#mark grayson variants

It was blinking a green hue, and as you dug your grubby little fingers between the small gap of your neck and the collar with the intention of ripping it apart—the green light changed to a ruby red, sending painful shockwaves of electricity through your body. It hurt like hell, and it was obvious that the G.D.A had tailored this electroshock collar specifically to you.

You’ve been shocked before—many hurtful things have happened to you. You’ve nearly experienced all forms of physical human suffering through heroes that tried to stop you. Sometimes even other bad guys such as yourself that tried to take you down because of their own personal agenda.

That’s why you know that secret—stupid—law enforcement agency had whipped this thing up just for you. It was ten times worse than regular electricity, like it was made with the use of something foreign.

Ugh. You felt like a dog strapped with an e-collar for punishment—you hated this form of entrapment. It came close to being thrown into that stupid underground cell with nothing to do but just rot while the guards looking at you with indifference.

After sprouting out more curses and grunts, you quieted down while huffing. You put your arms to your side, finally looking around you to take in the area you were dropped in by a couple of agents covered head and toe in gear. They dropped you off like you were an Amazon package, not sparing a second glance before leaving you be noticed by God-knows-what.

You raised a brow as you did a full 360, taking in the complete destruction that surrounded you. This was supposed to be somewhere in Chicago—you weren’t sure where with how there wasn’t any identifiable landmarks. Everything, literally everything, was wrecked and banged up in some way.

Blood splatter, broken structures, and pieces of human remains that were torn apart were scattered in every nook and cranny you could think of. It was brutal and barbaric. Many of the bodies were unidentifiable of who they were with how their faces were mutilated—complete fucking overkill.

An angry vein popped on your face, your eyes narrowing in annoyance. This... ruthless scene only served to fuel your bad mood. Those bastards had to drop me off at the worse spot in this joint, huh? You scoffed, clearly unimpressed.

Your ears perked up as you could hear civilians screaming from a distance, a mixture of fear and pleading. You clicked your tongue, rolling your eyes as you turned away from the noise. Whoever done this could’ve at least done a solid job and killed everything before you arrived—that was their goal, right?

You sighed, your thoughts drifting off to something else. Particularly the recollection of what had made you end up here in the first place plaguing your mind.

You had been captured and locked away after another confrontation with Invincible, and you couldn’t believe you had been such an idiot to have been caught off guard. It was just so... ugh! Just so stupid, idiotic, and confusing!

That dull-witted superhero, Invincible, got into your head and messed with you. It was crazy—it drove you up the fucking walls when you thought back to the moment in that small dingy cell of yours.

A phantom bitter taste flooded your mouth, and you couldn’t help but bite your tongue.

Even with his yellow mask covering half of his face and its lens shielding his eyes—his face was so expressive, and you could see it clearly. It makes your skin crawl whenever you have to stare at it whenever he comes to you like this.

“There’s no way you’ve always been like... this.” He said—God, why did every time he’d confront you, he used that tone? That soft, aggravating tone was like he’s talking to a scared animal rather than a criminal who wanted nothing more for him to go away.

His expression made your skin crawl, his voice dug under your skin like an annoying tick, and the way he tried to reason with you made you want to rip your own flesh off.

“The fuck you know about that, pretty boy?” You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest as you sent a hard glare his way.

He only continued to stare at you with that same look, his shoulders relaxed and not in a rush in ending whatever this is. “You know—how many times are you going to give me these pep talks? There is never this much talking during a fight—probably ‘cause it’s a goddamn fight, not a book club.”

Invincible sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “However long it takes. You don’t hurt people and that’s good enough for me to think you can be redeemed.”

“Tell that to the people I sent to the hospital. I don’t think they’ll find me ‘redeemable’ material.”

“Okay, fine, I misspoke—you don’t kill people. Even then, you’re... different from the other villains. Your different from... everyone else.” He replied, taking a step towards you, pushing past the debris you caused.

The way he said that last part was breathy, like he was referring to something else. “I mean, it’s not too late to turn a new leaf. Change your ways.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. You’ve done it so much already between this exchange that you’re afraid they might get permanently stuck.

