Cecil Stedman - Blog Posts

here's a quick compilation of that damn old man i've drawn over the last few months.

no i'm not sharing the full comics because im shy lol

okay so i'm obsessed .

So i finished Invincible...

I'd let him have my child😔they paint clouds on the ceiling 🥺🥺🥺

HAHAHAH!! OH MY GOD CECIL YOU'RE SO FUNNY *laughs harder than anyone else*

God he's so based

ok, so someone probably pointed this out already but maybe not

*invincible season 3 spoilers ig*

idk, maybe it's too obvious but

i wanted to point out these parallel scenes

in season 1 it looked like cecil is being hard on new guardians, but after season 3 (and in general, from how he acts) it's very clear that it stems from him being hard on himself. he deeply cares about people's lives and often blames himself for any lost ones. he's obviously a very pragmatic person, but i think it comes from the time he spent working in the GDA and him observing the reality of the job, being "the guy that saves the world".

still, i believe he's atfected by every live lost, there's just no time and space for any mourning and in general focusing on the individuals. so he tries to at least minimaze the amount of damage caused.

it is also directly stated in the show that he doesn't like how he has to act, but he knows it's the most "logical" given the circumstances.

the decision he's making in the scene above is also parallel to him later deciding to implant the earpiece in mark's head - not ethical, but necessary in his opinion.

and i agree - mark has all the right to be mad at cecil for this in season 3, maybe he could be more understanding, maybe not, don't wanna get into that rn - but i can't help to understand cecil's perspective - he was training mark himself, he knows how he's power has increased and the damage he poses to the world.

still, i believe he cares about mark and debbie.

and since i'm already making a post about cecil - yeah, the decision to keep conquest alive behind mark's back was stupid, but he doesn't know nolan's alive to tell them about viltrum etc, so i also get the decision in a way.

that's the post, i don't wanna make it an essay and defend cecil too much

OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDD HAHAHHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAHAHAHA MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

give me this senior citizen right now

Ugh. Like. Can you fuck me already

Guys I’m scared to post this to instagram 😭

I couldn’t decide which one I like more so have both 🙏

DUDE I WANT HIM SO BAD I WANNA BEAT THE SHIT OUTTA HIM.

Mark Grayson the way I need him too

I audibly laughed bc why do I find him sexy

hear me out

I'm deep in the shit cause he's like. I mean. Damn. Whattttt

Fellas i have to come clean about this, the only reason I watched invincible was because of Cecil

I don't even like men but like-

Invincible Ups the Ante

*Spoiler free thoughts on Invincible S3 premiere*

2/7/25

Invincible has always thrived on emotional conflict and subverting expectations, but the season three premiere ups the ante as Mark faces off against his greatest villain yet - Cecil Stedman. I did not expect to finish the second episode of the season with my heart in my throat and being sick to my stomach. The first two episodes of the season pay off a lot of emotional stakes that were set up in season two, and seeing Mark at odds with Cecil might be my favorite conflict of the entire series, not counting season one’s end fight. 

After killing Angstrom Levy, Mark enters season three with a desperate need to maintain responsibility and a higher standard for himself. He’s chronically training so he can be better, so what happened to Levy doesn’t happen again. Cecil is determined to save the world, but he isn’t determined to save himself. While Mark is desperate to preserve his morals, Cecil is more concerned about the end goal of safety, safety for humanity and for the world. However, he fails to recognize that if his efforts do pay off, the world may be safe, but it might not be worth living in. Cecil makes some decisions at the end of episode two that he may learn to regret as the season progresses. Cecil knows that he’s trying to save the world, but he no longer recognizes why he’s trying to save it.

Mark has a barrage of problems, and none of them have an easy answer. What is he going to do when the Viltrimites come back? How will he operate now that there’s bad blood between him and Cecil? Should he feel guilty about killing the man who tried to kill his family? Can evil individuals be reformed? These questions of morality tend to be the center conflict of the show, while the heart will always be the family aspect. Mark has his brother and mom to look after, and the Guardians might be the most nuclear family on telivision. 

We should be very excited to see where this season takes us.

