NSFW content warning • Genderfluid • Pan/Bi • mid 20's • Harrie, Louie, 5sos, Måneskin stan, Sierra Deaton loverbot and Corpse Husband simp • My life's a mess just like my blog • ★Luke Hemmings is my safe place★
Hi there! I've been here for a while now so I guess is time I make a 'lil introduction about my silly self (I apologise in advance for how long this turned out to be)
You can call me Vic
I'm from Argentina, more specifically Rosario born and raised there 🇦🇷⭐⭐⭐
Recently i realised that i like all pronouns, shower me in he/she/they if you like
I'm Bisexual (i honestly don't care what you're packing or what you identity as, as long as I like your personality and find you attractive)
I speak Spanish and English. I can also understand some Portuguese and Italian but don't expect me to speak or write them
Fandoms in addition to the ones in my bio:
Stranger Things, Joe Keery, Joseph Quinn, Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove, Dacre Montgomery, Avengers, Clark Kent, Sebastian Stan, Bucky Barnes, Tom Hiddleston, Loki Laufeyson, Keanu Reeves, John Wick, Peter Parker, Tom Holland, The Last Of Us, Pedro Pascal, Joel Miller, The Pitt, Frank Langdon, Michael Robinavitch aka Robby and Jack Abbot.
Fav artist that didn't make it in my bio:
One Direction, Girl in Red, Little Mix, Halsey, Chappelle Roan, Taylor Swift, Tate McRae, Lady Gaga, Sabrina Carpenter, AC/DC, Gun's and Roses, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Oasis, Nirvana, Green day, The Neighbourhood, Artic Monkeys, Zayn, Chase Atlantic and Sofia Isella.
Fav things:
Coffee, black chocolate, alone time, winter, cats, nature, the colour green and emerald, loud music and sad music, salty foods, giving love to others, chill people, generosity and empathy, confidence and feeling loved.
This is a safe place for everyone. You can always drop an ask here about anything. I don't promise to answer fast (I'm a mess) but i will, eventually. I'm always up for chatting if I happen to be on the app.
♡ TW: nsfw, yandere, poly yanderes, captive reader, invincible variants in general, you've seen the show
♡ GN reader
You’re dead in every other universe.
It’s his fault.
He tries to save you, but he’s too late—every single time.
And in every universe, it’s what pushes him to embrace his Viltrumite nature. It’s his canon event. The moment he realizes he can’t trust in the weak constitution of human beings, it costs him too much, so he adopts his father's truth—things that drop dead like flies have the same value, meaning worthless.
So you can imagine the clusterfuck raging on in each of their heads when they find out you’re alive and well in the universe they’ve been told to wreak havoc in.
And you’re as pretty as the day they lost you. And teary-eyed and scared and cute, calling out for your Mark to come and save you. Oh fuck, how their cold hearts all melted at once.
The plan changed then. If this were the only world you were still alive in, then it was the only world they needed to conquer. And with eighteen of them, it wouldn’t be hard.
Or well, so it proved to be a little hard…
But the eight of them that survived killed Angstrom. Then locked your Mark up, thinking he could be convenient to keep.
It didn’t even take a week before Earth surrendered in full.
That wasn’t the hard part. In fact, it’s good that over half of them died—because sharing you between the eight of them is the real challenge.
It’s not something they’re used to. Fights break out daily. And they don’t care about the damage dealt. It’s like kids stomping on an anthill just for the fun of it, leaving thousands to die every time.
Feeling as though it’s your responsibility, you try your best to please them all. Coming up with schedules—how they can alter daily or even hourly if need be—but it all proves fruitless. All you end up doing is begging them not to fight—on your knees, bowing while sobbing, holding onto the edge of their cape, pleading with them to stay.
They seem to like that. When you lower yourself.
Most of them refer to you as a pet.
You remember Mark saying his father said he saw his mom the same way. You remember your Mark being disgusted by it. But even those of them who don’t refer to you that way still treat you like one, like something lesser, like something they’re letting live for personal reasons, not because you’re something that deserves to live.
The kinder Marks have a little more decorum about it. The superiority has really gotten to their heads, trying to spare you the understanding of how they truly see you, as if you can’t read between the lines. You don’t know if you dislike them more than the cruel Marks. At least they’re honest about it.
You’re starting to doubt whether your Mark is even still alive…
You’d cried for weeks on end to see him. And when they’d finally complied, they took you to the prison cell where they were holding him. You’d sobbed and kissed him and told him how much you missed him and how terrible everything had been without him, how you weren’t sure how much more you could take.
He’d played along well enough for a while—you hadn’t been able to tell. But at some point, the way he touched you just didn’t feel right.
He laughed once you understood it. Mocked you. Licked the tears off your cheek with a grin and said it was worth it playing your weak-willed wimp version of them just to see that pretty look on your face. A couple of the others came in after that—they’d all found it just as funny. And then they told you they knew of a way to cure your loneliness—after all, why have your wimpy Invincible, when you can have the elite?
One time, when you were being extra whiny, as they call it, they’d taken you up in the sky and used you to play catch.
Mark had taken you flying before, but he’d never ever dropped you. And so you’d screamed until your voice gave out, and then you’d just closed your eyes and prayed for death.
But that wasn’t the worst part of it, as you found out… No, the worst part was when they’d undressed you and started playing something different with you. In the air, thirty thousand feet above the ground.
They all might look like Mark, but none of them are anything like him—some more than others. Beyond just sadistic, they’re psychotic. No humanity left, just trigger-happy thrill-seeking maniacs. They don’t even fight each other over you—they fight each other for fun. Coming back with mangled legs and broken jaws. Because why not? It’s no matter. They’re healed within the week. They don’t care about the many lives they’ve left in their wake.
But you’d caught a foul cold after their skylarking.
They’re not used to facing consequences—didn’t know who to blame but each other. Didn’t know how to fix it either—all scared you were going to die. They never did it again after that.
That’s not to say your life became any easier.
The dynamics became ever more strange the more months that passed...
At first thy wouldn’t fuck you at the same time, then they would, but without acknowledging the others presence, then it became a competition to see who could fuck you best.
It’s not like that anymore.
Their narcissism has now evolved into a strange attraction towards each other. And it’s odd as fuck to be caught in the middle off.
They like watching each other fuck you now. Getting off on seeing themselves get off, using you more like a toy than a partner.
Any day now, and you’re sure they’re going to start kissing and touching each other.
Fuck knows what your role will be in all of it when that time comes.
summary: You're just Mark's forgotten human friend, left aside after his life turned upside down. But was that really all you were in the main universe, and what about in others?
author's notes: Hi everyone, how are you? I hope you're all well! Here's another chapter, this one was rewritten twice because I accidentally deleted it lol... wow, I hope you enjoy it! Happy reading!
PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 01
❝ YOUR EYES ❪ COLOR ❫ widen as you try to process the scene in front of you. The sight of two Marks (or Invincible) leaves your mind slightly hazy, as if that couldn’t possibly be real.
As if it were just some kind of sick joke. You try to back away from the situation, but the white-suited Mark is faster, his arms sliding around your waist until he grips your hips with extreme force:
That Mark Without Lenses laughs, his dark eyes devouring your face as if you were a work of art ── his pupils dilate, licking his lips:
"Oh," he laughs. "I see you had the same idea as me, Mark," the Mark Without Lenses exclaims, landing atop the debris of the broken wall. Your dorm room had turned into pure chaos, everything shattered, scattered, and covered in dust. "After all... we’re the same person, with the same goal in the end, aren’t we?"
"Shut up," Mark snaps, grinding his teeth. You try to break free from his grip, but his hold is firm, as if he refuses to let you go. "Stay still," he says with unusual seriousness.
"Oh, so you didn’t tell her?" the Mark Without Lenses approaches, laughing mockingly. "You know we’re not the only ones who had this idea... it’s only a matter of time before all the others show up," he smiles maliciously. "And when that happens, the real war will begin."
"Others?" you ask, confused. Your eyes widen as you feel the white-suited Mark tense beside you.
"It doesn’t matter." Mark’s grip tightens painfully on your hip, making you gasp. "I’ll kill them all, without exception. Anyone who lays a hand on my woman will die." He says it so casually it sends chills down your spine.
"My woman?" the other Mark mocks. "You’re stealing from another Mark and still calling her yours?" He bursts out laughing. "How arrogant, Mark Viltrum," the smug grin on his lips is terrifying.
Suddenly, he stops, staring at you as if you were nothing more than prey:
"Sweetheart... close your eyes, I don’t want you to see so much violence... yet." And in an instant, using his super speed, the one without lenses lunges at the other Mark, raising his fists.
Mark Viltrum shoves you aside, and you stumble, falling hard onto the ground. The scene before you is terrifying ── the two colliding, blows clashing as Mark Viltrum blocks with precision.
And the building trembles.
Your breathing becomes uneven as you scramble to your feet in panic. From the corner of your eye, you catch the moment Mark Viltrum lands a punch on the other, making him spit blood... yet he laughs.
And groans. Asking for more.
It’s sickening, and you quickly back away, your steps unsteady, dust rising around you. Taking advantage of the moment when neither of them is paying attention to you, too consumed in a fight that seems endless.
The hallway is empty, and with every strike, the building shakes.
Your mind races as your body pushes toward the emergency stairs ── there’s no way you’d take the elevator in a situation like this.
Who were those two? And why did they look so much like Mark?
You try not to dwell on it, especially not on the fact that there were others. Other Marks? Other copies? And why were they coming after you? Where was the real Mark in all of this?
He definitely wasn’t worried about you. He probably didn’t even know his identity was being stolen by idiots with his same face, voice, and body.
Your steps are desperate as you rush down the stairs from the 7th floor toward the ground level. The building shakes like jelly, the walls starting to crack apart.
Your eyes lock onto the number: 4th floor. You were close. Just a bit more and you’d reach the ground floor, finally escaping this nightmare.
Your steps halt when you notice a man standing at the bottom of the fourth-floor staircase. Tall, slightly muscular, wearing a black and blue suit that covers his entire body, along with a mask.
You freeze halfway on the stairs, your hands trembling as you realize he stopped as well, his shoulders tense as he speaks quickly:
"I’m not here to hurt you," he says calmly. "I came to help you... I won’t hurt you like the others." His voice sounds like Mark’s, though slightly muffled by the mask.
The masked man steps closer ── or tries to ── because you immediately step back, slipping and falling onto the step behind you:
"DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!" you shout, eyes wide. He raises his hands in surrender:
"I won’t hurt you," he repeats gently, using the same tone Mark always used with you in tense moments. "I’m not like them... I just want to take care of you."
His shoulders tense even more when he sees how scared and withdrawn you are:
"I miss you," he begins, his voice dropping. "In my universe, you were killed by Omni-Man... and..." He swallows hard, as if on the verge of tears. "But I won’t let the same mistake happen twice... I won’t let anyone hurt you."
Your brows furrow:
"What the hell are you talking about?!" you snap, standing up and gripping the railing. He steps closer again, and you retreat further.
"I’ll protect my mother... and you..." He moves toward you, his steps heavier now. Your eyes widen, your breathing quickens, and you think you’re about to be kidnapped again by some lunatic.
But then the building shakes violently, the structure cracking. Pieces of concrete begin to fall, and you shut your eyes tightly, bracing for impact.
You feel hands grabbing your waist, pulling you away. Your eyes try to focus on something, but the dust—along with something that feels like fabric completely covering you—keeps you from seeing anything.
You stifle a breath, your hands pressing against a strong chest. The wind brushes softly against your face, and panic begins to rise as you try to kick whatever is holding you.
And suddenly, clarity returns to your vision—slowly, you look at the strong arms holding you, noticing the chaos surrounding the campus.
Destruction. The college buildings were ruined, but your building was now reduced to nothing—blocks of concrete where you had once spent so much time.
Your eyes widen in confusion, and you swallow hard as you realize you're in someone’s arms, being carried through the air.
Shit.
Your head quickly turns to the side, your expression shifting when you notice another guy who looks like Mark—but wearing a mask and a pathetically red-and-white uniform.
With Omni-Man’s symbol.
Omni-Man.
Your brain short-circuits, registering those last words. Your arms struggle weakly against the muscular chest, light tears forming in your eyes:
“LET ME GO!” you shout, but that “hero” doesn’t obey. His hands tighten around your waist, as if reminding you who’s in control.
“Don’t be rude,” he says, his voice once again similar to Mark’s, making your stomach twist. “I’m the one in charge here…” His grip becomes firmer. “Maybe I should remind you who you belong to.”
GDA HOSPITAL
Amid all the chaos, Mark stands beside Eve—who lies unconscious in bed, her leg broken, in a light coma.
The world outside was falling apart.
Several variants causing destruction beyond anything seen before. All thanks to Angstrom, who seemed extremely amused watching this dimension crumble into ashes.
Cecil enters the room alongside Donald, who carries a tablet in his hands.
The older man crosses his arms, sighing:
“Mark.” His voice echoes through the room, where only the beeping of Eve’s vital monitors can be heard. “You should be out there, helping other heroes who are dying because of pathetic copies of you.”
“I’m not leaving,” he snaps, clearly frustrated, looking at Eve. “I can’t leave her here alone.”
