#invincible fluff

well more like look insanely good behind that cash register.

he asks himself, mind racing a mile a minute, how has he never noticed you before? are you a new employee? why the hell is his heart beating so fast? are you single?

the moment he sees you smile at some customer, he's doomed.

he has to talk to you. he has to-

oh god wait. he's been staring, hasn't he? no no no! what if you think he's some loser or worse a creep. [a weirdo what the hell am i doing hereeeee sorry had to lol]

and when your gazes meet for a split second, he whips his head away way too fast, if he wasn't a viltrumite he definitely would've gotten whiplash, his eyes immediately zeroing on the comic in his hand, which is actually upside down. not that he realizes because he's too busy thinking about how he'd love to get lost in your pretty eyes, he needs to get a grip, what is he fourteen?

it's just some dumb fleeting infatuation and-

then he hears a laugh. peeking up from the still upside down seance dog volume, hoping to god it's not your laugh because if it is, he longs to hear it again.

it was your laugh. oh he's in deep.

and he swears he's never heard a more beautiful thing. sap.

he needs to be the reason to make you laugh.

oh shit he's holding it upside down, hopefully you didn't notice (*_*;)

it takes him a whole ass week to muster up the courage to talk to you, he'd only check out with his new additions and issues when it wasn't your shift.

he's checked himself in the mirror a gazillion times, his hair looks okay, maybe he should've worn the blue shirt, it makes his eyes pop out-

he's mark grayson, he's invincible for fuck's sake.

still his palms grow sweaty as he approaches you to check out, little do you know he already has these volumes, he's just desperate to talk to you okay.

"hi." and great, his voice cracks.

but your sweet smile makes him forget about it. he watches you as you scan his items, typing away as you do so.

he kind of wants to hold your hand. is that bad?

"so, seance dog huh?" oh shit you're making conversation with him? oh my god calm down calm down calm down-

"yeah, it's uh one of my favs." he flashes a small smile, a nervous one.

"no way! same!" you beam at him, sheepishly showing him the small seance dog hair clip holding your hair in place like it's some sort of national treasure.

you're telling him that you, the cute comic book store employee he's been crushing on for weeks now, likes seance dog?

he's dreaming.

he has to be.

right?

then you say something, something only a huge seance dog fan would know.

and he swears he hears wedding bells, he can already see walking down the aisle.

it takes him a ridiculously long time to recover, eyes widening comically as he processes that this is infact not a dream.

"you okay there?" you ask slightly amused.

your voice breaks him out of that little trance you just unknowingly put him in, his eyes flitting to the name tag on your shirt-

he can't help himself from muttering your name, soft and reverent like a prayer.

a little flustered giggle leaves your mouth.

oh.

oh.

he made you laugh? he feels like he's on top of the world, he introduces himself, his smile widening when he shakes your offered hand.

william's gonna have a field day with this one.

after that one conversation, he's grown comfortable around you over the past few weeks.

and he's fallen even deeper in love.

he's less tense and awkward around you, rambling about everything and anything, conversation flows easily between you two now.

you'd call him the second you'd read the new volumes of your shared favorite comics to talk to him about it, he does the same.

he puts you on his favorite comics, you put him on yours along with whatever you're big into. it's a win-win really.

he's never been happier.

you make him feel so seen.

he doesn't feel the need to hide parts of himself from you. he loves when you buy him matching merch or just little trinkets of his interests.

rex made fun of mark's little italian charm bracelet once, because what do you mean the strongest man on the planet has a matching charm bracelet with all the things he loves on it that he always wears?

it actually broke the first time he wore it to a fight because obviously, what was he thinking? gets very sad when he can't find all the pieces to put it back together, asks cecil to remake it with some metal that won't break from the impact of alien attacks or whatever decides to mess with the peace of earth the next time. he gets all pissy when he gets blood on it :(

"aw that's adorable!" rex would tease him, but mark would just get all excited because he gets to talk about you <3

cue him rambling about all the things you made for him or got for him that align with his favorite pieces of media and interests, rex does NOT understand half of those words but hey as long as invinciboy's happy.

rex is not making that mistake again lol, also he thought you were dating mark because of the way his eyes turn into literal hearts whenever you're mentioned, so imagine the look on his face when mark's all bashful like, "nah i wish :(" rex goes, "man you two are so fucking oblivious." and he's right.

even outside of your little nerdy conversations and hang outs, when he comes to you for comfort, he feels safe.

and that — feeling safe, not being on edge 24/7 isn't easy for him, but you make it easier than breathing.

he feels loved when you hold him, rub his back and make some dumb joke when he's having a bad day.

he lives for the references you make out of nowhere.

