#variant!mark x reader

His hands are warm—too warm—palming your waist like he owns it. The soft press of his mouth against yours is hungry but practiced, like he’s done this in his head a thousand times and tonight he’s just filling in the details.

You’re trying to stay focused. Trying not to melt into him completely. But his knee is nudged between your thighs and your hands are fisted in his shirt and—God—he smells like the night. Wind and sweat and danger.

And he feels it. The shift.

Mark pulls back just barely, his breath brushing against your lips. “What?”

You blink up at him, chest rising and falling too fast. “I… I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

He laughs—low, sharp, a little breathless. “You say that with your hands still on me.”

You pull back further, guilt blooming under your skin. “It’s not me. My friends… they don’t think I should be around you.”

Mark’s eyes flicker, and something inside them cracks. Not anger. Not surprise. Something worse. That slow, dangerous amusement he gets when he’s too far gone to care.

“Ohhh,” he says, sitting back on his heels, still straddling your legs. “Them.”

You shift, tugging the hem of your shirt down, suddenly too aware of how vulnerable you are underneath him.

“They think you’re… I don’t know, unstable,” you murmur. “That I’m not thinking straight when I’m with you.”

He tilts his head, watching you like you’re some kind of puzzle he’s already solved. “And are they wrong?” You hesitate. His grin widens. “Didn’t think so.”

“Mark…”

He leans down again, slower this time, arms caging you in as his voice drops to a whisper. “You think they know what this is? What we are?”

Your heart stutters. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your jaw. “They don’t get a say.”

“You can’t just—”

“Yes, I can.” His eyes meet yours. Calm. Controlled. Unsettling. “Because I don’t care what they think. And you don’t either, not really.”

You shake your head, but it’s weak. Your resistance is paper-thin and he knows it.

“They don’t know what it’s like when you look at me like that,” Mark mutters, voice velvet-dark, “like you want me and hate yourself for it.” You swallow hard, trying to find your footing in a conversation that’s already sinking fast.

“They’re just looking out for me,” you say, weaker than you mean to.

Mark hums, dragging his fingers up your thigh like he’s barely paying attention—which only makes it worse.

“Yeah? Then maybe they should spend less time worrying about you and more time fixing their own messes.” His tone is too casual. Too cutting.

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He looks at you like it’s obvious. Like he’s been holding back and is just now getting bored of pretending.

“Let’s start with Lauren,” he says, like he’s choosing a weapon. “She’s real concerned about your well-being for someone who’s still sleeping with her ex behind her current boyfriend’s back.”

You freeze.

“And Maya?” He laughs under his breath. “She’s got a lot to say about how ‘toxic’ I am for a girl who gets blackout drunk just to forget she texts her therapist at 3am.”

“Mark—”

He leans in, grinning, like he’s telling you a secret. “They don’t care about you. They just don’t want you to have something they don’t have.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off, voice dropping low and dangerous.

“Especially your girl Sadie.” His eyes are locked on yours now, completely still. “The way she looks at me?”

Your breath catches.

Mark's lips curve into something that’s almost a smirk, but there's something sharp underneath. “So obvious. Like she wants me to look at her the way I look at you. Like she’d lose her mind if I touched her the way I touch you.”

Your skin prickles. “You’re imagining things.”

He chuckles, and the sound is mean. “You really think I don’t notice? She doesn’t even breathe when I walk into a room. Like she’s hoping I’ll slip and touch her by accident.”

His fingers trail up your arm, slow and lazy. “But I won’t. You know why?”

You’re quiet.

He leans in, mouth just brushing your ear. “Because she’s not you.”

You shove at his chest—not hard, but sharp enough to get the message across. “You’re such an asshole.”

Mark barely moves. Just blinks, lazy and slow, like a cat watching its prey squirm.

“Yeah,” he says. “And?”

You sit up, untangling yourself from under him, heart pounding. “You don’t get to talk about them like that. They’re my friends, Mark.”

He watches you now, eyes darkening. The grin slips, just slightly.

“They’re hypocrites,” he says coolly. “They don’t like me because I don’t kiss ass and pretend I’m something I’m not. And you—” He leans in before you can react, voice low and dangerous. “—you like that about me.”

You flinch back. “You don’t know what I like.”

He scoffs. “Don’t I?”

His hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist—not hard, not painful, but firm. Controlled. You freeze.

“That little act you pull?” he says, head tilting. “Like you’re just so confused, like you don’t know if this is right?” His thumb brushes your pulse. “It’s bullshit. You keep coming back. You let me touch you. You want me here.”

Your stomach flips, anger warring with the way your skin burns under his touch.

“I want you gone,” you whisper. He laughs again, and this time it’s ugly. Sharp and disbelieving.

“No, you don’t.” He shifts closer, crowding into your space again. “You’re mad because I said what you’re too scared to admit. That your friends aren’t saints. That Sadie wants me. That deep down, you love the fact that she can’t have me.”

“Mark—”

“You want me all to yourself. And you hate that you do.”

You yank your arm back. “You’re insane.”

He smiles. There’s no denial. No apology.

“You knew that when you let me in your bed.”

You stare at him, heart pounding, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.

“You’re sick,” you whisper, voice shaking. “You think this is normal?”

Mark doesn’t even blink.

“No,” he says easily. “But I think it’s honest.”

You push at him again, harder this time. He lets you—for now. You scramble off the bed, putting distance between you like that could somehow make this safer. Make him safer.

“I’m done,” you say, trying to sound stronger than you feel. “This was a mistake.” He tilts his head, eyes tracking your every move like he’s amused by the performance.

“I really don’t like how much they distract you,” he says, tone casual—too casual. “Your friends.” You go still. Mark’s gaze sharpens. “Always in your ear. Telling you what to think. What to feel. Pulling you away from me.”

“Don’t,” you say, voice rising. “Don’t go there—”

“I’m just saying,” he cuts in, standing now, slow and unbothered. “Maybe it’d be easier if they were gone.”

Your blood turns to ice.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Mark shrugs. “Just a thought. Clean slate. No distractions. Just you and me.”

Your mouth opens—no sound comes out. You swallow, steady yourself, and find your voice. “You don’t mean that,” you whisper. “You’re just trying to scare me.”

His smile is all teeth. “Why would I want to scare you?” He starts to cross the room toward you and you instinctively step back. “I like you,” he says softly. “I don’t want to scare you. I want to protect you. And if that means getting rid of people who are bad for you…”

He trails off, as if he’s genuinely thinking it over. “…then maybe it’s not that crazy.”

“If you touch a single hair on their heads,” you hiss, “I swear to God, you will never get to touch me again.”

Mark goes still for a second, like he’s processing that, weighing it. Then he scoffs. Loud. Dismissive. Cruel. “You think you can stop me?” he says, stepping forward with that wolfish grin. “If I want you—” His voice drops an octave, sickly sweet, almost a purr. “—I’ll just take you.”

And in one motion, without flinching, without breaking eye contact, your hand shoots out to your desk. The cold metal of the scissors hits your palm.

Mark’s smile falters as you lift them up, pressing the tip against your own throat. Just hard enough to leave a mark. Just long enough to make your point.

“I will literally end it right here,” you hiss, voice shaking with fury—not fear. “Do not fuck with me.”