“She’s in one of the most guarded hospitals… It’s unlikely your variants will find us here,” Cecil explains, while Donald starts scrolling through something on his tablet.
“No.” Mark growls. “I won’t.”
“Your mother, your friends… would you let the world fall into chaos? When Eve is stable?” Cecil presses, growing irritated. “You’re our only available weapon against those monsters.”
“No,” Mark growls again, refusing to look at him.
Silence falls, and Cecil sighs, glancing at Donald, who seems to understand immediately.
Images of destruction project from Donald’s tablet. The college campus… your campus.
It’s like something snaps inside Mark as he sees it.
“We deployed small drones across Chicago… the situation is bad,” Cecil begins, arms crossed. “They left the big cities and came here.”
“There are 25 more heading there… Some were killed, others intercepted… but—” Donald pauses. “They all have one thing in common.”
Mark freezes, letting Eve’s hand slip from his fingers as he stands abruptly, though still tense.
“What?”
“❪ name ❫.”
The silence that follows is terrifying. Cecil knows he’s hit a nerve.
He inhales deeply, adjusting his tie as the image zooms in—you, struggling in Omni-Mark’s arms.
“And there are more heat signatures heading there…” Donald continues. “They probably want something from her, since they haven’t hurt her—and are even fighting each other.”
Mark goes still, eyes locked on the projection. You—defenseless—while Omni-Mark holds you with possessive force.
He feels it. He notices the way the other Marks are looking at you… at what is his.
“I figured you’d want to know that… your childhood sweetheart is in the hands of those maniacs, and she could—”
Cecil is cut off when Mark grabs him by the collar.
“Where… where is she?!” he demands, rage rising through him. He looks like a different man now, almost shaking, fists clenched.
“University campus in C-Chicago!” Cecil answers quickly.
Mark releases him, grabbing his mask from the counter and putting it on.
As he’s about to leave, he glances once more at the projection—at you—and feels a burning urge to destroy that pathetic version of himself.
But the image suddenly glitches and disappears.
“Someone must’ve… taken out our surveillance drone,” Donald says.
Mark clenches his jaw and leaps out the window, flying toward the campus.
Without looking at Donald.
Without looking at Cecil.
Without looking at Eve.
Without looking back.
Flying toward you.
Because he’s tired of pretending that staying away from you was enough.
Tired of pretending that becoming a side character in your life was the right choice—that you’d be safe.
But he was wrong.
Because leaving you alone was enough for dozens of versions of him to come after you—to claim you, to kidnap you, or worse.
He wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers again.
That Mark—this version—would not lose.
He wouldn’t leave you again.
He would run, fly, and kill every single one of them—
♡ : what the title says :3 stumbled upon this vid on twt and immediately thought of mark grayson.
──⠀SPOILED ROTTEN.
♡ : in which you spoil your boyfriend mark with a well deserved warm bath and lots of love <3 after he comes home tired from a mission, filled with doubts.
──⠀ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* NERD ALERT !
[ 1 ] ♡ : in which mark falls for the new comic book store employee who matches his nerd [ and he hopes his freak too :3 ] and realizes he wants that effing cookie SO BADD.
[ 2 ] ♡ : nerding out with your beloved bf :3
──⠀I WANT SOMEONE BADLY.
♡ : after a hard night of fighting crime, you take mark back to yours to spend some extra time with him, one of your closest friends. he is a yearner through and through.
──⠀CHERRY BOMB.
♡ : he's whipped — more than the cream on your milkshake.
──⠀ANIMAL ATTRACTION.
♡ : in which mark tries to put a kitty back in her cage. ( catwoman reader )
──⠀GUYLINER.
♡ : everyone looks good with eyeliner and ur bf isn't an exception.
──⠀BF!MARK TEXTS.
♡ : smau! just random texts with your boyfriend mark.
* SINISTER MARK GRAYSON.
──⠀TEAR YOU APART.
♡ : in which sinister mark discovers your dirty little secret and decides to help you recreate it in real time.
synopsis: it started as a harmless hand comparison with your best friend, mark grayson… but the second you noticed how long his fingers are? yeah. that filthy little brain of yours spiraled fast--and now you're about to find out exactly what those fingers can do.
warning: SMUT-WITH-FLUFF, fem!reader, switch!mark, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (f + m receiving), fingering, handjob, blowjob, face sitting, p in v, dirty talk, breeding?, mentioning of tummy bulging, mark acts like a little shit, friends-to-lovers kinda vibe, reader is implied to be loud, debbie and nolan knows
wc: 11,974
a/n: another long post done that was sitting in my drafts for a long time is finally completed! woohoo! and don't worry guys, i have another long, filthy post you freaks out there might enjoy ^^
It starts simple. Just the two of you, killing time on a hot-ass day.
Mark's stretched out on his bed in a plain white tee and sweatpants, bare feet dangling off the edge, a comic held above his face. You're lying on your stomach beside him, scrolling through your phone with one hand and popping grapes into your mouth from the bowl on the nightstand with the other. The fan hums overhead, blades lazily spinning, sending a soft breeze that flutters the edge of your shirt.
It's been one of those quiet days--easy, comfortable, familiar. The kind of day that slips by without effort. You've been friends forever. Close enough to joke about everything, to touch without flinching, to share a bed or a bite of food without thinking twice.
But lately?
Something's been simmering beneath the surface. Something unspoken. Lingering glances. That low, fluttery buzz in your stomach when your shoulders brush. When his thigh bumps yours. When he looks over at you with sleep-wrecked hair and that heavy-lidded stare.
You should be used to it by now. This closeness. This... everything. But it's getting harder to ignore how good his arms look when he stretches, or how your stomach does that dumb little flip every time he laughs in that sleepy, raspy voice.
And today?
Today, he looks too good for his own damn safety.
You glance up from your phone--not really meaning to--and find yourself looking at his mouth. He's chewing the corner of his lip, eyes flicking across the comic like he's actually reading, but his fingers haven't turned the page in a while. His shirt's riding up just a bit, teasing a strip of his stomach.
And God help you, you notice.
You stare. Look back at your phone. Pop a grape in your mouth like that'll fix anything.
It doesn't.
When you glance up again, he's smiling. Not at you--at something in the comic--but the way the corner of his mouth lifts first? The way it makes that damn dimple show?
That should be illegal. Like, arrest-worthy--because of that dimple? Way too hot.
(As if he wasn't already criminally attractive.)
His arm is resting near yours, casual and close, and for some reason... it's his hand that catches your attention this time. The veins. The tendons. The long, twitchy fingers. You watch them turn a page, and something flutters in your chest--sharp and sudden.
"...Hey," you murmur, nudging his arm. "Lemme see your hand."
Mark glances over, confused but obliging. "Uh... okay?"
He lowers the comic, and you immediately take his hand in yours--palm to palm.
And holy shit.
"I knew it," you mutter. "You've got big hands."
Mark furrows his brow. "I mean... you've got tiny hands. That's not really a surprise."
"No, no. This is different." You scoot closer, studying the way your fingertips don't even reach the last knuckle of his. "They're longer. Like, spider-leg long."
He snorts. "Gee, thanks."
But his voice cracks slightly, trying to be casual. He thinks he's being casual. But inside? His brain is already short-circuiting.
Why are you looking at his hand like that?
Why are you holding it like that?
You glide your fingers slowly to his, tracing the length with teasing precision. "I mean it as a compliment. Kinda."
"'Kinda,'" he echoes, already scrambling, because your voice just dropped half an octave and his heart's pounding.
You shoot him a look. "Don't get cocky just 'cause your mutant fingers are hot."
He chokes. "My what?!"
But you're not letting it go. Not now. Not after your brain catches up to the possibilities.
Those fingers... long, nimble, warm. Strong when they grip things. And you've seen the way they wrap around water bottles, seen how they flex when he's clenching a fist or holding a pencil or absentmindedly drumming on his thigh while thinking.
God, what could those fingers do to you?
You stare down at your hands against his, thoughts spiraling rapidly from innocent observation to filthy, spiraling fantasy.
His long fingers wrapped around your throat. Curling inside you just right, hitting that perfect spot that makes you see stars. Holding your hips down while you squirm beneath him, breathless, begging him to stop because it's too much, it's too good--and you don't know if you can take it.
You feel a rush of heat crawl up to your neck, something throbbing deep and low, causing you to press your thighs together without thinking--tight, needy, like your body's already begging for his hands.
And Mark feels it too. Feels the shift. Sees the look in your eyes and he's panicking.
"Okay, weird inspection's over--" he tries to pull away.
But you catch his wrist and give him that look.
The one that says: you're not leaving this moment unscathed.
His stomach flips.
Then your lips curl into a devilish grin, slow and deliberate, causing Mark's breath to hitch. He watches your lips part, feeling his mouth go dry until--
"...You ever put those fingers to good use, Grayson?"
Your voice is silk and heat. And Mark?
Mark's brain lags like a bad Wi-Fi connection.
"I--wha--what does that even mean?" he stammers, eyes wide, cheeks already tinting red as your grip on his wrist tightens just slightly. His fingers twitch against yours, and you swear you feel a spark shoot up your arm.
You lean in closer, like you're about to share a secret.
"It means," you purr, tracing one of his long fingers with your nail, from base to tip in a deliberate, slow drag. "you've got tools, Mark. Real potential. And now I'm wondering what they'd feel like... y'know..."
You let your voice drop, eyes lidded. "Inside someone."
Mark makes a choked sound in his throat, like his soul just left his body. "You're messing with me," he says, voice shaky, trying hard to sound firm. "You--this is just another one of your dumb jokes."
You tilt your head, that same grin playing at the corner of your mouth as your fingers slide down his palm, lightly tickling the veins there. "Am I joking?" you ask inocently. "Or are you just scared?"
"Scared?!" he repeats, voice cracking.
"Oh yeah," you hum. "You're redder than a tomato right now. What, is it too much? Can't handle a little finger talk?"
"I can handle--" Mark's voice pitches, indignant and flustered all at once. "It's not like I haven't--done stuff before!"
"Yeah?" you lean forward, so close now that your lips are barely a few inches from his, eyes locked. "Then prove it."
Mark's breath hitches. "W-What?"
You keep going, teasing, relentless, your voice practically wrapping around him. "Show me how good they are. Those hands of yours. Or was all that talk just for show?"
And then--click.
His jaw clenches, eyes flicking down to your mouth, then back up, shoulders stiffen like he's bracing himself.
And you see it.
The moment Mark Grayson breaks.
"You're playing with fire," he says, voice low and dangerous.
Your smirk deepens. "Good. I like the burn."
And suddenly, his hand that had been under yours moves. Firm and sure, sliding up, fingers brushing your wrist, your forearm, until he's gripping just below your elbow.
"You want me to use my fingers?" he asks, voice husky now, a dark undercurrent that wasn't there before. "On you?"
You pause for a breath, caught by the tension snapping in the air.
"...I mean," you whisper, "unless you're too scared."
His smile curves--crooked and dangerous. "I already told you. I can handle it."
Then his hand slides up to your jaw, tilting your chin--slow, deliberate, commanding. Your breath catches as you watch the way his eyes darken, eyes lidded as he stares you down.
"And I will," he adds. "But if I do, you better be ready to take all of it. No running away when it gets too much. No teasing halfway."
Your heart pounds. His fingers--god, those fingers--are cradling your jaw now, brushing over your lips, your cheek, slow and maddening.
"I don't run," you whisper.
He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, "Then lie back."
And you do.
You don't break eye contact when you shift, body thrumming with heat as you lie back on his bed, sinking into his sheets. There's a moment--just one--where you feel almost too exposed, nerves prickling under your skin. You hadn't expected him to rise to the challenge. Not like this. Not with that look in his eye.
Mark settles beside you, bracing one hand next to your head, the other skimming down your side.
"You sure?" he murmurs, voice a low rasp, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. "You're not gonna tap out if I go too far?"
You grin, but your voice wavers with need. "Try me."
And that's all it take for Mark to snap.
His mouth crashes into yours--hot, messy, hungry. It's not your first kiss, but it feels like the first time he's really kissing you, like he's been waiting to unleash it. His tongue tangles with yours as his hand slides down to your waistband, pushing your shirt up just enough to expose your stomach.
"You looked so smug earlier," he growls, teeth catching your bottom lip. "Talking shit about my fingers like you weren't desperate for me to use them on you."
You gasp into the kiss. "I wasn't--!"
"You were," he says, cutting you off as his fingers trail beneath your waistband, over your panties. "And now I get to hear how cocky you sound when you're soaked."
He drags two fingers between your legs, slow, and you jerk beneath him with a soft moan.
"God, you're already wet?"
"Shut up," you pant, trying to squirm, but he presses his hand down--just enough to hold you still.
"Oh, now you wanna be shy?" His smirk is wicked. "Nah. I want all that attitude. I want you to look me in the eye when I make you fall apart."
He hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and drags them down your thighs. You kick them off, already impatient, legs shifting restlessly.
Then his hand is back.
Two fingers sliding through your folds, dragging through slick heat. He watches every reaction--how your breath catches, how your hips jerk, how your thighs twitch open wider for him.
"Fuck," he murmurs. "You feel good."
Then--pressure.