"holy shit is that-" you start excitedly.

"i was just gonna say that!" he laughs.

pointing out things that he thinks are references to his favorite media and you joining him, this has to be love.

"why does that cloud lowkey look lik-" he starts and you finish his sentence for him, he laughs at how you two are almost always on the same wavelength.

once the secret is out that he's invincible, he'll literally just fly to some foreign country to get you what you want, oh what's that? a new figurine of your favorite anime just dropped? it's only available in japan? it's already yours <3 anything for you, he's whipped. [ god bless his bank account i imagine it's in negative LMAOOOO because his ass is definitely not letting u pay :( ]

and when you oh so sheepishly hand him the seance dog plushie you crocheted for him as his birthday present, muttering something along the lines of how "it's not good enough" or "it looks a little funny", i mean yeah seance dog has seen better days for sure where his eyes are the same size, he has to physically stop himself from kissing you senseless, because how dare you be this thoughtful and sweet.

yeah he's in love alright.

after a lot of restless nights and convincing from william, he finally decides to ask you out after six months of longing and yearning.

you two are currently in your room, hanging out. you had invited him over to watch the new reboot of your favorite sci fi series, although the internet seems to have a different plan as the video keeps buffering and loading.

you groan in annoyance, refreshing the page, still nothing.

so when you give up and let it do it's thing, aka the good ol "pretending not to care so it'll load faster", mark takes this as a sign.

"hey uh-" he opens his mouth, he's going to piss himself, he can't do this.

"yeah?" you reply. he sounds awfully nervous.

he stares at you, holding your gaze, lips slightly parted before taking a deep breath.

he ends up immediately blurting out the words he'd practiced a thousand times, "iloveyousomuch", his words are hurried as if he's scared you'll leave him if he's not quick enough.

he pauses, realizing this isn't exactly going to plan. he has just confessed his feelings, it's done now. there's no going back from this and that scares him.

he's also considering just making a run for it, or well fly for it, your window's open afterall.

he avoids your gaze like the plague, the ground suddenly becomes very interesting.

he hesitantly adds, "i have for awhile now actually", might as well serve his heart on a silver platter to you it's all yours anyways, it beats for you, he thinks.

his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink. he can't stop his mouth, it moves on it's own, "im sorry if- if this ruins our friendship i just-"

"i love you too mark", you can't help yourself from confessing back, feeling your cheeks heat up.

"i just can't do this, i can't be friends when everytime i look at you i want to ki-" wait.

it's actually adorable the way he looks at you all wide eyed when his brain finally processes what you said.

did you just say you love him back?

nope, that's just his terrible hearing that comes with being a superhero, all wishful thinking.

but the way you're looking at him tells him otherwise and your words only confirm that his hearing is perfectly fine.

"you were saying?" you tease him, daring him to finish that sentence.

thank god the teasing is back, this is familiar territory. his nerves calm down a bit.

a minute of silence passes before he speaks.

"so that just happened", he chuckles, he wants to be all suave and cool and say something that'll make you blush, but he can't.

he doesn't need to.

because that's not him, he's mark grayson, he's awkward, a sweetheart and a big nerd. he just needs to be himself to make you swoon.

you know this, he knows this.

he knows you accept him for who he is, so he doesn't think twice about leaning in when you reach out to cup his face, leaning in as well.

your acceptance, your love, you. that's all he needs.

and the moment your lips meet his he realizes those six months were worth it.

he gently pulls you closer by your waist, his touch hesitant, it takes all his power to not just pull you flush against him and show you just how much he adores you.

when you pull him closer by the neck, his toned chest brushing against yours, he has to stop from letting out a small pleased groan.

you're just as desperate as he is.

kissing you like this is dizzying, he can even taste the sweetness and slight tang of the strawberry dessert you two had shared earlier on your lips and it only serves to drive him crazier.

his body practically aches when you pull away, chasing your lips. he can't get enough.