Silence.

Heavy. Dense.

Mark stares at you like he doesn’t even recognize you. Like you just flipped some internal switch he didn’t know existed.

His chest rises, then falls—slow. Controlled.

“…Whoa,” he breathes.

You press the blade in just slightly deeper, enough to make his jaw clench.

“I’m not your little toy,” you snap. “You don’t own me. You don’t get to hurt the people I care about just because you’re obsessed with me.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” you spit. “You are absolutely obsessed. And I’ve let you get away with it because you’re hot and you kiss like you invented sin, but I swear to God, Mark—”

You jab the scissors toward him now, and he flinches. The grin is gone. He’s listening.

“You pull one more psycho stunt, and I’m gone. Not just gone—I will erase myself from your life so fast, it’ll make that little broken brain of yours crack in half.”

He blinks. Then runs a hand through his hair, pacing a little like he doesn’t know whether to be angry, aroused, or in awe.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

You lower the scissors, your voice cool and even.

“Takes one to know one.”

Mark just stares at you. Breathing hard. Jaw clenched. That frayed little thread of control he was holding onto? It’s gone. Burned up in the fire between you.

And you—you’re still gripping the scissors. Chest rising and falling like you just ran a marathon straight through hell.

“You are,” he says finally, voice low, wrecked. “So out of your fucking mind.”

You toss the scissors onto the desk with a loud clatter.

“Guess you finally met your match.”

He takes one slow, deliberate step toward you. Then another. Eyes locked on yours like he’s looking at the only thing in the world that makes sense anymore.

“You’d really do it,” he mutters, half-laughing. “You’d die just to spite me.”

You blink once. “And you’d kill for me.”

He stops right in front of you now, inches away. His smile is wild. Reverent.

“I’d kill for you,” he echoes, voice rough and quiet, “and you’d die just to spite me.”

A beat passes. Then another.

And it snaps.

He grabs your face with both hands like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, crashing his mouth into yours with zero hesitation—hungry, desperate, possessive. Like he’s been waiting forever to kiss you like this and now he’s afraid someone might take it away.

You kiss him back just as hard.

There’s no hesitation left. No doubts. Just teeth and hands and ragged breath, both of you pulling like you’ll tear the other apart. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, fisting in your shirt like he’s anchoring himself.

You gasp into his mouth, tugging at his hair, and he groans like it’s killing him.

“I need this,” he pants against your lips. “Right now.”

You nod, forehead against his, eyes burning.

“Then take it.”

That’s all he needs.

Mark doesn’t hesitate—his mouth crashes back onto yours like gravity just stopped working and you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. One hand fists in your hair while the other slides down, grabs the back of your thigh and lifts, walking you backward like he owns the floor you’re stepping on.

You’re on the bed in seconds. Breathless. Legs parting before you can think, just to feel him there, all heat and muscle and sharp, chaotic want.

“You drive me insane,” he growls, dragging his mouth down your throat. “You threaten me with scissors and then tell me to fuck you—what the hell is wrong with you?”

Your hands claw at his shirt, yanking it up over his head.

“I learned it from you, asshole.”

He laughs—dark and low, mouth brushing your collarbone. “Guess I’m a good influence after all.”

And then he’s everywhere.

His hands are rough, impatient, sliding under your shirt, dragging it up like he can’t get to your skin fast enough. Lips on your chest, your stomach, leaving bruises he wants you to see later. Mark is marking you—no pun intended—like it’s instinct, like he needs people to know whose you are the second they see you.

Your touching him back, his skin is hot under your hands—like he’s burning from the inside out, like if you peeled him open you’d find wildfire and want. His mouth doesn’t just kiss—it consumes, dragging over your skin like he’s trying to eat the memory of your friends, your doubts, your resistance. Like he wants to own every piece of you you’ve ever tried to keep from him.

You feel his smirk when you gasp, when your legs wrap tighter around his waist, dragging him closer. You’re not even sure who started it anymore. You can’t remember who kissed who first. Just that it was inevitable.

“You like this,” he growls against your throat, lips brushing just under your jaw as his fingers trail lower, dragging over your ribs like he’s memorizing them.

You try to sound strong. You try to bite it back.

But the sound you make when his hand slides between your legs? It’s not strong. It’s needy.

Mark fucking shudders.

“Jesus,” he whispers. “You’re soaked.”

“Shut up,” you snap, flushed and breathless. He laughs, and the sound vibrates through you.

His mouth ghosts over your nipple, tongue flicking, teasing. He pulls your underwear down slow, smirking when you arch into him.

His teeth sink into your thigh, just enough to leave a mark, and he groans like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear you say that. And when he finally slides into you, it’s with a low, rough growl—like it takes everything in him not to lose it then and there.

You’re so full, so tight, so perfectly wrong for each other it makes your eyes roll back.

His hips grind deep, hard, like he’s trying to bury himself somewhere beneath your skin. He’s panting in your ear, messy and raw, fingers tangled in your hair while yours scratch down his spine hard enough to leave tracks.

He likes it. You can feel it in the way his pace stutters, the way he moans—raw and low and real.

“I could ruin you,” he gasps against your lips. “You know that?”

“You already did,” you breathe.

And that’s it. That’s when he snaps.

He grabs your thigh, hikes it higher, and slams into you with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. The headboard cracks against the wall, but neither of you care. The room is nothing. The world is nothing.

Just this.

Just him.

Just you.

Your moans turn to sobs, his name ripped from your throat like a confession. “Harder,” you whisper against his neck.

He doesn’t hold back.

Your bodies move like war and worship—teeth clashing, breath tangling, sweat slicking your skin. Every thrust is a promise and a threat.

You moan his name and he mutters, “Say it again.”

“Mark—”

“Louder.”

“Mark—”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “You’re mine.”

You don’t disagree.

He’s everywhere.

He’s everything.

And when you cum—shaking, gasping, half-crying—he watches you like he’s witnessing something holy. Like he’s the one being touched by God.

“Mine,” he pants, grinding deeper, chasing his own release. “You’re mine, you’re fucking mine—”

And when he finishes, it’s with a broken, desperate groan, spilling into you like he’s giving you a piece of his soul and doesn’t care what you do with it.

Breathless silence.

Only the sound of your heaving chests, sweaty limbs tangled, skin burning.

Mark buries his face in your neck. His voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. “…You scare the shit out of me.”

You grin weakly, fingers threading through his hair. “Good.”

-------------

You and Mark Grayson have lost touch.

 It wasn’t surprising at first. Having grown up with him and watching his transformation from ordinary high schooler to superhero from only a few doors down– it seemed only natural that he would act differently, make new friends and find new hobbies. 

The two of you drifted apart as he began fighting crime, talking to girls, and the friendship that was once so strong between you fizzled out. There wasn’t any animosity– at least you tried not to harbor any– but it was only natural that a sense of bitterness began to fester as he stopped trying. 

He stopped coming over late at night after a fight with a petty villain, stopped walking you home, simply stopped. And you tried to reach out to him, to let him know you would always be there but he found comfort elsewhere. Which was fine. He was following a different path, one that was extraordinary compared to your ordinary experience going to the nearby college sometimes crossing paths with William and Amber. 

