#invincible angst

"(Y/N), are you in there?" Mark asks. "Please, I...I need to see you. I need to know you're okay." Your heart shatters at the desperation in his voice. You reach for the doorknob and open your door.

"Mark?" The lightning in the hallway is dim, but you can tell that your ex-boyfriend is wearing his hero suit. You quickly pull him into your room and lock the door.

"What is wrong with you?" You ask. "What if someone saw you?" He doesn't answer. Instead he pulls you into a tight hug.

"Oh god, you're okay," He says. His voice was barely above a whisper. "You're safe." You reluctantly wrap your arms around him. You've seen Mark cry before, but never like this.

"Yes, I'm safe," You tell him. "But what are you doing here?" Before he can answer, your window shatters. Your pushed to the ground and your ex-boyfriend is pinned against the wall.

"Mark!" You exclaim. You rub your head, and your eyes try to adjust to the dark scene. Mark was being pinned to the wall by...Mark? You rush to the light switch and flip it on. Held against the wall was Mark in a black and blue suit, but his whole face his covered. And holding him against the wall, was another Mark, in his new blue and black suit, but you were able to see his face.

"Don't fucking touch her," Your Mark growls. His hands tightened around the imposter's neck.

"Get off of me!" The imposter's says in between coughs. His head is bleeding, and the blood starts to roll down his face. The imposter turns to you.

"(Y/N)," The imposter says. "You're not gonna let him kill me, are you?" You stutter out a sentence, your mind moving faster than you can process words. You look between the two, unsure what to do.

"Don't listen to him," Your Mark yells. "He came with other variants of me. They're evil. They only live to kill." You want to believe him, you really do. But the Mark against the wall is in so much pain. And if he wanted to kill you...why didn't he? Without thinking, you begin to move to the two Marks.

"Let him go, Mark," You say. Your Mark glares at you.

"Seriously? Did you not hear what I said?" His words are harsh, but his voice sounds hurt. "He'll kill you! What? Just because we're broken up, you'll be with another version of me! I'm trying to save you!"

"I know what you said!" Your anger scares both Marks. Neither of them have ever known you to raise your voice before. "Let him go, please." You say quieter. Your Mark curses under his breath before letting the imposter go. The Other Mark sinks to the floor, gasping for breath and holding his neck. He looks up to you. He crawls on the ground and hugs your legs.

"I'm sorry," He cries. "Please! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! Please forgive me!" You look back at Your Mark who's standing behind you with his arms crossed. He scoffs and turns away from you. You look back down to the Mark on the floor.

"It's...it's okay," You reassure him. "I'm safe, remember. I'm not hurt." The Other Mark nods his head.

"Yes, you're safe," He repeats. "I'll make sure you'll always be safe." A rush of wind hurls past you. Before you can even blink, the Other Mark is standing on the other side of the room with his hand balled in a fist. Your Mark holds his chest. Blood gushes from his mouth, and he falls to the ground.

Your eyes widen in shock. You're sure you screamed, but you can't hear anything. You rush to your ex-boyfriend's side, kneeling beside him. Blood quickly pools around him.

"Mark? Mark!" You scream. The Other Mark lifts you from the ground.

"Don't do that," He says, his voice strangely calm. "You could get an infection. What if you got sick? Do you want me to be alone again?" You struggle to get out of his grasp, but he won't budge. He floats above the ground and flies the both of you out of your window. You beat against his body in protest as you scream for Your Mark.

"It's okay, (Y/N)," The Other Mark says. "You're safe with me now."

The burger joint smells like grease, salt, and teenage nostalgia. The kind of place where the booths have cracked vinyl and the milkshake machine screams like a wounded animal every time someone orders vanilla.

Mark sits across from you, hunched over a basket of fries he hasn’t touched. His hair is still a little messy from his patrol as Invincible, soft waves flattened on one side. There’s a faint bruise blooming along his jaw, purple creeping under his golden skin. He keeps poking at a fry like it personally offended him.

You watch him for a moment, heart doing that familiar, treacherous squeeze before you approach with caution, “She cancel again?”

He shrugs. Too fast and causal. A performance you know all too well. You’ve known him long enough to recognize when he’s pretending everything is fine. He’s about as subtle as a marching band in a library.

“Yeah,” he says, forcing a small smile, “Something came up.”

Something always comes up with her when the two of them have plans, and you always end up with Mark to pick up the pieces.

You bite the inside of your cheek, tasting iron and all the built up frustration. Not at her, not really. At the situation. At the way he keeps showing up for someone who keeps leaving the door half-closed, and at the way you’re sitting right here, wide open. You’re always sitting right there.

“Well,” you say, grabbing a fry and pointing it at him like a tiny golden sword, “her loss. These fries are elite. Crispy, salty, borderline life-changing. She’s practically missing the eighth wonder of the world here.”

A ghost of a laugh escapes him. Small, but real, and making your heart do that stupid, traitorous flutter, “There is no way fries are comparable to the wonders of the world, Y/N.”

“You clearly haven’t had the right fries then.”You say with a grin, shoving the basket toward him.

He rolls his eyes, but he takes one. Then another. The tension in his shoulders loosens a notch, like a knot finally starting to untangle.

Victory. You’ll take it.

You lean back in the booth, watching him eat, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. This is your specialty. The emotional first aid. Bandaging invisible bruises with jokes and junk food. You’ve been doing it for years, after all.

Later, you’re both sitting on the hood of his car in the parking lot, the night wrapped around you like a dark blanket. Streetlights spill golden across the puddles on the asphalt. The air smells like spring rainfall.

Your shoulders touch. It’s such a small thing. But your body registers it like a lightning strike.

