your fault that we got in that accident. If I was awake and drove while exhausted, I would've crashed the car. There was nothing we could've done. You and I know we can't control other people or what they do, we can control how we react. While we didn't get to do what we wanted, you still had my back. That's all that matters, because when all is said and done what matters is that we always have each other's backs." Pressing a soothing kiss to his forehead while you rubbed a finger over his cheek, you got to see him smile under the feeling of your touch.

"And you do have my back, don't you?" You smiled gently, cupping his face and raising it to look at you. You nuzzled your forehead against his and watched a warm blush fill his cheeks.

"Wellllll..."

"Alright." You playfully shook his head before he giggled while you got up from his lap in mock offence.

"I'm fucking with you! You know I do." Then he pulled you around in his lap and dipped you backwards before planting a loving kiss to your lips.

Yes, your boyfriend was a little crazy. He had no filter, sooner handles things with his fist before his words, and runs his mouth off no matter the situation. But he was there for you when the going got hard, just like you were there for him.

And that's all that mattered.

[tearvls]

HI I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!!!! IF ITS POSSIBLE, CAN YOU PLEASE MAKE A MARK FIC WHERE HE GETS JEALOUS OF THE ATTENTION THE READER GIVES TO THE OTHER MSRK VARIANTS

"Jealousy Jealousy"

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Mark Grayson Variants x GN! Reader

Featuring: Sinister Mark, Mohawk Mark, Full Mask Mark, Shiesty Mark, Prisoner Mark, Viltrumite Mark, No Mask Mark

Synopsis: You find yourself caught between Mark's many very desperate variants.

The sky above the prison cracked and churned, smoke and screams threading through the thick, choking air. Around you, the ground was littered with rubble and fallen inmates, some groaning, some eerily still. You barely registered it anymore, too focused on dragging an injured guard to safety behind a broken wall.

Above, he was fighting.

Mark. Your Mark

His fists flew in vicious arcs, trading blows with a wilder, meaner version of himself — one with a mohawk and a wicked, wolfish grin that made your stomach turn. Each punch sounded like a thunderclap, shockwaves blasting the debris outward. Mark slammed Mohawk Mark into the ground hard enough to crack the concrete, and for a second, everything seemed like it was under control. You exhaled, steadying yourself against the wall— And then a screaming rush of wind nearly knocked you off your feet. Before you could react, another Mark — this one maskless, his hair a little longer, his face desperate — barreled straight into you. You gasped as his arms wrapped around you in a crushing hug, lifting you clear off the ground

"Oh my god," he breathed against your ear, his voice trembling. "I finally found you. You're even more beautiful than I remembered. I thought I lost you... I thought—" He pulled back just enough to cradle your face in his hands, staring at you like you were some kind of miracle he barely dared to touch. You opened your mouth to speak — "Wait—" — but the words stuck in your throat.

The moment shattered like glass

.

From behind, Sinister Mark appeared like a black storm, his expression twisted into something feral. Without a word, he grabbed you by the waist, ripping you bodily out of Maskless Mark’s arms with a brutal yank. "Back off!" Sinister Mark snapped, holding you so tightly against him you could feel the shudder of restrained violence under his skin.

Maskless Mark stumbled forward, face contorting in fury. "You son of a—!" He lunged — but Sinister Mark backhanded him so hard Maskless Mark went skidding across the rubble. "I said," Sinister Mark growled, voice dripping with venom, "back off!"

You barely had time to process the shock when another figure crash-landed nearby — Full Mask Mark, his dark visor flashing as he immediately stepped between you and Sinister Mark. "Release them," Full Mask Mark ordered coldly. "They're safer with me."

Then — as if the gates of hell had opened — more figures started descending one after another. Shiesty Mark vaulted over a wall with a cocky grin, landing next to Full Mask Mark and immediately trying to tug you free. "Come on, baby — you know you wanna get outta here with me."

Another Mark crashed down — Prisoner Mark, still in his grey jumpsuit, bruised and bloodied but smirking as he wiped blood from his lip. "Tch. You're all pathetic. They want someone real. Someone like me."

And then Viltrumite Mark floated down gracefully, arms crossed, looking eerily composed as he assessed the scene. "Clearly," he said mildly, "they’re overwhelmed. I'll take custody of them."

It was like a bomb went off.