Rick Stepp (irresponsibleink@gmail.com)

His hand was getting cold

(Original under cut)

at this point I’m convinced that Cecil just wants trouble for the earth

Major spoilers for the season finale

Reviving conquest— I know that Cecil wants to know more about the viltrum empire and such but I know for a fact that this is the stupidest thing I’ve seen Cecil do

Sure he’s got hundreds of bombs attached to an underground bunker with conquest in it but are forgetting that the strongest weapon they had didn’t even put a scratch on Omniman

Sure they’ve had time to prepare for the rest of the empire but What the Fuck is a few bombs going to do to one of the strongest viltrumites in universe

Thinking about how despite being a robot, Donald has shown to appeal more to his humanity and compassion. Becoming empathetic at a time when someone like Rick needed someone to understand what he was going through — that he wasn’t alone. Attempting to bring ease and comfort to others like Mark and Debbie when Nolan was bedridden. Aware of his own emotions and loyal to a fault. That despite how hard the job is and realizing the truth about himself, he remains strong and connected to others (hell I headcanon that he keeps contact with Rick and William after what happened).

Thinking how in contrast, despite being human, Cecil tries to make himself the robot. With the job he has, saving the world, he had long since let go of the concept of a moral compass and being “the good guy” in order to ensure the job gets done. He commits to actions that are both morally dubious and unethical — manipulating and controlling others and cutting himself off from personal connections just so it wouldn’t weigh him down. It’s as if he tries to metaphorically program himself to having the mindset of a machine — just so the guilt of all his actions wouldn’t crush him down.

A lot of about these two, both together as a dynamic and individually, makes me wonder about how they have an impact on each other, and the way they mirror such different ways of showing humanity. To express it versus suppress/repress in a sense.

Whenever I hear this quote from the I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream game with AM’s hate monologue:

“Because of all this wonderful, beautiful miraculous world, I alone have no body, no senses, no feelings...I was machine. And you…were flesh.”

I think about Cecil and Donald.

And yet ironically enough, Cecil is the machine. Donald is the flesh.

<…>

His shitty attitude and grabbable waist have bewitched me

When thinking of naughty fic, I think of these men.

I drew some vent art for Invincible after spoiling myself with the comics, GORE warning, I'm not a very good artist but there IS blood. I also referenced a base I found on Pinterest, it didn't have a water mark on it, so I don't know who drew it.

Yes, Cecil is my fav character and he dies TwT. This is a OC, a demon. Yes, I ship them. Fight me.

How are we feeling, Mark Nation?

Cecil.

Caybe? Or.. Caybe not?

Somebody has to hear me out on Cecil X Donald.

Coworkers to lovers. Amnesia trope (sort of). And the ANGST? Oh, the angst would be crazy.

Like what do you MEAN you keep having to watch your partner die, and then you have to wipe his memory again and again? What do you MEAN he's not going to remember what you meant to him when he comes back, but he's going to fall for you again and again? What do you MEAN you have to decide whether to try again, knowing how it will end, or deny your heart and do the job? What do you MEAN-

AVRP AU:

This is just some more information on the au before I release sketches or more story details. Feel free to send me questions if you have any!

Tag list: @hennybgolden

How does the AVRP work?

The AVRP (Alternate Variant Reformation Program) is working to reform all the variants caught from the invincible war. They’re trying using to keep this a secret because they don’t think the public would react well.

The board cannot seem to agree on which approach they should use to reform them. The whole point is to try and get them to fight FOR Earth against Viltrum which most of them serve for in their dimensions- plus some board members think they should be punished for the damage they’ve done while others think that if they punish them it’ll cause a guarantee of betrayal from them in the future. So far, staff are trying a kinder approach- providing therapy, nice rooms inside the facility, human interaction, tv and books, etc,.

How does this AU differ from the canon?

Everything all the way up to the invincible war is canon. During the invincible war, there were more variants in this au. Every variant we’ve seen in the show during the fight is alive- the other variants that exist in this au are the ones killed. The AVRP did some major covering and reported half of the variants they caught as dead, and governments assumed whoever was behind this (angstrom levy) took the rest with him- like when he through the 8 remaining into the wasteland.