Mark tilts his head back, staring up at the sky, “You ever think about how weird everything is now?”

You glance at him, your head tilting a bit as you look at him, your gaze roaming over his stupid, perfect face, “Define weird.”

He gestures vaguely upward, and then towards himself, “Flying. Fighting aliens. Trying to keep my grades from tanking. Dating someone who can rearrange matter at the molecular level.”

You snort, gently pushing your shoulder into his, “Yeah, that last one would keep me up at night too.”

He huffs out a laugh, breath fogging faintly in the cool air. For a moment, there’s quiet. Comfortable and familiar. The kind of silence that only exists between people who have known each other since scraped knees and science fair disasters.

Then he speaks again, his voice soft as those brown puppy eyes stare blankly ahead, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your heart stutters. Hard enough to hurt, as you try to ignore twinge. You keep your gaze fixed on the streetlight ahead, pretending your pulse isn’t doing gymnastics through your veins.

“You’d survive,” you say lightly, “You’re basically indestructible.”

“That’s not what I mean.” His voice is closer now, a deep hum settling in your ears and you risk a glance at him. He’s looking at you.

“You always know how to make things better,” he says, “Even when everything’s a mess.”

The words land softly, but they echo between your ribs, rippling like a dropped stone in deep water. Because this is the part that hurts the most.

You do know how to make things better. You know his favorite comfort food. You know the exact joke that will make him laugh when he’s spiraling. You know how he takes his coffee, how he cracks his knuckles when he’s nervous, how he gets quiet when he’s scared.

You know him, and you love him.

The realization sits in your chest, heavy and glowing. Because you know you don’t love him as just your best friend. You love him, in that deep, soul crushing way that makes you question your morality. What you would do protect him, how you would bend until you break to make sure his heart stays beating steady and unbroken.

You swallow. Your voice comes out significantly steadier than you feel, “That’s what best friends are for, dummy.”

You bump your shoulder into his again. He smiles, soft and grateful, the kind of smile that makes your chest ache in the sweetest, cruelest way.

Inside, your heart folds in on itself. Like a letter you’re not ready to send. Above you, the stars keep shining, indifferent and beautiful, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil you’re facing. And you sit there beside him, close enough to touch, wondering how someone can be so near and still feel just out of reach.

And… Jealousy is an ugly word. It’s bitter and small, and so not you. You’ve spent years convincing yourself it doesn’t belong to you. But sitting here under the hum of the streetlight, shoulder pressed to his, listening to him talk about a girl who keeps slipping through his fingers, you finally admit the truth curling in your chest.

You are jealous. Not of her powers, or her brilliance, or beauty. Of her proximity. Of the way she gets to hold his hand without thinking twice, of the way she gets the soft parts of him you’ve been carefully guarding for years.

Because she doesn’t see it, see him. Not the way you do. She misses the way he always gives the last fry to whoever he’s with, even when he’s starving. She misses how he rubs the back of his neck when he’s nervous, how he hums under his breath when he’s trying to concentrate, how he looks at the sky like he’s carrying the weight of the whole planet on his shoulders. She misses the quiet hero, the boy beneath the suit.

And God, you wish she knew what she had. Because you do. You’ve always known.

Your chest tightens until breathing feels like you’re dragging a bowling ball through wet cement. The words claw at your throat, sharp and desperate, and before you can shove them back down where they belong, they spill out, “I love you.”

“Yeah, I know I love—“

“No, Mark. I love you.”The confession lands between you like shattered glass and Mark freezes.

You feel it instantly, the way his body goes rigid beside yours, the way the easy warmth that’s always existed between you flickers and stutters. Panic floods your veins, hot and dizzying, but the dam is already broken. The truth keeps rushing out.

“I didn’t mean to,” you continue, voice trembling, hands gripping the edge of the hood like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, “I tried really hard not to, Mark. I told myself it was just friendship, that I was being dramatic, that it would pass.”

A shaky laugh escapes you, brittle as thin ice, “But it didn’t. It just kept getting bigger, and–and louder. Every time you smiled at me, every time you called me first when something went wrong, every time you showed up at my door looking like the world had chewed you up and I was the only place you felt safe. Me. Not her.”

Your vision blurs. You blink hard, but the tears come anyway, hot streams rolling down your cheeks.

“I know you love her,” you whisper, “I know that. And I swear I’ve tried to be happy for you. I am happy for you. But it hurts, Mark. It hurts watching you give your heart to someone who keeps dropping it, when I would hold it like it was the most precious thing in the universe. Not like it’s invincible.”

Mark’s head snaps up at that, hurt flashing across his face before he can hide it, not that you’re even really looking at him.

“That’s not fair,” he says, voice tight, defensive in a way you’ve rarely heard directed at you, “She’s not dropping it. She’s trying. You don’t know everything that’s going on with her.”

A hollow laugh slips out of you, sharp around the edges.

“I know enough, Mark.” You swipe at your cheeks, frustrated when more tears follow immediately after, “I know she cancels. I know she disappears. I know you sit there pretending it doesn’t bother you while you pick at cold fries and tell me it’s fine.”

His jaw clenches, shoulders squaring like he’s bracing for impact from the last place he has ever expected it, “She’s dealing with a lot,” he insists, “More than most people. You can’t just— just judge her like that.”

“I’m not judging her,” you shoot back, voice cracking despite your best effort, “I’m judging the way you keep getting hurt and acting like it doesn’t matter.”

Silence snaps between you, tense and humming. You take a shaky breath, forcing the words out before fear can swallow them again.

“You deserve someone who shows up, Mark. Every time. Not when it’s convenient for them, or when the world isn’t on fire. Every time. Big shit, small shit. All of it, Mark.”

