EJ

Being stranded on the side of the highway in Gotham city in the middle of the night could be one of the worst scenarios anyone could possibly imagine, a million different things that could happen but you didn’t really have a choice. Your beloved car, one that restored from literally barebones, broke down on you, engine sputtering and dying on you, thankfully you were able to pull off to the side of the highway before it gave out completely.

You called someone you knew, a mechanic that helped you through the restoration but she wouldn’t be here for an half hour at least, and you couldn’t leave your baby here by herself, in this city? Goodness not! So here you were, waiting beside here patiently as the street lap above you flickered every few minutes, watching as cars pass by, hoping your friend will pop out of one of them.

Then a bike slowed down, enough to just pass by, pulling in right in front of your car. You almost think you’ve gone crazy, the way the leather jacket stretched over the man’s back, helmet a dark enough red that it looked black until he steps into the light, it too much like him.

“I have a gun.” You warn as he turns to face you. Black shirt under the jacket as he holds his hands up defensively, taking a few more steps to stand right under the light, slowly moving his hands to grab his helmet, there’s a click of a advance mechanism that you’re all too familiar with and then, the light graces his face.

Jason’s aged, not much but, of course, it’s been far too many years since you’d seen him. And if not for his unique white hair strip, the scars the dig deep into his cheek are far too recognisable, the ‘J’ accompanied by newer shallower ones he’d accumulated in his time away from you.

He watches you back as you profile him, your face, your posture, the way you carried yourself has changed. Life had obviously had taken its toll on you, you’d matured in the way your face was set, a blossom of pride in his chest as you follow what he’d thought you years ago, with the gun and it’s probably the same one he gave you.

“Just me, sweetheart.”

Jason’s voice goes down like a glass of whiskey, deep and smooth but burns all too close to your heart. He tilts his head to the side, gauging your reaction, mistaking your surprise for caution. You avert your eyes, looking back at your car, hand moving off the gun to smooth down a nonexistent wrinkle on your jacket.

You nod, one quick dip of your chin, allowing him to come closer to you, gentleman as always. You watch as he walks back a moment to drop his helmet back onto the bike as you survey your surroundings again, looking for watchful eyes or jittery bodies.

It’s been a long time, a little longer than half a decade, even in a city as small as Gotham, it was easy not running into him, especially when he avoided you religiously. Sometimes, when you felt a conspiracist, you could swear you saw a certain vigilante with a taste for the color red in your proximity, following you like a guardian angel in the night.

The time you had with Jason was phenomenal, the best of the best. No matter how broken he was, or you were, the two of you worked. Even when secrets came out, you were with him, a stubborn stick in the ground that didn’t budge in the toughest storm, you stayed with him. But his mind got to him, when the dangers got too apparent, when he realised the way his identity could hurt the one good thing in his life, he broke things off, no matter how you tried to make him understand.

After that, the city went back to being its same glum self. The streets were back to feeling grim and lifeless, bookstores lacked luster that he brought. He’ll always be the one that got away, the one you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with.

He avoided you with all his might, did everything not to associate himself with you. But he always lingered. Flowers that appeared out of thin air on days he knew were too tough for you. Gifts on every birthday that sit on the windowsill as a constant reminder, special edition of your favourite books being shipped from an ‘anonymous’ benefactor.

“Why are you standing here? It’s not safe.”

His voice snaps you out of your head, your eyes flying back to him who’s walking to you in slow steps, like he’s trying not to spook you. It’s not long before he’s standing in front of you, unintentionally imposing presence that made your chest tight with emotion.

“Not leaving my car by herself.” You whisper finally, Head craning up to look at him. The light was hitting him in a way that deepened his scars, but his eyes twinkled all that same, just the way they used to years ago “Stubborn as always.” He mutters under his breath as he shakes his head in disapproval. He looks down at your car, the one you’re standing guard for, jutting his chin in its direction. “What’s wrong?”

“The coolant system broke, it’s leaking.”

You cross your arms around your chest like it’ll shield you from the extended heartbreak you’re going to experience from this interaction. You watch as you walks past you, close enough that his jacket brushes yours, and to your car. He moves quickly, popping the hood of your car, leaning down to look into the contents of your engine.

You watch his shoulder move as he works, the jacket spreading across his back does nothing to hide the muscular frame underneath. He’d finally grown into his body, moving with more grace than you remember. It somehow felt like he was taller, or maybe your mind was exaggerating your vision, biceps and thighs definitely larger than you remember, consistent with what you’d expect for Red Hood.

You watch as Jason comes to the same conclusion, just nodding his head in agreement.

“Someone I know is coming to help me out.” You call out to break the silence, the sound of a vehicle crashing somewhere in the distance echos as he looks back at you. You watch as he, not so subtly, glances down at both your hands, obviously noting the lack of a wedding ring. Which is odd, since he probably already knows that you aren’t in a relationship, haven’t been in a solid once since him.

“Take my bike back home, I’ll wait here for him.”

You scoff, loudly and dramatically. If there was one thing about Jason, it’s that no one gets to touch that bike of his. It’s tuned to his exact specs, something he doesn’t think anyone else is capable of driving. But now, after all these years of avoiding you, breaking your heart, he’s offering for you to drive off in his bike?

“Her.” You correct. “And why aren’t you…” You pause for a moment to conjure the right word. The moon gleaming weakly through the dark clouds above is a sign that the vigilantes are going to come crawling out of their caves, literally. So why wasn’t Red Hood out terrorising bad guys. “Working?”

“I was riding down to Bludhaven to help Dick with something.” His reply is smooth, ever patient as he straightens up, closing the hood of your car but still lingering around it, mimicking your stance as he crosses his arms too, looking like a stand off to any bystander.“Convenient.” You comment.