Suddenly every single Mark was grabbing at you, shoving each other, snarling, punching — they swarmed over you like feral animals fighting over a single toy, claws out, snarling and snapping. You were jostled from one to the other — Sinister Mark’s brutal grip, Full Mask Mark’s iron hold, Shiesty Mark’s arms sneaking around your waist — each yanking you back and forth like you were the only thing keeping them alive. You could barely even get a word in — your mouth kept opening, but all that came out were tiny choked sounds as hands grabbed and pulled and voices screamed over each other:

"Let go!"

"They're mine!"

"You’ll just get them hurt!"

"They don’t want you, they want me!"

"Enough — or I’ll kill you all right here."

The prison yard was falling apart — debris raining from the sky, concrete cracked like broken glass under Mark's boots. He drove his fist into Mohawk Mark’s gut, sending the variant crumpling with a grunt of pain. Another hit, another grunt — just like every other fight before it. Mark pulled back, ready to finish it —but something caught his eye. Across the battlefield — past the smoke, past the rubble —

you.

You were struggling, trapped between a mob of familiar faces — faces that wore his own features twisted in desperation. His blood went cold. You stumbled back as Sinister Mark yanked you toward him, one gloved hand firm around your wrist. Maskless Mark barreled into him a second later, prying you free and holding you like you were something fragile. Then Full Mask Mark ripped you from Maskless, dragging you close with tense, gloved fingers. Shiesty Mark laughed and twirled you around into his arms, only to be tackled by Prisoner Mark a heartbeat later.

They were fighting over you like feral animals.

Like he wasn't even there. Mark froze, breathing hard, a deep roar clawing its way up his throat. Then he launched into the sky, fists clenched, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

"I'm coming—!"

He blasted toward you, faster than a bullet—

—but halfway there, a blur of motion smashed into him. Viltrumite Mark. He grabbed Mark by the collar and yanked him sideways mid-flight, spinning him out of control. "Stay out of this!" Viltrumite barked, shoving him hard. Mark growled and threw a punch, knocking Viltrumite back — only for Mohawk Mark to slam into his back next, driving them both into a spiraling dive. Before he could recover, Full Mask Mark was there, throwing a fist at his face. Shiesty tackled him around the waist, laughing.

"Welcome to the party, loser!"

Mark twisted free with a furious snarl, throwing them off — but by the time he looked up again, you were even further away, trapped between four desperate variants clawing and dragging at you. He could see you — wide-eyed, overwhelmed — getting pulled one way by Maskless, then the other by Sinister, then another as Prisoner Mark ripped you free. Mark roared and blasted forward again, elbowing through the chaos, getting grabbed and yanked every direction. Hands — all his hands — shoved and clawed and punched. Each Mark screaming over the other:

"They're safer with me!"

"You can't protect them like I can!"

"They don't love you the way I do!"

Mark finally got a hand on you — pulling you close — only for Shiesty to tackle him low, sending both of you tumbling. He barely kept you in his grasp, spinning midair, his arms locking tight around you. "I got you—!" he gasped — only for Sinister to crash into him next, ripping you from his arms with brutal force.

It was a mess. A storm.

Everywhere he turned, another version of himself was grappling, shouting, grabbing at you like you were the last star left in the sky. Mark groaned, shoving Full Mask Mark off his back, ducking under Shiesty's swinging punch, grabbing you again and getting yanked right back into the chaos by Maskless and Prisoner Mark clawing at his arms. You flailed, trying to keep your footing, groaning as you got pulled back and forth like a living tug-of-war rope. Mark gritted his teeth, chest heaving, blood pounding in his ears. This wasn’t going to be a clean save. This wasn’t going to be fast. He tightened his grip on you, glaring at the sea of versions clawing for you with wild eyes.

And through gritted teeth, he muttered: "This is gonna be a long fight."

[urdreamydoodles]

"A UNIVERSE WITHOUT YOU" — Mark Variants x Fem!Reader Fanfic

CHAPTER 2 OF ?

CHAPTER 1 HERE

(Mark Variants: Sinister Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Prisoner Mark, Bald Mark, Goggles Mark, Sheisty Mark, Omni-Mark & Viltrum Mark)

WARNING: Heavy smut, Violence, Emotional and physical abuse, Non-con (at first)

SMUT WITH A PLOT!