“She does show up,” he says, quieter now, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. His eyes flicker, uncertainty creeping in, but stubborn loyalty holding the line steady, “You just… don’t see it.”

Your shoulders sag, exhaustion washing over you in a heavy wave as you speak softly, “I see you, Mark.”

Silence swallows the parking lot. You finally turn to look at him, and the expression on his face makes your stomach drop.

It’s a mixture of everything you wouldn’t want it to be in this moment. Shock, confusion, guilt. Love nowhere to be found.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

The words are soft and gentle. Careful. Like he’s afraid anything louder might break you completely.

“I… I didn’t know,” he continues, running a hand through his hair, eyes darting anywhere but your face, “You’re my best friend. You mean everything to me, and I never wanted to hurt you or anything.”

Each sentence lands like a slow, steady bruise. He slides off the hood of the car, movements stiff, uncertain. The distance between you grows by a few inches, then a few more, until the warmth of his shoulder is gone entirely.

“I think… I should go,” he murmurs.

Another apology sits heavy in the air, unspoken but obvious. You nod, slipping off the hood as well, because speaking feels impossible now. Because if you open your mouth, you’re afraid the sound that comes out will be something broken and unrecognizable.

He hesitates for a second, like he wants to say more. Like he wishes there was a version of this night that didn’t end with both of you standing on opposite sides of an invisible fault line.

But there isn’t.

So he climbs into the car, starts the engine, and pulls out of the parking lot, red taillights shrinking into the darkness until they disappear completely.

And you’re left sitting under the streetlight alone, heart cracked wide open, finally empty of all the secrets… and possibly down one best friend.

Next Part>>>

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So you were a woman in this universe? How interesting…

He’s never felt this seeing you before. Odd. His eyes rake over your body. Calculating. Invasive.

Mark’s grip tightens around you, grounding but unsteady as you feel his chest rise with labored breaths. “What? You know the [Name] from you’re dimension too, you piece of shit?” He snarls, wincing when he reopens a wound on his bloodied lip. You bring your hand up, the pads of your shaking fingers sealing the tear instinctively. His eyes are cold, trained on his variant with a hostility you pray to never evoke—a stark contrast to his warm hold on your waist.

“Knew,” the caped Mark corrects, his shoulders rising and falling in a casual shrug as he lands gracefully before the two of you, the surrounding grass seemingly bending at his presence. “He was a great guy, you know? Had his whole life sorted out. Stable job, good friends, typical college shit. Was a good fuck someyimes too.” He waves his wrist dismissively, gaze locking onto you with a look that could almost be described as mourning.

Almost.

His jaw goes taut beneath his blood-stained skin, lip pulled into a scowl, allowing his sharpened canines to glint beneath the sun. You barely have time to react when he violently pries you from Mark’s grasp, his forearm locking around your throat in a vice grip while his breath fans the shell of your ear.

“I fucking hated him.” The prior bemusement in his voice vanishes, replaced by sinister, deep-rooted vindication that has you shuddering even though it’s not directed towards you. Well, you you. “But hey,” he chuckles darkly, the humorless tones ringing heavy in the air while his arm tightens around your throat, making it more and more difficult to breathe with every passing second, “at least he tasted good.”

You aren’t sure whether the burning in your throat stems from the lack of air or the tears that welled in your eyes for the nth time in the last few hours. Disgust crawls up your spine in nauseous waves as he licks a stray tear up the plane of your cheek, biting down on the wet skin.

All you can do is scream, writhing in his iron grip in a vain attempt to get away from him. It only serves to drive his teeth deeper into your cheek, your blood on his tongue like an oasis in the desert.

He moans at the taste, the sound perverse and vile to your ears. How he’s missed this…He should've savored you more. But the more of this version of you he tastes, the less bad he feels for killing his version of you off so quickly. Here you’re so addictingly sweet, and even though it’s a barely noticeable difference, he’s hooked.

The torn flesh of your cheek melds around his voracious and unrelenting assault, doing its best to pull itself together to no avail. He pauses at the feeling, pulling away slightly to watch the skin warp back into place, eyes darkening with unfiltered desire as he licks remnants of your blood from his lips, that feeling from before coming back stronger than ever. Yes, he recognizes it now.

Lust.

“Well, would you look at that?” He smirks, nose nuzzling against your trembling cheek, “Looks like there’s something of value in at least one version of you. Hell, mine couldn’t even heal a papercut if he tried!”

Oh, this version of you truly was perfect. He can’t help the salacious grin that curls at his lips or the way his tongue instinctively runs over his bloodied teeth.

His free hand travels up the expanse of your navel, settling between the valley of your breasts.

Just how much could you heal? Your bones? Your heart? What he would give to find out…

He’s going to have so much fun watching you fall apart and come back together, sprawled beneath him while he ravages you.

Over and over again.

The tips of his fingers gouge through your skin, and he relishes in the way you cry out; a siren’s song to his deranged ears.

In his daze, he doesn’t register the quick, unaimed grab your Mark makes toward him, prying the variant off you in a violent rage, and shattering his arm with a squeeze of his hand. “Get your disgusting hands off of her!”

The caped Mark has the audacity to look shocked for the briefest of moments, lips parted as he stares down at his now deformed arm, its bones jutting out unnaturally in every direction. On the ground next to them, you wheeze, desperate for the new breath that fills your lungs while simultaneously coughing on choked cries that bubble past your lips.

Your Mark spares you a terrified glance over his twisted double’s shoulder, his momentary distraction allowing the latter to land a solid hit to his abdomen. He keens at the sudden punch, but reacts instinctively to dodge the fist aimed at his skull.