There’s a deep sigh in your chest at the subsequent silence. What exactly are you two supposed to talk about? “Fuck it.” You mutter as you uncross your hands and dive into your jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette packet and…shit. The only lighter you have is the one you got as a couples set when the two of you were still together, you thought it was an amazing gift, two lighters that match up when next to each other to depict both sides of wings engraved on them.

You make a split second decision to pull it out anyway, not missing the slight change in Jason’s posture, the way his eyes widen slightly, shoulders getting just a tab bit more rigid. Your finger runs over your name engraved on its bottom before you flip it open, bringing it to your mouth to light to cigarette nested between your lips.

Jason was a smoker, had been for a long time, and years ago, you weren’t. You had just thought that the lighters was a nice thing to have even though you didn’t smoke. But after the break up, you found one of Jason’s packs lying around your place and you had an itch, you lit one, maybe to feel closer to him somehow, but it soon became a proper habit, like for most people in Gotham.

“Those things will kill you.” Jason quips up, something you used to tease him with. you hold the cigarette between your pointer and middle finger, pulling it away to blow smoke into the night sky. Your eyebrows scrunch involuntarily, the words leaving your mouth before you can think twice about them. “So does flinging yourself at villains.”

“It did.” Jason jokes as the tip of his lips twitches, his eyes cast down to the pavement, expression as something you couldn’t quite decipher. He looks back up to watch utter horror pass on your features, a soft gasp when you realise what you said. “Shit—I didn’t meant to.” You say too quickly, genuinely apologetic.

“‘S alright.” Jason shakes his head softly, he knows you’d never make light of his previous death, something it too a long time for him to open up to you about. You open your mouth to apologise again, but he dismisses it with another shake of his head.

The same silence from before settles again, now you can’t even look him in the eyes. You’re smoking the same brand that he used to, the same one he had to change out of because it reminded him of you too much. His half of the lighter pair sits comfortably in the drawer next to his bed, something he doesn’t carry around for the risk of losing or damaging it, something he takes out to reminisce, give him a moment to relive how it was before he fucked it all up.

“How’s…Artemis?”

You utter out impulsively, regretting it immediately. Artemis was Jason’s ex, before the two of you dated, and there were always rumours that Red Hood had gotten with her again over the years. However ‘healed’ you were, you never could resist looking up the tabloids. And for fucks sake, why on earth are you asking him that?

The question catches him off guard too, you were never insecure in your relationship all those years ago and you knew Artemis was just a friend, a coworker, whatever label you want to slap on it, but just that. After you…he could never even consider someone else. It takes him a moment to get his gears, side of his lips now threatening to stretch into a smirk.

“Just be direct, c’mon. Ask me if I’m single.” Jason clocks his head to one side, a twinkle lit behind his eyes.

Just as you were about to roll your eyes, a familiar car approaching steals your attention as you wave to your friend. Jason watches as you walk past him as the car pulls up right behind yours, a smile stretching across your face in greeting that he didn’t get. Jason turns, slow steps back to his bike, just hoping you’d stop him…ask him to…stay?

“Who’s that?” Your friend asks as she gets out of her car, eyeing the man she’s never seen before as he walks back to his bike. You look back at him, watching his figure receding into the darkness, not looking back. You take another drag of the cigarette, blowing out the smoke and taking a moment to soak in the interaction before you answer.

“Someone I used to know.”

ᯓ★'s P.S. notice how the first half of this is better? yeah i wrote that aaaages ago, i did my dialogue thing and forgot about this and now filled in the rest so i apologise if the flow of it is missing and its not that great

don't forget to comment and reblog if you enjoyed!

← ゛masterlist ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

With evil variants of Invincible causing havoc and destruction all over the world, every resource that Cecil had was getting stretched thin. He needed more manpower to pour into this war, and he wasn’t against using an enhanced criminal to achieve that.

Cecil had seen multiple times you holding your own against their Invincible, hell, even had the upper hand a couple of times with how banged up you left the kid. It was an annoyance with how you had Mark be out of commission from time to time—thankfully his healing factors from his Viltrumite heritage really sped up the recovery process.

Whatever reason why you chose to injure him than kill him wasn’t something Cecil was going to do gymnastics to understand. He was thankful you didn’t, but he didn’t necessarily care to dig up the reason why. There were more pressing matters at the time.

Donald, however, theorized. He had a running speculation that you enjoyed breaking things and destroying anything you got your hands on rather than killing. There have been times where you did, but they were so rare it’s been assumed to be more of a ‘last resort’ thing for you when cornered.

Still, Cecil didn’t care. You were still another destructive piece of shit that had their own agenda that caused him to have a headache at the end of the day. The headache he gets from you just isn’t as big as other incidents—like the deaths of the Guardians of the Globe, the betrayal of Nolan, Viltrumites, and every fucking thing that threatened the safety of Earth.

But, having collected data about you, he was confident that you could at least remove one or two of the evil variants of Invincible when push came to shove. The ‘shove’ being a shock collar and threat of never seeing daylight.

Cecil wasn’t that horrible though; he had something in mind for you when all of this was over.

Shorten your time in the G.D.A slammer and then after that’s up—you get to be moved to somewhere better. Still contained, but just overall better. He calculated the chances of you being alive to experience that though, and they were pretty low. You’d probably be dead before the war was over.

And he assumed he was right at the first glance of the screen. You were surrounded by four variants, and while you were one tough cookie, you should be dead. There was one of you and four of them, it was a no brainer to see who would lose. But the blinking green dot showed you were still alive.

“It... seems like they’re not fighting her, sir. She’s been more of the aggressor so far, actually.” Donald observed, having been watching the screen this entire time. He pushed his glasses up. “She was fighting this one,” he pointed at the red dot on the screen, “then this one showed up—then these two.” His finger drifted to the other circles.