Damage has also been to the lesser extent because they worked on catching the stronger variants first. The war still lasted three days but that’s because there was more variants and it was hard to keep track of what was going on with conflicting orders being sent out.

Do they have a contingency plan?

Yes and no. It’s almost like a contingency theory. If a variant were to escape and kill up to 5 people, they would most likely incapicate them and lock them up, not giving them a second chance. If it gets up to 50 people, they will execute them. They don’t have it meticulously planned out on how to do so as they can’t agree on what method to capture, or execute.

Are they getting new names?

Yes. I wrote this down just in case nobody saw my polls but I did do polls for the variants and am picking names based on what won. Some variants I chose myself. These are just the names of a few of them, not all of them.

Some variants refused to be called anything but Mark, and some were okay with getting a new name. Due to some refusing, names were kind of forced onto them. Some are actual names, some are more so nicknames because they couldn’t pick.

Sinister mark- sinister (I feel like the name was given to him because the staff didn’t like his vibe)

Mohawk Mark- Mitch

Maskless Mark- Miller

Full Mask Mark- Miles

Retro Mark- Marcellus

Shiesty Mark- Mikey

(Yes if you’re confused by the polls, I flipped retro and sheisty’s winning names because I don’t think Marcellus fits Sheisty but Mikey does)

Omni-Mark- Min-Sung

Cap Mark/Cowl Mark- Reed

Will they interact with canon characters other than the variants?

Yes, eventually. Right now they won’t be but the first two to be introduced into the AU will be Debbie and Amber- to show the more human side of them if it’s still in there.

Staff’s favorite variants?

I feel like it’s obviously Miles (full mask) because his goal is the closest within reach, and they can give it to him. So, he mostly doesn’t get violent or retaliate. Second is Viltrum Mark (no name yet) because he keeps to himself and doesn’t retaliate against female staff or nursing staff.

And now a question for y’all. Should I do some x reader fics along with this au?

Thanks for listening to my insane ramblings about my au lol

Join my friend’s Discord if you wanna have a community that also likes Invincible!

An Au where all the Invincible Variants we saw were kept alive to defend Earth from Viltrumites

This will be called the AVRP AU from now on, and here’s a few of the base line notes I wrote for the Au. This Au is meant to be shared, so if you want to create your own interpretation of it, I encourage it! Ideas and questions are also encouraged so I can expand the story of the AU.

I have some designs for the variants, some sketches, and some story building that I hope to share in the near future! Also, anyone have ideas for names for the variants? I don’t want to just call them Mohawk, Viltrum, Tracksuit, etc, because those aren’t real names yk?

Hearing you out 10/10 love him

HEAR ME OOOOUUTTTTT

feel like I'm going insane

I like him a lottt...... I wanna make doncil art soon

more doodles of cecil (mainly w my oc custard) below cut

Daily motivation

Daily motivation

THANK YOU FOR FEEDING ME

fem!reader with cecil headcanons pleaseeeee (can be nsfw if you're fine with that:3)

SFW and NSFW Cecil X fem!Reader HCs

IF YOU ARE MY BSF DO NOT READ THIS. This has been your warning. I want this old man carnally, and it’s abt to be everyone’s problem. I’ll lyk when the nsfw starts so if you want to JUST read the SFW, there’ll be a warning.

hcs under the cut!

Ive been thinking about him like a mix of Batman and a veteran, and that’s not an incorrect opinion of him

he eats canned beans, on toast

“Cecil wtf…”

the first time you see this you literally force him to eat something else because no way that’s nutritious OR delicious

being basically the sole intelligent person keeping the earth safe, he has a hard time doing leisure activities, like going on dates

so a lot of your dates are work dates

playing tic tac toe while monitoring world ending threats

youre playing stardew valley together on opposite ends of the earth

he romances Maru, pragmatic, efficient, he skips all their heart cutscenes

Hes terrible at video games

Absolutely amazing at Monopoly though, and WILL NOT let you forget it.

Its his go to for game night, if and when it has the chance to even happen

VERY anti pda, terrible about it and straight up won’t kiss or hold your hand in public.