His middle finger sinks in first, slow but firm, filling you with a stretch that makes your toes curl.
You gasp. "Shit--Mark!"
"Too much already?" he teases, even as he pumps it in and out, curling slightly on each thrust. "That's just one, babe."
You throw your arm over your eyes, breath coming faster. "Don't you fucking dare--"
"Oh, I'm gonna."
And without warning--
He adds a second finger.
The stretch is intense--but it's not painful. It's deep. Long. And his fingers--god, they reach so much further than yours ever could. He starts working them with slow, deep thrusts, curling them just right.
"Fuck--right there," you gasp, hips stuttering against the bed.
Mark freezes, grinning. "There?"
You glare at him through hazy lashes. "If you stop now I swear to god--"
But he doesn't stop.
He grinds the heel of his palm against your clit and starts really fucking you with his fingers--deep, fast, curling perfectly with every thrust. The squelch of slick heat fills the room, obscene and loud. Your thighs are shaking, hips bucking helplessly against him.
"Listen to you," he groans, pupils blown wide. "Dripping all over my hand. You like these long fingers, huh? You were practically begging for it without even saying it."
You can't even argue--not with your head thrown back, jaw slack, moaning with every snap of his wrist. The way his long fingers curl perfectly to hit that spot over and over again that makes you scream, pumping slowly just to tease you.
"Mark--oh fuck! Don't stop--!"
"That's it, baby," he growls. "You gonna cum for me? Just from my fingers?"
You nod frantically, too far gone to speak. And he knows it--he fucks you faster now. Deeper. Grinning when you babble his name between whimpers and gasps.
And when you cum?
It's messy--loud, full-body shudders, thighs clamping around his wrist as you cry out and clamp down around his fingers, your back arching clean off the bed.
"Fuck," Mark mutters, watching you like he's starving. "God, that was--"
You don't even hear him.
Your brain feels like it's turned to liquid. Your body's still shaking and clenching weakly around his fingers.
He pulls them out slowly, dragging them through your folds one more time before lifting them to his mouth. His lips part, and he sucks them clean, eyes fixed on yours the entire time.
"Guess my fingers aren't so freakish after all, huh?" he murmurs, voice husky.
You blink at him, dazed.
"...They're worse," you whisper. "They're a fucking problem."
He smirks.
"Good. I hope you suffer."
You huff, rolling your eyes playfully as you try to catch your breath--still panting, legs slack, thighs twitching with the aftershocks. Your body feels like it's been melted into the sheets, your skin hot and humming.
But despite the high, despite your racing heart... something heavier, hotter, and needier is pulsing between your legs now:
Greed.
He had the audacity to smirk at you while tasting you from his fingers. The gall to look you in the eye, lips glistening, and say he hopes you suffer.
Like, what the actual fuck?
He thinks he's in control no--acting all smug and high just by making you cum with those long fingers of his.
But the truth is--he's not.
You stare up at him, eyes hooded, lips parted. Mark's still leaning over you, licking his fingers clean with that cocky-ass smirk that makes your stomach clench all over again.
And that's when you see it.
The shape of him. His sweatpants are tented with zero shame--his hard-on straining against the thin fabric, leaking just from touching you. He's rock hard, flushed all the way to his ears, but he hasn't even touched himself yet.
You grin, breathless.
"Oh my god," you whisper. "You're fucking dripping."
Mark freezes. "I--shut up."
You sit up slowly, your strength returning in wicked waves. "All that from just fingering me?"
His mouth opens, then closes. His confidence falters. "I mean, you--you were hot--"
You crawl toward him on your hands and knees--half-naked, eyes locked on his. "You came in cocky, Mark," you murmur. "But you didn't think about what happens after, did you?"
He sits back a little, swallowing hard. "After...?"
You reach for the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging it down a bit to reveal more of that delicious faint trail of hair that disappears under his boxers.
You glance up at him, mock-innocent as a wicked smile spreads across your face.
"My turn."
Mark hisses through his teeth when you yank them down. His cock springs free--thick, flushed, the tip wet with precum, twitching like it's been dying for attention. And you just smile at the sight of it, all flushed and twitching against his stomach.
You wrap your hand around the base, deliberately slow, and his entire body goes rigid.
"Oh, baby," you coo, grinning like you didn't just almost trip on the sheets. "You were so good for me just now. You deserve a little treat, right?"
"I--fuck--fuck," Mark pants as your fist glides up the length, thumb swiping over the head, smearing the slickness there. "Jesus--your hands feel--"
"Not freakish?" you tease, lips brushing his throat as you pump him in slow, tight strokes. "Mine might be smaller, but I know exactly how to use them."
His head drops back, neck straining.
Your thumb presses under the head, circling the ridge, and his hips thrust into your grip with a gasp.
"Shit--you're gonna make me cum--!"
"Already?" You pout. "But I was just getting started..."
And you are. You bend down, lips parting over the tip, and when your tongue flicks across that sensitive slit, Mark whimpers.
Loudly.
You flatten your tongue against the underside and drag it slowly to the head, then suck him into your mouth until your cheeks hollow around him.
You moan around him, causing Mark to cry out loud from the sudden vibration shooting throughout his body.
"Fuckfuckfuck--" His hands claw at the sheets. "That's not fair--you can't--Jesus--"
But you're not stopping.
You keep going.
Your hand stays tight around the base while your mouth takes the rest--sucking, swirling, teasing until his thighs are shaking and he's leaking even more, gasping your name like it's the only word he remembers.
He lifts his head to watch you, wide-eyed and wrecked, eyes glassy.
"You're--you're evil," he chokes. "You're so--fucking perfect--I'm not gonna last--"
You need a breath. A break. But the way he's looking at you, like he'd worship the ground you walk on just for sucking him dry? You're not done yet. You pull off him with a pop, strings of spit connecting from your lips to his tip as you grin up at him, spit-slick lips shining.
"That's the point."
Then your fist tightens, your mouth drops back down, and you suck him deep this time--fast, wet, filthy, until his thighs are shaking and he's panting and begging under his breath:
"Please, baby--please let me cum--fuck, I need it--I need it so bad--"
You hum low around him.
And that's all it takes.
He explodes with a groan so guttural it doesn't sound real--his body locking up, his hand gripping your hair, his cock twitching hard as he spills into your mouth in thick, hot spurts.
You swallow everything.
Everything.
Not a single drop was wasted. Even after he cums, you keep going. Sucking slow, dragging it out. His hips twitch helplessly, his breath ragged and choked.
"Too much," he whines, trying to push your head back. "I-I can't--"
You finally pull off, eyes gleaming, lips shiny.
"You lasted longer than I thought," you murmur sweetly. "Guess those long fingers aren't the only impressive thing on you."
He collapses backward onto the bed, totally fucked out, arm thrown over his eyes. "Holt shit," he rasps. "I'm gonna die."
You crawl up beside him, curling against his chest. "You're not dying," you whisper against his neck. "You're just getting started."
Mark groans. "You're gonna kill me."
"And you're gonna thank me for it," you tease.
He chuckles breathlessly, still trying to catch his breath as you tangle your legs with his--one hand lazily tracing the lines on his stomach, your breath warm against his skin.
You hear it before you feel it: the hitch in his breath, the subtle twitch of his hips, the way his fingers shift to grip your waist just a little tighter.
You grin.
"...Mark," you murmur, chin resting on his chest. "Are you getting hard again?"
He groans and throws an arm over his face. "Don't judge me--"
You shift up and straddle his hips, grinding down slightly--and there it is. Hard. Thick. Already twitching.
"Oh my god." You laugh, breathless. "You're actually insane."
Mark peeks out from under his arm, flushed and panting. "You sucked the soul out of me. What do you expect?"
You lean in, dragging your nails slightly across his chest. "You really wanna go again?"
He locks eyes with you.
Then--his voice drops.
"Not just go again," he murmurs. "I wanna taste you now."
Your breath catches. "What--"
"I've been thinking about it since you got on top of me." His hands slide to your ass, squeezing hard. "Since I watched your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, swallowing every drop I had. You made me cum so much... and now I think it's my turn to return the favor back."
You gasp as he sits up, flipping you easily until you're underneath him, and then back again until you're straddling his face.
"Mark--" your voice cracks. "This is--this is so unfair."
"You teased me, sucked me dry, smirked through it like you won," he growls, kissing the inside of your thigh. "So now? I'm eating you until you cry."
Then--his mouth.
Oh, god--his mouth.
He grabs your thighs and pulls you down onto his face, tongue instantly diving between your folds, lapping at you like he's starving.
Your scream tears out of you before you can stop it--leaving no time to be embarrassed.
His lips seal around your clit and suck hard, sending a shockwave through your core that makes your legs buckle. His tongue flicks, circles, teases--then plunges deep inside you, fucking you with his mouth like he's trying to wring another orgasm out of you right now.
"Mark--fuck, I--" You can't even breathe.
He groans under you, gripping your thighs tighter, pulling you in closer, not letting you up. Every movement is greedy, possessive--he eats you like it's his, like this is the only thing that matters in the word right now.
You grab the headboard for balance, hips rocking against his face uncontrollably.
His nose nudges your clit just right. His tongue? Fucking ruthless. And those long fingers?
Oh--they're back, baby.
One slips inside again, already soaked, curling just right--then another, his mouth and fingers working together in tandem.
You cry out, thighs trembling violently. "Mark--I'm--I'm gonna cum again--I can't--"
But he doesn't stop.
His voice is muffled against your cunt, but you hear it:
"Cum on my face."
You shatter.
You scream his name, hips grinding down as your orgasm slams into you--so much harder than the first. Your vision goes white, your body convulsing as you ride his mouth, dripping all over him.
He moans through it. Drinks through it.
Even as your thighs tremble, even as you whimper and twitch, he doesn't let up. He licks you through it, into it--until your entire body goes limp, slumping forward against the wall behind his bed, breathing like you ran a marathon.
He finally pulls back, chin soaked, eyes blown out and obsessed as he stares up at you.
"You good?" he pants, voice hoarse.
You shake your head, dazed and breathless. "No. I'm dead. You ruined me."
He grins, flipping you back underneath him again, kissing down your throat. "Good," he growls. "Because I'm not done yet until I make you scream my name again."
You whine, your body trembling--eyes dazed, thighs slick, lips parted as you try to catch your breath. Your body's spent, slick between your legs, twitching with every brush of air. Mark's leaning over you, breath warm on your neck, and the look in his eyes is feral.
"You said I ruined you," he rasps, his hand slipping between your thighs, spreading you wide again, and he groans when he feels how soaked you still are. "Then let me finish the job."
You barely manage a nod--your body is too needy, too raw and desperate to even protest. And when he grabs his cock--hard again, thick and flushed--you nearly whimper at the sight of it.
He runs the head through your folds, gathering every bit of slick he pulled out of you, then lines himself up.
"You still want this?" he growls, voice low, teeth gritted as he teases your entrance. "Still want me to fuck you, even like this?"
You nod frantically, fingers curling into the sheets. "Please, Mark--I need it, I need you--inside me--"
He snaps.
In one deep, smooth thrust, he sinks all the way in--bottoming out with a groan so guttural it makes your toes curl.
"F-Fuck--" he gasps, forehead dropping to yours. "You're so tight, fuck--you feel so--shit."
You cry out, body jolting as you stretch around him. It's too much--he's thick and hot and deep, and your cunt is still aching from earlier.
But god, it's perfect.
"You're dripping," he grits, thrusting in slowly, deliberately deep. "Still fucking leaking from my fingers and my mouth--and now this pussy's clenching like it never wants me to leave."
You whimper. "I don't. Don't pull out."
He growls like an animal, grabbing your thighs and pinning them up toward your chest, folding you beneath him as he fucks deeper.
"Yeah?" he snarls. "You want me to fill you up? Get you so full of me you're leaking for days?"
You moan, nails digging into this back. "Wanna feel you everywhere--"
"You will," he promises, voice harsh and breathless. "I'm gonna fuck you so deep, you'll still feel me when you walk tomorrow."
His hips start snapping forward faster--harder. His cock slams into your sweet spot, dragging wet, obscene sounds out of you with every thrust. You can barely breathe--his pace is brutal now, deep and punishing, hips slamming into yours.
"Mark--fuckfuck, you're so deep--!" you sob, legs wrapped around his waist.
He snarls into your neck, biting down gently. "You take it so fucking good. Look at you. Fucked out. Crying for me."
Your eyes are rolling. You're drooling. His cock hits that spit so perfectly, your vision's going white again.
"Cum again," he demands. "Now."
You wail--your orgasm crashes over you with no warning, your body seizing as you scream his name. You tighten around him so hard it nearly rips a groan out of him.
"Fuck--! Shit, baby," Mark shudders, barely hanging on. "You're--fuck, you're milking me--I can't--"
His rhythm falters, slamming in once--twice--then freezes.
And then he cums.
Hard.
Hot.
Deep.
You feel it--pulse after pulse of him spilling inside, thick and warm, coating your insides until it's leaking back out around his cock. His whole body shakes above you, every muscle straining as he rides out his orgasm with a ragged, animalistic moan.
"Shit--oh my god--" he pants, hips still twitching.
You're both shaking, your bodies stuck together by sweat and heat and slick, breaths ragged and broken.