“Pull up the cameras around there.” Cecil ordered, and Donald’s fingers were quick on the keyboard to pull up the surveillance around the area.

A window appeared on the screen, and the lens were cracked so that view wasn’t the best. However, it was clear to see that you were surprisingly not beaten up and battered as he had expected.

The two men watched you leap into the air, bolting through the sky. An alternate Mark dressed in a white Viltrumite uniform followed suit, the two of you become a blur in the distance.

A Mark variant dressed in a similar fashion as Omni-Man turned to speak to the others. Whatever he was saying made the others more upset than they already were. The one with the black mask shaking his head in disagreement while the one with the mohawk rolled his eyes.

“Is there no audio on this thing?"

"Nope."

“Great.” Cecil popped his cracked lips; his grainy voice filled with sarcasm. He silently observed the three variants—and it was plainly obvious that they did not like each other. Their body language was tense, ready to pounce if one of them moved the wrong way. Yet, they continued their conversation.

Whatever they were talking about kept them grounded enough to talk even with their clear distaste for each other.

He squinted at the screen. The men would occasionally glance over at the direction you had sped off to.

Donald spoke up. "I think they're discussing (Y/N)."

"Who?"

Donald repeated your name, adding your last name as well while looking over at Cecil. “It’s Vandal’s real name.” he added. Vandal had become your nickname since you never proclaimed a villain identity for yourself. [1]

From the heaps of destruction and damage you caused to property before your capture, it was a fitting name. Albeit a little lazy and too on the nose.

The old man let out a tired sigh, turning around to step away. His mind was turning gears at this new piece of information and development. Strangely enough, his mind drifted to Mark who was currently still at Eve’s bedside.

He paused for a moment as something formulated in his mind.

What he was thinking of was an... admittedly strange idea, but his gut was scratching at him to try it out. It couldn’t hurt to give it a shot, and Cecil would do whatever it takes to put an end to all of this as quickly as possible.

Mark Grayson always held this odd, favoritism-like air towards you. It was hard not to notice with how he practically jumped at the chance to be the first one to respond to a scene that had remotely anything to do with you. Even went as far as butting head with other superheroes that tried to respond first.

The weird behavior was subtle to anyone who wasn’t paying attention, but Cecil noticed. He didn’t comment on it, but he definitely made mental notes on a few things.

Whatever harm that he would inflict on you would conveniently be placed where it wouldn’t hurt too badly, as well as heal up much faster.

You always somehow end up escaping from his grasp after each fight. It was excusable in the beginning with how he was wrapping his head around being a superhero—but with his progression and improvement, you still somehow ran off.

He seemed happier and chipper after fighting you, like instead of the loss of the fight hindering his mood—it uplifted He would walk, talk, and act like he had just won one million bucks.

When, on the occasion someone had to fight you instead of him because of various reasons, Mark’s mood was sullied. He would be miserable upon learning this fact, sulking like someone had taken his designated spot in class.

There were times when someone—that someone being Rex—would make fun of you. He had turned you into the butt of a joke during training and missions with Invincible, and Mark, without fail, came to your defense. Always too quick and too protective.

And much more.

The biggest thing on the iceberg, though, was when you were finally captured thanks to the intervention of the G.D.A. The agent had done their job, and Mark threw quite the fit.

“I had it all under control!” He yelled, speeding straight to man he knew had the main role of your capture. He glared at Cecil with so much anger and rage, possessiveness seeing into the words he spat.

Cecil was momentarily taken aback with how worked up Mark was over your capture. “You guys didn’t have to step in! Especially—Especially like that!” 

Cecil sighed impatiently. “Talking to them, throwing a couple of punches here and there, and letting them escape each time is not you having it ‘under control,’ Mark. He rebutted. “They needed to be caught and contained, and you were doing a lousy job at that.”

"I was gonna-"

He cut in, not letting Mark get a word in. It was clear that his words weren’t getting through the boy, so he continued. “If I had let this ridiculous method of yours play out, they would’ve continued to destroy more property. That means more tax dollars are being poured into rebuilding the constant messes they leave behind, and more important projects being underfunded.”

Cecil continued his lecture, stern and logic backing up his words. “That money is better off spent on better things, not Little ‘ol Vandalism. With how things been going lately, we need each dollar financing something useful.” [2]

What he said made perfect sense—but the logic and common sense only seemed to add fuel to Mark’s insatiable anger. Mark exploded into an emotionally charged rant that was incoherent and didn’t make sense at all, reaching for straws to defend himself.

Cecil paused before releasing an exhausted sigh. He flickered his gaze away from Mark and to a nearby wall. He was at a loss on why the young Viltrumite was still worked up over this.

He needed to calm him down. Having Mark upset would get in the way of calling him for help and he needed his cooperation to get things done, deal with issues, and protect this planet. Cecil flickered back to Mark.

“Okay, okay—I get it.” Cecil interrupted, raising his hand to stop Mark from his rant. “Kid, they’ll be in jail whether or not you like it. They’ll be locked up—but fed, clothed, and away from being a menace.” He halted before continuing, taking in how Mark seemed calmer on the fact you would be fed and clothed rather than your destructive habits being put to a stop.

“You can... even visit.” He said lightly, treading carefully.

“... I can?”

He was a little bit too happy to hear that, his anger completely evaporated.

“Sure. Not something that usually happens but—after we deal with all the big stuff happening out there first, I’ll authorize how many visits you want.”

Cecil turned to face Donald, “I’m going to pay a visit to Mark. I’m sure he’d love to hear what’s going on out there—especially with his favorite vandalizer.” Donald stared, not understanding what telling Mark about this would achieve.

Without elaborating, he teleported with a flash of blue.