Hell let you hold his arm like he’s escorting you, but that’s about it

in private though? Eugh he’s clingy

Perpetually exhausted, so whenever he finds some free time you’re on his bed or couch and he’s situated in the crook of your neck or into your side

Literally let him under your skin

its sensory seeking, he uses a weighted blanket to lull his insomniac ass to sleep when you aren’t around

otherwise he drapes you over him, careful not to crush his fragile, dilapidated body

”Hey, don’t treat me like some old geezer, I used to be a top agent for this country”

”I know darling, but the last time I laid on you we had to restart your heart”

”…”

He likes to organize things, and he’s taken to organizing your mess of an apartment

alphabetized your cds, color coordinated your closet

Donald jokes it’s his ocd but in reality it’s just how he copes with the stress of his unpredictable life

if everything is in its proper place, he can enforce peace amongst things

even if those “things” are just your socks

The teen guardians love you

like, looooove you

You bring Cecil his lunch or his favorite pen (he has a favorite pen btw) or just tag along to say hi and they all lose it

Rex is all over you, you’re like the mom he never had, but you let him drink and make Cecil be nice to him

When Monster Girl and Rudy go on their date, Amanda asks you to help her pick out an outfit

The Immortal isn’t so certain about you, but Kate likes you well enough so it works out

When Kate and the Immortal get engaged, The Immortal asks you to walk him down the aisle

yk since his mom and everyone he ever loved is long deceased

Of course you agree, and Cecil gets roped into attending.

Cecil likes when you wear soft, flowy clothing

he spends his entire life around stuffy uniforms and spandex neon costumes

Your floral sundress holds a unique appeal to him

He likes to dance with you in the kitchen to old music, older than he is

He just has antique taste, he says

He likes to hold the small of your back and lead with a wide arm, quietly floating with you in your apartment kitchen

Hes not much of a talker in private, preferring simple company

he loves hearing you talk, though

it reminds him why he has to be so good at his job

to protect people like you

or better, to protect you

NSFW HCS

Again, his body is creaky

but he’s surprisingly strong, all the years of physical enhancements and fake skin have done that to him

on that note, his artificial skin is super soft

Hes willowy, one of those people who thinned out with age

so he can’t top you easily, he struggles to find his footing and to keep himself upright when he’s just so focused on rutting into you

Can and has gone dizzy from overexerting himself before

he’s stoic to a fault, and has mastered his instincts, so quickies aren’t much of a thing for him

When he fucks you, it’s borderline erotic

When Cecil fucks you, it’s only because he wants you

He loves taste you, military swimming training and all the times he’s been choked by superheroes and supervillains means he has incredible breath holding abilities

Goes down on you for hours if you can last that long

you usually cant

hes good at what he does.

His hands are slender and long, bony at each knuckle

this is great for marking how deep inside of you he is, curling his fingers inside you at the hilt of his fingers. licks his fingers after I MEAN WHAT WHO SAID THAT—

Big fan of the cowgirl position

His long, bony hands hold your hips firm as he bucks into you

hes not very verbal, and likes to put on music

the same music he dances with you to in the kitchen

it sets the mood for him, he says, noncommittaly

but you know he doesn’t need music to be ready to fuck his girl

He’s not one for pet names in bed, with the exclusion of “Dear” when he’s condescending you

or when he’s ramming you into the mattress

or you’re ramming him into the mattress, he’s not picky

Hes old and infertile (ew, wording…) so he’s not worried about anything in the world when he presses you down onto him as he cums, a shaky groan escaping him

You ask about roleplay, and when he inquires, you pull out a superhero costume

ew no, no no no

Literally the only time you’ve ever killed the mood

ifs okay though because once he explains that he cannot find superheroes hot in his line of work, he rails you until you’re starry eyed

idk, he’s a hard worker and he loves you to death, he’s gonna figure out how to use his body to the best of his ability

You DESERVE to be fucked this good, and by God he’s going to give it to you

It’s partially a pride thing

like yeah he’s old and disfigured and a hardass

but he makes you purr when he’s between your legs and scream when he’s inside you

Who Gives a shit if he’s a little dusty when he’s got the prettiest woman ever crying his name as he cups her cheek watching you bounce on him

He was a secret agent, they’re like always sexy it’s a rule

˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

….ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨.ـ…

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⛨ summary: you’re here to teach, not manage a walking concussion with charm issues. but he keeps looking at you like you hung the stars—and asking questions like you owe him answers. it’s temporary. it’s professional. it’s absolutely not personal. right?