“What makes you so confident to say that, huh? Did you waltz in and take a psychology course and suddenly,” you gestured to your head as if it blew up, “boom! You know exactly what I’m thinking? What I’m capable of? Who I am?” You dryly snorted, an unamused smile gracing the corner of your lips.

“Maybe.” He couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head. He found you effortlessly funny—entertaining. Whatever you do practically light him up like a Christmas tree in December. “We’ve fought long enough for me to know you pull your punches, drag out the fight just a few minutes more...”

“Oh really? Good job, detective. Thinking of changing professions now?” You sarcastically remarked.

Invincible hesitated, there was something at the edge of his tongue that he wanted to say but it was far too delicate to disclose. Or maybe he didn’t have the right words to articulate them well.

He cleared his throat, changing his mind. “... and I think you do that because you like the company I give you.” He continued, pushing past your sarcastic quip. “And I like giving it to you.”

There was a moment of silence.

Your breath hitches, a small—horrified squeal itching at the back of your throat. You took a step back, your face distorting into different emotions. What on Earth was he saying? “What—What the hell are you getting at?” You snarled, biting down the stutter that threatened to slip up your words. Though it seemed like he heard it as clear as day.

You clicked your tongue. “I’m going to kill you for this sappy shit your saying. You’re dumber than I thought if you reached to that conclusion.”

Invincible’s lips quirked into a smug grin, tilting his head to the right just slightly. “I don’t think you will—I also think we can be pretty good friends.”

... Friends? Is he crazy? Did some parasite go up his nose and into his brain that’s making him say these ridiculous things? Invincible is annoying, sure, but not downright delusional.

While you were lost in thoughts—wondering why the superhero was sprouting out less-than-regular nonsense—his shoulders stiffened as his eyes flickered behind you.

There was a G.D.A agent that had snuck up behind you, the invisibility they had on thanks to their high-tech gear disappearing. They had a gun in hand—and not the regular ones. It looked different, built with another purpose and functionality in mind.

“Wait, fuck, look out!” He screamed.

You immediately became tense, zipping around to see what was behind you. However, it was too late, the gun set off and a painful electric bolt stabbed into you.

The pain was irregular from just normal electricity; the pain was excruciating. Like one million needles were suddenly thrusted deep inside you at your very core. Your body immediately went limp, your knees first to fall to the ground as you were being subjected to absolute torture.

It hurt. It fucking hurt.

Invincible was shouting in the background—yelling about something. It was hard to focus with, you know, the pain.

Your body spasmed on the ground. You wanted to scream with how much it hurt, but only a squeezing choking sound escaped your throat.

“—what the hell! I had this all under control, why did you do that!” Invincible’s words seeped into your ear, and a quick ‘woosh!’ sound came faster than lightning to you.

The hero crouched next to you, quick to cradle your head in his lap as he watched your body involuntarily contract—each of your limbs shaking uncontrollably. It was difficult to watch.  

He held your face upright on his lap, looking down at you with panic and worry. He was in clear distress, feeling his hands tremble as he cupped your face oh so delicately.

This—This little shit! Why was he acting like he didn’t plan for this, account for this? It made sense now, saying anything to catch you off guard using fake notions for friendship while some goon came up from behind. You should’ve known—should’ve fucking known.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck! You’re going to be okay, I’m—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He apologized, sounding so apologetic as he continued to hold you.

You wanted to push him away, so you weren’t forced to look up at him and feel him. He held you so dearly and fearfully, and you didn’t like that. Not one bit.

His eyes shifted to the agent that had shot you, standing there silently. He glared daggers, anger swallowing him. “How do I make this stop! Tell me how to make it stop hurting them! Tell me!” He demanded.

Your body was quick to turn into a state of exhaustion, the pain being quick to overwhelm you. Black dots appeared in your vision, multiplying rapidly until everything just became a void as Invincible’s shouting faded into the distance.

The last thing you felt was your head being carefully set on the ground, a gust of wind flying past you. Then you heard the sound of someone choking, being strangled by something—Invincible still shouting.