You took another look behind you again, the wind rushing past you—howling in your ear as you met the intense stare of the evil variant in white. His hair moved wildly against the wind, his eyes hard.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer!” You shouted. He was unresponsive to your words, his eyes unblinking even though the wind must’ve been drying out his eyes. You rolled your eyes, but his silent demeanor caused a burst of goosebumps on your skin.

Even though you would love to continue being in the air for longer, if you did that it was evident that he would catch up to you. With each small glance, he was inching closer and closer—and there a number of things that would go against your favor if this white Invincible got ahold of you in the air.

You looked up ahead, scanning what was in front of you. There was a large building that was abandoned, surprisingly not demolished.

The path you are on currently would make you slam your head against a solid wall. Shifting to the right, you brought your arms to your head as you braced for impact.

The glass window immediately shattered as you rammed through it, different sizes of glass shards falling. You dodged the walls of the office floor, breaking through windows and passing by cubicles.

You broke out of the other side of the building, sunlight hitting your back as you pushed yourself to float above the building. Not a minute later, the building vibrated widely as the sound of walls breaking sounded in the air.

You let out an amused huff. He continued the original flight path you were on and busted through the walls.

The white variant broke through the final wall, leaving a gaping hole on the side of the building. He looked right and left, searching for where you had ran off to.

"Up here!" You sang out, diving down with your hands raised and joined together to make a ball. You brought it down, sending him flying downwards.

The Invincible's reflex was incredible, his arms quickly rising to protect his head before being slammed to the ground.

The harsh impact made a big crater on the ground, with him in the middle. The abandoned cars near the crash site began blaring like crazy, the headlights flashing.

"You're strong." He flatly commented, his eyes returning to looking at you while the dust settled. His unblinking eyes were really creepy—like that of a doll. His face was smooth and untouched too, just like that of a meticulously crafted doll.

Mohawk had laugh and smile lines that were prominent and bold, however, with this Invincible he didn’t have any—not even a wrinkle. It was like he didn’t use expressions—or even knew what they were.

His arms vaguely tingled at your attack. He hummed, somewhat impressed. A crack of a smile appeared, but you had to squint to really see it. "You were never strong in my dimension."

“Does that burst your bubble, Whitey?” You fake whined, copying the lean of his head. "Disappointed? I didn’t come as advertised?”

“I’m not disappointed.” He shook his head. “How could I be disappointed at you? You were perfect. Perfect for me, perfect for Viltrum. You're still perfect, no matter the differences across dimensions." He replied, hovering to close the distance between you two.

There was a deep-rooted longing in his eyes. The same desperation.

You gritted your teeth. You did not like where this was going at all. You hated it. In fact, the way he spoke to you as if he were the version he knew personally rubbed you the wrong way.

It seemed to be a running trend among the Invincibles so far, and it was already becoming insufferable.

“I’ve missed you, my life partner.” He breathily began, “The spot I carved out for you remains empty since the day I lost you.” His eyes morphed into one of a battered dog without its owner. “You miss me too.”

Fantastic, this one likes to run his mouth during battle too.

"Is that a question or a command?" You frowned. "I'm not them. Do you hear yourself?"

"You are them."

"I'm not.”

“You are.” He stubbornly insisted.

“No! I’m not! I'm going to put that through that thick skull of yours." You dashed towards him, your hand grabbing a hold of the top of his head as you slammed it down—the back of his head hitting the cracked concrete of the crater.

You dug your nails inside his scalp, lifting it and smashing it back down repeatedly. The hole deepening as you continued.

Viltrumite Mark allowed this to happen, his head being slammed against the pavement over and over again. Your fingernails were prickly from being bit at as it dug inside his scalp

There was a dulling pain at the back of his head, but he didn’t care to listen. The only thing he could focus on was how incredibly long it has been since the last time he felt your touch. How long ago has it been since you committed suicide? How many long, grievous nights did he go without you?

It has been so long that he had lost count. Actually, he was unsure if he was counting in the first place. Probably not—because then it put in perspective how long it’s been since your death.

The light, throbbing pain didn’t mean anything to him with the sensation of your hand holding his scalp. It brought him back to those blissful times when he would come back from dealing with the responsibilities of the Viltrum Empire with you welcoming him with open arms.

Oh, how he loved laying his head on your stomach while you massaged his head—running your delicate fingers through his hair as you asked all sorts of questions.

Usually about what he did, Viltrum, and what was happening outside the walls of the home you two shared. Mark didn’t like to think about the outside world when he was inside the haven of the bedroom, but indulging in your curiosity was always cute. It made you happy, and how could he deny giving simple joy to his partner?

You were also eager, albeit more than he liked, to learn any updates about Earth. Even if it was something minor, you always liked hearing about the planet you once lived on. Sometimes you'd ask if you could ‘finally go out’ and be somewhere else on Viltrum beside the house, even hinting the idea of going to go visit Earth—to at least see it—but Mark always shot it down.

He guessed he understood in some capacity why you would ask repeatedly. It was natural for any species to think about home and long to go back to it. Though, that doesn't mean Mark didn't find it ridiculous—you shouldn't want to go back to Earth. Even for a visit.

Viltrum is your home now and a much better suited place for you because he was here. This place was where you belonged because this was where you two could be together.

Mark would've granted permission for you to walk around Viltrum alone, but when you had first arrived at this planet—you had such antsy feet. You would run off, trying to escape from the planet.

It was always a hassle to bring you back. You could've gotten into danger and if he hadn't been alerted each time you ran off and arrived at the nick of time. You could've hurt yourself. Worse, you could’ve actually succeeded.

Sometimes you came too close in leaving, and that scared him.

You cried, you begged, and you pleaded whenever you were caught. Those incessant beseeches only amplified when he had to deliver the consequences of your attempts of escaping—but he did it in mind of your human physiology. Spraining your ankle, first-degree burns to the skin, twisting an arm or a leg until it contused... things that healed in a week or two. [3]

He knew you didn’t have the healing factors or durability as a Viltrumite, so he went easy on you, but that didn’t mean you were exempt from the consequences.