"easy alien boy", you chuckle, trying to catch your breath — resting your forehead against his, nose scrunching a little when he kisses the tip of it, nuzzling his own nose against yours afterwards.

his smile is sickeningly sweet and contagious. "i love you", he whispers.

and when you whisper it back he giggles happily, pressing a kiss to your head - he pulls you in his warm embrace. relishing in the feel of your body against his, fitting like a missing puzzle piece.

it's like you were made for him.

a scream from the tv ruins the intimate atmosphere, ah so now it decides to load. you two stare at each other, a collective look of "are you seeing this shit" is exchanged before you two burst into laughter.

both of you could care less about the show playing on the tv, too busy indulging in long passionate sweet kisses.

"the new issue of batm-" you jokingly start against his now swollen lips.

"hey! we're kinda having a moment here", he scoffs playfully, the dumb lovesick smile on his face only widening.

"no but seriously the new issue sucked ass. they mischaracterized him sooo bad and-", he complains, not moving a centimeter away from your lips.

"and you're a nerd" you cut him off, pulling him close by the collar of his shirt for another kiss.

"hey that's friendly fire!" he hopes you'll always shut him up with a kiss <3

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── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Mark Grayson ,,

He always makes sure to brighten your day with a bouquet of flowers, from your favorites to the most beautiful ones that match your eyes. He was never known for bringing a single, solitary flower. No, that's not Mark. He'll always bring you a dozen, or at least three flowers.

Mark would stand out in the relationship for being a thoughtful young man, even though his bad schedule or a couple of missed dates while saving the world might work against him. Did you message him at the wrong time, in the middle of a fight? Mark already replied and attached a photo to the message. "Think I can beat him ? :P"

He would always see an opportunity to ask you out, insist that you lie down on his chest, and slowly fly around the sky with your head on his heart, listening to his heartbeat as you talk to him about your day.

In his first missions as Invincible, Mark would always appear at your window with his suit torn or some noticeable scratches. Why? So that you could treat his wounds or fix his suit. More than once it was a matter of doing both things. "I just wanted to see you."

Mark will have a habit of resting his head on your shoulder or lap, depending on how tired he is that day. He'll lean against you for a bit and let his considerable weight fall against your body, seeking your warmth and touch. Bonus points if you give him scalp massages.

He likes to read his favorite comic aloud to you, although he always ends up stumbling over his words because he notices how you stare at him, making him nervous and causing him to forget to move on to the next panel. "Don't laugh at me, I always read well. Your eyes make me nervous, that's all."

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Deborah Grayson ,,

Deborah knew she would take her time getting to know you, but she never imagined your company would be so pleasant and even comforting for her own heart. Without even realizing it, you helped her overcome her insecurities after all the trouble and sadness Nolan left behind. "I didn't think I could allow myself to open my heart to someone so quickly. Thank you."

When Deborah introduced you to Mark, her face lit up with relief at the positive reaction of her only and dearest son. She was so pleased that he accepted you so readily and love you the same way she loves you.

Weekends are the best part of the relationship with Deborah, where she strokes your hair and pulls you closer to the bed with both arms, rendering your attempts to get up useless, if they even exist. "Stay a little longer ... Today is my day off."

She heard you came home tired from work, complained about your boss and his demands about paperwork. What better time to open a bottle of wine, watch a movie, and order some takeout? Deborah had everything planned. You're the only one missing from the table.

"Just try it. It's delicious, I swear." Deborah really enjoys cooking with you, especially when it comes to cooking typical Korean food at home, she always makes sure you try typical food from her home country and ask your opinion about it. Her comfort food would be Kimchi Jjigae with a hint of smoky spice.

I am so convinced that Deborah would call you "dear" or "honey" with incredible frequency, so much so that there are times when you would forget your own name. And it's even better if she calls you affectionately while you two are asleep, because her sleepy voice would be the equivalent of touching heaven.

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Eve Wilkins ,,

Her favorite activity to do with you is to climb onto the roof of a building or house, and observe the twinkling stars in silence, while naming the constellations and seeing who can find the most. It ends up being more romantic when Eve plays music from her phone.

Eve loves staying at your house to sleep over or just hang out there; she's always quite homey and helpful in your home. "Do you think your mother would like chocolate-filled brownies? I made a couple."

In her room, Eve owns a hardcover book, with a title made by hand with different magazines and letters: It's reads "a timeline with you." Where there are various printed photographs of the two of you together on your different dates and walks.

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Rex Sloan ,,

Behind your back and eyes, Rex has started therapy and is actively improving himself so he won't be a bad partner for you — His worst fear is that he himself will ruin this opportunity to be with you, so he prefers to improve and be a decent lover worthy of your attention.