"...Holy shit," you whisper, voice cracking.
Mark lets out a breathless laugh into your neck.
"So... round five?"
You smack his chest.
"Let me live first, you goddamn Viltrumite freak."
He just grins against your skin. "You love it."
You do.
God help you--you do.
You breathe out a shaky laugh, not sure if you're recovering... or relapsing.
You love it when he holds you like this after. When all the teasing and tension fades into something quieter. When he doesn't let go. When his forehead rests against yours like he might be just as afraid of what this means. When the jokes stop and it's just breath and heartbeat and skin--and it feels like that neither of you really knows how to walk away anymore.
Your heart's still pounding. Every nerve in your body still sings from where he touched you, where he held you down, where he pulled you apart with maddening precision. His fingers--those fingers--are still ghosting idle circles into your thigh, like they don't know they've already ruined you.
Mark's body is half-draped over yours, his weight is grounding, his breath brushing your collarbone in slow, satisfied exhales. There's a smear of your lip gloss near his jaw. A bite mark on his shoulder. Your nails carved down his back like proof.
Neither of you speaks.
The air is thick with sweat, heat, and sex. The fan buzzes lazily overhead. Your lungs are still catching up. Your thighs are still twitching.
But the thing is--Mark is still inside you, yes.
But he's also brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face like you're something precious. Like the way he held your jaw earlier was just the start of something dangerous and tender.
You feel him twitch once, lazily, and you both groan at the oversensitive drag of it.
"...You didn't pull out," you mumble, voice cracked and hoarse.
He lets out a dazed, cocky little laugh into the crook of your neck. "Yeah," he exhales, "No shit."
You can't help the soft, worn-out giggle that escapes you. There's a lot of him still leaking out of you. You can feel it. And the worst part?
You love it.
You love the way he claimed you. The mess. The stretch. The soreness. The heat still blooming in your stomach like something dangerous took root there.
His arm slides under your shoulders, cradling you against him, and you feel the press of his lips at your temple.
"You okay?" he whispers. "Did I go too hard?"
You turn your head slightly and stare at him. Your voice is flat. "You ate me like i was your final meal and then ruined my soul."
Mark snorts.
You swat his side. "That's a yes, in case you were wondering"
He groans dramatically and buries his face in your neck. "I blacked out somewhere around round three. I'm not even sure what happened."
"You talked dirty. Like, filthy filthy."
"Did I?" he says, voice muffled against your skin. "That doesn't sound like me."
You shift under him and immediately regret it.
A sharp gasp escapes you.
"Oh my god," you whimper. "I'm gonna feel you for a week."
"...Still inside you, by the way," Mark adds, so helpfully. "Which means if I twitch just a little--"
"Don't you dare."
He grins against your collarbone. "You'd let me."
You don't answer.
Because he's right.
Instead, you run your fingers through his sweaty hair and rest your cheek against his head. The silence settles again--quiet and warm, his heart beating against yours. His fingers draw slow, lazy circles on your side.
After a moment, he murmurs, "Hey."
You hum in response.
"...I really like you, y'know."
That makes your eyes open.
You turn your head again and find him staring at you--soft-eyed, messy-haired, completely wrecked and somehow still beautiful. There's no teasing in his voice this time. Just bare, honest reaction.
And just like that--
You're ruined all over again.
You smile.
"Yeah," you whisper. "I really like you too, Grayson."
Then, he kisses you slow. No pressure. No rush. Just lips pressed to lips, fingers curled around your waist, two bodies tangled under the weight of everything you just shared.
Eventually, when your legs stop trembling and your brain returns to your body, he finally pulls out with a hiss and a curse--and you both watch the mess drip out of you with tired fascination.
"...That's disgusting," you mumble.
Mark beams. "That's mine."
You groan and bury your face in the pillow.
"Round five in the morning?" he adds sweetly.
You lift one hand and flip him off.
Mark just laughs, too proud of himself to care. He ducks down to press a kiss to your shoulder--mocking, smug, sweet.
"I'll take that as a yes."
You groan again, rolling to the side and dragging the sheet up with you, your legs still too shaky to trust. Your body's wrecked. Mark's still watching you like he hasn't had enough--like he's already plotting round five.
"It's a fuck you, actually."
"That's what I said."
You shoot him a look over your shoulder--flat, unimpressed, exhausted. "Mark."
He blinks. "Yeah?"
You sigh, voice softer this time. "Let's just sleep."
That quiets him.
For a second, he studies you--really looks. The sweat still drying on your skin. The twitch of your thighs. The way your brows pinch just barely, even now, like you're so close to your limit. Not just physically, but emotionally too.
And he nods.
"Yeah. Okay," he says, voice low and sincere.
He shifts behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you tuck into the pillow. No teasing. No pushing. Just his hand smoothing down your side in slow, grounding strokes. His breath brushes the nape of your neck.
"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs.
You hum, already half-asleep. "Didn't ask you to."
But still--you relax a little more.
And just before sleep claims you, with his breath warm against your skin, you wonder if maybe you never really stood a chance.
Not against this. Not against him.
-----
You don't remember falling asleep.
Just the weight of him behind you, his hand warm over your stomach, his breath steady at the nape of your neck.
And now--
Now the sun is leaking through the blinds, gold and heavy. The fan hums above in slow, lazy spins. You blink, throat dry, body screaming at you with every little twitch.
But your body doesn't hurt in a bad way. No, this is the type of pain you wake up smiling through--sore thighs, a faint ache between your legs, the ghost of deep pressure low in your stomach. You're covered in dried sweat, bite marks, and hickeys that are definitely going to show. And the worst part?
You'd do it all over again.
You will do it all over again--if the way Mark's arm is slung across your waist, his hand curled possessively against your stomach, is any indication. He's still behind you, breathing slow and even, clinging to you even in his sleep like he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go, like you're his.
You blink at the ceiling. Still in Mark's bed. Naked. Under a single thin sheet.
Then you try to move.
Instant regret.
"Ow," you whisper sharply, gripping your thigh.
Behind you, Mark groans and shifts. "Told you I'd ruin you," he murmurs, still half-asleep and smug.
You elbow him in the ribs.
"I hate you," you mumble into his pillow.
He kisses your shoulder. "No you don't."
You grumble something incoherent and try to sit up again. Your legs wobble. You glare at him over your shoulder.
"I swear to god, Mark Grayson--if I can't walk straight today--"
He grins, looking away too pleased with himself.
"Then my job here is done."
You lunge for a pillow and whack him across the face with it, which only makes him laugh harder, arms wrapping around your waist to drag you back down.
"C'mon," he murmurs, voice gravelly. "Five more minutes. You're warm."
"I'm sticky," you shoot back, squirming.
"Still warm."
He shifts behind you again and you feel the unmistakable twitch of something hard pressing against your ass.
"Mark."
"...Ignore it."
"MARK."
He laughs, breath puffing against your skin. "It's not my fault you were making those sounds last night," he grins, shameless. "My body remembers."
You groan and cover your face with both hands. "We were so loud."
"I told you not to scream my name."
"You told me to look you in the eye and cum on your cock!"
"Oh yeah." He grins, eyes dreamy. "That was a good moment--"
Knock knock.
You both freeze.
Your soul leaves your body.
"Mark?"
It's Debbie's voice.
"You up? I brought breakfast--"
"NO--NO, I'M GOOD--WE'RE GOOD!" he yells suddenly, leaping halfway out of bed while fumbling for a shirt to cover your both. One leg gets caught in the sheets, and he slams straight into the nightstand. "Shit--!"
The lamp crashes to the floor, and you cackle behind your hand, trying to stay silent.
"YOU DON'T HAVE TO COME IN--!"
Too late.
The door opens.
And behold--
Debbie stands in the doorway holding a tray of toast, eggs, and orange juice.
And guess what she sees?
You. Naked. In Mark's bed.
Mark. Shirtless, sweaty, the room reeked of sex.
The sheet is halfway off your body. Hickeys. Hair a mess. Her son's very obvious boner.
You want to die.
You want the ground to swallow you whole.
Debbie blinks once--twice--and looks at Mark. Then at you. And then at the tray. "...Well," she says calmly. "I guess breakfast can wait."
A pause.
"Next time, lock the door. And maybe crack a window."
She turns around, leaves, and gently closes the door behind her. You lie there, face hot, hands gripping the sheets and Mark just flops face-first onto the bed and screams into the pillow.
"You're never getting laid in this house again," you mutter.
"She's gonna tell my dad," Mark groans.
"Oh, she's definitely gonna tell your dad."
You both dissolve into mortified, hysterical laughter.
It's the kind of laughter that feels like crying. Like maybe if you don't laugh, your brain will melt into a puddle of shame and your soul will astral project off the planet.
You collapse back into the sheets, hiding your face.
Mark is still screaming into the pillow.
"She saw everything," you whisper, like saying it out loud will exorcise the horror. "Everything. Your dick. My hickeys. My ass--oh my god--"
"She's gonna bleach the house," he groans, muffled.
"She's gonna sage the room."
"She's gonna send us a Google doc titled 'Safe Sex and Boundaries.'"
You wheeze.
There's a long beat of silence.
"...I have to go out there," you whisper, frozen with dread.
Mark lifts his head just enough to squint at you. "You don't have to."
"I can't just stay in your room like a cryptid and hide."
"You could. Cryptids are cool."
You give him a look.
He flops back onto the bed with a groan. "Fine. Let me find you some clothes."
He rolls off the mattress with all the grace of someone who got rail-gunned by orgasmic bliss, limping dramatically toward his dresser, still stark naked, still half-hard.
You blink. "You're seriously walking around like that?"
He waves you off. "She already saw the worst. The damage is done."
He opens the drawer and tosses an oversized hoodie and boxers onto the bed beside you. "There. Cover that pretty ass before I get ideas."
You raise a brow. "You already had ideas. Several times."
Mark shoots you a crooked grin, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well. Can you blame me?"
You roll your eyes--but your smile gives you away.
Then you sit up, groaning again, gripping your sore thigh. "I can't go out there like this. I feel disgusting. My thighs are stuck together, Mark."
"You're welcome," he says, proud.
You grab a pillow and throw it at his head.
He dodges easily, laughing. "Okay, okay--how about a shower?"
Your eyes narrow. "A solo shower."
Mark places a hand on his chest, mock-offended. "What do you take me for?"
"A menace."
"A helpful menace. I'll even wash your hair."
You stare at him.
He smirks. "I'll behave."
"...You said that last night."
"Yeah, and look how that turned out."
You groan. "Fine. But no funny business."
Mark salutes. "Scout's honor."
You slide out of bed, wincing a little as your feet touch the floor. Everything between your thighs aches in that used, sore, completely-fucked-out way. You grab the shirt he tossed and slip it over your head--it drowns you instantly, falling halfway to your knees.
Mark makes a sound behind you.
You turn. "What?"
He's watching you like he wants to sin all over again. His lip tugs into a grin. "Nothing. Just--you look good in my clothes."
You roll your eyes, padding toward the bathroom. "Shut up and turn on the water."
He follows, grabbing a towel on the way, and by the time you step into the shower, steam is already starting to curl around the curtain rod. The room's small, a little too warm, and Mark is definitely not giving you space.
"You said you'd behave," you remind him, raising a brow as he steps in behind you.
He shrugs, lips twitching. "This is me behaving."
The water runs hot over your skin, rinsing away dried sweat and whatever dignity you had left. You sigh, letting it wash over your face, your neck, your chest.
Behind you, Mark is quiet.
Too quiet.
Then his hands gently find your waist.
You tense--but he doesn't move. Doesn't grab/ Doesn't grope. He just holds you there, thumbs brushing slow circles over your skin.
"I meant it, by the way," he murmurs into your ear, voice low, soft. "Last night."
You blink.
"The part where I said I really like you."
You exhale, leaning your back against his chest, water running over both of you. "Yeah," you whisper. "I meant it too."
His arms wrap around you fully this time, pulling you closer under the spray. "I know we joke a lot," he says, "but I'm not just in this for the sex. Even if the sex is--like--holy shit."
You snort. "Wow. So romantic."
He kisses your temple. "You know what I mean."
You nod, letting yourself lean into him for a moment longer--just the water, the heat, and the steady thrum of his heart pressed to your spine.
Eventually, Mark reaches for the shampoo and works it into your hair with surprising gentleness, fingers massaging your scalp while you hum in contentment.
"This is dangerously domestic," you murmur.
He grins. "Too late to run now."
You close your eyes.
Let him rinse you clean.
Let the moment stretch--quiet and warm and real.
His fingers are gentle now. No teasing. No games. Just slow movements over your skin, like he's memorizing every inch of you in silence.
The water slips down your shoulders in lazy streams. His palm drags across your back, your hips, smoothing soap into the curve of your spine like you'll break if he pushes too hard. He presses a kiss between your shoulder blades.
You exhale, soft. Melting under the steady rhythm of him.
"I meant what I said," Mark murmurs.
You open your eyes halfway. "Which part?"
He doesn't answer right away. Just reaches for your hand under the spray and laces your fingers together. His thumb brushes the side of yours.
"All of it," he says finally. "I don't regret any of this."