It hurt to see you like that. He couldn’t bear for those situations to happen again, so he had momentarily removed those privileges.

He was going to give them back, he swore he would've at one point. However, he hadn't noticed so much time had passed. For Mark, it was a blip—so short. While for you it had been long, excruciating years. You couldn't take it anymore; Mark's monopolization was suffocating.

So, one day when Mark arrived back home after a conquest, your lifeless boy awaited him. Pale, empty, and unresponsive—but free. Free from him.

For what happened, Viltrum Mark will let you hurt him this time for being such a neglectful husband. Being pummeled was what he deserved for being forgetful—it was only right.

You let go of your hold of the white variant's head, snatching a hold of his arm and standing up. You lifted him off the ground, chucking him at the loud line of cars.

During the process you twisted his arm, causing him to wince as he felt his bone dislocate before colliding with the line of blaring vehicles.

The obnoxious honks stopped, and you huffed as you straightened your back.

You sneered in disgust as you realized a small smear of blood made its way to stain your fingers, being quick to wipe it on your clothes.

However, in the blink of an eye, a white flash appeared before you. Arms wrapped around your torso, and you were shoved into a wall.

As soon as your back hit the wall, you gasped, the wind knocked out of you. You felt the Invincible nestle his face to your stomach, his arms tightening around you.

You shrieked.

Even though there was a clothing barrier between your bare skin and his face thanks to the prison uniform the G.D.A had you worn, it was thin. This act was clearly intimate, and you flushed in anger.

His sudden clinginess to your stomach made you puke out curses—this fucker was taking an opportunity to feel you.

“Get off of me you bastard!” You demanded, using your elbow to dig inside his back, striking down rapidly.

His grip loosened with each hit but would recover as quickly as it unfastened. With how hard you were hitting, it was a guarantee there would be multiple splotches of bruises stretched along his back, the muscles soon to have developing colors of purple.

You repositioned your elbow that was nearest to his twisted shoulder, slamming it.

A grunt howled from the variant’s throat, his arms untangling from your waist. He fell to the ground, on his knees as he hurriedly grabbed his shoulder—popping the dislocated shoulder back in place.

He picked himself up, swiping at your shin. Caught off guard, you wobbled and the viltrumite didn't waste time to place your leg on his shoulder—the one that he had corrected the displacement of the bone—and leaned forward to you.

Being off balanced and your leg being pushed up with your back against the cracked wall, you slid down. His height towered over you as you were in a compromising position. You hissed, your hands reaching behind you to grip the wall.

"That was enough to atone for my neglectful actions. Your death alone already served as punishment for how blind I was towards our time." He spoke, staring down at you.

A small line of blood traveled from his scalp to the back of his neck. "I'll be a much better husband for you, I swear to it, (Y/N)." the Invincible exhaled, turning his head to your leg that was lifted to his shoulder.

Even though his voice was monotonous, there was a scratch of pleading behind his voice. He said it in hopes you’ll believe him, and in turn that he would believe himself that he would actually become better towards you. Not repeating his mistake that got you taken away from him.

It wasn't hard to piece together that whatever happened to his version of you, you had died, and he played a role in it.

He exhaled; his lips parted slightly as they were just centimeters away from your leg.

“You can’t be a better one if they’re dead.”

“Don’t say that.” He snapped, pushing your leg further up, making you suck in a breath. “You’re right here. Even if you don’t remember me that doesn't mean you can't be lawfully wedded to me once again.” His grip was firm as his hand snaked up to your knee.

His hand squeezed, feeling the muscles and bone. "I'll take you back home. Back to Viltrum. Back with me. Everything we had will be back once again."

You tense, the mention of being kidnapped to somewhere else cause your fight or flight response to yell bloody murder. The fully masked Invincible had mentioned something about bringing you 'home’ too, and now this one was spitting out the same threatening garbage.

Something nagged at you that this would be a pattern among the other copies—and everything within you warned you not to let any of them take you. You were most likely better off dead than with any of them.

“I would rather fucking die than be like them and go anywhere with you.” You spat; venom laced with each word. "Whatever way they went was probably a blessing in disguise." You taunted, watching him twitch.

Clenching your jaw, you wheeled your head forward and then banged it behind you. The building shook, cracks branching out from the point of origin. You used the back of your head to hit it once more, pooling all your strength together.

The thick wall crumbled, and no longer being shoved against a wall you wrapped the leg that was on his shoulder around his neck and your other leg around his torso, seizing his whole body and throwing him over you.

The viltrumite burst through the multitude of walls, making the building unstable. Sounds of the building cracking and falling apart filled the air, the structure collapsing.

You scrambled to run, the building collapsing in your direction. Though your foot slipped on a piece of debris, causing you to trip onto the ground. Shit.

Whoosh!

The office building collapsed, and you hesitantly blinked your eyes open. You looked down at the collapsed structure. It once stood tall and mighty but now it was closer to the ground more than ever.

Your legs dangled in the air, and your eyes traveled to your chest as there was an arm that was slung underneath them—holding you loosely.

"Ha! Now that was a funny sight to watch. You really got some sweet upgrades to you—fun." A chilling voice commented, pointing out the superhuman strength you possessed. A dangerous edge was in his words, and you straightened your back to look at the source.

You whipped your head around, an Invincible with a black and yellow suit grinning wildly at you.

With the black and yellow palette, it gave off a warning sign—and his demeanor gave just that. He was a warning, something you should be aware of and run away from.

The sinister-looking Invincible leaned in to focus deeply at your eyes, using his exceptional hearing to focus on your heart that was beating furiously.