Last you heard she and Mark had broken up and he was now with Atom Eve. But a lot had been happening to Mark recently with the arrival of different versions of him wreaking havoc on Earth, and his subsequent fight with some sort of super strong hero from a completely different planet. You couldn’t help but worry for him, worry for Debbie and his little brother, Oliver. 

You still cared despite the loss of contact and that was what prompted you to try to write a text to him, hoping that his number hadn’t changed. However, it sat in your messages, too scared to send it. You stewed over it, reread it probably a hundred times, before giving up on it. Weeks passed by and you hadn’t read or watched anything in the news about Invincible, deeming that that was probably a good thing. 

Which was why when you saw him waiting on the sidewalk in front of your house after dark one night was so weird. At least you were pretty sure it was him. Deciding to investigate further, you padded downstairs from your bedroom to the front door, slipping on a pair of shoes and walking outside, turning on the flashlight of your phone while approaching the pavement. Only to find that Mark– whoever had been waiting outside had left without a trace. You called out into the night, looking around before going inside, but you couldn’t shake the feeling as though something, someone had been watching you. You walked back upstairs and decided to try to relax, pamper yourself for tonight to rid yourself of the sensation.

From far above in the sky, Mark held a hand over his mouth as he chuckled. Your cute chirp and frightened look on your face excited him. Back in his home universe, you hadn’t been so close to him– it was a wonder why this world’s Mark hadn’t taken advantage of your proximity but after days of observation, weeks, Mark realized that you two weren’t together, weren’t even friends. That was something he would be sure to remedy. But he couldn’t rush it no, that would be too suspicious. He tapped his chin in thought as he flew to your bedroom window. Your light was still on, blinds open to let the moonlight in, and he quickly flew to hide behind a nearby tree as you approached the window– only to open it to let the cool night air flow into your room. He could hear your sweet humming and watched as you sat down on your bed to brush your hair. He imagined running his hands through it, brushing it himself, pulling it– but it got so much better when you began undressing right before his very eyes. 

You hummed along to a soft tune as you applied velvety lotion along your body, massaging your thighs, hips, before moving up to your chest. You plopped down on your bed again, putting some on your arms before redressing into a silky pajama set and turning your lights off. 

Mark was hoping for you to do more. To touch yourself, rub and pinch your nipples, play with your clit until he could hear you mewling and crying out in pleasure– but he supposed he would have to be the one to pull those sweet sounds from you instead.

In the days that followed Mark began to slowly insert himself back into your life. He began leaving signs, walking throughout your house leaving doors and windows open so he could watch you later that day. He followed you around as you drove to work, college, to the grocery store–meanwhile you had been noticing these things, realizing that you hadn’t left your bedroom window open all day…Had you? 

Mark continued to stay hidden, biding his time for the perfect moment to approach you but he wanted to learn more about you in this world, and found himself falling for you all over again. As luck would have it, that perfect moment arose the same day this world’s Invincible made headlines after having been in a particularly nasty fight with another villain. 

You paced your room, contemplating sending that text to Mark. It certainly couldn’t hurt, could it? It was simple and to the point–Saw what happened, hope you’re doing alright. I’m always here if you need to talk. You took a deep breath as you collapsed onto your bed afterwards, the night hours becoming later as you tried to distract yourself in anticipation of a response. You were reading a book as your phone suddenly buzzed, the screen lighting. Your heart jumped as you scrambled to grab it, the message reading, I’m alright. Just been dealing with a lot, hope you’re okay, too. 

Well, at least it was something. A sense of relief washed over you–quickly being followed with panic as a knock came from your window. You got up and opened it, only to see–

“Mark!? Holy shit, how are you–what are you doing here right now?” You gasped as he hovered into your room and landed.

Something was up…you had just seen him fighting for his life on television and now he was wearing a new suit and visiting your bedroom after so many years?

“I had to see you,” he said as he looked you up and down. God, you looked even better up close.

“I thought you were hurt? How did you heal so fast?” you shook your head as you grabbed his arm, assessing him for injuries. None. You turned him around, seeing there wasn’t even a rip in this new suit. But he looked different in it, somehow. More muscular, like he filled it out more but maybe it was just the difference seeing him in person and on a screen. Your hands trailed along his body as you grabbed both of his hands in yours. Realizing what you were doing, checking him out and gawking, you dropped them as you turned around and cleared your throat, embarrassed. 

“It’s my powers. I’m good as new, now,” he said as he stretched, missing your soft hands on his body already. 

You frowned as you turned back to face him. “Mark, what are you doing in my room? We haven’t spoken in years. I mean, just because I sent you that text doesn’t mean I was expecting you to visit or–or that we can suddenly go back to what we used to be.”

Mark walked toward you as you backed away from him. Seriously, what was up with him? 

Noticing your apprehension he began taking off the face piece of his suit, grabbing your hands. “I’ve missed you. And that text…” he trailed off. What the fuck could he say that wouldn’t alert you to the fact that he wasn’t your Mark? “I–I realized that I wanna make up for the time we’ve lost together. It’s you I should’ve been giving my time and attention to, not anything else,” he reasoned, looking into your eyes deeply. 

You looked down to your hands, intertwined in his. You shook your head, thoughts running wild. You had harbored a crush on him when you two were friends. But he was with Eve, was he not? This all seemed to be some sort of dream, a fantasy. 

You sighed before meeting his longing gaze. “Mark, you have a girlfriend. I’m not some sort of boyfriend-stealer. I don’t know who you think you’re fooling right now, but you need to stop. It isn’t fair.”

His brows raised as he scowled. “I don’t care about her, we’re done. Her, those other girls, they were just distractions, I thought that I wanted them but my judgment was clouded. Now, I see what’s been in front of me this whole time,” he pulled you closer to him, still holding hands. He rubbed comforting circles as you looked at his face, carefully examining his features. 

His body was definitely more muscular in person– but his face was the same Mark you had been missing, yearning for. He seemed aged somehow, eyes sad but still holding that same depth you remembered. Which was what prompted you to lean into him, breaking your hands apart to rest one on his chest as you looked up at him. 

Everything was falling into place, perfectly.

“Mark, I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to think right now. Maybe this is stupid, but I…I believe you.”

You could feel his heartbeat quicken, from your touch or words you were unsure, as his hand which had been rubbing those comforting circles, stilled, tightening before releasing entirely. 

Mark’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back to your eyes. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he murmured, his voice huskier now, lower. There was something dangerous, electric, in the way he spoke, as though he was holding back.

Your chest tightened as you leaned in closer, your lips just inches from his. “I missed you too,” you whispered, barely audible, feeling the weight of everything you hadn’t said in years. It all came crashing down now, in this moment—every longing glance, every unspoken word. 

Without thinking, you rose up on your toes, closing the gap between you, your lips brushing his in the lightest of touches. For a second, you hesitated, your heart pounding in your ears as you pulled back just enough to see his face, wondering if you’d gone too far.

But Mark’s reaction was immediate. His hand slid up, cradling the back of your neck, pulling you in for a deeper kiss. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. His lips crashed against yours with a kind of desperation, like he’d been starving for this for as long as you had. The kiss was firm, claiming, his other hand slipping down to rest on your waist, fingers curling possessively around your side.