The two take to the sky, their fight a barely perceptible flurry of black, blue, and yellow; an unstoppable force and an immovable object clashing with you at the center of it all. They crash in the field around you occasionally, the ground crumbling beneath the weight of their bodies like sand before they shoot up again, seemingly faster every time.

You can only watch with bated breath as your Mark grabs the variant’s yellow cape, desperation finally cracking through his determined expression as he chokes him out. You can’t hear their conversation from your place below, but you stare as your Mark’s nostrils flare while his malicious double shakily cackles in his grasp, his one good hand clawing at Mark’s wrists.

None of you sees the first ReAniman fall from the sky, landing atop the two Invincibles with a solid thud and sending them all crashing headfirst into solid ground, causing it to splinter around them. Another appears, ripping your Mark away before zeroing in on the hostile variant. Dozens more follow suit, each of their iron-clad fists pounding and hitting with each crazed roar they let out.

Deep down, you know it’s far from enough to kill him, even with a broken arm and number disadvantage. But you can’t help but melt into the safety of Mark’s arms when he rushes over to you, sobbing into his bruised chest while he whispers reassurances into the crown of your head.

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

And you believe him. Of course, you do, because despite it all, he’s still your Mark above all else. The same Mark who wouldn’t stop bugging you about Seance Dog since you were in elementary school, and the same Mark who still eagerly took you to your senior prom with a stupid grin on his face, even though his new responsibilities as a hero often kept him busy.

No, he was yours. Not some fucked up variant with a male—dead—version of you.

You shudder remembering their lustful touches on your skin. So similar, yet so wrong compared to Mark’s.

Amidst the chaos of clammoring fists and pained yells, a drone floats down.

“Cecil…” You hear Mark murmur, his arms tightening around you, acting as a barricade between you and whoever’s on the other side of the drone.

“Mark! Thought we lost you there for a bit, kid.”

“What do you want?” Mark’s voice is strained, tepid as he swallows thickly. You press your hand to his ribs, watching each shift in his expression while you attempt to heal the worst of his wounds. He spares you a thankful glance before staring cautiously at the drone, the lenses of his goggles broken beyond recognition.

“You know, the GDA could use an ability like that.”

Mark stiffens almost instantly, jaw tightening as his eyes narrow into a deathly glare. “Like hell she’s gonna work for you. Now, what do you want, Cecil?”

The person behind the drone sighs wearily in a similar fashion that a parent would when scolding a bratty child. “We want to offer protection to you and your family. It’s the least we can do.” There’s a contemplative pause on the other end, and you jump when the caped Mark from before cries out, no doubt tearing through the ReAnimen with terrifying ease. “We’ve already got Debbie and Paul, but your brother’s still out there. Somewhere. Probably fighting.”

“You took my mom—?!”

“Let me finish, damn it!” Another sigh, this one far more frustrated. “She and Paul are currently at the Pentagon with us, and as lovely as it would be to finally meet your girlfriend in person, it would be too much of a risk to host both of them in the same location.”

“So what are you suggesting?” Reluctant acceptance. Not ideal, but it’s a start.

“Guardians HQ. One of the most secure locations you can reach on such short notice.”

“You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m taking her there!” Mark’s voice cracks with frustration, sneering at the camera on the drone as he sucks his teeth.

“Look, Mark. I don’t care what you decide, but if you want to keep her safe, you better make a choice now because our little friend over there is about to finish tearing through five million dollars worth of government funding and American tax dollars.”

“Cecil! When I get my hands on you—!” The variant’s angered screams cut through the thick silence, the ground quivering beneath your feet as he’s slammed into the ground again and again. Even then, he still gets up, barely phased by the horde unleashed upon him. “I’ll. Rip. You. To. Shreds!” Each word emphasized by a brutal punch to the closest ReAnimen.

Mark watches with an almost macabre fascination, his arms trembling around you as he turns back to the drone.

—

viltrum mark (smut warning: male masturbation and talks of pregnancy)

You knew you were in for it when you’d brought up the prospect of children to Mark. You remembered the way his usually neutral expression darkened, a haze of lust overtaking his expression, only perceptible to you because of how long you’ve spent by his side.

It had been an off-hand comment. One made when you were half-delirious from fatigue during an open house event, tucked into his side, your finger trailing intimately up his chest while you watched the people of Viltrum dance in a rare show of celebration after a hard-fought (and won) conquest over a lesser planet.

You’d watched as parents danced with their children; some of them were born of foreign blood, every other one a different color, with only some lucky enough to take features from their foreign parent; all so insanely different, yet all still so wholly Viltrumite.

You turned to Mark that night, half leaning on his sturdy form, and cradled his strong jaw in your hand while you admired each line of his face. He, too, was no exception from the rampant Viltrumite genes that seemed to plague all of their offspring, but even then, you couldn’t help but wonder if your children would take after you or him.

“Something on your mind?” His words had cut through the fog of your scattered thoughts like a solid punch, his eyes now solely on you instead of the people of his empire, their undeniable warmth setting butterflies loose in the pits of your stomach. You’d felt his fingers overlap yours, his concern evident in the way he gently kissed your palm.

“What do you think our children would look like?” It was nothing more than a gentle, soft-spoken question stemmed from genuine curiosity, one laced with exhaustion and a bit of liquid courage.

And yet…

The world seemed to go still despite the cacophony of celebration around you. Mark’s grip had tightened on the arm of his throne so tightly that all of the nearby attendants had just barely flinched at the sound of denting metal. You swear his eyes darkened by at least three hues as they scanned your face, and you could feel how the hand holding yours had trembled with barely withheld temptation.