He can hear the panic and the fear melting in.

He memorized the way your heart beats its unique rhythm, pumping blood through your system. It was a window that he used often to decipher how you really felt at any given moment, listening to the living organ that was like music to his ears.

He hated how he missed something so simple. He hated it even more with how he recognized it from miles away, his ears subconsciously trained itself to zone in on that wretchedly beautiful heart of yours.

It was like a melody that drew him out—his own personal trap with you inside it.

It nauseated him how quickly he froze at the first beat—then came speeding at the second knowing full well it was you.

This dimension's version of you, anyway.

"Another one?" You snarled, not happy to see another variant.

This dimension’s copy of you was feisty, just like his—outspoken, mean, and nasty. However more powerful considering you did some damage to Viltrum Mark, having been watching from afar. Though he didn’t pay attention to that guy, focused and swooped up on the fact he was on cloud nine with how he was able to hold you like this again.

He let out a deranged laugh, throwing his head back. "Ha! Ha-ha! I forgot how much better you felt with your flesh still intact." He laughed, rearing his head back to shove his face to your cheek. "Soft, squishy—so much more different compared to your skeleton."

... Skeleton?

"Jesus, I went insane after I killed you, you know?" He took a large inhale, the memories of the temper tantrum he made after accidentally going too rough on you—breaking you—resurfacing.

Everyone and everything were not safe from his rampage; the rampage fueled with the rage of accidentally killing you. “I bet you had fun watching that, huh? Torturing me by being so weak and dying.” He yapped, out of his mind as he continued.

"I kept your body, watched the stages of your corpse bloat then decay—leaving the dry remains of your skeleton behind." He spoke of it with a smile on his face, but you felt the hand that was wrapped around you flinch, tightening.

"It wasn't as fun when you were alive, but it was still you, so I made do." He vaguely referenced, and your skin crawled at what he could possibly be implying. All sorts of things popped in your head.

You had an inkling that whatever your brain conjured up may have been tamer than whatever this... thing did to his alternate version of you—dead or alive.

"I don’t have to know more to know you're a sick fuck."

"-And I made you like it." He hissed, his hot breath hitting your skin. He tilted his head away, his eyes wandering to the electric collar around your neck. Sinister recognized the craftmanship—Cecil throwing you in this war and forcing you to work for him meant you were tough.

Mark was excited to see how exactly tough you were. If you’re stronger that meant you could endure him, right? "And I can do it again. Just this time, you won't be so easy to break.”

Cecil sighed as his eyes fell on Mark Grayson. The boy was still near Eve’s bedside, not having moved a single inch since the last time he saw him. Both of his hands were cupped onto Eve's that lay motionless on the bed.

"What do you want, Cecil?" His tired voice called out, not having to turn to know that the old man was behind him. "I told you I wasn't working with you ever again."

"I heard that loud and clear, Mark." Cecil nodded, "I figured you weren't against updates, though."

The young man merely stayed silent, his whole-body language screaming that he didn't want to hear him speak anymore.

Cecil grimaced, biting the inside of his cheek. The idea he had seemed like it wasn't going to work, only made up with a few clues then and there, but he was already here so it would be a waste not to try it.

"There's a lot happening out there. It's difficult to keep up with everything."

Mark stayed silent, unresponsive as his eyes were staring only at the injured red head.

Cecil carried on, "I had to come up with creative solutions to the issues of not having resources, people—superheroes to go out there and protect the world."

Mark stayed unmoving, not reacting an inch.

"Do you remember the criminal you ‘helped’ capture? Vandal?—"

"It's (Y/N)." Grayson jolted, turning to look at Cecil with stern eyes. His hands were still on Eve's, though he noted the small pull away. Mark repeated your name again, making sure to glare at him.

"... That's interesting. I didn't find out until today that was their actual name." The older man was quick to point out, raising a brow. "How did you know that? Didn't care to share with the rest of the class?"

Mark hesitated, his eyes flickering away from Cecil. "They told me it the first time we fought. Must've slipped my mind." He vaguely dismissed, clearing his throat.

He had accidentally crossed your path when he first started out his career as Invincible. He was still getting a hang on things, training to be a great hero just like his dad.

It took him a little bit too long to register that you were a bad guy—a criminal that he should've jumped to stop as soon as his eyes laid on the path of destruction you caused without care of who you hurt.

Then it took him even longer to move from his spot with how strangely enamored he was with you. Mark was overcome by this sudden rush of attraction that he had subconsciously held his breath.

If it weren't for his viltrumite make up, he would've passed out with how much oxygen he deprived his lungs.

Did criminals usually have this effect on heroes? Fascinated, interested, curious, enamored? (Mark later found out that no, villains did not have this effect on heroes—for whatever reason, it was only you).

Once he finally snapped out of it, he was quick to try and stop you. Though with how inexperienced he was with fighting and your brawniness, you won. Beaten to a pulp, his body was sore and tired as he lay on the ground, groaning from the punches.

"Ah—shit." A whine escaped his throat. Was being a superhero going to be this painful all the time?

You crouched down to his level, eyeing his costume that hugged his body. "It isn't a good idea to jump at a bitch wrecking the place while being a baby super." You commented, your eyes filled with pity.

You didn't take amusement in practically beating up an infant. His reactions were delayed, he didn’t know what to do when you did this or that—it was embarrassingly obvious he was new. "Downright idiotic." You muttered. They just let anyone play hero, huh?

"Idiotic and Invincible shares the same letter," he coughed, shifting to look at you. A sharp pain jolted up his spine. "Ah, that hurts!—So, uh, I guess they go hand in hand." He let out a nervous smile, giddiness budding at the pit of his stomach as he wiped off the blood that had dried out his upper lip.