You gasped against his mouth as his body pressed closer, his heat enveloping you. Every touch, every sensation felt amplified—the brush of his lips, the way his hand tugged lightly at your hair as he kissed you harder. Your fingers dug into his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath, and you could feel the tension in his body, something tight and wanting, waiting to be released.

“Mark…” you breathed, breaking the kiss for a moment as you leaned your forehead against his, your lips swollen and tingling from the intensity of it all. His eyes were clouded with desire as he stared down at you, his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he muttered, his voice rough with need. “I’m not letting you go this time.”

You shivered at the possessiveness in his tone, your body responding in ways you couldn’t control. His hands slid down your waist, pulling you against him, and you could feel the hardness of his body pressed firmly against yours. The air between you felt thick with desire, each breath you took seemed to pull you closer.

The line between wanting and restraint blurred as his lips found your neck, leaving slow, heated kisses along your skin, each one sending a shock of pleasure through you. You couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips as he nipped lightly at the sensitive skin beneath your ear, his hands roaming lower, fingers brushing the curve of your hips.

Your pulse quickened, your body arching instinctively against him as his hands found the hem of your shirt, teasingly sliding beneath the fabric to touch your bare skin. His touch was warm, firm, but careful, like he was savoring every second of this moment. He helped you out of your top as he took in the sight of your breasts. 

You moved to cover yourself before Mark grabbed you bridal style, placing you on your bed as he quickly rid himself of the rest of his suit, completely bare before you. 

“Don’t be shy, baby. Lemme show you how much I want you,” he said as he climbed on top of you, pulling you into a long kiss. While your lips were locked, his hands came down to palm your breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipples. Mark pulled away from you, moving lower, sucking and kissing as he fondled one of your tits, bringing the other between his warm, wet mouth as he began suckling. 

You arched your back in pleasure as you brought a hand to pull at his hair as you moaned. 

“Oh, Mark–Please!”

He pulled away from you and tilted his head coyly. “Tell me what you want,” he said in a low tone as he moved his mouth to your other breast, giving it the same treatment. “I-I don’t know I want–want more,” you whimpered as the hand that was in his hair came to grab at the pillow under your head.

Mark stopped his efforts on your chest and moved lower, using both hands to spread your legs as he appraised the heat between your thighs. “Poor thing. She’s begging for some attention, you know that?” 

Mark’s strong arms kept your legs apart as you squirmed under his touch. He placed light kisses along your inner thighs before he brought his mouth against your clit and sucked. Hard. You cried out in bliss as Mark continued licking, and sucking, swallowing your essence as you writhed under his touch. 

Mark's tongue worked expertly, flicking against your sensitive clit with a rhythm that made your body tense and shiver with every stroke. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you firmly in place as you bucked against him, lost in the overwhelming pleasure.

Your fingers gripped the sheets, your head falling back as the intense sensation built inside you, a fire spreading through your core. "M-Mark..." you gasped, your voice trembling as his mouth moved faster, the wet sounds of his tongue sending electric jolts through your body. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending you even closer to the edge.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, his hand slid up, teasing your entrance with his fingers before thrusting them inside, curling just right. The sudden fullness made you cry out louder, your hips lifting off the bed as the pleasure crested. His tongue and fingers worked in perfect harmony, pushing you higher, deeper, until the pressure inside you finally broke.

You shattered, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as your body shook uncontrollably. Your cries echoed through the room, your thighs trembling around his head as he continued, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm until you were spent, breathless, and completely undone.

Slowly, he pulled away, kissing your inner thighs tenderly as you tried to catch your breath, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Mark looked up at you, his lips glistening with your arousal, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he crawled back up to hover over you.

"That," he murmured, brushing a stray hair from your face, "was only the beginning." But the intensity of his gaze softened as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, leaving you breathless all over again.

You registered the sound of your phone buzzing, but with Mark on top of you, loving you, the edges of your mind fuzzy and melting, you willfully ignored it. 

For now, you were his, and the world outside didn’t matter anymore. Mark was different–but did it really matter to you all that much if it gave you the chance to be his? 

You felt the urge to mourn.

You had no recollections of what happened before you came here. All you knew this wasn't the earth you know, nature took over the planet, the sky a deep orange and a strange massive oak tree standing at the middle of it all.

a glowing green power shined inside it's body, dormant, angry, and isolated. Betrayed and stabbed by an axe which left imprints at the base, a scar, a reminder of what it went through.

There was an urge to comfort the alien plant, perhaps it was simply your mind playing tricks on you. There was no way a tree could feel human emotions.

You feel cold as you walk around it. You need to find home, but where is home exactly? This wasn't the earth you know of and you have no clue who or what brought you here in the first place.

You followed the roots of the first tree that protruded from the ground to another clearing where yet another oak tree stands, this time, normal for its height.

The last tree had vibrant colors, this one was dull in comparison to that green shine. You stopped for a brief moment to take in the sight before you.

Despite it's normal appearance and dull color, you can't help but touch the base of the tree and you flinched, stepping back when the shine swirled unnaturally when you touched it.

It seemed friendly, whatever these are they are definitely sentient to some degree.

You made distance with the oak, it didn't feel right to feel scared but you moved on your own feet, reminding yourself that you have to find a way back home and that sticking to one location is never a good idea- at least according to your mother's questionable survival guide she had passed down to you.

You pondered what your parents are doing, they probably filed a missing persons report on you and since you don't quite know how long you've been gone, you only hope its only been a day, and you started praying you weren't kidnapped by actual aliens from another planet.

Your train of thoughts also lingered further as you walk mindlessly through the dense forest. You think of Mark and how he was doing. You wished you cleared up the misunderstanding's about Todd before you came here, how you should have been honest with yourself and confessed.

Still, fear holds you back, you fear change, you are terrified of changing what you both have now. Knowing one day he's going to find someone and he looks at them like how you look at him all your life.

Mark is a friend, you know that, and you delude yourself that you're okay with just being friends, the next door childhood friend that will one day also find someone to love- someone who isn't Mark.

It repulsed you. The idea of someone else in your lives when you love him too much to give him away. Call it an obsession but you'd rather fight for the both of you to stay single for the rest of your life.

You tripped and fell on the grass when your foot caught itself on a stone, you hadn't realized you started crying in the middle of your crisis.

Stupid feelings.

Stupid lies.

Stupid you.

Why of all people has it have to be Mark?

Why does it feel like the world would tear itself apart when you aren't with him?

Why him?

Because he's Mark Grayson.

You're first love and possibly your last. The dork next door that would listen to you rant or ramble in the middle of the night with all the attention on you, the boy who would catch a lizard for you in recess just because you called them cool despite how scared he was touching one, the boy next door who shows up and glues himself on you with every chance he gets and spends most of your summers locked in your room dozing off or playing video games.

That was Mark Grayson, and to him?

You are nothing but a best friend. His ride or die, the girl next door who listens to him ramble about the new release of seance dog, the one who would put him in stupid situations, the girl who has a questionable love interest on Todd.

And who are you to make you change his mind?

You made your bed along ago, you just refused to lie still in it.