However, Mark merely smirked, humoring your half-baked thoughts with a tepid hum to crack the silence. The smallest quirk of his lips that had your heart thundering in your chest and a jolt of heat down your spine. You blinked, and it was gone.

But, he’d heard it, of course, he had. The bastard.

So he took the reins.

“Well, what do you think they would look like?” He’d asked, voice laced with an uncharacteristic teasing lilt. Only his eyes seemed to betray his amusement; the rest of his face the same collected expression it always had been when the two of you were out in public.

You’d brought your free hand up and pinched your chin between your thumb and forefinger whilst trying to conjure the image of your potential child in his mind’s eye. Beside you, Mark leaned in just a tad closer to gauge every shift in your expression, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

“They’d have your nose,” you started slowly, shyly glancing up with a flustered scowl. Your thumb seemed to move on its own when it gently traced up the slightly crooked bridge. His eyes crinkled as he leaned into the touch, still yearning for the feel of you even after all these years. “Maybe your shoulders. Definitely your hair.”

“My nose?”

Your brows pinched as you shoved him away playfully by the shoulder, earning the concerned glances of nearby retainers, who can only watch with bated breath while their emperor takes the blow. “I love your nose.”

“I don’t recall deeming it a bad thing,” he shrugged, his gaze flickering down to your parted lips in a way that could only be described as sin incarnate, “but I’d prefer our child to take on more of your features.”

That has you go stock-still, heat creeping up your cheeks while your mouth goes dry.

Truly, this man would be the death of you.

“Like your smile," he added with a fleeting kiss to your wrist, “your brows,” another kiss, “and, most importantly, your eyes.” A third kiss, weighted and smoldering.

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at the absurdity if you’d tried. “My eyes, really? That’s what’s most important to you? A shame since I quite like yours.”

“I love your eyes,” he echoed, blunt and straightforward, yet adoring all the same.

“Yeah?” Your hand fell to his chest, just above the Viltrumite crest where his heart resided, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath your fingertips, and unable to stop the fond smile from tugging at your lips at the intimacy.

“Of course.” Stars above, he adored the look of love in your eyes—your innate ability to look past the monster he was to the rest of the galaxy and remind him that he, too, was merely just a man.

Then, without another word, he turned back to face the crowd, one hand holding yours, while the other mussed his perfectly styled hair as a weak form of distraction before he rested his chin on his knuckles. To anyone else, it appeared as though their emperor was merely getting tired of the festivities, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

If anything, he was grateful for whatever it was here that made you finally want to take the next step.

The night continued on without any mention of the interaction, but the lingering tension between the emperor and his empress had been made clear, and it was safe to say that the event had been cut short, much to your relief.

You’d tugged Mark along to your shared room that night with a soft, knowing smile, aware of the heat behind his stare and the implications tied to it. Your usually stoic husband was nowhere to be seen; in his place, a ravenous beast with only one goal in mind.

If only you hadn’t passed out as soon as your head had hit the pillow. Maybe then you would have caught a better glimpse of how deep Mark’s hunger ran—how his eyes roved over every curve of your perfect body beneath the thin sleeping garment you’d slipped on without much thought, from the dip of your collarbone, to the most minuscule shift of your hips.

He huffed a breath through his nose and glanced down at the throbbing problem between his legs, the tent in his royal event attire shamefully prominent.

Maybe if he’d woken you, you would’ve gotten your first real taste of how dedicated Mark could be to getting you pregnant.

He’d pondered the idea, truly, he did. Thought of how you’d feel, all sleepy and pliant beneath him, unable to do anything but run your fingers through his hair or scratch at his back.

Or maybe he’d pin your hands up. Yeah, he supposed that worked, too.

He’d take his time, he surmised, running rough hands over the expanse of your soft skin while you moaned his name like it was the only word you knew.

Instead, he pulled a blanket over you, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple before he made his way to the bathroom connected to your suite.

He initially squinted at the stark fluorescent lights when he flicked them on, but was quick to dim them before a headache could settle behind his eyes. It wasn’t long before he found himself beneath the familiar warm spray of his shower whilst he replayed your words from earlier on in the night.

Children, huh?

The thought of breeding you had wormed its way into his head, injecting itself into his conquest-fuelled brain like an addictive drug long before you’d brought it up. Long before the two of you were married, actually. But, while unconventional by his father’s standards, whose first instinct was always to breed first, court later, he waited; bided his time until the opportunity presented itself.

Because, unlike his father, Mark had no plans of ever becoming intimate with another, no matter how much his people and the council begged and pleaded. All he needed was you, and he wanted you to be comfortable with the idea of having children—his children, to be exact. So, no, he remembered snapping at his father, the wait had never bothered him.

(Not that he’d ever let you have anyone else’s. He’d sooner cut off all of the pathetic, leaking dicks of every soldier under his command before even thinking to entertain such blasphemous thoughts.)

He let his hands roam his body, imagining the ghost of your soft touch in place of his calloused, battle-hardened hands.

He’d always heeded your request for protection, no matter how uncomfortable the earthly rubber felt clinging to his shaft, and when you allowed him the heavenly reprieve of taking you raw, you were always on medication—a pill unfortunately crafted by some of the best doctors on your side of the galaxy. Strong enough to keep even the most potent Viltrumite sperm at bay.

It had been so long since he had any desire to touch himself, especially when he had you to satiate his needs. He finds it almost pathetic how hard he is.

His hand had found its way to his leaking cock, his thumb circling the tip in slow, curated circles that had him, Viltrum’s cold and composed emperor, involuntarily shuddering at the mere thought of you carrying his heir. His head tilted back, exposing the column of his neck to the comforting stream of scalding water that he imagined to be your mouth instead.

