#invincible fics

Thragg x WonderWoman!reader

You're his woman, his wife, his beloved everything. The woman that will bear his children and bring honor to his Empire. You just don't know that yet. So when you pummel him into the ground for trying to take over Earth, the old man just can't help but blush. You're elegant, you're strong, you defeated him in combat basically Viltrumite for "I want to have your children, let us mate." You made him submit, and you didn't even gloat in your victory. "Never come back to Earth again, understood?" But also not understood, because why would he leave Earth when his beloved—you—is there?

He'll learn everything about Earthling culture, especially how to court you correctly, because a woman like you can't escape from his grasp. He doesn't care who he has to fight or who he must conquer you will be his. He heard that you were from an island filled with women. How interesting. But then again, it delights him. You've never felt the touch of a man a strong man, a powerful man like himself. He will fix that.

Of course, you're a princess. Amazing. He's Grand Regent, or in Earthling terms, an emperor. So it's perfect for both of your factions. You're a warrior princess; he's a conqueror. Perfection. He doesn't understand why you like to fight with that silly lasso or sword and shield, but he'll respect it. He'd rather have more hands-on altercations.

But another thing with Grand Regent Thragg is that he's very forward and I mean very, very forward. "We should get married," he'll say after saving Earth from an alien invasion for you, for the benefit of courting you.

"You hardly know anything about me!" you'd argue countless times, but he can list off ten fun facts and more about everything you like to do. How does he know any of that stuff? Well, Kregg and Tula have been his happy little spies.

He'll try to take you out on "dates," but of course, no Earth clothes can truly fit his physique. His body almost tore through a suit once when he tried to impress you. Sure, you've got to give it to him he's doing an amazing job bettering himself for you, for the safety of the Earth. So you humor him now and again.

One time he heard about getting a woman flowers and a bear as a present for a first date, so he flew all the way to Japan to get a blossoming sakura and got the cutest little baby bear from Russia for you. He was supposed to get a toy bear and regular flowers from a flower shop, but he thought these were much more appropriate options. And you can't help but be slightly charmed by it, even though your sisters back at Themyscira would likely scoff and roll their eyes.

And so you humor him some more. Maybe you're not even humoring him anymore.

"All right, if you were to get married, how would it go?" you asked on one of your flying dates.

"Easy. We would have a ceremonial Viltrumite wedding in which you would wear my colors and I would wear yours. Then we would mate and have at least six children."

You choked on the air. Was it the atmosphere? "Six?" you coughed a little, giving a nervous chuckle.

"Yes. Every Emperor has six children. I must follow in the footsteps of the emperors before me," he said simply, as a matter of fact.

"Four children," you appealed.

"Five."

"Four."

"Okay, why four?"

"I like even numbers."

Out of all the heroes in the Guardians, yours is his favorite.

GDA!Mark hides the biggest nerd in the entire Global Defense Agency. He’s supposed to be one of the most disciplined agents on duty calm, collected, and professional. But the truth? He’s a total geek, and his favorite hero in the world just happens to be you the Blue Comet.

Mark can’t believe he’s working alongside his idol. Every time he sees you in action, his heart practically short-circuits. But he has to keep a level head. Cecil would have his hide if he caught him fanboying on the job. So, Mark keeps his cool front, voice steady, posture perfect, pretending he’s not internally screaming every time you flash that confident grin.

He loves your cocky attitude, the way you brag after every victory, the way your curls bounce when you toss your head back. You’re fast, fearless, and a little arrogant everything he wishes he could be. The rest of the GDA would probably get sick of him, but he wouldn’t care. To him, you’re the coolest, prettiest hero alive.

After a quick takedown of a D-level villain, you stand in front of a cheering crowd, basking in the attention.

“You know, I could always give you my autograph!” you tease, brushing your curls out of your face.

“No,” Mark says automatically through his mask, voice flat and professional. But under that helmet, he’s giggling and blushing like a fool. His favorite hero just offered him an autograph.

“Huh! I’m the fastest, you know!” you huff, stomping your foot like an impatient rabbit.

“You’re reckless, that’s what you are,” he replies before flying off, leaving you fuming in front of the crowd.

“God, I hate that guy!” you grumble, crossing your arms.

Meanwhile, inside his helmet, Mark’s losing it. Oh my god, oh my god, he thinks, practically vibrating with excitement. He can’t handle being this close to you.

Your relationship with him is a strange one. You’re used to attention after all, you’re the Blue Comet, Red Rush’s successor. But Mark treats you like you’re just another hero, sometimes even brushing you off entirely. It drives you crazy.

“He thinks he’s so cool just because he can fly fast! I’ll show him my speed’s the best there is!” you rant to your teammates.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” Eve laughs, trying to calm you down.