You leaned yourself onto a tree, small, insecure, but you felt the most safe within it's small dome, its little sanctuary in the middle of nowhere. It took you a minute to calm down and realized you hadn't gone that far at all from the second oak tree and from the distance you can still see the first tree towering above the head of the rest of the planets in this world.

The smaller oak you leaned to was still growing to maturity, the seconds tree's roots intertwined with the smaller one just like the first one did.

There was no green shine in its body not even a minuscule of it, just a normal tree with a parent tree root embracing its child.

You sat down and scoots further on the small tree where you feel safe. Where you can drown yourself in your own emotions without the feeling of being judged.

You want Mark to be here,

You want your mom to be here,

You want to hear your dad,

You want to hear Debbie giggle,

You want to see Nolan give you his best awkward comfort smiles,

You miss William and his loud comments,

You miss everyone back home, they're probably all worried sick about you,

How do you even go back home?

When did you fall asleep?

Soft fingers strokes your face, it wiped the salted tears away and she whispered soothing words into your ears, Russian was a language your mother didn't bother teaching you, as to why you don't know yourself, this woman is unmistakably speaking Russian to you, whispering soft words of encouragement.

"Вы должны проснуться!"

"Не заканчивай здесь свою жизнь!"

"Приди ко мне, дитя мое!"

"Вот и всё, иди сюда, дорогая."

Why was half your body inside the tree?

She held your hands and pry's you away from the plant in desperation, gathering her strength and she held you close when you are thrown out of the tree's hollow inside. You breathe heavily and watched the tree you we're resting on shamefully closed, the imprint of your body fading slowly as if it understood its irrational behavior of consuming you was wrong and selfish.

You could have died back there, and yet a stranger saved you.

"T-thank you saving me..."

She was massive, not as near as the same physique as your mother, but she was almost the same build. She has sharp features like your mother however, almost creepily identical and you flinched when she furrows her brows in anger.

"О чем ты думал! У тебя есть желание умереть? Что тебя так беспокоит, что ты хочешь покончить с собой?"

"I, I'm sorry? Miss i don't understand what you're saying."

There was a long pause before she sighed, her shoulders slump in defeat, you watch her stand up and motion for you to follow, despite everything, something tells you to obey without further questions. Perhaps because she was human in a nonhuman world, your instincts screams to survive.

You walked behind her, glancing back at the tree that almost consumed you and shuddered. You could have died, you got too comfortable and ended up almost giving up your life and the oddest thing is, you don't even hold any sort of resentment towards it.

Your body slams to a stop when the mystery woman stood still, she points towards a hole on the ground, her face unreadable but serious in the way she spoke.

"Home."

Home? You step a little closer to the hole, it was an endless abyss down there and you're beginning to doubt that she was even here to help you, looking back at the woman, she crossed her arms and waits for you to jump in.

"I'm sorry but this doesn't look safe."

Maybe she speaks and understand minimal English that would explain how she seems to understand you to a certain level. She shakes her head and comes up to you just to jab her finger right where you're heart is.

"Return."

"Return?" You repeat and she nods.

"Return, home." She points back at the hole once more then at you.

"Sorry, I don't understand how this hole is going to bring me back to earth."

A frustrated huff left her lips, she chew the inside of her cheeks thinking, finding words she could convince you to jump, and you wait for her to speak, the more the silence grew the more you think you have to be on your own to find your way back home.

A spaceship would be great about now.

"You, soul, home, body, return."

"wh-"

You didn't even get to ask before she actually shoved you. You flail your arms around trying to catch anything to stop your fall, screaming as the orange sky began to disappear and the silhouette of your murderer fades.

Fuck your life.

-

You jolt from slumber. Mouth opened to scream but no noise did come out. What the hell did you dream about? You're then hit with a throbbing sensation in every part of your body.

Everything hurts. The pain you feel was like being struck by a truck going pass the speed limit down the road to end you, the mattress felt thin and stiff making you squirm and groan once your entire senses came back at full force.

You can make out the faint smell medicine wavering in the air, the bed would creaked on occasion if you shifted, your face was numbed with something clings onto your cheeks like sticker, your arms are no better, needles inserted in your veins and supplying you whatever nutrients you needed..

You felt dizzy when you sat up, and you're careful not to accidentally push the needle to where it shouldn't be. You felt nauseous and scared.

How long have you been out? What happened? Why are you in the hospital with these bandages wrapped around you?

Like a second truck coming out of nowhere to finish the job, you're hit with the last memories before you went unconscious out, you were alone underneath the bench and in the mercy of your own company, begging death not to take you, recalling Rebecca and her goons walk away from your body submerged in your own vomit, the way they laughed and tortured you.

You cried. Sobbing in your bruised hands as you let it all out. The agony they made you feel, how you felt pathetic and small while in their mercy as you took on their assault, blow after blow begging and crying out for help and mercy.

You hear the door open, you didn't stop your tears, nor try to shame the emotions you felt before your father went inside.

He froze on that doorway, his eyes red and tired. You felt bad for everyone, the pain they must have gone through just to wait for you to wake up, to know what happened.

It wasn't long before Nicolas held you in his arms, holding your head against his chest as he feel you tremble in his arms, crying to him, for your mother to hold you, to surround you in their presence, and Nicolas hushes you and kissing your head in comfort.

"I'm here,"

"You're safe, nothing is going to harm you now,"

"Let it all out, (Name)."

You drowned in his comfort, his smell, his voice, the way he sooth you in a tight embrace. You believe him, you survived in what you felt was death guiding you to the afterlife, surviving what felt like an eternity of torture, and he lets you cry, again and again.

Because you're his little girl.

And nothing will ever change that.

Not in a hundred years, not even millions.

So Nicolas didn't speak, he didn't stop you from crying, acknowledging what you went through, understanding his grounds as a father.

And for you it was enough.

-

Every nerve in her body was burning, pleasure coiling and tightening low in her belly as she rocked her hips back, pressing against him just to feel the way his breath stuttered. He was holding her close, one thick arm wrapped snug around her throat, but not tight—just enough to remind her who was behind her.

She loved that.

Olive bit her lower lip hard, swallowing the moan that threatened to slip out. She was slick with sweat, her hair a mess against the pillow, body trembling and slick from how long they'd been at it. She'd lost track of time. Hours, maybe. Maybe days. She didn’t care. If she went out like this—pinned, ruined, blissed-out of her mind—she’d go with a smile.

Normally, she was the one in control. She liked it that way—liked teasing him, keeping him on edge, giving just enough to drive him crazy and then pulling back with a smirk. But today? She hadn’t needed to lift a finger.

Mark was obsessed with the way she writhed for him.

"Liv..." he groaned against her ear, the gravel in his voice sending shivers straight down her spine. "You keep doing that, I’m not gonna last."

She smirked against the pillow. He’d been saying that for hours. And yet—he was still holding on. Still torturing himself to make it last longer. Maybe it was Viltrumite stamina. Or maybe he just liked giving her everything.

She shifted just slightly, dragging her nails down his forearm, letting her voice drip with teasing. "Then don’t."

A rough noise rumbled from his chest. She felt it before she heard it—then suddenly, all his weight came down on her. His chest pressed tight to her back, his thighs heavy over hers, hips flush.