His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, eyes pinched shut as images of you fluttered behind his eyelids. All the positions he’d taken you in, the sounds you made when you held onto him for dear life while he fucked you into the matress with the might of a man who’s made planets crumble beneath his palm, softened only by his unending desire to love only you.

For you were never something to be conquered or taken. No. You were his wife, his equal in everything.

It didn’t take long for the sight of you to shift in his brain.

What were once memories bled into possibilities.

You, round with his child, yet still regal all the same. A maternal aura around your ethereal being in his mind, your smile directed only towards him, before falling to your stomach, where your hand caressed the fruits of your shared labor and the future heir to his throne.

He spared a glance down at the hand wrapped too tightly around the length of his shaft, the tip of it flushed red and swollen with want despite his generous strokes. He felt the familiar feeling of a pending orgasm build within the depths of his stomach, his abs clenched taut in anticipation, but it never came, only leaked from his head in a pathetic, thin streams of need and a desire to be buried deep inside your warm cunt.

His strokes became more vigorous, his arm curled over his head while he leaned against the shower wall.

He’d murmured your name like a prayer beneath his breath, each twist of his wrist fuelled by the idea of you cradling his child in your loving arms in the near future. He always knew you’d be a great mother.

—

random ass angst idk

“You aren’t listening to me, Mark.” Exasperation ebbs into your tone as you rub the bridge of your nose in an attempt to quell the churning ball of fire in the pit of your stomach. Neither you nor Mark had opted to take off your costumes outside of your headgear after finally recuperating since the invasions of the variants, and, to be fair, the conversation started amicably at first, but it didn’t take long for it to spiral, leading you to now, both of your fists clenched on opposite sides of the kitchen of your shared apartment.

You heave a sigh, leaning against your fridge and finding small comfort in the way the cold metal presses against your cheek. The Invincible magnet hangs close to your eye, just barely brushing another that holds your hero insignia. Another sigh threatens to break past your lips when you turn back to your usually emotive boyfriend, but you manage to choke it back by dragging your hand tiredly down your face.

Mark remains silent on the other side of the kitchen, and you can see his jaw clench the same way it always does whenever he holds his tongue.

“Where were you?” You finally start again after a moment of tense silence, voice barely above a whisper but impossibly loud to his inhuman hearing. Maybe you were kicking a dead horse at this point, but you needed answers. “You were gone twelve fucking hours, Mark. Where. Were. You?”

His lips part, then close, then open once more. He swallows down the bile threatening his throat the second he speaks.

“With Eve.”

He watches the plethora of emotions that cross your face, ranging between betrayal and unbridled rage before you ultimately school your temper. God, all he wants to do is reach out to you and hold you close, whispering his apologies into the crown of your head. He’s internally pleading for you to say anything as the minutes tick on. Maybe he’s a masochist, but he doesn’t allow himself the liberty of breaking your stare.

He wishes so desperately to turn back the clock; to kill Angstrom before he had the chance to ruin his life.

But, unfortunately, this fault didn’t lie with Angstrom.

Your stare, once confused, now pierces through him, not as Mark, but as Invincible, the hero who turned his back on Earth during its time of need to stay at the bedside of a friend. A tired “Why?” is all you can muster, shoulders slumped as if weighed down by his answer.

One word. That’s all it took to shake Mark’s already unsteady resolve. The slump in your shoulders and the slight crack in your voice has his hand twitching at his side, drawn to you like a compass pointing north. He watches with tear-brimmed eyes as you sigh to yourself, unable to meet his gaze as you nearly shut down after what could have easily been hours of arguing for all he knows.

Mark swallows, his voice trembling as he responds despondently. “I couldn’t lose another friend. She needed me there, [Name].”

Your brows furrow involuntarily and you take a step closer, pointing accusingly at him while the words dry in your throat. All you can do is stare at him emptily while you try to slowly process his words—he’s not serious, is he? He holds your gaze pleadingly, running his hand through his hair, tousling the already messy locks. His other hand holds onto the counter, cracks appearing on the polished granite despite the little force applied.

Oh. He is.

“What about Rex?” Another tentative step. “He was a friend too, wasn’t he? He needed you.” You can hear the pathetic tremble in your own voice, the feeling of fresh tears burning your overworked tear ducts. “Or the hundreds of thousands of people left to die because Invincible wasn’t there to protect them. They needed you—still do, actually.” Your chest is nearly touching his now, protected only by your crossed arms as your voice rises an octave. “Or even me, Mark. I—fuck, this is so stupid.”

You feel his palm on your shoulder alongside a tender whisper of your name when you turn away, but he’s quick to drop it when he feels the muscles tense beneath his palm.

“They could have attacked her!” His frustration is evident in the way his eyes shut, jaw clenched tight enough to shatter his own teeth. “I’m the only one who could’ve protected her.”

Deep down he knows he should just stop talking, but his brain is too inebriated to be able to stop the words from flowing out.

“Are you fucking hearing yourself? She’s a superhero, Mark! And I doubt Cecil would have let anyone come close without busting that goddamn teleporter first.” You gesture wildly to the empty space around you. “These people don’t have that luxury!” The simmering rage beneath your skin falters upon seeing the tears stream down his bruised and bandaged cheeks, and you fight the growing urge to pull him into your arms and wipe them away. Instead, you double down, your words far more venomous than you anticipated. “Debbie doesn’t have that luxury.”

Your hand flies to your lips, eyes wide with instant regret at how easily the low blow slipped from your tongue.

Fuck, the fatigue of recent events was really starting to get to both of you.