It's wrong to feel so... so excitedly nervous about how close you were. Sure okay, you got close so you could punch and throw him around while you two fought—but right now Mark had the time to take you in fully.

You snorted, a giggle jumping out your lips. You weren't expecting him to crack a joke like that while he was beaten to a pulp and wow—that giggle of yours was beautiful. That made his heart dance and his stomach sick with how many butterflies there were.

You quickly covered your laughter, rubbing a hand over your mouth. "Invincible is a stupid name. You don’t even live up to it with—fucking, y’know." You gestured to the tip of head to the ends of his feet.

"What's yours? We can compare."

"… I got the name Vandal, it's a stupid name too." You shrugged, pushing yourself to stand.

He tried to sit up, though shots of pain riddled him to fall. He didn't want you to leave so quickly—not out of fear you would go back to destroying stuff but out of fear he may not ever see you again.

"Is there another name I can call you? I-I mean, I would like the person who beat me up to at least like their name." Mark stuttered out, a strained smile on his face.

You eyed him, raising a brow. Unimpressed at his lame reasoning. "What kind of reason is that?"

"Uh, I—well you know, erm—" His cheeks flushed a baby pink.

You sighed, finding yourself pitying the new hero more. Did no one teach him anything? "Fine." You’ll humor this. Giving you his name wouldn't hurt, besides even if he told others, it wasn't enough to track you down. “It’s (Y/N).”

"Hm. Okay. Moving on." Cecil hummed, not convinced. “I had her be taken out of her cell. She's out on the field."

Now that got a response out of Mark. He let go of Eve's hand, his body moving in the blink of an eye as he appeared in front of Cecil. It caught the older man by surprise, taking a hurried step back.

“What do you mean out in the field? They shouldn’t be out there. They’re supposed to be in a prison cell. They’re supposed to be safe. I remember you saying that word for word!”

“That was after this shitshow started. Prior arrangements had to be moved around and changed.” He defended himself, narrowing his eyes at how quickly he was to mad when you were handled in a manner he disagreed with.

This pattern of possessiveness he had over a criminal was wrong.

Cecil had chosen to ignore this, chalking it up to some petty rivalry over the fact you had beaten him a couple of times—but now it was clear as day that it was definitely way more than that.

Just how much more was what Cecil was curious about. He needed to see exactly what you meant to him and if he could use that for his own gain. “If they can handle fighting against you, then hell, they can certainly handle themselves against one of those variants. I needed all the manpower I can get, and they were the perfect option.”

“That still gave you no right!” He screamed.

“It does when the guy who can go head to toe with those invaders out there won’t leave this goddamn room.” Cecil retorted.

“So—So what?! They can die, Cecil.” He huffed, his fists clenching at the idea you were out there in harm’s way.

“Why does that matter so much to you, Mark? What exactly are they to you for you to be worked over this? I don’t have to be omnipotent to know they don’t give a damn about you—not a single thought. Yet you’re here caring for them as if you’re their friend.” He paused, “Are you?”

Mark hitched breath, a lump in his throat as he brought his hands to hold onto his face.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you, and he knew that he shouldn’t be thinking about you as much as he should, but he couldn’t stop. His mind always wandered.

Day and night without fail at some point his thoughts would be consumed by you, someone he barely knew anything about—someone that he shouldn’t be thinking of.

Mark tried to stay away from you—at least that’s what he told himself to make him feel better. He always jumped at the chance to get to you whenever you were back on your rampaging antics. Other heroes noticed, offering to take his place instead but he sternly refused.

He was territorial about being the one to stop you, being the one to fight you, being the one to be with you.

Mark told himself that he thought about you so frequently because of that pitiful ‘kindness’ you showed him at your guys’ first encounter.

From that, you must’ve been much better at being a reformed criminal than a bad guy who took joy in seeing wreckage.

So, he tried to convince you to change your ways.

That’s what a superhero does, right? Not just help distressed citizens but everyone, even criminals. He offered to help you lead a better life than the one you had right now, guide you on how to use your powers for good rather than bad.

He also offered you companionship, friendship—a chance to have a deeper relationship than the close to nothing relationship you two currently had.

He was hurt every time you rejected him. Not hurt from the fact you rejected turning a new leaf but hurt that you rejected his friendship. Fine, you turned down being a good guy, whatever, but why turn him down?

Couldn’t you see that Mark ran to you each time? Couldn’t you see that he had got stronger, faster, better, each time you fought just to impress you? Couldn’t you see that he craved to know you more, the one who he knew nothing about yet haunted him every day?

The bruises that you left on his body were the only thing you gave him that held a part of you—and he would stare at them in the mirror as he traced over them remembering the fists he came to memorize.

The bruises were the only thing you didn’t reject to give, and he hoped they never faded so he can carry the ghost of your touch on his body. It was ridiculous how distraught he’d become when he noticed the purple fading, disappointed when his regular color came back.

Mark Grayson tried to drop it—drop you. He was driving himself crazy over a stranger that wanted nothing to do with him. He tried tearing himself away from the idea of you, but he came back running whenever he heard you were out there.

Why couldn’t he have you? No. Why couldn’t you have him?

Cecil voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Well, Mark, are you?”

“No, we’re not friends.” He responded, his torn voice muffled by his hands.

“Then what is it? What is it ‘cause with how I’m seeing things no one should be caring so much about a stranger as you are right now.” Cecil bombarded, continuing to pile more questions on him relentlessly, pushing the boy’s buttons.

The half-viltrumite ran his hands to his hair, his fingers intertwining with his black locks as he let out an exhausted, fed-up groan. Why was Cecil asking this? Why was he asking this like he knew the answer? God, he wished he knew the fucking answer.