⛨ contains: sfw. slow tension. hospital-grade sarcasm. emotional constipation. accidental pining. reader being done™. mark being so not subtle. vending machine cameos. background bureaucracy.

⛨ warnings: mild language. cecil stedman. lingering looks. golden retriever energy. mild secondhand embarrassment. one scalpel-related flirtation if you squint.

⛨ wc: 2839

prologue, part one, part two

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a/n: honorable mention to donald for surviving government-grade stress, doing 99% of the admin work and getting 0% of the appreciation. chapter three is happening. probably. don’t look at me like that.

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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The hum of fluorescent lights should’ve blended into the background by now. So should the low thrum of activity—boots echoing against concrete, the shuffle of files, hushed conversations between medics and masked vigilantes. But somehow, everything still feels a little too loud.

Maybe it’s the migraine brewing behind your eyes. Maybe it’s the fact that he won’t stop staring at you.

You shift your weight, cross your arms, and resolutely pretend you don’t notice.

That Invincible is standing three feet to your left, burning a hole through the side of your head with an intensity that shouldn’t be allowed from someone who wears goggles.

You’ve been ignoring him for seven minutes and counting.

You’ve acknowledged literally everything else in this sterile, underground chaos bunker—someone called Sea Salt (you can’t be bothered to care enough to remember properly) pacing in the background, a superhero with a dislocated shoulder yelling about insurance coverage, the world’s most suspicious vending machine—but not him.

And still, he stares.

You exhale slowly. Sharply turn your head.

He flinches like you threw something at him.

“Can I help you?”

The words are flat, clipped. The tone you use when a patient insists they know better because they once watched half an episode of ’Grey’s Anatomy’.

Invincible stammers. Actually stammers, like he doesn’t know what to do now that you talked back.

Your brows lift. “You’ve been standing there like an underpaid mall cop—gaping at me like I’m the last donut at a police briefing. Do you mind?”

He fumbles for a reply. You regret asking immediately.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

A few days earlier.

You were on your fourth cup of coffee and hour three of mid-insomnia spiraling when the email came in.

A subject line so vague it practically screamed delete me.

“URGENT: National Heroic Outreach Program — Personnel Request.”

It sounded like someone stitched together LinkedIn buzzwords with a glue stick and a dream.

You almost deleted it without opening. Fingers already moving to close the laptop.

And that’s when your eye caught the numbers.

A full contract breakdown, bolded in crisp font at the bottom of the message. Enough zeroes to make your exhausted brain glitch.

You squinted. Re-read. Laughed.

Then read it again.

Field medics, trauma therapists, stabilization specialists…

Working directly alongside sanctioned heroic units. Teaching them.

Short-term. High risk. Higher pay.

You were already muttering “absolutely not” as you clicked Reply.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

And now here you are.

In the middle of a hidden operations center that smells faintly of iodine and military-grade deodorant, trying to keep your expression neutral while Invincible looks at you like you invented sunlight.

You narrow your eyes.

“Seriously man. What is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem,” he says almost too quickly. “I just…”

Didn’t think I’d ever hear you again—he wants to say, but the words die in his throat.

You groan like a middle-aged man.

“Fine, whatever—keep your staring fetish a secret. But you’re still in my space.”

And somehow, despite the sarcasm, despite the walls you’re already rebuilding brick by brick—he smiles. Like you just handed him a sunrise.

Weirdo.

The silence stretches.

Finally—finally—he stops staring. You can feel it.

Like the sun setting. Like freedom on the breeze. You don’t know what bliss tastes like, but you’re pretty sure it’s this exact moment.

Invincible turns his head. Doesn’t say a word. For the first time in almost ten minutes, you can breathe.