“No way! I’m better than that stale piece of beard!” you snap, still fuming.

What you don’t know is that under his helmet, Mark is barely holding it together. He’s working alongside his favorite hero constantly thanks to Cecil’s habit of assigning him to Guardian missions. He gets to see your little pouts when he ignores you, your fiery temper when you lose your cool. He doesn’t want to ignore you; he wants to give you all the attention in the world. But he can’t. He’s GDA. He’s supposed to be composed, elite, untouchable.

MARK AND HIS NINJAHOLIC BOYFRIEND

Cooley note: the disowned ninja prince who refused to marry and rather be a beer drinking kunai throwing alcoholic hero maybe? (Mark grayson x male ninja!reader)

The first time Mark met you, he was tied to a chair in a warehouse that smelled like rust and rain. His captor lean, masked, and humming off-key—had just finished counting a stack of bills when they sighed, tossed the money aside, and muttered, “Client didn’t pay the full amount. Guess you’re free, hot stuff.”

They cut the chains dow with a flick of a blade, smirking as Mark stretched his body. “Sorry about that, didn’t mean to put you through all that bondage today. Cute boys look good tied up, you know what I mean?”

Mark didn’t know whether to run or laugh. He did neither. When you offered to buy him a drink, for the trouble he said yes.

Now, months later, Mark sat in a dim bar watching that same morally ambiguous ninja his morally ambiguous ninjabbelt out a karaoke rendition of a pop song with the enthusiasm of a tipsy god. Your voice cracked halfway through the chorus, but the grin never faltered.

You were a lightweight, a dangerous contradiction of steel and softness. One drink too many and they’d end up blackout drunk, sprawled across Mark’s dorm bed in nothing but boxers, mumbling in Japanese about the moon and love and how his hair smelled like summer rain.

Mark should have been horrified. Instead, he was obsessed.

Your not a hero. Not really. You killed sometimes mercifully, sometimes brutally. Mark had seen the aftermath: blood on your hands, eyes sharp and unreadable. And yet, when you turned to him, something in your expression softened.

He hated how much he liked it. How much he liked you.

You wrote him poems on napkins, whispered sweet nonsense in Japanese, and laughed at his attempts to debunk ninja myths.

“Yes, ninjutsu is real,” you'd say, rolling your eyes. “No, I can’t do a Rasengan. That’s anime, babe.”

The Guardians the city’s shining superhero team adored you. They called you an “asset,” a “wild card,” a “necessary evil.” Mark couldn’t help but feel a sting of jealousy. It had taken him years to earn their approval, and even then, he never quite fit in.

Not in high school. Not in the superhero world. Not anywhere.

But then you came back after a drinking-off with Immortal and putting Rex in a headlock, (showing him real material arts) half-drunk and ranting.

“These are the guys you’ve been so hung up about trying to impress? Jesus, baby, you’re twice as cool as any of them combined. I’d rather drink with a snapping turtle than an Immortal again. That dude’s a douchebag. How do you deal with it?”

Mark blinked, caught between laughter and awe.

“What’s with that face?” you teased, leaning close, eyes glinting under the bar lights. “Come on, I’m only here for this gathering for you.”

And just like that, Mark’s world tilted.

The Guardians, the fame, the expectations all of it faded into background noise.

Because sitting there, drunk and radiant, was his chaotic, bloodstained, poetry-writing ninja prince.

SYNOPSIS: After a long, hard, and brutal fight with the villain of the week, the teen team returns to HQ exhausted. As team leader, you must ensure everyone is okay, especially your team's powerhouse, Invincible.

You have never met a man more reckless than Mark Grayson. You thought you knew recklessness when you met Rex, but you never knew recklessness like his—not at all. He flew into fights without care for his health or well-being, putting himself in danger every step of the way, self-destructed and thrown around. As team leader, you were the only one there to help him after every battle. After each fight, he always came to the med bay for help with his cuts and bruises. You stayed there scolding him, but it always went in one ear and out the other. You can't with this boy; you really can't, but you really do need him. He’s fast, he's agile; for some reason, you always seem to be able to count on him. Even when he's acting like a total ass, you can always count on him to be by your side, ready for anything. So, what you have to do as team leader is to be by his side and help him.

After a brutal battle with the villain of the week, Mark came to the med bay. You were already there waiting, arms crossed and a scowl on your face, glaring at him. Your eyes peered through his mask; his goggles were shattered, and blood was bleeding from his nose, decorating his mask like bright red paint. At this point, it was part of his suit. If Spirit Halloween ever sold Invincible suits, they would have to make sure to add a bucket of paint on the side as well for accuracy, of course. “So, would you mind telling me why downtown has a crater in the sidewalk?” you said, your legs shaking with frustration, and the guy in front of you had nothing to say for himself.