You grimaced at the recollection. You couldn’t believe you easily got distracted by the—ugh—friendship talk. You should’ve known that he was just saying all that shit to throw you off, but with that hero it was always confusing! Everything he did threw you off!

Every other super would immediately get straight to business, throwing punches or whatever special ability they had when they came on scene and seeing firsthand at the absolute destruction you caused.

Sure, some of them stopped to say something cheesy and comical to make fun of you. Rex Splode was an example of this, his grating character throwing some bullshit joke. But even then, he and everyone else put the safety of civilians above ‘talking it out.’

Yet, with Invincible, it was the opposite. He seemed to be more concerned about you than the wreckage and terror you spread.

You would’ve brushed it off if he treated you and civilians equally—many superheroes had this high morality to their character, wanting to be a ‘bigger person’ so you were used to that—but that wasn’t the case for him.

Destroying downtown Chicago like it was a fun game of Godzilla loose on the town? He’d just sigh and shake his head, calling out to you as if he had just caught you in an embarrassing act.

Throwing a civilian in the air at full speed to slow him down because he had to catch them otherwise they’d die? Oh, Invincible will just catch the guy and go, “Come on!” in a stupidly playful way as if you had gone a little bit too far with playing around.

“Weirdo.” You shivered, his weird behavior never failing to make you feel wrong.

The next time you see Invincible, you will, for sure, kill him. Or erm, the Invincible of this dimension?

You had been dragged out of your cell and been briefed about some evil alternate Invincibles wreaking havoc all over the world, and they needed every available resource they got out there to fend off the evil variants.

And apparently you were included as an ‘available resource.’ Great.

Well, you supposed you could practice the best way to kill your Invincible with the knock offs. Even though you’re forced to do it, there’s no harm in seeing the good in the bad.

You jumped in the air, using the ground as a surface to leap off of. You were high in the air, peering down below.

Squinting, you scanned the area.

The destruction stretched for miles. Blaring cars and screams filled the air. You saw some injured civilians using each other as support to try and run to safety.

You averted your gaze to not look at the innocent people below—all those government assholes told you to do is fight off variants, not save lives. That’s their mission, not yours.

“NO! Please! AARRGHH!” You heard a blood curling scream screech up ahead, and your ears perked curiously. You decided to make your way towards it, jumping off destroyed buildings like a frog leaping off lily pads.

When you were close enough, you landed a few feet away.

You looked up ahead, seeing a tall figure standing before a freshly dead body. The skull was crushed, bits and pieces of brain spilled out from the cracks. You tilted your head, observing—assuming they were what they are from an educational guess—a variant.

He had no mask, his face on full display along with his mohawk haircut. His suit was torn on his shoulder, dust debris sticking to the spandex of his suit. He had a large shit eating grin on his face, visible smile lines accompanying it. He seemed to be having fun.

You were surprised. Is that what Invincible actually looks under the mask? Huh, I guess he is actually a pretty boy. You remarked in your head.

You put a hand on your hip as you continue to watch this Invincible variant. He began cackling to himself as he turned his head, his back facing you as he was choosing where to go next.

A smile creeped on your lips, your eyes dilating like a hunter watching its prey being unaware of what was behind them.

Without a second of hesitation, you leapt off the roof of the building you were on as you hurled towards Mohawk Invincible. You raised your fist, landing a solid hit on the upper part of his back between his shoulder blades—sending him flying to a brick wall.

“Score!” You whistled, his legs up in the air as his head was shoved into a patch of dirt. It reminded you of a groundhog burying its face in the ground, and it made you snort.

You slowly approached the downed variant. “Those G.D.A motherfuckers kept me in their basement for way too long, my body is all tense. Thank God I’m out, but fucking sucks I got a shock collar on me.” You hummed, talking to yourself.

You used the tip of your foot to leap from the floor—sending yourself flying to the variant with your leg ready.

Mohawk grumbled under his breath in a daze, “What—”

A harsh kick dug in his side, sending him flying once more. Though this time, he caught himself, jamming his hands into the ground to stop the momentum of your kick. He whipped his head up, swatting at the dust of dirt to see his assailant.