I'm absolutely certain that the moment you started dating Rex, he began posting about you on all his active social media accounts and showing you off to his entire social circle. "This is my partner. I definitely hit the jackpot."

He really enjoys listening to you talk, appreciates that you trust him so much, and is always actively seeking out those kinds of deep conversations with you — A couple of times, when you vent and feel distressed, Rex instinctively cries with you too, since he understands that kind of distress.

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Katherine Cha ♡ Dupli-Kate ,,

A relationship with Katherine turns out to be slow and careful in its evolution, mostly due to her need to maintain an emotional distance from people, This will be more noticeable if you are human, or do not possess some kind of immortality / inability to die — So, more than once, both of you enjoy each other's silent company.

"We all love you." Whenever Katherine is on a mission, she always makes sure to spend time with you through a clone of herself. Her most consistent and affectionate clone with you is Kate number 8. "But, I love you more." The clone says affectionately.

More than once, Katherine uses her powers to create clones of herself and launch a massive kissing attack on you — No part of your face or body is safe from her lips and a quick smooch. Temple? Kissed. Eyebrows? Kissed. Edge of your chin? Kissed. The best experience is when lipstick is involved in her kissing attack.

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Allen The Alien ,,

Every time Allen is outside Earth's orbit, he makes sure to bring you an intergalactic gift, from a small piece of the moon to an exotic flower from an unknown, unstudied planet. Oh ... The flower couldn't withstand the change in gravity.

He likes to talk about you with Nolan, always mentions that you are one of the brightest and most peaceful things that ever happened to him, mentioning that not even the stars compare to the beauty of your eyes and bright smile.

When you dared to kiss him for the first time, you could feel Allen's pointy ears begin to flutter gently and his hands carefully grip your hips. "It felt good. Do it again."

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Amber Bennett ,,

"Let's dance." The most frequent and comfortable homedate for both of you is to be at Amber's home and listen to music together; she always insists on dancing barefoot in the middle of her room. "Come on, silly, don't be shy." More than once, Amber places her arms around your neck and gently kisses your lips while dancing together.

Amber is the kind of partner who invites you to go for walks in spring or summer, visiting second-hand markets or craft fairs. What better romantic date than visiting the independent artists' fair and supporting local entrepreneurs? I can see that Amber always buys herself a beautifully hand-painted, handmade mug.

Normally, when both of you have a week of exams, or some pretty tough practical work for school, you two get together at home and stay overnight, having a little loving slumber party. "Shh!" You two probably stay up until the early hours, watching movies or laughing silently under the sheets, while exchanging occasional kisses. "Your mom will hate me if she hears us laughing at this hour."

I think it's possible that Amber will do some internship or free service at a home for cats and animals, occasionally sending you pictures of the kittens or pit bulls she takes care of — She's invited you to participate in the activity many times! In her room, there are photos of the two of you together, holding cats or dogs.

"I can't read your mind. If I could, I'd prefer you tell me to my face." Amber will always be the type of partner who prefers to talk things out if there's a problem in the relationship. Is something bothering you in the relationship, or do you just want to vent? Amber is there, listening attentively and helping.

Being of African descent, you see Amber taking care of and treating her hair; a smile adorns her lips as she notices you watching her carefully comb and wash her hair. You love watching her put on her bonnet! It looks divine on her — It's a coral sea green color. "Do you think my hair would look good with more volume and less definition?"

사과 Additional characters ! ✶ k0meqp_

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Conquest ,,

Even though it's something new, perhaps even inferior from his perspective, Conquest can't help but notice how his heart beats with a different emotion every time he touches you; as if it were his nature, his touch becomes soft against your face, adoring the warmth of your skin beneath his fingers. "I do not understand how you're not afraid of what makes me be this way."

The way your hair frames your face is one of the purest and most beautiful sights he's seen in a long time, you find it endearing how Conquest observes you whenever he can — Many times he hasn't slept, so he can analyze in detail and commit to memory the symmetry of your lips and the endlessness of your eyelashes.

"Killing has always come easily to me. But now, I find myself drawn to see how I live for the first time, thanks to you." Ever since you convinced him on the first try to stay at your house, Conquest has been completely helpful and devoted to your existence, observing every detail and getting used to what it's like to do something he never did but desired so much.

He never had a favorite food, much less could he remember the last time he ate something someone else cooked. But now, surprisingly, every time you cook him something, that dish becomes his favorite. He always makes sure not to leave any residue; the plate looks clean every time Conquest finishes eating your food.