The silence that follows is heavier than it should be. It hangs between your bodies, slick with more than water. You want to believe it. You do. But it scares you how much you want to stay like this--how much you want this to mean something.
You turn around slowly, water cascading down your skin, and meet his eyes.
He looks serious. Like he's searching for something in your expression. Like he's bracing himself for you to run.
But you don't.
You lean in, pressing your forehead to his, your noses brushing. His breath hitches.
"I don't regret it either," you whisper.
Mark lets out a breath like he's been holding it since last night. His grip tightens on your hand. You stay like that for a moment--close, bare, hearts thudding in sync under the hot spray--until he finally lets out a quiet lopsided laugh.
"You're still not walking straight, are you?"
You smack his chest without looking up. "Shut up."
He laughs harder and pulls you close, arms wrapping around your waist under the water. "You love me."
"You're lucky I'm too sore to punch you."
"Still counts."
You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away.
And just like that--beneath the running water, tangled in each other, soaked and tired and vulnerable--you realize this isn't just a fling. This is real. Something's shifted. And neither of you wants to go back.
Not anymore.
He holds you there, chest to chest, the steam curling around your shoulders and the sound of the water muffling the outside world.
Your fingers curl into the back of his neck, slow, deliberate. You tilt your head just enough to brush your mouth against his--barely there, a ghost of a kiss.
But he chases it.
Soft.
Patient.
His lips press into yours with none of the urgency from last night. This isn't about heat. This isn't about need. This is something else.
He kisses you like he means it. Like he's choosing to mean it. Like he's never going to let himself forget what this feels like--your mouth wet and warm against his, your hand slipping up to cup his jaw, your thumb tracing the damp corner of his mouth.
He sighs into the kiss, like the weight he's been carrying finally loosens.
"You taste like my chapstick," you murmur against his lips.
"You taste like trouble," he murmurs back.
Your brows lift. "Seriously?"
"I'm trying to be romantic. Shut up."
You smile. It's soft and real and completely wrecks him.
And then he kisses you again--deeper, slower, until the water beating down your shoulders feels far away, until your fingers are tangled in his damp hair, until your breath catches like it's the first time all over again.
When you finally break apart, forehead still touching, his voice is barely a whisper. "You're it for me, you know."
You don't speak right away. You just nod once, because the words would come out too fast, too raw, if you tried.
Instead, you press one more kiss to the corner of his mouth, rest your head against his chest, and let him hold you there.
Let the water rinse away everything else.
Just you and him.
Warm. Real. Yours.
Eventually, the water starts to cool. Goosebumps rise on your skin, and you shiver against him.
Mark notices immediately.
"Alright," he murmurs, reluctantly reaching behind you to turn off the tap. "Come on. Before you freeze."
You nod, stepping carefully out of the tub with his hands steadying your waist the whole way. He grabs a towel and warps it around your shoulders, then reaches for another to dry your hair, ruffling it gently.
You glare. "If I walk out looking like a wet sheepdog, I'm blaming you."
He grins, unapologetic. "You'll still be the hottest sheepdog I've ever seen."
You deadpan. "Do you often see sexy sheepdogs?"
"I try not to judge beauty by species."
You smack his bare chest with the towel. He just laughs and leans in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to your forehead--almost like muscle memory now.
"Okay, smartass," you mutter. "Where's that hoodie you promised?"
Mark grabs it off the counter where he folded it earlier, then holds it open for you to slip into. It's huge on you. The sleeves fall past your hands, and the hem hits your thighs like a dress. Still warm from the dryer.
You breathe it in.
It smells like him.
You almost don't want to give it back.
Mark pulls on a fresh t-shirt and sweats, towel-drying his hair as you both glance at your reflection in the fogged mirror. You grimace. Your hair's wild. There's a faint red mark on your neck that's definitely not a bug bite. And your eyes?
Soft. Tired. But happy.
You catch Mark watching you in the mirror and raise an eyebrow.
"What?"
He just shakes his head a little. "Nothing. You just look really..." he trails off.
"Wrecked?"
"I was gonna say beautiful," he says softly. "But, yeah. That too."
You roll your eyes, cheeks flushing. "Shut up."
"Never."
You shove his shoulder on your way out the door, but you're smiling. Quietly. Like you forgot how to stop.
-----
Now you're sitting at the kitchen table in one of Mark's old oversized hoodies--because you didn't bring clothes, because you weren't supposed to sleep over, and because your real outfit is still somewhere on the floor of his bedroom, probably stuck to a wall.
The hoodie hangs halfway down your thighs. Your legs are bare. Two faint hickeys peek out just beneath the collar. And despite Mark's best attempt to brush your hair into something vaguely socially acceptable, you still look like you got steamrolled by the entire Guardians of the Globe.
Mark sits beside you, hunched over, t-shirt pulled halfway up to cover his face. His hand had been in yours in the shower not long ago, rinsing suds from your shoulders like you meant more than a one-time mistake. Now he won't even look up from under his shirt, as if meeting your eyes might make this moment real. You're honestly not sure if he's still alive.
And across the kitchen table...
Debbie Grayson sits.
Calm. Composed.
Drinking her coffee like she didn't just walk in on you mid-sex hangover.
And you want to know someone worse is here?
Nolan Grayson.
Viltrumite. Husband. Father of the man who turned you into jello just hours ago.
He's drinking coffee.
Coffee.
Sitting next to his lovely wife, staring you down with his piercing blue eyes like he's trying to solve the mystery of what exactly his Viltrumite ears heard last night.
Like he didn't hear every moan, whimper, and "Harder, Mark--oh my god don't stop--" echo through the house with his enhanced alien hearing.
You stab your eggs like they personally betrayed you, trying your best to keep your racing heart calm.
Do Viltrumites believe in mercy? Please let it be mercy, you thought, watching Nolan sip his coffee like he wasn't planning your execution with every blink.
The air is thick with shame, tension, and Debbie's fluffy pancakes.
Nolan clears his throat.
"So," he says casually. "Did you both... sleep well?"
Mark lets out a sound somewhere between a squeak and a death rattle.
You try to disappear into your mug of orange juice.
"Oh, they slept great," Debbie chimes, cheerful as hell. "Eventually."
Mark chokes.
You drop your fork.
Nolan's eye twitches.
"You know," Debbie adds, stirring her coffee, "I had no idea the bed frame could withstand that kind of--"
"MOM."
Nolan raises an eyebrow. "Is that what I heard shaking the house at 3 AM?"
You wish for death.
You wish for death immediately.
"W-We were--uh--playing--" Mark gulps. "Scrabble."
You blink at him.
Nolan stares.
"Scrabble," he repeats, slowly.
Mark nods vigorously. "Yeah. It got... competitive."
"Oh yes," Debbie says smoothly. "Lots of screaming. Very vocal game, apparently."
Nolan sets down his mug. "Son... was that you yelling 'I'm gonna fuck you so deep you'll be feeling me for days?'"
Your soul leaves your body.
Mark turns bone white.
"That was taken widely out of context," he whispers.
"Was it before or after she begged you not to stop?"
You audibly wheeze.
Nolan pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, pained sigh.
"This is... so much worse than I imagined."
Debbie sips her coffee. "At least he's not a virgin anymore."
"MOM--"
You want to implode, but you just reach for your toast, hands shaking, trying to find comfort in carbs.
Then Debbie slides a bottle of orange juice in front of you.
"Oh, sweetie? Drink up. Gotta stay hydrated after a long night."
You blink. She winks.
Nolan groans.
And Mark, pale and dead inside, lays his forehead on the table with a soft, broken:
"Please just kill me."
You stare at him for a second, fork hovering mid-air.
"Would you prefer slow and painful," you say dryly, "or fast and dramatic?"
He groans. "Whatever ends this faster."
You pat his head dramatically. "You know she's gonna tell your dad everything."
"She already did," he mumbles into the wood grain. "We're probably gonna get a family group chat notification about it later."
You snort. "With diagrams."
"And bullet points," Mark whispers, eyes wide. "With bolded text."
You both stare at your plates in silence, haunted by the same shared vision of his mom's Google Docs and his dad's silent judgement.
"...I'm not hungry anymore," you say faintly.
"Same."
Mark lifts his head just enough to look at you.
You meet his gaze.
Then both of you slowly, silently, reach for the orange juice.
Not because you want it.
But because Debbie told you to.
And somehow... that's worse.
Debbie hums as she flips a pancake behind you, calm as ever. "You know," she says casually, "I once told your father I wanted grandkids before menopause. Thought it was a joke. Now? Not so sure."
You choke on your orange juice.
Mark makes a sound like a dying animal. "Mom--please."
Nolan rises silently from his chair, grabs his coffee, and mutters under his breath, "I'm going to space," before walking out of the kitchen like he's heading to war.
Silence.
Then Debbie pipes up again, chipper, "Want more eggs, sweetheart?"
You and Mark speak in unison. "NO."
You sit there in the aftermath, toast cold, dignity dead, but... somehow still breathing. Mark nudges your hand under the table--quietly, like he needs to know you're real and still here. You glance at him, and his eyes meet yours.
Still wide. Still traumatized in those big, beautiful brown eyes of his. But there's something softer underneath the mortification. Something honest. Warm. Like even if the earth cracked open and swallowed you whole, he'd reach for you first.
You smile, just a little.
And Mark leans closer, muttering out of the corner of his mouth. "We need to leave this house."
"Like, today," you whisper. "Fake our deaths. Move to Idaho."
"Start over. New names. New lives. No parents."
You both stifle a laugh.
Debbie hums behind you.
Mark leans in even closer. "Or... we sneak back upstairs, lock the door, and finish what we started."
You arch a brow. "You mean Scrabble?"
He smirks, that damn dimple popping out. "Exactly."
And despite everything, despite the trauma, the humiliation, and the pancakes--you want to kiss him again.
You don't.
But you think about it.
And the next time his hand brushes yours?
You don't pull away.
Instead, you lace your fingers with his under the table--quiet, hidden, just for the two of you.
Mark squeezes your hand once before he stands, clearing his throat. "We're, uh--gonna go... lie down."
Debbie doesn't even glance up from her newspaper. "Just don't break anything this time."
Mark grabs your wrist. You don't resist as he pulls you along like a man on a mission--away from the kitchen, up the stairs, and back into the safety of his room, where the door shuts with a merciful click.
Silence.
You both just stand there, staring at each other.
"...That was the worst morning of my life," he mumbles.
You nod slowly. "Easily top three for me. And I've seen a man explode."
Mark lets out a low groan and falls face-first onto the bed. "She winked at you."
"She offered me more eggs."
"She brought orange juice."
You flop down beside him, face-to-face on the mattress, hair still slightly damp from your earlier shower, your legs brushing his under the sheets. "We're gonna have to burn the kitchen down."
"And the bed."
You hum. "I like the bed."
Mark glances at you, mouth twitching into a smirk. "Me too."
Silence settles again, warm and safe this time. No parents. No judgement. Just the two of you, tucked away like the world doesn't exist.
Mark shifts onto his side to face you more directly, eyes tracing your features--your lashes, your lips, the fading flush in your cheeks.
"You still good?" he asks softly, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.
You nod. "Yeah. Just... recovering."
His smirk softens. "From the sex or the trauma?"
You pause. "Yes."
Mark laughs, low and quiet. Then his hand moves--slowly, deliberately--to rest against your waist. You feel the pressure of his fingers through the hoodie. Warm. Solid.
Then he murmurs, quiet now:
"Remember what I said in the shower?"
You blink slowly, your heart skipping at the weight in his voice.
"Still true," he says, eyes meeting yours. "All of it."
You don't say anything at first. Just let the words settle between you.
Then you shift closer, tucking your forehead against his chest. "Yeah," you whisper. "Me too."
Mark holds you like that, arms curling around your back, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles over your spine.
"Do you think," you murmur, "your mom would notice if we never came back out?"
"She'd probably bring us snacks."
"...That's the worst idea."
You both laugh again, soft and breathless, the tension finally starting to lift. His breath fans your temple. You feel the slow beat of his heart under your cheek.
And for the first time all morning--maybe longer--you feel okay. Not mortified. Not exposed. Just... okay.
Maybe even a little happy.
Marks kisses your forehead. "We'll survive this."
You lift your head, nose brushing his. "Promise?"
He smiles, really smiles, and dips down to kiss you--soft, slow, a quiet yes pressed against your mouth.
But suddenly, the kiss starts to deepen.
From lips brushing lips, breaths mingling... to eating each others face off. His hands slide up your sides, dragging the hoodie with them, while yours fist in his hair like you're trying to keep him exactly where you want him. The air between you turns hot, greedy--every soft kiss turning sharper, hungrier, until you're both a mess of teeth, tongue, and muffled sounds that have no business being this desperate... not after surviving that awkward breakfast with his parents.
"You're seriously gonna kill me," he murmurs against your mouth, voice low, rough with sleep and leftover embarrassment. "We just survived breakfast."
You grin. "Survived is a strong word."
He chuckles... but it stutters when you shift, thigh nudging between his legs. Your hand slides under his shirt, skimming the ridges of his abs, feeling them tighten under your touch. Higher, higher--you drag the fabric up with you until he lets you peel it off entirely, baring him to the cool air.
Mark shudders.