You used the cloud of dirt to your advantage, a tight fist meeting his jaw. It sent his head backwards, but he had dug his heel in to catch himself from being sent flying. He whirled his head back, extending his arms to tackle the person who had just sucker punched him.

You grunted, falling backwards. The mohawk variant didn’t waste time climbing on top of you, putting his whole-body weight to trap you.

You felt a hand grasp at your neck, a large amount of pressure squeezing at your throat following swiftly afterwards.

Mohawk Invincible raised his free hand ready to beat the shit out of whoever ambushed him, his eyes darting to your face.

His eyes were wide and angry, but an undertone of excitement in his emotions. That faded quickly, however, as the dust settled to reveal who was underneath him. His clenched fist softened, surprise and complete shock itched in the features of his face.

Mohawk blinked, taking in the familiar face that was struggling against him.

He waited for just a moment to see if your face would change into someone else’s, testing to see if his vision was playing tricks on him. Or maybe he finally went crazy with how long you two have been apart.

But no, nothing changed. You looked the exact same—minus a few details. Like how your hair was disheveled and the eyes that used to stare at him so lovingly held nothing but sharpy pointed daggers.

There was no doubt in his mind that he was staring right at this dimension’s version of you, and it made his stomach squeeze in delight. Mohawk was in disbelief and in awe.

“Oh, shit... (Y/N)?” He called out your name, a name that he hadn’t spoken out loud for the longest time. It felt strange to use it, but it felt so right too.

Your eyebrows furrowed, confused. Your chest felt heavy as the tone he used was the exact same one your Invincible used for you constantly.

“That’s me.” You hissed, watching how his gaze bore into you. Not with malice, hatred, or anger—just... nostalgia. His brown eyes blinked to the collar on your neck that was underneath his hand.

With him distracted, you took the opportunity to land a hit on Mohawk—his weight lifting as he didn’t brace for it.

You rolled the two of you over, and you connected your hands to his throat, pushing down.

“How do you know that name?” You questioned. He shouldn’t know your real name.

"Fu—Fuck—(Y/N)," He choked out, staring up at you with something you couldn’t recognize. It was something warm yet wretched, and you squeezed down harder as you stared into them.

Your Invincible always wore goggles so you never had to see his eyes. You faintly wondered if he had this look every time he looked at you. You scowled, that thought made you uncomfortable.

The look wasn’t hatred nor fear, not even anger. It was... some form of desperation. Not desperate to live, but desperate for something else. But that wasn’t right. It was more like... desperate for someone else.

"It's—It's you. Shit, it's—it's really you." He heaved out, his hands jumping to reach your arms. You expected him to dig his nails in your skin or try to snap a bone, but instead, he was holding them. There was no effort to tear your arms away.

Hell, he was actually using his thumb to caress you.

Your eyes squinted, not understanding what was happening but you didn’t release your hold—and he didn’t seem to mind as he sat his neck up, bringing it closer to the chokehold you had on him. He looked up at you with half lidded eyes, enjoyment in his eyes.

Your hands were—damn, they were still perfect. He could feel rough calluses which were certainly new, but it added to the experience rather than diminishing it. The familiar weight of your body on top of him threw him into euphoria and—oh, fuuckkk, he even got a whiff of your scent.

He wasn’t expecting to find this dimension’s version of you so soon. He held hope that this dimension of you was still alive, planning to go looking for you after he wrecked some shit to satisfy his end of the deal with Angstrom, but instead you found him.

He also wasn’t expecting you to jump at him like this—with incredible strength too. Your punches actually hurt a little bit, Mohawk still feeling the sting on his jaw.

Are you a super in this dimension? That would certainly make sense on why you jumped at him—but your suit looked like shit. It looked like a prison uniform rather than a functional superhero suit—

Actually. God. Who cares? Right now, he doesn’t care about whatever backstory you had. He could learn about it later because currently this little act was pretty fucking hot.

He bit his bottom lip, his hands sliding down from your arms to your waist. Jesus, that was the same too—he squeezed the familiar curve that he used to grab so much. He loved it—and he still does.