For the first time since the argument started, he squares his shoulders, taken aback by the direct attack. “Don’t bring mom into this.” His words are stern, an unspoken warning that puts you on high alert. His cheeks are still wet with tears, but his gaze is now guarded; tense.

Yet, even though your skin prickles beneath the sudden hardness of his stare, you can’t help but scoff, puffing your chest up defensively while your fingers dig crescents into your arms beneath your suit, the fight almost entirely drained from your body. “She could’ve died.” The words are nothing more than a tired murmur, but they tilt Mark’s world on its axis nonetheless.

“What?” Just as quickly as his defenses are put up, they’re torn down, and you can see the conflict clouding his sunken eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

You swallow thickly, licking your lips as the sound of thunder rumbles in the distance. Part of you wonders why Cecil hadn’t told him, but the man most likely had his reasons. Whatever convoluted slop they may be.

“One of your variants broke into your mom’s house,” you start slowly, the memories of that night coming back in broken fragments that had previously been locked away.

It doesn’t take a genius to see the way you curl into yourself protectively, your previous rage simmered down to an unreadable amalgamation of feelings as you take a generous step away from Mark who feels his already fractured heart nearly shatter in his chest. He calls your name out, voice cracking when you put even more distance between the two of you.

The counter splinters in his grasp unintentionally and you can’t hide the jolt that travels up your spine at the loud sound.

It’s only for the briefest of seconds, but he sees his deepest fear come to fruition in the form of your scared face directed towards him.

You steady your breathing, trying not to look at the shattered counter. “I had a feeling something was wrong, so I went to check on your mother, and when I got there,” you gulp, attempting to suppress the tremor that racks your whole body, “he—he was pretending to be you. He’d called out to your mom in an attempt to lure her out. And I’d rushed in thinking Debbie was still inside the house.”

Mark’s heart stills, cold terror washing over him. Suddenly, he’s aware of the gooseflesh beneath his suit, the bile he’d previously swallowed now coming back at full force.

---------

- Unfortunately for you, Cecil’s knee jerk reaction was to come up with an excuse to fire you. Donald, who was not stupid enough to miss your lingering glances or Cecil’s softer hand, managed to talk him out of it at the last second. What followed was a whole lot of avoidance and metaphorically stomping these newfound affections to death under his shoe to no avail. Everyday, he saw you, with that sweet little smile. Everyday, you pretended to make too much coffee as an excuse to give him something. Everyday, you took care to have your finger brush against his as you exchanged cups. Cecil had never noticed it before, but now, it was glaring, and, most of all, it wasn’t helping anything. Recently, you had even bought him a mug that had ‘World’s Best Boss’ printed on the front. You weren’t being subtle anymore, Cecil Stedman was definitively not the ‘world’s best boss.’

- In the end, you do end up fired. Cecil was unable to stop himself from feeling insurmountably fond of you. Not only did it irritate him, it was dangerous. You were dangerous. He couldn’t have any loose ends, no one who could be used against him. Cecil Stedman was a man with a lot of enemies, most of which would not hesitate at snatching up whatever weakness of his that they could find. A small smile toyed with your lips. “So, I’m your weakness?” Cecil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. That wasn’t the point. Donald will help you find a new job, see you never, kid.

- Except never becomes two months later when happenstance brought you into his life again. No longer his subordinate, but someone who had just experienced a tragic accident, your veins were a livewire of fire and electricity, your own tears burning the skin of your cheeks as they fell. Even now, so utterly broken and so different from the coy employee he had known, Cecil still felt that traitorous spark of affection deep in his chest.

- “Get up.” It came out harsher than he intended. You flinched away when he reached for you, lightning snapping against your skin. For a moment, he hesitated, before twitching his fingers and inviting your palm against his. After so long, you had never thought that your first time touching Cecil Stedman would be like this. Cecil lightened his tone as soft as it would go. “Come on. Don’t make me stand here all day. I’ll—” He coughed to cover up his mistake “— We’ll take care of you.”

- At least he wasn’t your boss anymore.

Conquest

- Your assignment was… not ideal, but it wasn’t like you had much of a choice on the matter. A Viltrumite had their place in society and this was yours. Carefully — <i>cautiously</i> — you watched Conquest as you tried to judge if you were allowed to approach him. His lips curled, twisted into a crooked tooth smile upon his scarred face. You had seen power before, you <i>were</i> power, there was no forgetting that, but becoming Conquest’s protege was, in short, terrifying. You knew that if you were not strong enough, you would be killed. That was the way of your people and, though you were young, you were an adult and you had to accept this. No one liked a whiner. Without saying a word, Conquest took off, and you trailed after him, fighting as hard as you could to keep up. Distantly, you could hear him laugh. All you could do in response was purse your lips into a single annoyed line.

- Years turned into decades and decades into centuries. At the very end of it all, you were a force to be reckoned with, Conquest’s merciful shadow. Where he relished in the kill, you made the destruction quick and painless, two sides of the same coin. Over the course of the endless years, something of a camaraderie had formed. At first, Conquest was cruel to you — as was expected of your betters — prone to swatting you about like a gnat or forcing you to struggle in order to keep up with him between assignments. Ultimately kinder than others, but still harsh. Now, though, he had taken to talking to you. Well, more like… at you. Always quiet, always stalwart, you listened obediently to whatever story or tale that Conquest found himself willing to bestow onto you. To you, he was simply providing you wisdom with which you could learn from. To Conquest, he was grateful for the company, something that you would chide him about as you picked a piece of entrail from your suit. The thought made him chuckle, seemingly at nothing, and all you did in response was raise your eyebrow.