"I thought we were recovering," he whispers, breathless now, lashes fluttering as you press your mouth to his jaw.
"We are recovering," you say sweetly, biting down on his earlobe before whispering: "This is my fifth form of therapy."
He groans. "I think I just got hard again."
"Think?"
Your hand finds proof in the way his sweatpants tent against your thigh. You palm him slowly through the fabric, watching his jaw go slack.
"Okay," he gasps. "Not think. Definitely hard. Very hard. Dangerously hard. We should do something about that."
"Should we?"
You climb onto his lap.
Mark stares up at you like you're religious experience--bare legs, wild hair, his oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder. His hands find your thighs instantly, squeezing hard, like he doesn't trust himself not to black out.
"Fuck," he whispers. "You're not real."
You roll your hips once--just enough to drag a groan from him--and lean forward, lips brushing his.
"Feel real to you?"
He doesn't answer.
He just yanks you down and kisses you like he needs to.
You moan into it, rocking against the growing bulge beneath you. The friction is slow, addictive, maddening. He pulls the hoodie up to your ribs, palms gliding along your waist before sliding around to grab your ass, hard.
You grind down harder. "I told you I wasn't done with you."
Mark flips you over before you can get another word in.
One second you're on top, smug and teasing--smirk curling on your lips. The next, you're flat on your back, legs spread, breath knocked out of you as the mattress dips under his weight. His hands are already at your hips, yanking your boxer--his--down with a low, muttered curse.
"You're insane," he mutters, voice rasping like he's already drunk on you. "You're so fucking lucky I love this."
"You do love this," you breathe, squirming under him as he pushes your thighs apart. "Admit it."
"I'm obsessed with it."
And then his mouth is on you--tongue licking into you with no warning, no hesitation, no mercy. You gasp, fists curling in the sheets as he pins your hips down and devours you like a man on a mission. Like he needs this round to prove something. Maybe that he's still in control. Maybe that you're his. Maybe that this--you--is worth every embarrassing second of breakfast.
You cry out his name, louder than you mean to, and he growls into you like that was exactly what he wanted.
"You're so loud," he says, voice muffled against your cunt. "My dad's gonna hear you again."
Your hips jolt, breath catching on a broken moan. "Fuck your dad."
He lifts his head just enough to smirk, lips slick and shiny. "That's what you were doing last night."
You slap his shoulder, breathless.
Then he sinks two long fingers in without warning--and you arch off the bed with a cry.
"Round five," Mark murmurs, dark and reverent as he curls his fingers just right, just deep enough to make your vision blur. "Let's make it count."
Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as his fingers curl again--perfect, practiced, hitting that spot that makes your thighs tremble.
"Mark--" you gasp, chest arching into the air. "We just showered--"
"Mm." His lips kiss the inside of your thigh, hot breath skimming your skin before his teeth graze lightly. Eyes half-lidded, dark with want, he murmurs, "Guess we're gonna need another one."
You try to push at his shoulder, but he doesn't budge. Just presses his tongue flat against your clit and sucks.
Your entire body jerks.
"Oh my--f-fuck--!"
He groans into you, like the sound of your voice gets him off. His fingers keep moving--slow, deliberate pumps that stretch you open, wet and hot and obscene.
You're already clenching around him, body tightening with dangerous speed. "M-Mark, baby--I can't--"
"Yes, you can." His voice is low, husky. "You're taking it. Like you always do."
And you do.
You cum hard.
Your back arches off the mattress, thighs clamping around his head, hands fisting the sheets as you cry out. The world blurs into white heat. He doesn't stop. Doesn't slow. He tongue keeps fucking you, greedy and relentless, until your voice breaks, your nails scrape helplessly at his shoulders, and your legs finally give out.
When he finally pulls back, his lips are glossy and smug.
"Still warm," he teases, licking his lips. "Still sweet."
You collapse flat against the bed, trying to catch your breath. "I hate you."
"No, you don't."
He slides up your body, one hand stroking your side as he kisses his way up to your neck.
"I should hate you," you mumble.
He grins against your jaw. "But you don't."
And Mark's right.
You don't.
You're soaked, twitching, still gasping--and when he grinds his hips down--when you feel the heavy press of his cock against your thigh--
You whimper.
Mark growls softly. "That's what I thought."
He pushes his sweats down enough to free himself, one hand gripping the base of his cock to line himself up, the other resting on your hip.
He pushes in slow--too slow--like he's teasing you on purpose.
You both groan.
He stretches you open inch by inch, the burn delicious, your pussy already swollen and sore from everything he's done yesterday and today. But you still want it. Still need it.
"Shit," Mark breathes. "You're still so tight. How are you this tight after four rounds?"
Your nails drag down the slope of his spine, lips parting on a needy gasp. "Move, Mark--please--"
He slams in the rest of the way, bottoming out in one sharp, brutal thrust..
You scream.
He doesn't move at first. Just stays there, fully sheathed, buried to the hilt, making you feel every thick, aching inch of him.
His breath shudders against your neck. "Fuck," he pants. "You feel that?"
You nod shakily, too breathless to speak.
"That's where I belong. Right there."
His hand slides to your lower stomach, forcing you to feel exactly where he's buried inside you. The blunt pressure makes you gasp, a sharp moan tearing out as your walls flutter around him. His breath stutters--like he can feel every single pulse.
"Yeah...," he murmurs, voice low and wrecked, "you see how deep I am? How far I'm filling you in?"
Your eyes flicker down, catching the faint bulge under his palm, and your breath stutters violently. Heat floods your body in a dizzy rush, and before you can think, you grind down on him, desperate for more. He groans low, the sound vibrating against your skin.
"That's it," he rasps, eyes dark and locked on yours. "Feel me there. Every inch. Right where you need it."
His hips rolls once--slow, deliberate, mercilessly deep--and the pressure under his hand shifts, punching a broken cry out of you.
"Fuck, Mark--!"
He pulls out halfway--slow enough to make you feel every dragging inch--then slams back, sharp and deep.
You sob. "Oh my god--"
"That's it," he pants, setting a brutal rhythm. His grin is sharp, hungry, a wild look burning in his eyes. "That's my pretty girl. Can't get enough, can you?"
You shake your head, babbling something that isn't even words anymore. He shifts his weight, pressing harder into your lower stomach while his hips snap forward, relentless, every thrust grinding into that exact spot that makes your toes curl. The sound that leaves you is closer to a cry than a moan.
"Louder," he demands, grabbing your leg and throwing it over his shoulder. "I want my parents to hear it this time."
You wail, spine bowing off the bed as the new angle makes him hit--perfect, sharp, devastating--again and again. He groans at the way you tighten around him, watching your body quake under him like he's addicted to it.
"Yeah? Right there?" His voice drops, rough and smug. "Is that your spot? Can't take me without shaking, huh?"
Your nails rake down his back, trying to anchor yourself against the overwhelming rhythm. Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs, making your vision go white. He's so deep you can feel him in places you didn't know existed--just heat, stretch, and the ruthless tempo of him owning every part of you over and over that makes your brain turn into mush.
"I--Mark, I can't--!"
"Yes you can," His tone is all command, no mercy. "You're gonna take it. You're gonna cum with my cock this deep and you're gonna feel it for days."
"Mark--Mark, it's too much--!"
"It's not too much. You wanted this. You begged for this. Said it was therapy, right?"
You scream again.
"You wanted round five," he growls, slamming in even harder. "Now fucking take it."
You're crying. Literally crying.
Tears in your eyes, voice broken, nails digging into his back that would leave ugly, red marks. You can feel the pressure inside of you building up--fast. Unbearable. You try to tell him you're already close but the words dissolve into helpless moans.
"Don't you dare hold back," he snarls. "Cum for me. Right on it. Right there."
And then he gives you one, two, three deep, punishing thrusts, holding you in place so you can't run from it, his palm still pressing down like he's making sure you know exactly where he is inside you.
The orgasm rips through you so hard your body locks up, every muscle trembling. Your scream echoes between you, raw and broken, and he fucks you through it, jaw clenched, eyes locked on yours like he's watching you fall apart just for him.
"That's it," he rasps, slowing just enough to draw it out, milking every last aftershock. "That's mine."
Your body collapses back onto the mattress, limp, shaking, every nerve still sparking from the force of it. You can barely breathe, can barely think--and he's still there, still buried deep, still pulsing inside you.
Mark's right behind you--balls tightening, abs clenching, groaning as his forehead drops to yours. "Fuck--gonna cum--where do you want it, baby--?"
Mustering up enough strength, you grab his face, voice a wreck: "Inside."
His pupils blow wide. "Fuck, fuck--!"
His thrusts gets frantic. Sloppy. Desperate. Rhythm faltering as he chases his high.
You feel him twitch, feel his cock swell--then he slams in one last time and spills inside you with a deep, wrecked moan that sounds like your name was the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.
His cum fills your insides, warmth spilling deep in hot, thick ropes.
It must be a lot, because the heat just keeps coming, spilling past the tight seal of your body until you feel it dripping down your ass to the sheets.
Mark groans low in his throat, hips grinding like he's trying to push it even deeper, making sure not a drop escapes. "God... look at you," he pants, eyes flicking down between your bodies. "You're full. So full of me."
He groans again, holding you so tight it hurts. His cock is still thick inside you,twitching with the aftershocks, and you can feel the slow, obscene drip of him leaking out around the seal of his length. His breath is ragged against your neck, hot and uneven, like he's not ready to let you go--not ready to let you close up without him there.
"Holy shit," he breathes into your neck.
You can't talk.
You're not even sure if you can talk from how much he made you scream his name out despite the thin walls of his house--loud enough for his mom and dad to hear every filthy word, the headboard slamming against the wall, and the mattress creaking again.
God bless his parents' souls (and their ears).
The hoodie Mark lets you borrow is covered with sweat, so much sweat that it makes your body feel even hotter and disgusting.
With a tired groan, you weakly strip the hoodie off, dropping it on the floor.
Mark doesn't move for a while.
Just lies there on top of you, panting, one arm curled tight around your waist while the other braces himself on the bed. His forehead rests against yours, sticky and damp with sweat, and his breath comes out in warm, ragged exhales across your lips.
You can still feel him pulsing inside you.
Still feel his cum slowly dripping, spreading warmth and ache through your lower belly.
You blink at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. "I think I just met God."
Mark lets out a soft, breathless laugh. "Pretty sure you screamed my name instead."
You snort, weakly smacking his back. "Same difference."
He smiles and kisses you--soft this time. No urgency. No teasing. Just the press of lips, slow and tired, like he's saying I'm still here. We're okay.
He then pulls out with a low groan--the loss making you shiver, and you can feel him leak out immediately, hot and slick against your thigh. Mark just watches it for a moment--almost proud--before he flops onto his back beside you, arms dragging you against his chest.
Your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, fingers trailing gently through his hair, damped with sweat. He's still catching his breath, but the heat between you has finally eased into something warmer. Softer.
Real.
He kisses your cheek. Then your temple. Then the side of your neck where a fading bite mark throbs beneath his lips.
"You okay?" he murmurs, voice so hoarse it almost sounds like a rasp.
You nod, barely, because your brain is still somewhere back at the moment he pressed down on your stomach and made you see stars.
Your body feels like it's been wrecked. But not in a bad way. There's a faint sting when you shift, a slow throb between your legs, and your thighs still twitch when his fingers graze too close. But you feel... good. Calm. Full.
He brushes your hair back, looking at you with sleepy eyes and a small, crooked smile.
"I meant it, you know," he says quietly. "When I said I'm not done. Not just with this. With you."
You stare up at him, throat tightening.
"...You're getting sappy on me," you murmur.
"Yeah," he says, unbothered. "Deal with it."
You do.
You reach up, press a kiss to his lips slow. Grateful.
And for a long moment, neither of you says anything. You just breathe. Wrapped around each other in sweat and warmth and something dangerously close to love.
Then, from somewhere outside the door--
Knock knock.
"Kids?" Debbie's voice.
Mark freezes. Your soul leaves your body.
"...We're alive," Mark calls weakly.
"Barely," you mumble.
Debbie hums. "Good. Don't forget to hydrate. I left water bottles by the door. Also--please open a window. This hallway smells like sex and regret."
You groan into your pillow, embarrassment already gnawing at your spine.
Mark throws a sheet over both your heads and mutters, "We're moving out."
You laugh. "For sure."
Under the blanket, you feel him grin against your temple, his arm tightening around you. And even with your face burning and your dignity in shambles, you realize you wouldn't trade this morning--or this mess of a boy pressed up against you--for anything.
Being reborn as the daughter of a psychotic, murderous alien from a comic book you kinda remember reading leads you to having to grit your teeth and play ‘loving daughter’ to avoid having your skull caved in. With daddy issues like that, is it really surprising that you go on to sexually torment the protagonist of said comic book? Not that he seems to mind.
(Mark Grayson x Reader)
Maybe you liked reincarnation and transmigration stories so much because it seemed so inconceivable of it being even close to plausible. Maybe if you knew the sheer fright you would feel in such a story, you wouldn’t have entertained the notion in the first place.