You were currently sitting on his stomach, but if you just moved your sweet ass a little lower, you’d be at a much more perfect spot. You can continue choking him however much you wanted, but if he could just nudge you a few inches down— [1]

You gasped, pulling your hands away as you recoiled backwards—jumping away from the man. The touch of his grabby hands lingered on your waist, and you shivered as you made a disgusted face.

“What kind of perverted freak are you?” You asked in disbelief, taking a defensive stance. So, your Invincible likes to scold your ear off and—what? This one likes to be touchy?

The Mohawk variant merely coughed, a laugh escaping him as he stood up from the ground. He brushed a hand over his Adam’s apple, his throat feeling empty now.

“What’s wrong, babe? Figured your Mark liked being choked with how quick and comfortable you were to do it to me.” He chuckled, his arms outstretched. "Can't blame a guy for enjoying the sample. You know—I'm kind of itching for another one, round 2?"

You shot him a quizzical stare, looking at him like he was crazy. “... Who the hell is Mark?”

“Your boyfriend, duh.”

Now you looked at him like he was an insane asylum patient.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Mohawk Mark rolls his eyes, snorting. “He doesn’t bag you?—Ah, whatever. Your friend or something. Looks like me but less attractive.” He brought a finger to rub the inside of his ear.

You only continued to stare at him like he was nuts. “I don’t know anyone with that name.” You reiterated, irritated at this odd interaction. The fact that he called you babe was not lost on you, and you wanted to punt his face in with the audacity he had to call you that.

That seemed to genuinely surprise him, his eyes wide.

Every single Mark variant had some sort of relationship with you. Friendship, partners, mentorship—anything up there. “You’re a super, right? You gotta know Invincible at least.” He asked, leaning forward trying to gauge what the hell this dimension’s Mark was up to for you not to know his civilian identity.

You scoffed. “Me? Superhero? Don’t fucking play with me. I’m not fighting you out of a heroic duty. I didn’t have much of a choice here.” You corrected his assumption, tugging at the collar that was beeping on your neck. "But Invincible? Yeah, I know him. He's the reason I got thrown into G.D.A's little dungeon and have this thing on me."

Not a superhero. Huh.

That left him a little dumbfounded. Actually, your whole attitude and demeanor left him dumbfounded. Not that he didn’t like it—he really did—but it was just different.

You were soft in his dimension, physically and personality wise. It was the same for the other dimensions according to some of the variants that shared stories about you on the ship. He didn’t contribute, only half listening. This certainly was not what he was expecting—but he liked the surprise.

“You’re not a good guy? Wow, that’s new to me. What’d you do to get thrown in there?”

You groaned, your shoulders sagging. You were frankly done hearing the nonsense that this Invincible variant was spitting at you. It makes you confused and annoyed. Does each version of this guy make it a point to talk so damn much each fight?

Not entertaining his question, you lunged forward.

He blocked your attacks, dodging your fists and leg jabs. “So, you’re bad? That’s pretty cool, I’m getting pretty excited.” He joked, though the way he said it indicated he meant it.

My God, he’s going to continue to talk?

“You’re going to definitely like me then. I’m pretty naughty, especially when it comes to fucking.” He cooed, winking at you flirtatiously. [2]

“Shut the fuck up.”

“It’s fine, we don’t have to get to the ultra-good stuff right now—we can continue this foreplay. Fun!”

“You’re more annoying than my Invincible.” You took a jump backwards, Mohawk leaping at you with a wild grin. You steadied yourself, preparing to hold your ground before a blur of black and blue intercepted.

You whipped your head to see what happened—and eyes widened as you saw that another variant was here. They wore the same black and blue palette that the Mohawk wore, but their face was fully covered by a black mask.

“Ya dick!” Mohawk screeched, pushing off the newly appeared variant. "I'm in the middle of something here, go somewhere else!"

The fully masked Invincible only slapped the other’s face to the ground as a response, standing up hurriedly to take a good look at you.

He had heard the commotion when passing through, and your voice had made his ears perk up.

It had been so, so long since he heard your voice. It’s been so long since he heard you speak—breathe. His body started moving before his mind could process that you were alive in this dimension, his instincts overriding his brain.