Crushed. Owned. Trapped.

Her breath hitched. It wasn’t painful—far from it. She could take it. She was strong. But the sheer force of him pressed against her like he could split her in two. She whimpered, not from fear, but from the heat it sent spiraling through her. The idea that he could crush her if he wanted to—that if she didn’t have powers, maybe he would’ve—sent a dangerous thrill racing through her.

Mark moved, slowly, deliberately, grinding against her just right, and her body betrayed her with a high, helpless sound.

“You okay?” he asked against her neck, voice thick with tension, trying to hold back again.

But she didn’t answer with words—just clenched around him, hard. His reaction was immediate. A ragged gasp. A tremble. He faltered, losing rhythm for the first time all night.

"Shit—Liv..."

She turned her head enough to catch his eye. "You like that?" she whispered. "Poor baby... You’ve been trying so hard."

Mark let out a wrecked laugh, somewhere between adoration and frustration. “You’re evil.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, pressing back again. “And you love it.”

His hand slipped between her thighs—because of course it did—and she nearly came undone again right there. He knew exactly what to do with her now. Which spots made her cry out. Which ones made her knees give out. Which ones made her legs tremble.

Her fingers curled into the sheets as her release slammed into her again, sudden and electric, her back arching involuntarily. She didn’t even have the strength to curse. Behind her, Mark was cursing plenty. Still holding back. Still not letting himself go.

He hadn’t even finished when her body gave out beneath him, boneless and soaking in the afterglow, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips.

And then... bzzz.

Mark growled when his phone vibrated. The sound was shrill, sharp, unwelcome.

"Fuck. Seriously?"

He shifted, and Olive groaned in protest under his weight. She was still pinned beneath him, breathing hard, limbs loose and useless.

"Don’t move," she murmured. "You’re heavy. It’s nice."

He glanced down at her, half-scowling, half in awe. "You’re insane."

Mark let out a frustrated growl, releasing his hold on Olive’s throat just enough to steady himself, his other hand shooting out blindly to silence the damn thing.

"Alright," he exhaled, voice wrecked, "where were w—"

Olive was completely limp against the bed, her body sprawled out like she had turned to liquid. Her chest rose and fell in slow, heavy breaths, her face turned into the pillow, eyes closed, sated.

Mark frowned. "Did you seriously just—"

She hummed lazily, stretching out like a cat, her smug little smile hidden against the sheets. "Mmm… you should answer that. Could be important."

Mark scowled. "But I didn’t even finish”

"That’s what you get for showing off."

The teasing lilt in her voice sent a violent shudder through him, making his entire body tense because fuck, he was still inside her, and he was still aching for relief.

His jaw clenched. "Liv—"

"You had plenty of chances, big guy."

Her smug, satisfied tone was too much. He knew she was right. He had been so focused on making it last, on keeping control, that now she had completely undone him, and she knew it.

Mark let out a low, suffering groan, reluctantly pulling out of her, gritting his teeth at the loss of warmth.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, grabbing his phone with all the irritation in the world. "This better be the fucking end of the worl—"

It was indeed the end of the fucking world.

Despite his protests, Olive had gone with him to deal with the disaster unfolding worldwide. She and Mark had split up after realizing multiple alarms were going off at once. Even if it wasn’t the best idea, they had agreed to cover more ground by handling different locations.

A mohawked head emerged from the rubble, cursing at the sky. Olive hovered above, waiting for him to get up. The prison was already in ruins when she arrived, and the moment she saw the maniac in that all-too-familiar suit, she didn’t hesitate—she slammed a punch straight into his spine, sending him flying.

In the blink of an eye, she found herself grabbed by the throat, dragged across the ground, carving a trench into the asphalt from the sheer force of the impact.

She lifted her hands, clasped them together into a fist, and started hammering down on his forearms, ripping pained grunts from her attacker.

"Let me go, asshole."

Then suddenly, everything stopped. The debris and dust froze in the air. And she locked eyes with a stunned face.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw Mark.

But this wasn’t Mark.

It couldn’t be him.

"Olive?"

His face twisted in shock, like he hadn’t expected this.

"That fucking nerd was right—you’re alive."

He took a step toward her, radiating danger, hesitation flickering in his gaze. As she debated what to do, her eyes drifted to the mangled bodies he had left in his wake. She repeated to herself over and over that this wasn’t her boyfriend. This wasn’t the man she loved with every fiber of her being. This was just a copy, a failed attempt to replicate him.

With that thought, she punched him square in the face, sending him flying.

The mohawked Mark started laughing like a maniac, kneeling on the ground, gripping his head with both hands, muttering to himself.

"Shit, I know he said she’d be here, but I didn’t expect—"

He cut himself off when he saw Olive staring down at him. Power radiated off her, and a shiver ran down his spine. God, he wouldn’t hesitate for a second to drop to his knees and do whatever this Liv asked of him.

"Who the fuck are you?"

She grabbed the fabric of his suit, lifting him nearly off the ground. Mohawk Invincible didn’t resist. He went slack in her grip, arms hanging loosely at his sides. He had missed her so much that, suddenly, all this destruction started making sense.

"I’m Invinc—"

“I know who you’re pretending to be.”

She reinforced her words with a punch straight to the face. The impact made him turn his head, spitting out blood. This shouldn't be turning him on as much as it was... right?

“Now tell me the truth.”

He grabbed her hands, caressing them gently despite the pain she had just inflicted. Olive recoiled in disgust at the look of satisfaction on his face. Shit, it was the same expression Mark wore when…

“God, it turns me on so much that you have powers in this reality, Liv.”

There it was—confirmation. She hit him again, this time letting go so the force of the blow sent him flying away from her. What the hell was happening? She replayed his words. In this reality. Was she really beating the shit out of Mark?

“Ohohoho. You’ve always liked it rough, haven’t you, sweetheart?”

He was staggering to his feet, wearing that same infuriating smirk she had once loved but now only wanted to punch off his face.

“You’re a fucking ass—”

She choked on her words when a hand wrapped around her ankle, yanking her off balance and spinning her through the air like a hammer. With a swift flick of his wrist, he hurled her away, sending her crashing into one of the few remaining watchtowers. Fuck, that hurt.

When she opened her eyes, she saw a figure hovering above the battlefield, fighting against the fake Mark. As her vision steadied, she focused on the source of her pain.

Omni-Man.

She swallowed hard, trying to dissolve the fear knotting in her throat. He was arguing with the mohawked Mark. She struggled to her feet, disoriented. With a single leap, she shot into the sky, fist extended, aiming straight for Nolan's jaw. But he moved at the last second, and she shot past his face. Her breath hitched in her throat because that wasn’t Mark’s father.

Jesus, another fucking Invincible.

“You almost killed her, dumbass,” Mohawk Mark scolded the Omni-Man lookalike, while Olive could only stare at them in shock.

“Swearing doesn’t make you cooler, just so you know.”

He remained impassive, arms crossed over a much broader chest than her Mark’s. Taking him down was going to be way harder than dealing with the pervert.

“I didn’t realize it was Olive. I just saw her beating the crap out of you.”

“I was letting her, for your information.”

“Bullshit.”