Well, being reborn into what you thought was a fictional world wouldn’t be too bad if you woke up in Pokemon. Now, that sounds like a good time. Getting to leave home as a minor and not having to worry about money when you can just beat the shit out of your fellow trainers seems pretty good, actually. Way better than your actual situation, cruelly so. In fact, you think God or whatever entity-concept-bitch that threw you into a new life should recompense you. Maybe if you monologued hard enough you’d be given what you’re owed—
Are you being dramatic? No. No, you’re not. And if you are, then maybe you’re allowed to be a little obnoxious when you have a bloodied behemoth of a man with a scarred face and metal arm staring down at you, expression not dissimilar to a feral animal with rabies.
Judging by how the screams and sound of buildings collapsing has long gone silent, you suspect that the alien world you were born into was now distinctly lacking its lifeforms. It’s almost a shame. Your new species looked like pretty space elves, like something out of a shut-in nerd’s erotic sci-fi fanfic.
You’re almost disappointed that you have to die as a toddler, you’re pretty sure you were going to grow up to be quite the beauty based on how your new mother looks—
Oh, she’s probably dead too.
You feel like you should be crying right now, but you remain motionless, pinned under the gaze of an apex predator that seeks to maul you, without the right to even grieve.
In the depths of your fractured mind, you realize that this doesn’t seem to be in character for the man, if you can even call him that, before you. You should already be dead, like an ant carelessly crushed by the heel of an uncaring giant. But you’re still alive.
He speaks, and your heart nearly stops.
“So, you are the one that your…mother sought to protect. Once, she was a fine warrior, ravenous and uncaring, but you made her…weak. Pathetic, even. It was almost a mercy to put her down, free her from the sad morsel of flesh she has degraded into.” He leans down now, fully looming above you, your wooden cradle acting less like protection and more like a trap, leaving you unable to escape.
“And for what? To nurture you beyond what her teat can offer—“
Does he have something against breastfeeding?
“—Viltrum had no tolerance, even when it came to weeping babes—“
Oh. You know who’s standing above you now, Negan voice be damned to the worst layer of hell.
“Yet, here you lie, a new generation of our dying empire; weak and disappointing. The only spawn I have sired, the only being in the universe that shares any blood with me—“
Anything else he says is drowned out by your own internal screaming. Your father is Conquest and he's a deadbeat. The unhinged psycho from yet another superhero comic that delights off suffering and broken bones.
But, this information, while horrifying, brings a clarity that washes over you like cold water. You’re currently a toddler, a Viltrumite one, sure, but a toddler, nonetheless, with a pathetic grip and too small limbs, reliant on your now dead mother to care for you. But you’re Conquest’s child. His family, even if the term is a foreign concept to him, and that makes you special. That gives you a chance to survive. You know his isolation, his loneliness. You know how easily Viltrumite pride crumbles when its few survivors found love on Earth, folding like a house of cards. Nolan was the outlier and then the rule.
The way of survival was clear to you, another remanent from your past life; play the fool, stupid and oblivious.
So, you embrace your new body and abandon shame, and throw your hands into the air, making grabby hands at the murderer, asking for ‘uppies’.
(You’d cry later.)
He ends his traumatizing soliloquy, going frighteningly silent.
Yeah. He looks like he’s going to kill you. So, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain.
“Da!” You cry out, giving him a gummy smile.
Maybe you should have just let him kill you.
His face remains as impassive as stone but after another painfully long pause, he reaches down with bloodstained hands and picks you up, holding you from under your arms, large fingers completely covering your ribs.
“You are Viltrumite in blood only, your weakness would have had you purged—“
You let out a childish laugh, innocent and pure, desperate not to get ‘purged’ as he put it, “Silly da!”
That gets him to shut up. You ignore the way he flexes his fingers, the way they dig into your skin, more than capable of crushing your bones—
Your stupid, tiny hands grip his, as if willing—pleading him to not end your second life.
“You are so new to life, so sheltered, you cannot even comprehend who holds you, what I am even capable of doing. Your own mother has been slain by my hand,” he muses. “You truly…perplex me. Do you know who I am by sheer instinct? Does our blood tie us together so intrinsically?”
You kind of want to laugh at how much his words piss you off. What an annoying way to speak. Without even realizing it, your little fingers start to squeeze and you hear his surprised intake of breath. Your hand pulls away, to reveal the beginning of a bruise on his finger.
Oh, fuck.
“So young, and your powers are already appearing? This feeling, is it…” He lets out something similar to a laugh, ugly and unnatural, “There is value to you yet, child.”
He abruptly lets you go, and you fall back into your crib, too shocked to even yelp. Who drops a child!? The only thing you do is stare up at him in shock. He smiles down at you, and you almost piss yourself.
“You…are different. I will not take you with me. Do not fret, for I will be watching.” He promises, expression odd, “The being you will become, so unlike what we should be…I look forward to it. After all, you are mine.”
And as sudden as he appears, he’s gone. And you’re left, feeling slightly bruised, alone in your crib on a now dead planet.
How were you supposed to survive, exactly!?
*
You did survive. It seems like your planet had ties to the Coalition, who only arrived after everyone died. Pretty cowardly, really. But, you can’t really complain since they did retrieve you from your broken home , taking you with them. To fight for their cause, but beggars can’t be choosers in a brutal subversion of superhero media. Why couldn’t you have ended up in Venture Bros?
The cherry on top of this train wreck of a situation is that they immediately clocked you for being a half-Viltrumite, presenting you to their leader, Thaedus. Tad, as you sometimes called him, when you wanted to annoy him.
He trained you, along with many others, who drilled it into you to survive, to be stronger than the Viltrumites that threatened the safety of all life and freedom as you know it. You were their ace in the hole, their hunting dog, the hope of the Coalition. Mongrel and messiah in one. They made sure you were educated, well versed in their code of ethics. That your loyalty would always be to them. Questionable of them to do, frankly speaking, but they kept you clothed and fed, so you had no reason to protest.
The company wasn’t so bad at least. Under the Coalition, you’ve had the opportunity to meet a lot of people, from all ends of the universe, some kind, others absolutely terrified of your mere existence.
Allen fell into the former category, always seeking you out, sharing anecdotes from his missions and asking for you to share your own. And with Allen, came Telia, a higher ranking member than you both that you trusted to not spit on you for being ‘Viltrumite scum’ or whatever it was that some practically scornful cadets called you. Little did they know who their leader truly is.
*
You’d figure you wouldn’t see your ‘father’ after he killed your mom, but fate was unkind and Conquest is bat-shit insane. But at least he didn’t rat you out. You still wonder why he annihilated your home planet when you were clearly proof of compatible breeding. Honestly, genocide was a mercy compared to what you know they wanted to do to Earth, what they would probably do to you, if they caught wind. It was for the better they died, unfortunately. Even if their only survivor carried their legacy as recessive genes.
Not that you would ever ask him, even if you did often have the opportunity. Whenever you least expected it, when you were too concentrated on your mission, whether it was peacemaking or inspecting a new planet to add to the Coalition, he would appear, killing whatever adversary you were facing gleefully, expecting your gratitude and admiration for it, so you’d grit your teeth and call him ‘father’, despite the humiliation. You were still too weak, too scared to act how you wanted to. Which was to cave his skull in.
Other times, he would just follow you. Silent, like a spectre. Or a fucked up looking dog.
It was worse when he tried to copy the acts of physical affection you shared with others. His hugs usually broke one or two ribs and his head pats left you with a bump. You’re not even sure how he learned about them in the first place. Other times, they weren’t…too painful, at least.
*
“Child,” he calls after slaughtering the fleet you were leading on a recon mission. “You grow stronger, yet you still lack the true strength of an Viltrumite.”
“Is that so?” You laugh, good natured, noting Shez’s head by your feet. He was your pilot. A good man and father from what little you knew about him.
“Sometimes I wonder if I should have taken you with me, if I still should,” Conquest admits.
“That’s an interesting thought,” you smile stupidly, trying to keep the murder off your face.
“But you are…more interesting like this.” He concludes. And you wonder why someone like him was committing probably the highest level of treason. For some daddy-daughter time? The Empire obviously didn’t do family, bonds were meaningless to them, but apparently not to Conquest anymore. Did the isolation from his race finally get to him? Was he really that simple? That…lonely?
Another long moment of silence passes before he leaves you with your broken ship and dead crew.
“Okay?” You whisper, making eye contact with Shez.
*
You were on your way back to base after surveying a planet of bug people, they had no warriors or weaponry to speak of and their technology was nothing to write home about. Unfortunately, they had nothing to offer to the Coalition. At least that meant Viltrumites would have no interest in them either. No, that sounds wrong——
Your thoughts are cut off when you’re suddenly tackled mid-flight, and before you know it, you find yourself in a stone cube your father apparently dragged around as shelter. A house? Just without a bed. And everything else. It was sad and barren, only having some supplies and what looks like a…cake? On the ground before you, messily frosted a deep red colour. You hope that isn’t blood, actually.
“You told me once how some species choose to celebrate their day of birth. A foolish sentiment,” he rumbles, sitting before you.
You can kind of remember rambling about birthdays. You usually just say whatever pops up in your mind so his thoughts don’t swerve into killing you. The most terrifying thing about him was how we could go from looking like the psycho killer he is to giving you big, sad eyes. It almost humanized him.
“Oh, it’s not my birthday,” you start to say before noticing his expression, “It’s— it’s your birthday?”
“I do not recall when I was born.”
Neither of you say anything for a moment.
“You said there would be singing,” he scowls.
“Oh, well, only sometimes, like rarely, actually—“ you notice his glare, and duck your head. “Happy birthday to you…happy birthday to you…”
*
While you didn’t have to worry about debt or making something of yourself like in your past life, your current life was uniquely difficult.
You were growing wary (and scared) of having to placate your ‘father’. You don’t believe he would snitch to the Empire about your existence, that would be mutually assured destruction, so you were finding little reason to continue your ‘hangouts’ with him and you were beginning to worry if you were impacting the plot too much, god forbid your existence becomes the reason he survives.
So, you’re going to Earth, to hide yourself being the bigger, flashing target that was Mark Grayson. Let him deal with Conquest when the time came.
…and maybe you missed having a home. And the PlayStation, you definitely missed that.
And after years of having Conquest rough you up (break your bones and rupture your organs) to test your might, you weren’t looking forward to him trying to give you some type of sick ‘becoming an adult’ beating.
So, you told Thaedus you were going on leave, a vacation, really. You needed a break from the continued mess that was your life. What better than reliving the mess that was your past life instead? When your biggest worries were meeting the disappointment of your parents rather than having to placate your colonizer father.
“You want to go to Earth…? The planet that inhabits the only other half-Viltrumite we know of, that is currently the Empire’s main focus?” Thaedus blinks at you. "For fun?"
“What, I’m not allowed to sightsee? Take a load off? I see, so I don’t even have the right to take time off! I mean, I’m already a child soldier so I might as well be under Thragg’s rule—“
“And that’s the only reason?” Your fellow Viltrumite interrupts.
“What? Worried I’m going there to revive our dying civilization with Nolan’s son?” you tilt your head, smiling blandly.
And the conversation ended pretty quickly, after that. Not before he tried to once again ask you to bring your sperm doner over to your side. Which was another hard no. You were not going to mess with canon.
At least Allen seemed a little more thrilled.
“They really do grow up so fast,” Allen wipes a tear from his eye. “But, look at you, finally putting yourself out there, getting some work-life balance! Earth will love you! Well, some of them are pretty paranoid after the whole ‘Viltrumite killing thousands’ thing, but you’ll be fine! Just be yourself! Well, maybe not ‘yourself’—“
“Worried?” You tease.
“No, not at all!” He laughs nervously, “It’s just that sometimes you can be just a teensy bit…mean? Which I love! Great banter between us! It’s our thing! But, maybe, the Earthlings will see it as psychological warfare…?”
“Me? Mean? I wouldn’t say that, in fact, others would describe me as nothing but pleasant!” You chortle, disregarding everything he said, and Allen awkwardly joins you, muttering something under his breath that suspiciously sounded like a prayer.
*
Allen told you to just hang around the moon and someone would pop up to greet you. You hope it isn’t the Immortal.
You internally curse when the Immortal appears, rage clear on his face as he shoot’s up, ready to attack. How embarrassing of him, really.
You tackle him back into Earth’s stratosphere in a sudden burst of speed, breathing in sweet, probably polluted air.
“Take me to your leader?” You ask, arms stilled wrapped around his shoulders. “Or better yet, have him head over to me. A welcoming committee would be nice.”
He only lets out another shout, throwing a punch towards your face, so you grab his arm, throwing him over your shoulder before deigning to fly away then waste any more of your time trying to talk to a knockoff…Vandal Savage?
You instead head to New York City, normally known as a magnet for trouble, in any other reality than this one. You definitely stand out in your Coalition uniform, but people barely spare you a second glance from the park bench you’ve currently claimed as yours.
You watch a group of nearby pigeons fight over a hot dog bun before a presence blinks next to you. Honestly, Cecil’s teleportation was comparatively primitive to other civilizations you’ve come across. A lot more wasteful too.
A moment of silence passes and you can at least commend him for taking a seat next to you. You’re sure that he has a bunch of weapons and satellites honed in on you, but it’s brave of him regardless. Maybe you should thank Allen for opening a bridge in the first place. You doubt he’d be as chill if you weren’t wearing your uniform.