"I love that your skin is ignorant of violence." Conquest loves the size difference between you two. He's started to develop a habit of holding your hand and wrapping it completely around his own, caressing your skin so carefully that he doesn't break you just by touching you. "I couldn't bear the thought of seeing your hand calloused from all the destruction you'd caused ... But, it would be exciting too."

Chocolate? Flowers? Very insignificant for him — He doesn't understand the human need to give each other gifts on specific or special dates, but he tries. The gift that Conquest gave you to declare his dystopian love was the beating heart of an extinct alien race.

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Thokk ♡ Battle Beast ,,

He would be fascinated by your belly, especially if you have a curvy or fat body build; unconsciously, Thokk would also find himself gently massaging your stomach or chest skin, pretending to be a domestic cat. You've heard him purr subtly more than once.

For a formidable, persevering, and bloodthirsty warrior, I see it as very possible that Thokk will exercise with you more than once, whether you are both training, him teaching you self-defense or you serve as extra weight in his push-ups. "Don't ever think I'll be easy with you just because you have my affection guaranteed."

Thokk would silently allow you to style his hair and braid it in different ways, using various methods and lengths. Sometimes he would undo them so you could continue stroking his unruly mane.

── ( ✶ ) ᰍ̠ ⠀｡ Cecil Stedman ,,

He met you at work and your relationship was completely professional and nothing more at the beginning, although it gradually evolved, Cecil found himself unconsciously prolonging physical contact with you as much as possible — There was always the gentle caress of his hand against your shoulder while you worked immersed in your desk.

Cecil had a habit of ordering a black, bitter coffee for himself, gradually asking his assistant to start remembering your preferred, personalized coffee request. "You work hard, you need to stay hydrated and focused properly."

Despite not admitting any romantic feelings towards you, Cecil began inviting you out more often or to have something to eat at his office — Whenever you two went out together, Cecil would offer you his arm to hold onto and walk comfortably.

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>>>

🪐Invincible Masterlist🪐 🦇Return To The Batcave🦇

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Mark doesn’t ask you to move in. He just starts making space, a shelf here, a drawer cleared there. By the time Oliver starts teething, you’re already brushing your teeth in his bathroom every morning and waking up with a foot in your ribs that definitely doesn’t belong to Mark.

You weren’t expecting him to drop out. No one was. Debbie had offered to help, of course—offered like it was the easiest thing in the world to raise a baby that wasn’t hers, born from a man who had already broken the whole family once. And Mark had just said: “I can’t ask her to do this. He’s my responsibility, my… brother.”

Then he’d looked at you. Like he was bracing for something. For the inevitable pulling away. The “I’m not ready for this” talk. But you’d just nodded. Said: “Okay. We’ll figure it out.” We. His shoulder slumped with a sigh of relief. And that’s how it starts.

It’s not glamorous. Mark’s working two jobs between diaper runs. You’re picking up shifts, catching Oliver when he won’t stop crying, and Mark looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. Some nights, the exhaustion settles over the house like fog, thick and still. Then there’s moments where Oliver laughs or falls asleep on your chest like he knows exactly where he belongs. And everything feels lighter—softer, just right.

Mark negotiated with Cecil… Kind of—out of desperation, moreover. After bringing Oliver back, Mark tried to keep up with college, parenting, and being Earth's part-time savior. It lasted about two weeks. He was late to a Kaiju fight because Oliver had a fever. Left a lab evacuation halfway through to pick him up from your job because the sitter bailed. Cecil nearly had a stroke when Mark fought a teleporting assassin with baby wipes in his pocket.

“I can’t do this full-time. He’s a baby. He’s my responsibility. I’m not leaving him with my mom again and I’m not dragging him into a war zone unless the world’s literally ending.”

Cecil—being a professional manipulator and also somehow slightly terrified of Oliver’s explosive bowel habits, reluctantly agreed. Now, Mark handles non-lethal, low-stakes missions like alien negotiations and minor emergencies.

He takes himself off the active-duty roster unless it’s a Level Red situation, and Cecil sends backup or Eve when something big hits. Mark still trains—still reports in, but often while bouncing a baby on his chest or feeding him yogurt off-camera. So what happens day to day? He flashes by your job to drop off Oliver. Literally, he’ll appear mid-conversation, hair a mess, onesie on backward.

“Hey babe, sorry—can you watch him for like two hours? There's a tidal wave hitting France. Be back by lunch. Probably.” Kisses you mid-chaos, and vanishes in a loud boom. Sometimes he leaves you with a half-full bottle and a sticky pacifier and expects you to just vibe.