SYNOPSIS —

You exist in a world that should have been safe. But safety is an illusion, and so is peace.

They arrive like a plague, tearing through your city with hands built for slaughter, eyes sharpened by obsession. Mark Grayson—many Mark Graysons—each one twisted, each one wrong. They have hunted you across universes, through blood and ruin, through lifetimes lost to grief. And now, they have found you.

Sinister Mark is the first to taste you, the first to carve his claim into your skin, his hunger slow, deliberate—inescapable. But the others will not be denied. Mohawk Mark wants you wild and breathless, a creature of instinct. Hoodvincible, all fury and need, wants to break you into something that belongs only to him. Prison Mark, silent, watching, waits for his turn to unravel you with patient hands. Each of them will take you. Each of them will ruin you. And you—

You will learn what it means to be wanted.

@weaponxgames @martinys-world

If you want to be tagged for this story, comment!

The alley is suffocating.

Your breath comes fast, shallow, but not from exertion. Not from fear, though that, too, coils in your chest like a thing alive. No, it is the weight of him that steals the air from your lungs.

Sinister Mark is close. Too close.

The bricks are cold at your back, unyielding, rough against your palms as you brace yourself. But he is warm—so terribly, unbearably warm. His presence is suffocating, his body caging you in, hands planted on either side of your head. His eyes burn through you, deeper than they ever did before, dark with something far worse than rage.

Possession.

His lips part like he might speak, but nothing comes out. Instead, his breathing sharpens, the rise and fall of his chest ragged, like he's trying to hold himself together with sheer force of will.

Then, finally, he exhales a curse under his breath, something guttural and raw.

"You don’t get to run from me," he says, voice almost gentle. Almost.

A lie of softness wrapped around something razor-sharp.

Your heart pounds, but you meet his gaze, refusing to cower. You should be afraid. You are. But there is something else, something deeper, something that should not exist in the face of such violent devotion.

"You’re not him," you say.

And oh, that does something to him.

His fingers twitch against the brick, his whole body going rigid like he’s just been struck.

"No," he agrees, voice hoarse. "I’m not."

He should be furious. He should rip through the wall behind you in his rage, in his inability to be what you lost. But instead, he lets out something close to a laugh. It’s dry, humorless.

And then, without warning, he kisses you.

It is not a kiss meant to soothe, nor a kiss meant to convince. It is a claim. A demand.

His lips crash against yours with bruising force, fingers digging into the wall like he’s holding himself back from tearing you apart in a way you would not survive. His teeth catch your lower lip, sharp enough to sting, but he does not relent. His hands have yet to touch you, and yet you feel him everywhere—his presence, his heat, his need, pressing into you like gravity itself.

It is the most dangerous thing you have ever felt.

But you do not push him away.

You tilt your chin, just enough to break the kiss, just enough to breathe, and when you speak, your voice is steady, unwavering.

"He would hate you," you murmur. "Everything you are. Everything you've done."

Sinister Mark inhales sharply, his head tipping forward so that his forehead brushes yours.

Then he laughs.

It is low, deep, shaking through him in something close to ecstasy. He exhales against your lips, slow and measured, a ghost of breath against your skin.

"Then it’s a good thing he’s dead."

And the worst part?

You believe him.

The realization sends a tremor through you, but before you can react—before either of you can—another voice cuts through the alley like a blade.

"Well, well."

A slow, amused whistle follows.

"You found her first. That’s cute."

Sinister Mark does not move, but you feel the shift in his body, the slow turn of his head toward the source of the voice.

Mohawk Mark.

He stands at the mouth of the alley, his silhouette cast in flickering streetlight. There is blood on his hands, on his clothes, smeared across his jaw like war paint. His grin is wide, lazy, eyes gleaming with something wicked.

"Was wondering when you’d get tired of playing with your food," he muses, stepping forward.

Sinister Mark is still, his posture unchanged, but something about him feels even more dangerous now, like a predator whose kill has just been threatened.

"You’re in my way," he says, voice void of any warmth it once held.

Mohawk Mark chuckles, rubbing his thumb through the blood on his knuckles.

"You’re so serious," he muses. "Come on. We all came here for the same thing."

His gaze slides to you, and his grin widens.

"And damn, she looks even better up close."

A rush of cold floods your veins, but before Mohawk Mark can take another step, the air shifts.