She stepped between them, cutting off their pointless conversation, weighing her options for getting out of this completely insane situation alive. And to think, less than an hour ago, she had been having one of the best org—

“Liv, sweetheart. Even if you have powers in this reality, I could break you if I wanted to. But lucky for you, there are so many things I want to do to you first. Like trying that position you were too scared of because you thought I’d crush you. Or maybe that other one wher—”

She hit him again, this time darting after his flying body to strike him over and over, playing ping-pong with his limp form. She pressed her palms against either side of his head, ready to crush his skull—but a hand clamped around her wrist, yanking her away with brute force.

She was dragged through the sky, far from the other Mark.

“Tell me, did he hurt you?”

His face was cold, calculating, but a flicker of concern shone in his eyes. He reached out to touch her cheek, but she slapped his hand away. Using his brief confusion, she grabbed his shoulders and shot toward the ground at full speed.

The impact shattered the concrete, creating a crater beneath them. Before he could react, Olive climbed to her feet and planted a boot on his throat, pressing down hard.

“Tell me, Mark. Did that hurt?”

His face twisted with fury as he struggled beneath her. How the hell is he this strong? This makes no sense.

She pressed harder, cutting off his air—but a sudden impact sent her flying. Expecting to see the perverted Mohawk Mark, she was instead met with yet another Mark. This one looked much more like hers, though his mask lacked goggles and his suit was still yellow.

“Finally, a fight worth having, Liv.”

With a wicked grin, he slammed her through the prison walls, dragging her through them with such force that the entire structure crumbled around them.

For the first time since this nightmare began, fear clawed at her skin. She needed to break free; her ribs were snapping under the pressure. She had fought with Mark before, but never against him. And she had no idea just how much each version of him was holding back.

When he reached for her throat, she whipped her head back and smashed it against his skull. He let go, and Olive tumbled across the rubble. She stayed on the ground for a moment, trying to catch her breath, searching for strength she didn’t have. Bracing herself on her hands, she lifted her upper body, just in time to see the goggle-less Mark approaching her.

“You always seemed so weak to me.”

He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her up so their faces were inches apart. She screamed in pain, which only seemed to amuse him further.

“If you couldn’t keep up with me, why did you start dating me?”

He lifted her higher before slamming her into the ground. He was about to repeat the motion when another Mark tackled him away.

“Don’t touch her, asshole.”

Even through the ringing in her ears, she heard the sickening sound of a fist connecting with flesh.

She was dizzy again, the metallic taste of blood making her gag. Blinking rapidly, she saw a Mark who looked exactly like hers. Identical. When he knocked his alternate self unconscious, he flew straight to her.

“Liv, are you okay?”

Before he could touch her, she swung her leg, kicking him in the jaw and sending him flying.

Gasping for breath, Olive watched him pick himself up, confusion etched across his face. Her heart clenched, terrified she had just hurt her Mark. She shot toward him, grabbing him by the collar just like she had with the mohawked one.

“Liv, it’s me.”

His voice was hoarse, likely from all the blood he was swallowing.

“How do I know that’s true?”

He let out a tired scoff.

“If we hadn’t been interrupted, I would have given you the best afternoon of your life.”

Her eyes welled with tears, and she crushed him in a hug, whispering apologies over and over. Mark's arms wrapped around her, holding onto her like she was the only thing keeping the world together.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through this alone. I wanted to get here sooner, but they’re everywhere and—”

She silenced him by cupping his face, repeating again and again that it wasn’t his fault.

“How touching.”

Several Invincibles hovered above them, watching with varying expressions. Olive’s mind raced, searching for a way out. But most of all, she couldn’t stop wondering—how the hell could they all be so different?

“Liv, seriously? You’re choosing this loser?”

She stood up with Mark at her side, their backs pressed together, preparing for the fight ahead. Her fingers brushed against his, and he gripped her hand tightly, refusing to let go.

“What do you want?”

“To ruin your fucking life, dumbass.” Mohawk Mark was definitely the talkative one. Olive made a mental note of it.

“I just want to take Liv and Mom home. I miss them.”

The Mark who spoke wore a dark mask, his face completely covered. She knew he wasn’t from her reality, but his voice—the sorrow in it—crushed her heart.

"You're such a crybaby."

The two of them started fighting among themselves. They didn’t look like a team—hell, they didn’t even look like a group. Olive’s mind raced, trying to come up with a solution, but she needed time.

"Why this dimension? What’s so special about it?"

"You." One of the Marks, dressed in full Viltrumite gear, spoke over the others, silencing them.

"Me? You’d destroy an entire world for one person?"

Another Mark scoffed, this one wearing a mask that didn’t quite fit his face.

"You’re not just anyone. You’re Olive."

"The one who always cared about us," the one who looked like Omni-Man added.

"In any dimension," continued the one without glasses.

"No matter what we did," finished the one with the mohawk.

Oh, God. Olive felt sick. This was all her fault.

"Looks like you have a type." That last comment came from her Mark. He wanted to laugh, but humor had completely abandoned him.

"The one who brought us here told us to destroy this dimension. As a reward, we’d find you—alive."

Something finally clicked in Olive’s mind. She squeezed Mark’s hand, as if warning him of what she was about to do. He glanced over his shoulder at her and gave a subtle nod.

"Mark?"

They all turned at the same time, speaking his name in unison. A shiver ran down her spine.

"Who am I supposed to stay with once you’ve destroyed the world?"

A chorus of "With me" erupted all at once, and the Invincibles glanced at each other. Their stances shifted, preparing for a fight—not against Olive, but against one another.

"Obviously, she’s staying with me. There’s a ton of filthy things we haven’t tried yet. And come on, she’s got super strength." The mohawked Mark was the first to speak. Of course he was.

"You’re disgusting. She’ll be with me. We have duties to fulfill for the Empire."

"You’re talking about her like she’s a damn toy." The masked Mark’s voice rose above the others. "She’ll be with me. I’ll protect her. Her and Debbie."

"You’re such a fucking weakling."

Olive took advantage of their rising tension, slipping out of the circle they’d formed above her. She grabbed Mark’s hand, pulling him along as he struggled to process what he was hearing. Without hesitation, Olive took off into the sky, and Mark followed closely behind.

"This should buy us some time while we figure out how to take down a bunch of versions of you."

Mark felt awful. His brain spun in circles. He loved Olive more than anything—they had always been together. He couldn’t imagine life without her. But he thought about what all those other Invincibles had done just to have her back.

Would he do the same?

If he lost Olive, would he go mad with grief? Would he do anything to have her by his side again?

He gripped her hand tighter as they flew away and gave it a small squeeze.

"Olive?"

She hummed in response.

"I love you too."

Her heart did a somersault in her chest. She felt whole… but a sliver of fear ran through her. Did that mean he would also destroy an entire world just to have her back?

She stared at their intertwined hands and tried not to think about it too much.

Meanwhile—

"Where the hell are they?!"

"You fucking idiots. They played us."