He breathed out your name, feeling his whole body go light as he took a hesitant step towards you. It really was you; his ears didn’t play tricks on him—not this time. “Your alive here. Alive and healthy...” He scanned your figure, and you tensed. “... and strong. That’s good.”

You clicked your tongue. "What am I supposed to be? Dead?"

“Yeah. In my dimension you died. You were sick.” He answered solemnly, his voice breaking as he took more steps to reach you. You responded by taking the same amount of steps back, keeping the distance.

This one was different than the other one—he was sad but still held that same desperation. Instead of it being shown through his eyes, it was through his quivering voice. "I've missed you; I've missed mom. Both of you meant so much to me—"

“—What is with this sentimental bullshit?” You cut him off, talking more so to yourself than him. You felt like you were intruding in some sort of sad romcom scene that wasn’t supposed to be directed at you, but it was.

This was really killing your appetite to kill Invincible.

You couldn’t help but ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "Did we know each other?" You apparently knew the pervert and now this sad guy too.

He flinched, looking physically hurt from the fact that you didn’t know how deep your two’s relationship was. Words compiled into one big ugly lump in his throat. He wanted to say everything and anything—and so much in between. “In my dimension we knew a lot of each other. We were—”

“—Well, I’m not whatever lame ass version you think I am.” You cut off, snapping, not wanting to learn more. You shouldn’t have asked anyway, that was your fault.

Your eyes darted to him and the mohawk one. You maybe had a shot in killing him, but two of them? It’s best to sneak off. It’ll be even worse if more Invincibles showed up.

Worse in the fighting aspect and worse in the... whatever you call this strange thing happening between you and these variants. Some alternate version of you apparently had relations with these mentally unwell men, and you didn’t want to find out how many more Invincibles had the googly eyes for you.

"That's okay! As soon as we find mom, you can get to know me, and I can get to know more of you. Then we can go home.”

“Hey! I found them first, I get dibs, dipshit!" Mohawk didn’t waste a second to spring into action, his face contorting at the fact the masked asshole wanted to be the one to take you home. He was taking you home, not a second-rate version of him.

He jabbed his finger into the masked Invincible’s chest, “Go cry to your mommy instead of moping around here! I was here first, fair and square.”

“Don’t talk about them as if they’re an object!” He shouted.

"Waaa! Waaa! That's what you sound like!"

You sweat dropped at the scene. They were acting like children fighting over a toy, though it worked out great in your favor as it gave you an opening to escape from this situation.

Turning on your heel, you were ready to make a break for it.

“You’re both immature.” A cold voice pointed out, and you froze. You snapped your attention up, spotting two Invincibles hovering in the air.

When did they get here? How long had they been there?

One adorned the signature colors of Omni-Man on the design of an Invincible suit; a red cape attached to his shoulders being a new addition to the look.

The other one wore a white uniform, with no resemblance to the Invincible suit beside how it was snug on his body. A cloth draped over his lower area, stopping just above the knee.

The Omni-Invincible had his arms crossed, his strong biceps popping out. He had a head tilt aimed at you. [3]

“Let me take a wild guess,” You sarcastically began, “you know ‘me’ too?”

They both answered at the same time with a clear resounding ‘yes.’

The red and white one looked over to the two variants that were squabbling with each other, but the white one kept his eyes on you, unblinking, making sure to see each move you made.

A move of a limb, a twitch of a finger—he wanted to see it all.

Your nerves screaming for you to get moving. I’m getting out of here. You jumped in the air, bolting through the sky, wanting to go literally anywhere that was far away from them.

.

.

.

You could hear something whirling a few feet behind you, nearing you hot and fast.

Sinister Mark / Capevincible

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mohawk Mark / Movincihawk

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Goggles Mark / Nogogglesible

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prisoner Mark / Prisonincible

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sheisty Mark / Hoodvincible

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bald Mark / Capvincible

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goggles Mark / Gogglesvincible

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

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

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

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

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

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

Viltrum Mark / Viltrumincible

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

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

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

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

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

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

Omni-Mark / Omnivincible

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

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

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

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

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