“Mark, say something. Say something Mark. For the love of God, fucking say something—”

“No! No, I don’t know them at all, I don’t mean anything to them! I’m not their friend. I’m nothing.” He snapped, his voice raised and shouting, his mouth running wild.  “That doesn’t mean that I don’t want them safe! That doesn’t mean I don’t care about them! That doesn’t mean I don’t want them.”

A tense silence fell on the room; the sound of machines next to Eve’s bed beeping.

“... So that’s it. You’re whipped.” Cecil finally broke the silence, scoffing in utter disbelief at what he had just discovered.

“What twisted fascination do you have with them? A criminal who never gave you the light of day, yet you hold this… ” His face contorted, looking away from Mark. “I don’t even know what to call this. Sick? Twisted? Pathetic?”

“… You have no right to berate me or even fucking shame me with your track record.” Mark whispered, “So, shut up. Just shut up.”

“Can’t do that because I’m not done talking.” He side eyed, “Your little crush is being jumped by multiple variants. Last I checked, they ran—but got a suspicion it won’t be easy for them to run away.”

Cecil felt himself slammed to the wall, the white collar of his shirt being tightly gripped. “What? Why didn’t you lead with that!”

“Sorry, kid, didn’t think you’d get your panties in a twist over lawbreakers.” He grunted, staring into Mark’s brown eyes.

“Just tell me where they are.”

“Thinking of joining the fight now? Don’t want to stay here by Eve anymore? All I had to do was dangle something you can never have in front of your face to finally leave this room?”

Mark raised a fist and hit the wall behind the man he pinned. “Just tell me where (Y/N) is.”

Cecil dug his hand into his suit pocket, pushing an earpiece to his chest which Mark quickly caught. “Plug that in and Donald will tell you.” He stated. The grip Mark had on his collar loosened, pushing him aside as he went to grab his mask from the end of the bed.

He took a look at Eve before tearing his eyes away.

As always, he comes running when he hears you’re out there.

"I am having a blast," This sinister version of Invincible smirked, his breathing heavy as he had you pinned to the ground. You made him work up quite a sweat, and he was getting quite thirsty. "You're so new, so fun, so entertaining, so enticing. I'm working up a fucking appetite. Been forever since that happened."

It felt like it has been ages since you were stuck fighting for your life against this man, but it has been only a couple of minutes.

Your face distorted in disgust. A hand of his was holding your two legs together so that you couldn't kick him away even though you were desperately trying to squirm your legs away from his tight grasp.

"Eat shit." You cursed, collecting the saliva that accumulated in your mouth and spitting it to his face—the wad of spit hitting the corner of his lips.

His smile faltered, before grinning again as he cooed at you. "That bitch of a mouth of yours needs work, though." Sinister Invincible parted his lips, his tongue licking the side of his face, collecting the saliva you had thrown at him and swallowing.

"You gross sick fu—hhmp! " Your voice quickly got muffled as he had snaked his gloved fingers inside your mouth with his free hand, the taste of rubber filling your taste buds as you thrashed under his hold. You used your hands to scratch and slap his face, though that seemed to only amuse him further.

His fingers moved to feel your teeth, your tongue that tried to escape the taste of his gloves, and the soft as well as hard palate. You yelled muffled profanities, biting down on his fingers.

Your canine fangs broke through the rubber material of the glove, and he let out a small—was that a fucking moan?—sound as that only served to give him more reason to push his fingers deeper down your mouth. His fingertips scooted to the entrance of your throat, making you choke.

"Bite down harder, cunt." He demanded, and you instinctively listened.

Your teeth pressed down on his skin, the bite breaking it as a metallic taste seeped into your taste buds joining the taste of the rubber gloves.

"Ouggh my god." Sinister Mark moaned; the pain brought by your fangs serving to be pleasurable. Thae hand he used to hold down both of your legs shifted over to one, squeezing hard against the muscles and into the bone. [1]

CRACK!

"HHMP!" Your scream gurgled into his glove, and you gagged soon after from his fingers hitting the back of your throat. The scratch and hits to his head were doing nothing to him, and you scowled as your eyes darted around to find any way to get out of this.

You noticed how your broken leg wasn't immediately healing, like how it should be, and your eyes widen as you remembered the collar the G.D.A had placed around your neck. You had forgotten about it, and you closed your eyes as you knew what to do.

Your hands reached eagerly to the shock collar, digging your fingers between the metal and your neck as you began to tear away at it.

It instantly began sending electricity through your body, riddling your body to the seizing and overwhelming pain that resembled the same sensation when you were hit with that gun during your capture. Your eyes opened, rolling to the back of your skull from the intensity.

You clenched your jaw as you continued to rip it from your neck, trying to keep your eyes open and not lose consciousness as the metal began to rip apart—the wires being revealed.

Whatever was sending the electricity was no longer contained to just your body, zapping in the air and reaching to the black and yellow Invincible that was on top of you.

The electrifying pain met him too, and he yanked his digits out of your mouth as the bolts traveled up to him.

You felt his weight lift off as you ripped the collar in two, gasping for air and rolling to your side.

Your body twitched, there was still electricity coursing through your body—and you felt an intense wave of exhaustion flood you.

No, I can't pass out, I need to get out of here. No, no—

You tried to resist, though black spots were already filling your vision as shapes and colors became a blur. Even then, you tried to crawl to distance yourself from the Invincible.

A sudden tight grip to your hair pulled you toward his direction.

"You disobedient bitch. Who told you to do that?" You heard a growl, the pull of your hair making you whine.

Your hair was suddenly released, feeling a strong gust of wind behind you as Sinister Mark’s voice was thrown off to the distance. You didn’t care to look back, trying to squint to see what was ahead of you.

Your  vision became increasingly blurry and you gagged from having his hand shoved down your throat a few seconds ago. You tried to sit up but failed, your head feeling heavy as it hit the ground.

You internally screamed to stay awake, but darkness hugged you.