The air tastes clearer. Your shoulders lower half an inch. You feel like Eren Yeager looking out at the ocean, finally glimpsing the other side of the fence—finally, the taste of freedom.

You close your eyes, let your arms fall just a bit looser, and begin to reach for that fragile, sacred—

“So… what’s your name?”

You shut your eyes tighter. Channel the serenity of that dog meme you saw once—some old lab basking in the light like he’s ascended to a higher plane. That’s you now. Resigned to whatever curse has chosen to follow you. Accepting the inevitable.

“…Hello?” he tries again.

You breathe in. Deep. Steady. And swallow a curse.

“It’s not important,” you finally say, voice flat.

He blinks.

“Uh—it kinda is? We’re working together, technically. It’s basic team-building. Knowing names builds trust. It’s psychologically proven—like in war movies or HR seminars. I feel like not knowing your name makes it hard to build rapport. Or connection. Or, you know, that dramatic tension where I save your life and you cry over me in slow motion.”

He’s rambling now.

You open one eye. He’s serious. Or, worse—he thinks he’s funny.

You tune him out.

Just completely power down. Close your eyes again, channel the dog meme—serene, resigned, ascended. Accepting your fate as a woman destined to be cornered by a golden retriever in a super suit.

But of course—of course—luck hates you.

Footsteps echo behind you. Measured. Heavy. Government-issued.

Invincible’s voice finally stops.

You open your eyes slowly, carefully.

Cecil Stedman stands a few feet away, looking like someone who’s been awake for forty-seven hours and hates it less than he hates incompetence.

He looks at the hero. Then at you. He exhales like he regrets every decision that’s led to this moment.

“Invincible,” Cecil says, deadpan. “It’s not your job to harass new personnel.”

You smile. A flicker of victory warms your chest.

But it’s short-lived.

“And you—” Cecil turns to you, voice sharp and gravel as he states your full name and last name, “…stop ignoring people when they’re trying to learn from you.”

Invincible’s head snaps up.

Your smile dies on impact.

“…yes, sir.”

You hate him now. Fully. With your entire soul. You will refer to this man as Sea Salt until the day you retire, but only behind his back (you have bills to pay).

Cecil nods. Done with this interaction.

“You’re both assigned to Medical Rotation C for the next three hours. Report to briefings on time, don’t destroy anything, and for the love of god—try not to bleed on each other.”

He turns and walks away like he didn’t just detonate a small emotional warhead and bounce.

You blink slowly.

The superhero grins. Way too close to you.

Invincible repeats your name. Softly. Like he’s trying it on. Like he’s going to wrap it around a sentence any second just to hear it out loud again.

You don’t look at him.

You stare at a crack in the ground and plot how to fake your own death.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

This is fine. Totally fine. No one has died yet.

Except maybe him. Internally. Repeatedly.

You’ve been working together for exactly twenty-three minutes and some change, and Mark is dangerously close to pulling a muscle from glancing at you too often.

It’s not subtle. He knows that. He’s just hoping you haven’t noticed yet.

Mark Grayson—Invincible, world-class puncher of bad guys and part-time public disaster—is on assignment. Medical rotation. One-on-one.

With you.

You haven’t said more than three words since you got here.

Okay—technically, it was four if you counted “Don’t touch that,” which he did. Emotionally. Spiritually. Like a prayer.

He glances sideways. Again. That’s… what? The fifteenth time?

You’re focused. Like laser-cut precision focused. You haven’t looked at him once since the briefing ended, and that alone is doing something catastrophic to his brain chemistry. Your sleeves are rolled up, fingers moving quickly as you sort through supplies and assess whatever half-broken med bay gear they shoved into this basement. And he—

Technically, he’s supposed to be learning. Technically.

He commits the angle of your jaw to memory. He might need to sketch it later. For science.

A cart wheel squeaks. He jumps.

Smooth. Reeeal smooth Mark.

Mark’s dropped the same tool twice. He’s reorganized the same three items five different ways. And when you leaned over earlier—just for a second—he forgot how to breathe.

He thinks he said something to you. Maybe. You didn’t respond.

You probably didn’t even hear him.

