show me how much you love me
cw. oral sex (m!receiving), praise kink, recording sexual acts (mark grayson x fem!reader)
Mark’s dorm still smells like sweat, sex, and summer.
The fan’s spinning. His sheets are damp. Your thighs are sore and his room is quiet now—except for the faint click of his laptop opening.
You blink up at him from where you’re curled beside him on the mattress, warm cheek pressed to his stomach. He’s still half-hard. Slick, flushed. You can feel the heat radiating off him.
Mark grins down at you. That boyish, smug, post-orgasm softness that always makes your stomach flutter.
“You still with me?” he asks, brushing your hair off your forehead.
He leans over—taps a key, clicks open the QuickTime camera, and angles the MacBook at the edge of the bed. The camera activates: a grainy little window showing his lean frame against the headboard, legs spread, cock glistening, chest rising and falling. You’re barely in frame, tucked beside his hip, one hand resting on his thigh.
Your cheeks go hot again.
“Don’t look away.” His voice drops, low and coaxing. “Come here.”
You shift, crawling between his legs, heart hammering. He’s already reclined against the headboard, legs stretched out, one knee bent. The laptop records the full view: your shy mouth and his smug smirk, the intimacy of it, the heat in the low light.
Mark holds the base of his cock, tilting it toward you.
“Show me how sweet you are,” he says softly, “with your mouth this time.”
You hesitate, nervous again under the camera’s blinking green light. But then his fingers graze your jaw—gentle, reverent. “It’s just me, baby. No one else ever gets to see this. Just you loving me.”
That word—loving—makes your stomach flip.
You kiss the tip first—soft, barely there, like you’re scared of ruining him. He exhales through his nose, head tilting back slightly.
“Fuck… yeah. Just like that.”
You wrap your lips around him slowly, tongue flicking along the underside. He’s already half-hard, and he throbs against your tongue. The camera’s catching everything now: the way your lashes flutter, the delicate shape of your mouth stretched around him.
Mark’s hand rests on the back of your head, not pushing, just resting there.
“You look so good like this,” he whispers. “So fucking good.”
You bob gently, tongue swirling, eyes peeking up at him. And that—that—makes him groan, head knocking lightly against the wall.
“Yeah, baby. Look at me.” His voice thickens. “Look up at me while you suck me off, come on.”
Your face burns, but you do.
You meet his eyes as you take more of him, deeper now. His thighs twitch under your hands. The sound he makes is deep and low, like it drags out of his chest. You feel it everywhere.
Mark glances at the laptop screen, then back down at you, utterly transfixed.
“You see how pretty you look?” he pants. “You’ve got drool on your chin. You’re fucking glowing. Christ—I’m glowing.”
You whimper a little around him.
His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, guiding you now. Not rough. Not fast. Just… intentional. Just how he knows you like it. How he knows he likes it—watching your tongue work around him, watching your cheeks hollow, watching you try so hard to be good for him even while blushing.
He grabs the laptop for a second, adjusts it.
Now it’s the full view: your mouth, his cock, the way your thighs press together like you’re trying to calm yourself.
“You’re getting wet again, huh?”
You moan helplessly around him.
“Course you are,” he breathes. “You get off on this, don’t you? Letting me record how fucking sweet you are for me. How you worship me with those soft little lips.”
You suck harder, your own breath catching.
“God,” he growls. “You’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect—don’t stop, baby. Don’t you dare stop.”
You take him deeper now, the tip pressing against the back of your throat. He curses, his thighs trembling, eyes squeezed shut.
Then he opens them, locking eyes with the lens.
And he moans your name like a prayer.
He grips your hair tighter, chest rising and falling fast.
“Fuck—‘m gonna come—fuck, look up—wanna see your pretty eyes when I—”
You do. You hold him there. Mouth full. Eyes big and adoring.
And when he comes—groaning your name, hips twitching, legs shaking—it’s caught on film. All of it. The heat. The tenderness. The reverence in the filth.
He spills into your mouth, and you take it, like a promise.
After, he gently strokes your hair as you rest your cheek on his thigh again, breath slowing, lips swollen.
Mark leans over to pause the recording. He replays it for a second, head tilted, watching the screen like he’s watching the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“You’re gonna make me fall in love with you, you know that?” he murmurs.
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