The wall behind you cracks under Sinister Mark’s grip, a deep, splintering sound that vibrates through the alley. His expression is unreadable, but his intent is clear.

Mohawk Mark tilts his head.

"Don’t be greedy," he teases. "I mean, I could fight you for her, but we both know how that’d end."

Sinister Mark’s jaw tightens.

"You’d lose."

Mohawk Mark’s grin sharpens.

"Maybe."

He steps closer.

"But I’d have fun trying."

The space between them shrinks, and you realize with a sick, sinking feeling that they are not arguing about if you will be theirs.

Only who gets to have you first.

Sinister Mark doesn’t blink, doesn’t so much as twitch.

Then, slowly, he reaches out—grabbing the front of Mohawk Mark’s suit.

And slams him into the opposite wall.

The force cracks the bricks, a spiderweb of fractures blooming outward. Mohawk Mark exhales sharply but laughs, wiping a streak of blood from his temple where the impact cut skin.

"That’s the spirit," he purrs.

Sinister Mark leans in, his voice dropping to something quiet, something lethal.

"You won’t touch her."

Mohawk Mark raises a brow.

"Oh? And what are you gonna do about it?"

Sinister Mark smiles.

A slow, terrifying thing.

"I’ll show you."

The alley goes silent.

For a moment, the only sound is your own breathing, too fast, too uneven.

Then, suddenly—

Mohawk Mark moves.

Faster than you can process, faster than human sight can track. His fist swings for Sinister Mark’s jaw, a hit that would shatter bone—

But Sinister Mark catches it.

The impact is deafening.

For a long, terrible moment, they are locked in place, a silent battle of strength and will.

Then they move.

It happens too fast. One second, Sinister Mark’s grip is crushing Mohawk Mark’s fingers, an unspoken promise of destruction. The next, Mohawk grins, twisting his wrist with practiced ease, slipping free just enough to drive his other fist into Sinister’s ribs. The crack is deafening.

Sinister barely flinches.

Instead, his response is immediate and brutal. He swings Mohawk like a ragdoll, slamming him into the opposite wall with enough force to send debris flying. Mohawk lets out a bark of laughter even as the impact splits his lip, blood smearing his grin.

"You hit like a jealous boyfriend," he taunts.

Sinister doesn’t waste breath on words. He lunges.

Their battle is violent, chaotic. Brick and concrete crumble around them as they tear through the alley, each strike a promise of suffering. Mohawk is fast, laughing between his dodges, jabs sharp and mocking. But Sinister is relentless, every attack carrying the weight of absolute hatred.

And they are distracted.

For the first time since this nightmare began, no hands are holding you down. No cruel voices whispering claims to your body, your existence.

You run.

It is not planned, not graceful. It is instinct. Pure, blinding survival. Your feet slam against the pavement, your breath ragged as you race through the ruined city.

Everything is in ruins.

Buildings are gutted, glass and steel strewn like the organs of a dying beast. Fires burn in the distance, black smoke curling into a bruised sky. The scent of blood is thick in the air, mingling with the acrid stench of destruction.

The dead are everywhere.

Twisted forms litter the streets—civilians, heroes, anyone who dared stand in their way. Some are unrecognizable, bodies reduced to pulp beneath inhuman strength. Others are frozen in their last moments of horror, eyes wide, mouths open in screams that will never end.

This is what they have done.

What they have turned the world into.

And you are next.

A flicker of movement in the distance makes your stomach drop.

At first, he is just a shadow against the firelit horizon, standing amid the carnage like a god surveying his kingdom. Then, as your breath hitches, he turns.

No Goggles Mark sees you.

His head tilts, blood dripping from his fingers, his grin slow and lazy. His eyes gleam with something hungry.

You run faster.

It is useless.

In the blink of an eye, he is gone—vanished from his perch among the corpses. Before you can even scream, a gust of air slams into you, and suddenly—

He is there.

Directly in front of you.

You crash into his chest, the impact sending you stumbling, but his hands catch you, firm and unyielding. He holds you steady, fingers pressing into your shoulders with bruising amusement.

"Well, well," he murmurs. "I was gonna say we should just kill you."

His grin widens.

"But now that I see you?"

He leans in, breath warm against your skin.

"I just wanna taste you."