“Well, I thought I could handle it.” You thought you could handle it? The whole room rumbled. “I gave you that comm for a reason—not as an accessory, but to call us when you need backup. You wouldn't have gotten beaten like that if you just called for help. You could have dismantled the villain quicker and ensured there was no damage in the area! Now, I have to file police reports on why there's an asteroid-sized crater in the middle of the street!” you shouted, and the tall boy sighed before running a hand through his jet-black hair. He walked over to where you were sitting, plopped himself down, and started to scratch his neck—a bad habit of his.

“I’m sorry I had you worried.”

Worried? You were more than worried; you were furious, scared, angry, upset—adjectives you could use to describe how you felt right now—a thousand at this moment. But you kept your mouth shut. “I just want to put so much weight on your shoulders already, team leader. I just wanted to give you a break,” he answered.

Now, you started to feel your heart warming, that cold, icy heart of yours melting into a sweet puddle. God, it was so easy for him to make you crumble like this. Hold yourself together, dude! You cannot allow him to think that you’re going to let him off the hook; there will be no lenience! You were going to tell him off, remind him that you are a strong team leader, and that you’re supposed to carry those burdens. “I’m glad that you’re trying to take things off my shoulders. Things are meant to be on my shoulders. I can handle almost anything, and I know you can too. But at the end of the day, we’re just human. We still bleed, and you’re bleeding on my tile floors!” you quipped, getting a chuckle out of him.

“I’m bleeding out of my nose, and I have a black eye. Are you worried about the tile floors, of course? I’m worried about the tile floor!”

“They’re white,” you answered. “Do you know how hard it is to get blood off of white tile floors?” All he could do was laugh, and he turned around to face you, lowering his head. “Alright, alright, I’ll clean them up, so come on. Take care of your doc, or else I'll start bleeding on your precious cape.” You grumbled, pulling his face closer to yours as you took care of the various wounds on his face. Blood still dripped from his nose, but you didn’t mind. You would deal with it later, you thought, every time you pressed the rubbing alcohol to his face. You had to grip his chin to ensure he didn’t pull away while you continued your work.

You started to feel his breath ghost over yours as he pulled himself closer. Your body began to shiver. What was happening to you? You were acting like a schoolgirl with a crush in front of the fifteen-year-old team leader. “Pull yourself together!” you screamed in your head, but when you looked up at him—his dirt-brown eyes staring into yours, his bloody lips, and his broken nose—you couldn't help but think he looked even cuter like this, so disheveled and vulnerable. He was putting all his trust and faith into you, into your hands, as you guided your fingers around those cuts and bruises on his face. You felt your hands begin to tremble as you quickly finished your job, bandaging his nose and eye, then trying to pull away.

“Doc, my head hurts," he whispered softly into your hand.

“I’ll get some Tylenol for that,” you answered softly.

“No,” his voice was firm. “Just stay.”

And you stayed. You were the one giving the orders, and he was the one following them. This was completely different; it was not in the instruction manual. “Just act professional,” you thought, and you rubbed his temple. “Does this feel better?”

He nods into your hands sweetly, making you sigh. "You're such a baby," you say with a playful grin. "I always have to take care of you. At this point, it feels like you’re just trying to get my attention," you ramble, and he pulls you closer. "Is it working? Do I have your attention, Captain?" you gasp. "Yeah, it’s your full attention, 'cause right now I'm feeling sick, and I think I need you to take care of me." He pulls you even closer, and you don't object.

"Be professional, be professional! Your team leader! Be professional!" your mind screams and yells at you, but you're not listening— not at all. I mean, almost any superhero looks strong next to a cute boy, especially when he’s bloodied and beat up. That must be your secret weakness.

He pulls you into a kiss, and you can taste the metallic flavor of his blood on your lips. You pull away because you're about to object, but he pulls you back in for a peck, then another, and another, until you're making out with him in the med bay, tasting the blood on his skin and on yours, feeling him grip you like a vice. His strong body presses against yours, shaking.

You’re the strong, capable leader. How can you be so weak at this moment? How can you allow him to see you in such a way— so vulnerable? But then again, you’d rather have him see you like this than anyone else. He runs a hand through your hair, tangling his fingers in your locks as he pulls you deeper.

His lips bite at yours, drawing just a bit of blood from them before licking it away. His breath is heavy, and he’s panting, but he doesn’t give himself any time to pull away; he's too busy making sure you’re out of breath. You are; you’re pushing and pulling away from him, trying to tell him to stop, but he’s not, and you’re not. Goodness gracious, what has he turned you into?