- Conquest knew why he was given an apprentice. He was supposed to kill you, or at least that was what your superiors had assumed that he would do. They were all afraid of him, and you were too, many years ago. Not anymore, though. Testing his theory, Conquest jerked toward you. Nary a flinch, only a single cocked eyebrow. He was not supposed to find himself this fond, that was not an emotion meant for a Viltrumite— but neither was loneliness, was it?

- This cat and mouse, it was more amusing to Conquest than anything had in a long time. Goading you into a fight that you would never take made his heart pound right out his chest at the thought of you finally taking the bait and breaking his nose. You didn’t know that he wouldn’t kill you, all he would do was beat you into a pretty little pulp. All of that self-preservation you had kept you from giving him the fight of his life. Before Conquest told you about this horrible affection that had scrambled his brains more than they had ever been before, he wanted to feel your knuckles buried into his flesh. He wondered if you’d break your hand against his chest, he wondered if he’d be able to bite a chunk out of you to get a taste of your insides. Wouldn’t that be nice?

- In the end, all it took was an offer to spar. If he had known it would be this simple, he would have done this a long time ago. Conquest invited you forward with spead arms and a near manic smile. Your blow did break his nose and send him skidding back into a cliff face. When his next move was to headbutt you, slamming his forehead into your orbital, you barely flinched save for a grunt. It wasn’t until he moved to do it again, only to capture your lips into a bruising kiss did you jerk back, hovering in the air with your hand covering your mouth and a deep flush on your cheeks.

- “C’mon. See if you can get one from me,” Again, Conquest goaded you. Finally, as a broad grin stretched wide enough to show off your canines, you shot forward.

Ever since he found you, weirdly hiding in an alleyway by the way, you just never stopped screaming and crying. Why were you yelling for help when you were already in his arms? He was helping you. And, he also only killed that man who was trying to pull you back down from the ground because he put his hands on you. You were his now so all of these men, and these slimy, worthless boys, needed to back the fuck off! Like now.

This Mark knew what he wanted. Chaos, free comics and women. He was tired of being nice, that got him nowhere before. So, you need to understand why he was so mad yiu didn’t like the gift.

He was nice enough to find you a place to stay, a random already decorated apartment so you and him didn’t have to waste time “decorating” it.

He was nice enough to get you food, so what it had blood on it just fucking eat it, okay?

And, he was nice enough to get you a heart. It was a fucking symbol of love for crying out loud!

What’s this? You want to go back “home?”

Well, this is weird because you already are home. You moved, remember? This is your new home, keep up!

He tried telling you this but then you just started punching him and throwing stuff. He’s never been so confused. Were you drunk or something? High maybe? How come you didn’t share any of it with him? It’s exhausting killing innocent people, sometimes when he comes home he just wants a nice, home cooked meal like his stupid mom used to make and a blunt. Is that too much to ask for?

If you were hiding blunts from him you were so gonna pay!

And how come you didn’t cook anyway? Why did you just cry on the couch, and, also, why did you try jumping out the window the other day? This is a pretty high floor and you stupid body would get really broken if you actually hit the ground. Lucky for your stupid ass he saved you right before you hit it. Youre really dumb you know that?

Oh, you were trying to kill yourself. Hm. Okay…. Well why on earth would you want to do that?

He’s been nothing but kind to you, and, yet, here you were again being so ungrateful. He saved your life and all you could do was say you “hate” him. Which, was obviously a lie.

Did you want a new apartment maybe? Or a mansion? He would ask.

No, you can’t go back to your place and your parents/family/whatever are gone. He got rid of them ages ago. They were actually just as weird as you, yelling about bringing you back and how he’s such a “monster”. How is he a monster when he’s so kind? He’s a simple boy. It wasnt his fault people were so mean and he had to put them in their place.

Oh, the innocent people? Most of them were just on his way honestly. So, not his fault. The others just were really bad at listening. He said to be his slave not run away and curse at him! It’s not his fault they were so fragile either. A simple punishment had them dying on the spot and how was he supposed to know he was dealing with meat bags and not quality property?

Angstrom was so fucking screwed for letting this be his option for an empire.

That’s why when he saw you, he was happy, okay? You were the perfect wife. Those sluts he fucked a week ago? They were just entertainment. To get his dick wet. Plus, he killed them because he fucked them “too hard” and also that’s not his fault, alright? Why did you even cry when he told you that? Are you really crying over people you didn’t even know, god you were so sensitive. They literally died happy, moaning on his dick. :)

And, could you please stop screaming when he ate? Sometime, your food just sucked. An arm was way better. Lots of nutrients and stuff. Tasty. You should try it sometimes.

He hates complaining about anyone, but if you wanted to make this work you just had to stop this nonsense.

He was so relieved when you did finally stopped crying a month later. That nonchalant, tear dried expression was beautiful on you. Perfect grounds for him to make you happy now! He didn’t think it’s work before because you probably couldn’t hear him over the crying. (You were so so loud).

He getting was close to ripping out your voice box there!

You should stop wearing those sweats and wear some tighter stuff now that you feel better, too. Don’t you know he can hardly see your ass in those baggy pants?

Things were so much better now. You finally stopped hitting him and let him touch your boobs! They were so soft. And you finally let him kiss you too! You tasted so much better than those whores. You tears even made your lips taste better.

You were just so perfect now don’t you know that? You stopped the yelling and crying and just sat there like how a good housewife should. Quiet, obedient. Beautiful.

Oh, turn that tv off.

Stop watching the news. All Cecil and the cia is doing is trying to scare you. No one is going to “find him” and he’s not missing he’s right here where he belongs. How could they say they were hunting for him when he’s trying to start a nice family here? Like a good man should! He treats you so so well too. Cecil is just evil.

No one is ever going to find you or him so don’t worry your pretty, little head. Okay?