Your stomach twists violently. His grip tightens, one hand dragging up to brush your jaw, slow and deliberate. His fingers are still wet with blood, smearing against your skin like war paint.

You shove him.

It is like pushing against steel. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even budge, just laughs—a delighted, terrible sound.

"Oh, I like you," he hums. "You're not even crying yet. That's cute."

His hand moves again, fingers tracing the line of your throat.

"You know," he continues, conversational, "Sinister’s gonna be pissed when he finds out you ran. He’s real possessive. Real crazy about you."

His thumb presses against your pulse, feeling the frantic beat beneath your skin.

"But me?" He tilts his head, grinning. "I don’t mind sharing."

Terror flares white-hot in your chest.

You try to twist away, but he moves faster, catching your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to his.

"Mm," he muses. "Yeah. I get it now. Why they all want you."

He steps closer, crowding you, his presence overwhelming.

"You’re just so—"

A blur of motion—

And suddenly, he is gone.

One second, he is pressed against you, his breath ghosting over your lips. The next, he is yanked backward with bone-crushing force.

The world spins.

Then you hear it—

A snarl of fury.

A brutal, devastating impact.

And the growled, venom-laced words that follow:

"She. Is. Mine."

Sinister Mark.

You turn just in time to see him drive No Goggles into the pavement with the force of a meteor. The ground shatters beneath the impact, cracks webbing out in every direction.

No Goggles Mark coughs, laughing even as blood drips from his mouth.

"Damn," he wheezes. "Took you long enough."

Sinister looms over him, eyes black with rage.

"You let her run," he seethes.

No Goggles grins, wiping blood from his chin.

"And you almost lost her."

The words are a taunt, a goad. Sinister reacts exactly as expected—by grabbing No Goggles by the throat and slamming him into the nearest wall.

"You don’t get to touch her."

No Goggles laughs, the sound strained from the pressure on his windpipe.

"You gonna fight me for her, too?" he rasps. "Or are you scared you’ll lose?"

Sinister’s fingers tighten.

"You were never a threat."

His free hand moves—too fast to track—gripping No Goggles’ wrist and twisting. The sickening crack of breaking bone fills the air.

No Goggles’ laughter chokes off into a sharp inhale.

And yet—

Even as agony flashes across his face, his grin remains.

He leans in, voice dropping to something almost reverent.

"Then prove it."

For a moment, neither of them move.

A tense breath between destruction.

Then Sinister Mark lunges.

No hesitation. No warning. Just pure, unrelenting violence.

His fist collides with No Goggles Mark’s jaw, sending a ripple of force through the air. The pavement beneath them splinters from the impact. No Goggles barely has time to react before the next blow comes—a brutal uppercut that sends him hurtling through the ruined cityscape, smashing through what remains of a collapsed skyscraper.

Debris rains like a dying god’s final breath.

Sinister doesn’t let up.

He moves faster than thought, a streak of crimson and darkness as he follows No Goggles into the wreckage. A heartbeat later, another impact shakes the ground. Dust billows out in waves, choking the sky. The sounds of their battle are deafening—flesh hitting flesh, bones fracturing, the sickening crunch of destruction.

You do not wait to see the outcome.

You run.

Again.

Your body screams in protest, muscles aching, lungs burning from the effort. But you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when every moment wasted brings you closer to being caught again.

You dart through the ruins, slipping between shattered cars and crumbling buildings, heart hammering in your chest. The world is a graveyard, a smoldering wasteland left in their wake. You do not think about the bodies. You do not think about the blood.

You only think about escape.

But fate—fate is a cruel, laughing thing.

Because before you can even reach the next block—

A shadow looms above you.

A rush of wind.

And then—

You are airborne.

Your scream is stolen by the sky as you are yanked from the ground, lifted with terrifying speed. The city shrinks beneath you, buildings reduced to tiny, smoldering corpses of their former selves. The higher you rise, the more the destruction spreads out like a bleeding wound, stretching to the horizon.

The grip on you is unyielding. Strong. Familiar in its cruelty.

Then, a low, smug voice in your ear—

"Miss me?"

Mohawk Mark.

You twist, struggling against his hold, but his arms are locked around you, iron-clad, caging you against his chest. His laughter vibrates against your back, a pleased, predatory hum.