Which is fair. You’re working. This is work. He should be working too.

Instead, he’s cataloging every tiny thing about you like it’s the last time he’ll get to. The little crease between your brows when you concentrate. The way you tilt your head when you read a label. The way your lips move slightly when you mutter to yourself. It’s ridiculous. He knows it’s ridiculous. But it’s also—

He nearly knocks over a tray of syringes and freezes like a man in a minefield.

You just say, “Don’t,” without even looking up.

That’s it. One word. And he listens.

Like his soul has been stapled to your command.

He exhales slowly. Starts organizing gauze packets like they’re puzzle pieces and not the only thing keeping him from going absolutely feral with nervous energy.

You’re right there. You’re right there. And not in the middle of some catastrophic collapse or stopping someone’s bleeding from a stress wound. Just—here. Breathing the same recycled air. Wearing scrubs like they’re armor. Not looking at him.

Mark resists the urge to break something—anything—just to make you look at him.

He peeks again.

Yeah. Still perfect.

“Invincible.”

He startles.

You don’t even look at him. Just gesture vaguely at the scalpel in his hand. “That’s upside down.”

“…Right,” he mutters, flipping it. “Just testing you.”

“You failed.”

You don’t say it with heat. Not quite. But not nicely either.

He clears his throat and tries again, forcing himself to focus on literally anything that isn’t the fact that you’re within touching distance. That you smell like antiseptic and cheap gum. That you’re here, and for some reason—still kind of talking to him.

He wants to say something normal. Something clever. But everything that comes to mind sounds like it belongs in a YA novel or a fever dream.

Instead, he peeks at you again.

You don’t notice. Or maybe you do.

But you don’t look back.

And still—he grins.

Because this? Being close enough to reach, even if you never turn around?

It’s more than he thought he’d ever get.

It’s not enough.

Mark lied.

All that pretending—organizing, fixing, standing next to you for three and a half hours like it didn’t matter—like breathing the same air wasn’t scrambling his brain chemistry?

He thought it would be enough. Just this. Just being near you.

But now you’re packing up.

And suddenly, it’s not.

You toss a roll of gauze into your bag like it keyed your car in a past life. Peel off your gloves with the grace of someone absolutely done with today.

The neckline of your scrubs shifts when you move, collarbone catching the light, and he has to look away.

You’re leaving.

You’re actually leaving.

He thought he’d be okay with it. He’s not.

You stretch your neck like it’s stiff, roll your shoulders with a sigh, and Mark swears it’s the most captivating thing he’s ever seen.

Which is insane. It’s a shoulder roll.

But you’re doing it. And it’s happening five feet from him. And he doesn’t know when—or if—he’ll see you like this again.

Normal. Off guard. Not covered in ash and dust.

You zip your bag shut.

And that’s when panic hits him.

It spikes in his chest like a bad punch—jarring and immediate and almost embarrassing. Because if you walk out now, that’s it. You’ll vanish again. And he’ll be stuck wondering if he imagined all of this. You. The way you said his hero name like it was a dare.

His fingers twitch at his side.

He has no idea what he’s going to say.

He just knows he needs to say something before you’re gone.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You clear your throat. Loud enough to be polite. Dismissive enough to make a point.

“I’m done here.”

He blinks. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

You wait for him to move. He doesn’t.

You arch a brow. “Door’s behind you.”

Invincible stares at you like you’ve just committed a federal crime. “You’re—leaving?”

You frown. “Yes? That’s what normal people do when the job is finished.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Frowns.

“I just—” The hero shifts, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “I figured we’d—maybe—uh, debrief?”

You blink.

He looks panicked now. “Not like a real debrief! I meant like… decompress? Debrief-light? Low-stakes post-mission rapport-building?”

You pause. Then snort. You can’t help it. It slips out before you can stop it.

He looks like he just won the lottery.

You sigh, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “If this is your way of asking to walk me out—”

“Yes.”

“…I didn’t finish.”

“Still yes.”

You stare.

He fidgets. “Is that okay?”

You hesitate for a breath. Then roll your eyes. “Fine. But if you get weird again, I’m tasering you.”