If that isn't an option, he wears a baby carrier during missions. Look, not for the big ones. But if the threat is “giant sewer rat” or “angry alien ambassador who doesn’t understand doors,” Oliver is strapped to his chest like a tiny judgmental but giggly backpack with earmuffs. You even designed him a superhero onesie that says, "Invinci-baby," and yes—he wears it at every outing.

“You’re bringing a baby?”

“He likes the wind.”

“He’s drooling on your comm.”

“He’s observing diplomacy.”

Cecil threatens to fire him weekly. Debbie sighs deeply every time she sees the footage on GDA security—just to check in when needing Cecil to make sense of this. All the while watching Doc Seismic scream “IS THAT A CHILD?!” mid-monologue. Today, you didn’t realize how dangerous this grocery trip is going to be until Mark lifts the baby carrier with one arm like it’s nothing. He’s Invincible—what did you expect? His gray t-shirt rides up just enough to make your soul flicker out of your body like a dying TV screen. Focus on the produce section. Innocent terrain, right? You grab a head of lettuce. You do not look at the way Mark bounces Oliver gently while scanning for cereal. You are a good person, a person with restraint. He’s doing that thing again—being effortlessly domestic. Like, hot dad energy turned up to eleven. Every time he reads a nutrition label or wipes drool off Oliver’s chin, your brain short-circuits a little more.

You used to flirt shamelessly. Make out in supply closets, pull him into his room by the collar. But now? Now you’re in aisle six, arguing about formula brands, and trying not to climb him in front of a shelf of canned peas.

“I think we should get the oatmeal-based one,” Mark says, turning towards you. And there it is: that low voice, as he leaned in slightly. The focus with that soft-eyed, fully attentive attitude. You blink at him, trying to play it cool as you bite your tongue. “Whatever keeps his poop neutral. I'm not reliving last week.” Mark gave a crooked grin, brow raised, his shoulder hitching, “The explosion?”

“Don’t—” you groan, covering Oliver’s ear. “Don’t traumatize him again. We had to hose down the high chair, Mark.” A grin tugged at the corners of your lips. He laughs under his breath and sets the formula in the cart. You watch the muscles in his forearm flex as he pushes it forward. You’re sweating now—It’s winter. “Why do you look tense?” he asks. You gesture around helplessly. “Because this is basically foreplay, and there’s a baby in the cart.”

Mark chokes on a laugh, reaching instinctively to cover Oliver’s ears. “You can’t say stuff like that while I’m holding our son.” You freeze. “Our son?” His eyes widen a little. The cart keeps rolling. The baby stares up at the ceiling fan, utterly indifferent to the life-changing moment. “…I mean,” Mark starts, fumbling now, “he’s not yours, but like—well, he kind of—”

“Mark.” You step in close, dropping your voice. “If you keep talking in that voice and calling him our son, I swear to God, I will embarrass us in this store.” Mark’s eyes flick to your mouth, then back to Oliver. His jaw flexes with blotches of pink creeping up his neck. “I hate that we can’t do anything about this.” You both stare at each other for a second too long. Then Oliver lets out a dramatic sneeze that breaks the tension like a rock through a window. You sigh. “We’re in hell.” Mark leans over and kisses your temple. “At least we’re in hell together.” You glance at the shopping list and mutter, “Add wine.” He stares at you in bewildered silence— “For Ms. Grayson.”

You find yourself thinking about stupid things. Like the taste of oatmeal lingering on your tongue. Like whether you’ll need a bigger place. Like whose last name Oliver will have. Like if Mark knows he hums when he’s rocking the baby to sleep, tuneless and low, and how your whole chest aches every time you hear it. You’d marry him. That thought hits you while Mark is on the floor of the living room, one sock on, hair a mess, cooing nonsense while Oliver grabs at his nose. You’d marry him tomorrow. Or bend him or let him bend you over the desk right now. Whichever happens first.

You’ve seen this man explode aliens. Why is him wearing low-slung sweatpants more threatening to your mental health than intergalactic war? But you don’t tell him that. You just hand him the bottle, brush your fingers against his, and whisper, “You’re doing okay.” Mark looks up at you—tired and worn down, but smiling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A/N: Literally kicking my feet as I write this, I will forever love your big, beautiful brain. Hopefully, this was decent, my friend. :)

Part 2: Our Son, Apparently