"Damn, you really don’t wanna be caught, huh?" he muses, effortlessly adjusting his grip as you writhe. "Too bad."

He tilts his head, smirking. His face is bloodied—whether his own or someone else’s, you can’t tell. His grin is sharp, eyes gleaming with something wicked.

"You know," he murmurs, voice dipping, "Sinister’s gonna lose his mind when he finds out I got to you first."

His words send a fresh wave of panic through you.

You jerk against him, desperate, nails digging into his skin. He only grins wider.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts, tightening his grip. "Be nice now."

Then, without warning—

He kisses you.

Rough. Unforgiving.

His mouth crashes against yours with a hunger that is almost painful, teeth scraping, tongue demanding. His grip around your waist tightens as he holds you steady, savoring the way you struggle.

Your reaction is immediate.

You bite him.

Hard.

He jerks back with a sharp inhale, tasting his own blood.

Then—

He laughs.

A delighted, wicked sound, rolling from his throat like a lover’s sigh.

"Shit," he breathes, licking his lip where you broke the skin. "That was hot."

He looks down at you, amusement flickering through his gaze.

"You really got some fight in you," he muses, voice rich with approval. "I like that."

Then—his grip shifts.

Suddenly, he is no longer holding you.

He is dangling you.

The air around you turns colder as he loosens his grasp, just enough for your body to slip a little. The city stretches out beneath you, endless, waiting.

"You know," he murmurs, tilting his head, "I could just drop you."

The words are spoken playfully, casually.

And yet—

There is no doubt that he means them.

Your breath catches.

Mohawk watches your reaction, utterly enthralled.

"You scared, pretty thing?" he teases, voice honeyed with mock sympathy. "You should be. Bet you’d hit the ground real hard. Splat."

He chuckles, fingers flexing around your waist.

"But don’t worry," he purrs, pulling you back in. "I like you too much to waste you like that."

Before you can respond—

Another voice cuts through the wind.

"Well, shit."

Mohawk tenses.

You twist in his grasp—just in time to see another figure hovering in the air, watching the two of you with a lazy, knowing smirk.

Sheisty Mark.

His arms are crossed over his broad chest, his posture relaxed, but his eyes—

His eyes are locked onto you.

And he looks—

Obsessed.

Mohawk exhales, rolling his shoulders.

"Look who finally decided to show up," he drawls, tone half-annoyed, half-amused.

Sheisty’s grin widens.

"Yeah, yeah, took me a second," he shrugs. "Had some fun down below first. Damn, though."

His gaze rakes over you, dark and slow.

"You really are as pretty as I remember."

Your stomach twists.

Mohawk tightens his grip around you, possessive.

"Back off," he warns. "I found her first."

Sheisty raises an eyebrow, floating closer.

"Yeah?" he muses. "And? You really think Sinister’s gonna let that slide?"

Mohawk’s smirk falters—just slightly.

Sheisty chuckles.

"Man’s losing his mind over her," he continues, shaking his head. "Tearing the city apart, wrecking everything in his way. He ain't gonna let you have her just 'cause you got lucky."

Mohawk narrows his eyes.

"Maybe not," he admits. "But I don’t see him here right now, do you?"

Sheisty hums, considering.

Then he grins.

"Guess that means I can cut in."

Before Mohawk can react—

Sheisty is in front of you.

Too fast. Too close.

His hand reaches out, trailing a finger along your jaw, slow and deliberate.

"Been waitin’ a long time to see you, baby," he murmurs, voice like velvet and danger. "And you don’t know how bad I wanna get my hands on you."

His touch is feather-light, teasing, his eyes drinking in every detail of you.

Mohawk growls.

"Touch her again," he warns, "and I'll break you."

Sheisty laughs.

Loud. Careless.

"You wish you could," he taunts. "But let's be real, man."

He smirks, tilting his head.

"You really think any of us get to keep her?"

His words hang heavy in the air.

A reminder.

A promise.

Because this—

This is just the beginning.

[agropuff]

art dump part Idk.

[pickledollsheshe]

I NEED to fuck on sheisty mark BADDDDDDD bro I just know he do it GOOOOOD. Like I just know he’s an eater brooooo, like I feel like it’d be soooo messy.

Anyways how are yall??

[softfrys]

Wasteland conversations just hit different when there's a turbo autistic variant that knows so much about random pointless shit