Invincible grins. “I’ve survived worse.”

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

A few days later.

You look like shit.

Not in a poetic way. Not in a cool, morally-gray antiheroine way. Just in the deeply human, overworked, underpaid, sore-back, I-haven’t-slept-since-Tuesday kind of way.

The ER lights buzz too loud. The coffee machine’s broken again. There’s a spot on your scrubs that might be blood or ink or maybe just your will to live leaking out.

It’s a Tuesday. Maybe.

You’re half-asleep at the nurses’ station when Carla walks up with a folder. She chews her gum like it’s keeping her tethered to this plane of existence.

“Room 9’s yours.”

You blink up at her. “Seriously?”

Carla shrugs. “Guy’s already in there. Looks like he could pay off my student loans in one go, but what do I know. File’s clean. Probably just here to flirt or die. Those are the only two kinds we get.”

You sigh. Take the clipboard. Totally miss Carla’s knowing expression and lazily stroll down the hallway.

Your pen’s already clicking as you push through the long corridor, shoulder nudging the door open without thinking.

You flip through the back pages first—vitals, allergy list, something about minor lacerations. The usual.

The door clicks shut behind you as you scan the first page for the name.

“Mark Grayson…” you murmur, before finally looking up.

He’s already watching you.

Smile crooked. Sheepish. And oddly familiar.

You blink. Shake your head. Tap your pen once against the clipboard.

“…What can I do for you today?”

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⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚❤️‍🔥˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

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Before the bunker. Before the clipboard. Just burnt coffee and bad timing.

The room smells of government-grade stress and poor decisions. Fluorescents hum overhead. Somewhere outside the door, someone’s arguing with a vending machine again.

Cecil Stedman doesn’t look up from the file in his hands.

Donald stands nearby, half-glancing over his shoulder like he’s expecting someone to call out his name and ruin his night any second now.

“I don’t need someone who wants to save the world,” Cecil mutters, flipping a page. “I need someone who knows how to keep it breathing long enough to do that.”

Donald doesn’t answer at first. Scrolls through his tablet with the dead-eyed speed of a man two cups past his caffeine limit.

Cecil drops the folder on the table.

“Her.”

Donald glances down. Sees your name. Frowns.

“She’s not exactly—uh, team-oriented.”

“Good.” Cecil leans back in his chair. “We don’t need another idealist who thinks CPR is optional. We need someone who’ll tell a cape to stop cauterizing wounds with laser vision.”

Donald shifts. “She’s got a record of pushing back on authority.”

“Yeah. So do I.” He picks up the file again, thumbs through it like he’s reading between the lines. “Field trauma specialist. Surgical certs. Five years ER, three years private contract, and one particularly colorful incident involving Invincible.”

Donald raises a brow. “You want her for the hero-medical crossover?”

“Yeah. Not full-time. Just this once.” He thumbs through the file again.

”She’s not exactly a fan of the spandex crowd.” Donald reminds him.

“Which is why she’s perfect.” Cecil taps the edge of the folder. “She doesn’t worship them. She knows how they break. And better—how to keep them from bleeding out on asphalt.”

Donald crosses his arms. “You really think she’ll say yes?”

Cecil shrugs. “Send the contract. Let the pay do the talking. If that doesn’t work… remind her how many heroes think gauze solves internal bleeding.”

A beat passes. Donald exhales slowly.

“We’re asking her to train them. Teach them medical response. Basics. Field aid without powers.”

“Exactly,” Cecil mutters, eyes back on the file. “We’ve got too many weapons and not enough medics. Time we taught the kids how to stop the bleeding before they cause it.”

“And you think she’ll go for it?”

“Temporary contract,” Cecil repeats simply. “Send the numbers. Dangle the autonomy. No long-term commitment, no spandex worship, just her and a bunch of capes learning how not to be idiots for a few hours.”

Donald nods once and turns to leave.

Cecil stays where he is, flipping back to the front of the file.

A photo clipped to the corner. Dark circles under your eyes. Expression flat. Hands gloved, steady.

Unimpressed with the world and clearly not afraid to let it know.

He smiles, just barely.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t kill anyone.”

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