And then, a blood-curdling scream from one of the Invincibles:

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Invincible doesn’t exist in your universe. And if viltrumites do exist, they have seemed to have left Earth alone. Maybe they would assume nothing was alive on it anymore. They didn’t even need to conquer Earth when humans had destroyed it themselves…

You walk down the broken pavement, what used to be a road years and years ago. That was before you were even born though. This is all you’ve ever known. Sure, you’ve heard stories about what clear skies looked like, what fruit tastes like, what clear lakes and oceans looked like, but you’ll never see it for yourself. Is it possible to miss something that you have never had? If so, that’s something you would feel more than you would like to admit.

Keeping down your path, you stop as you spot something at the corner of your eye. You lower your head in a fast jerking motion to see if it was a threat. No. Just a dead body. Kneeling down, you can see that the deceased woman isn’t decomposing yet. Meaning, the people who did this could be near. You look over her features, wondering what she was like.

She had a kind face, her clothing made it seem like she was guarded- but not in the way many are. She was probably one of those empaths, one that would try and teach children what morality is- even when there is slim to none left. She was probably in her 30s, and she was shot a few times in the chest. Usually you would search dead bodies for anything of use- bandages, medicine, food, clean water, weapons- but she didn’t have a bag on her. You didn’t specifically feel like checking her clothes as she didn’t have many pockets or padding on her. You hope her original soul is resting easy as you begin the sharp inhale, causing a small vacuum for her duplicated soul. Her soul was a soft peach color and it came out as a small wisp, grouping up into a ball. You quickly grab it in your hand before her duplicated soul would zip away or try to possess you. It lets out a small squeak, sounding like a mouse. The beauty of your powers.

𓉘 “047241, do you know why your veins look like that? Why your hands emit a soft yellow glow?” 

You shake your head in response, curious as to what this could mean.

“You, 047241, were chosen to become one of the divine. A weapon. Your veins are filled with divinity, you have been chosen for greatness.”𓉝 

So much for greatness. Being blessed to become divine just means they fill your veins with radiation and liquid medication as a baby so you can become a weapon for the high court. Turning you into a humanoid mutant. However, you missed the mark. Out of 34 subjects, you placed 11th place, and they picked the top 10. You were left to fend for yourself after that. 

Your divine power is complicated. You are quite literally a vacuum for souls and energy. You can vacuum up to 5 hours worth of energy out of a living creature, and can vacuum a duplicated soul out of a deceased human. Their souls usually have some sort of helpful ability to you: like living soul protection, picking up objects, dazing others, sensing others, healing, etc,. However, as soon as they are brought out of their body, they panic and try to run away or they get angry and try to possess you. And their possessions can go from 30 minutes to 12 hours if you’re not careful. They can’t talk, they're like a small animal that needs to be trained. You look at the peach colored soul as it tries to wiggle free from your grip.

“Sorry, no hard feelings.” You pull out a bottle from your bag and squeeze the soul into it as it bangs on the bottle from side to side to try and get out. You would deal with them later. Right now, you should get out of here, in case whoever killed this woman is still nearby. After adjusting your heavy backpack onto your back again, you see a figure. This figure has their back turned to you, clearly not worried about any possibility of danger behind them. You carefully scan them over, as you grab for your weapon. 

From behind, it looks like it could be a mutant, its skin is puffed up and wrinkly from the back, but when they turn around, they look normal from the front. It’s a man wearing something that doesn’t look protective or plausible for the wastelands. He seems like an anomaly almost, he feels too out of place. He looks around slightly before spotting you. You wait to see what he does, but he gives a polite smile- though you feel as though it might not be fully genuine. You tsk to yourself, looking him over before raising your voice so he can hear you.

“Are you armed?

He casually holds up his hands to show that he has nothing in them, that he’s unarmed. You can’t tell if he has something hiding in his clothes but you keep your weapon close as you approach.

“You part of a group?”

“Me? Oh, no. I’m just looking for someone.”

You hum, “Oh? Bounty hunter?”

“Not exactly.”

You furrow your eyebrows at his vague answers. The way he talks makes it obvious that he is not from the deep wastelands. Maybe he’s part of the high court or some other group of people that are protected but then again, he’s out here alone. Plus, he has a scar and looks like he may be mutated. He would be kicked out in a second if he was part of a higher group. So maybe he’s been ex-communicated?

“Who you lookin’ for?”

“I’m looking for Invincible.”

You pause, giving him an odd look.

“Who?”

“So you don’t know of him?”

“Nah. Doesn’t ring a bell. Is he supposed to be a big name, cause I know a lot of big names but that ain’t one of em.”

He chuckles to himself, “I would say you are lucky to not know him, but it seems your world is already facing its own challenges.”

Own World?

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“I am Angstrom Levy, I can travel dimensions.”

Before you can even ask questions, he opens up a portal with ease, emanating a bright green hue. You stare in awe, never thinking you would see something like this before. You quickly tear your eyes away and look back at Angstrom.

“And you came to this- uh, here- for this Invincible person? Why? Did he get lost in a dimension?” You doubt that theory a little as he does not seem panicked. Instead, his lip ever so slightly twitches downwards.

“Invincible is a murderer, he killed my son- he ruined the lives of millions across many of dimensions.”

You stare dumbfounded. Well, that would explain why he was looking for him. You have always heard that if you have a bond with blood relatives, you will feel a new intense feeling of adoration for them, wanting them to never be hurt. Having someone take away his son would probably trigger intense rage. You try to grasp at the concept of that intense of an emotion, but you can’t feel it.

“That must be why you’re here. You want to get revenge?”

He stares for a moment, before humming in agreement. He takes in your appearance. You do look odd, but not out of place for the wastelands. You wear a large color with a short chain on it, under it your number written: 047241. Your eyes are heavy, with prominent bags under them as you never feel relaxed and barely sleep. A big backpack stuffed to the brim with supplies you need, causing it to weigh over 100 pounds. Your shirt is a dirty forest green, paired with baggy camo pants. Underneath both your shirt and pants, you have padding underneath to act as a vest to prevent easy targets. Then, the oddest part, you have long, leather gloves on- reaching up to your elbow. He stares at your gloves, and you know what he is wondering. He’s wondering what you are hiding, because it’s even odd to wear this long of gloves in the wasteland.

“What is your name?”

“047241.”

He just stares at you, before huffing out a short laugh. Is your name one that causes humor?

“Are you happy here?”

You stay silent.

“Do you have a home here?”

You stay silent.

“Do you have loved ones here?”

Again, you stay silent.

“What if I can offer you a dimension that will give you the chance to experience all of that?”

You perk up, trying not to show off your excitement too much. However, it’s hard not to when you think of the idea of clean bodies of water, clean air, animals, fruit, sunshine, alive plants and trees, and the possibility of actually meeting and keeping in contact with new people. You have to remind yourself to not show your excitement because you don’t know what this Angstrom could be asking of you.

“What do you need in return?” Your voice comes out rough but you know that he knows he already got your attention.

“Simple, all I need in return is for you to give me updates whenever you hear about Invincible. I need to keep track of him for my… plans.” 

“Done.” You say without a moment of hesitation. You can do that no problem, and you get to potentially experience living in a world similar to yours before it became the dreaded wasteland it is today. 

“One last thing before we go. Once you get there, about a week and a half from now there may be a catastrophe, I would recommend going into hiding.”

“Can you see into the future too?”

“Something like that.”

“One more question.”

“And what is it?”

“How many days is a week and a half?”

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