“So, I hear you have a Viltrumite problem,” you start, smiling.
“And I should assume you’re not here to add on to that?” He asks wryly. “Not here to spread word of the Viltrum Empire?”
You laughed as if he actually said something funny, “You know that not all of us were raised like that. No, there are outliers that weren’t indoctrinated from birth. Not of pure blood. Me…and Nolan’s kid. Is he too busy to say hi?”
“Extremely.” He narrows his eyes at you, and you can tell you’ve unsettled him. Oh, Mark wasn’t here was he? Looks like little Oliver would be arriving soon.
He meets your gaze, “I’m going to be blunt. I already figured you weren’t a hostile force because of your ‘friend’ already popping by, but I thought your little group was too busy to grant us any aid. So tell me this. What the hell are you doing here? You’ve already gave everyone a heart attack, to do what? Watch birds fight?”
“I’m on vacation,” you reply brightly.
He stares at you. “You’re here…on vacation.”
“Yeah, Allen mentioned Earth was an interesting place, if not a bit…behind. My old planet wasn’t too different actually! I mean before we started stripping it for resources. Don’t worry, everyone was already dead,” you continue. “Honestly, it feels nostalgic being here. In more ways than one.”
“For some reason, I don’t believe you and believe you at the same.” The man rubs his face tiredly, but you don’t take it as him letting his guard down. It’s probably a signal for something, you’re guessing.
“I’m being pretty polite, you know. I could have just came here undetected. I’m fast enough and I have the tech for it, but I wanted to meet you,” you admit, still smiling, though you doubted it was comforting. “You’re in a pretty tough position here, friend. Viltrum believes you can help replenish what they lost and the only reason they haven’t is because Earth is continuously racked with…internal issues. And they trusted Nolan, too much, a mistake you guys made too. Your strongest fighter would die to any Viltrumite, including me. Honestly, feels like you guys just have horrible luck. And it’s not going to get any better.”
“So what? The Coalition is going to back us up now? From what I’ve heard you guys haven’t had much luck against the Viltrumites either,” he retorts and you laugh again, throwing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him against your side. You can feel his tension despite his expression not changing. You doubt he’s ever been manhandled like this. “…awfully friendly, aren’t you?”
You’re being mean. But you have a lot of frustration that you aren’t able to take out against the one that wronged you. So, yes, you’re being a bully right now, making his weak, little heart almost go out, but you’ll make up for it. Someday.
You wonder if Donald is shitting himself right now. “I’ve killed two of them before. Viltrumites, that is.”
“Two?” He sounds unimpressed, but you can tell you only raised your danger level.
“Believe it or not, it was a major loss for them. Painted a target on my head the first time, the second time, they started getting a bit nervous,” you share, “The only way to kill one of us is to be stronger. Plain and simple.”
You’re lying a bit there, but you’re not about to share your weaknesses with him of all people.
“Roundabout way to sell yourself, I thought you were here to…relax,” he says, shifting in your grasp.
“I am, but even off duty, I took an oath to protect, especially when Viltrumites are involved. Don’t think of me as an enemy or something you need to worry about. If they come, I’ll help. And if I’m not fighting whoever they send, and they will send someone, I’ll just be enjoying the sights.” You pat his shoulder before pulling away. “I think we’ll become great friends…sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Cecil.” He’s playing nice, at least. “You can stay, we’ll even fund your…activities. But, the only way you involve yourself in any altercation, you wait for my call. Trust that you’ll be met with immediate consequences if you act out.”
With those final words, he’s gone. You’re amused that he only threatened you after you let go of him. He was definitely placating you the same way you did for your father.
“Some clothes and currency would be nice?” You call out to the sky, aware you’d be monitored during your stay. Voyeurs.
You were definitely going to take advantage of the taxpayers. Sorry, Americans.
*
You let out a sigh of contentment as you emerged from the ocean, heading back to where you left your towel. You’ve seen a lot of beaches over the years, but you never had the chance to actually enjoy any of them. So you figured you’d make sure of a private beach in Australia, uncaring of the actual owners.
Right as you bent down to pick up your towel, you had to dodge an incoming punch from the protagonist himself. Wow, he just got back on Earth and he came to visit you. You’re honoured.
“This isn’t your planet—“ you know he was about to make a speech about how colonization is bad, but he pauses, mouth agape as he takes in your form.
You meet his gaze, tilting your head. Ah, you understand now. In your last life, you weren’t a big fan of revealing outfits, but after interacting with a variety of cultures and species, you were comfortable in your skin, meaning sometimes you liked to wear sexy bikinis that didn’t leave much to the imagination.
“Yes?” You smile.
“Uh, you, uh, I’m not—you’re a Viltrumite!” He barely gets out, obviously going red under his mask.
“You definitely didn’t let Cecil finish before hunting me down, did you? And did he really give you my location before at least saying I’m a friendly Viltrumite like you?” You pout, crossing your arms, already sure Cecil is shouting into his earpiece.
“You—yeah, he’s bringing me up to speed now,” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “You’re friends with Allen? He didn’t mention you…like at all.”
“Viltrumites aren’t something you can freely talk about,” you reply, “I’m sure you can guess why.”
“Heh, yeah, for sure,” he says awkwardly.
When you don’t say anything, he speaks up again, “You, uh, don’t seem that different from a human. My mom said even my dad took a while to get used to Earth. But you look great— like you’re doing great!”
“Well, compared to the Empire, the Coalition is all about diversity. They made sure I wasn’t an emotionally constipated killer.” You take pity on him and ignore his slip up. A part of you wants to mess with him a bit more, mostly out of envy for him having a human mom and an actual childhood, but that’s twisted even for you. “Did you want to join me?”
Okay, maybe you did have it in you.
“Oh, me? Wow, that’s, wait, no, I have a girlfriend! Oh my god, Amber,” he starts to mumble to himself guiltily. Did he come see you before his girlfriend? You’re flattered, even thought those two are on the brink of a breakup.
“You should get comfortable having me around, Mark.” You mention casually, “Cecil wants me to help whip you into shape. Allen mentioned you were a late bloomer.”
His cheeks flush again much to your glee. “You? But you’re—“
“Doubting me, are you?” In an instant, you’re behind him, kicking his knee in, so he stumbles before whipping around to face you.
Oddly enough rather than offence, he’s giving you the same stupid look as earlier. You look done and let out an ‘ah’. You turn around, arm covering your now bare chest. You weren’t that secure.
“Can you pass me my top?”
In a flash, he’s holding up the piece of fabric, his other hand covering his goggles. For that act of kindness, you pretend not to notice how affected he is by the sight of your tits. Honestly, he’s acting like he’s a virgin, which you know he is not!
*
You’re having the most fun you’ve had in a while, or maybe even the most fun you’ve had in this life.
You get to laze around, eat good food, beat the shit out of Mark for ‘training purposes’. Going on vacation really was the best, especially since you were basically waiting to get drafted to fight in a war. Right now, the best thing to do is nothing.
“You don’t pull punches, do you?” Mark hovers above where you’re perched on a cliffside, watching the sunset after hours of tossing him around.
“That’s what makes me so good at my job,” you grin up at him. Surprisingly, he smiles back at you. You guess being associated with Allen is like a ‘get-out-of-jail’ card here. Well, for now.
“You sure about that? You just smack me around and yell ‘dodge this’,” he teases. “By the way, you’re supposed to warn me before you hit me, not after!”
“I’m Pavlov-ing you. In a good way,” you clarify.
“I don’t thinking saying it’s the ‘good way’ actually makes it good.”
“Hmm, yeah, I guess you’re—dodge this!”
*
“He smells like grape juice,” you breathe, hugging the purple toddler to your chest.
“He doesn’t smell like grape juice just because he’s purple,” Mark retorts, crossing his arms as he watches you nuzzle your face into Oliver’s hair. “I don’t get why you wanted to see him.”
“He’s another halfie, we’re like a super minority right now,” you explain, “And I didn’t really see too many kids growing up.”
“How old are you?” Mark asks suddenly before backtracking, “Oh, wait is that rude to ask? I don’t mean it in a bad way, just curious if, uh, I’ll shut up now.”
“Worried I’m as old as your mom?” You ask. “No, I only recently entered adulthood like you.”
“Cool, cool, cool.” Mark nods, attempting to appear casual. “So, uh, me and Amber broke up.”
That’s earlier than you thought it would happen.
“Why?”
“I’m going to drop out of Upstate, I barely have enough time with the super hero gig and training, as is, forget about actually being able to be there for her. It wasn’t fair to her,” Mark admits. “It felt like we were holding onto something that doesn’t exist anymore.”
“You did sound like a bad partner,” you hum and he shoots you a betrayed look. “But, life isn’t so simple for you. You’ll find your peace eventually, Mark.”
You’ve seen it, after all.
“Oh, uh, thanks.” He rubs his neck sheepishly. It’s a cute habit, you hope it’s one he keeps even if it seems unlikely.
*
“—are you okay?” Mark appears in your vision, bloodied and bruised. “You…scared her off? Uh, asserted your dominance?”
“I’m not a dog,” you grumble, lifting yourself from the sand, as he collapses to sit beside you. “But, yeah, Anissa, was it? Older than us, way older. Any further confrontation between us would have led to more serious injury, so she cut her losses and left. Wish I could have bashed her head in permanently, but there’s always next time. If she was just a little slower…”
“You guys were faster than I thought was possible,” he shakes his head ruefully.
“Experience does count for something. At least, you’re good at taking a beating,” you console.
“Yeah, that definitely makes me feel better.”
“That’s what I’m here for; pina coladas and emotional support,” you grin mockingly before your face falls back into neutral dissatisfaction.
Mark pats your arm, “You’ll get her next time.”
*
“Wow, you really suck at this,” Oliver remarks, watching your character die for the nth time, the two of you sitting on the floor, engaged in the most broken game of all time. You'd rather play a RPG.
“Why do you even like playing shooters? Bullets are literally the most useless thing in space,” you mumble, tossing your controller away.
“Why do you keep playing with my brother when I’m the one that invited you over?” Mark wonders, slumped on the couch behind you.
“She just likes me better,” Oliver brags. “How long are you here for anyway? You said you were just on leave.”
“I’ve literally never taken any day offs, so like ten years, I guess. Or whenever they’re planning to take out the remaining Viltrumites,” you shrug, prompting Oliver to starting ranting about how he’s going to get the most takedowns.
“What are you going to do when it’s over? When there’s no threat?” Mark asks suddenly.
“What? Like, universal peace? I guess the same thing I’m doing right now,” you answer, unsure why he looks so pleased. Dork.
“Then I guess I’ll have to get to work,” he says as if he could just achieve it like that. Well, he would, but doesn’t know that.
“Maybe win a fight first.”
“Ohhhh!”
“Shut up, Oliver.”
*
Shit was going down. It was the average Ao3 user’s wet dream. Dozens of morally dubious Marks fucking everything up.
And, you were having your (Y/N) moment. And letting out some steam through violence. You can only blame your genetics.
“I’m gonna be real with you, babe, this is the most fun I’ve ever had,” a variant wearing a mask without lenses, revealing stupid Bambi eyes, admits, nose bleeding, staining his teeth red when he smiles.
“Aw, you’re going to make me blush,” you giggle after bringing a knee to his face.
“No, really! I thought the only kinda cool thing I could do was kill the Guardians again, but that was a bust! When you tackled me into a mountain, I think I got, like, a gratitude boner or something!” He exclaims, what a manic sweetheart he is. And he should be grateful, you saved him from having to survive the horrors alongside Darkwing Jr.
“Wow, you’re actually being serious about the boner thing,” you comment, doing your best to look into his eyes, and not at his—
“What can I say? You just do it for me, baby, maybe it’s your penchant for punching the shit out of me. Or maybe it’s those pretty legs of yours,” he admits shamelessly, “Actually, do you own any fishnet—“
You punch him into the ground and watch him bounce, but he only lifts his head to look at you like a lovesick puppy. “Marry me?
Okay, that’s enough. The sadomasochism thing was mostly a joke. He can get cannibalized. You’re pretty sure Rex is about to sacrifice himself and take that as an excuse to dip.
*
The day you’ve been dreading. Conquest’s arrival, and you do not want to stand ready for it.
People (and dogs) are going to die. Mark and Eve are going to get mutilated. And you don’t think you can live with that happening on your watch.
So when Cecil calls you for backup, you don’t ignore him. You cry a little, but you go.
When you see him about to tear Oliver in half, you dive down from the sky, landing a kick against his back, forcing him to drop Oliver, you’re barely able to catch him, watching Conquest land a couple feet away.
“That’s enough,” you declare, gently setting the boy down for retrieval, trusting Cecil to take care of him, and approach your father.
“It looks like you’ve improved at hide and seek, it’s been months since I’ve seen you, and you’re here? Your softness…I can only take responsibility for it,” he tells you, quiet compared to the devastation around you. His hand cradles your cheek when you’re close enough, gentler than he’s ever been with you. You raise an eyebrow at the absurdity. Did he miss you that much?
“That’s right, it’s your fault. You could have taken me in at any time, let me be molded into a ‘true Viltrumite’, but you didn’t. Why? All that loyalty to them but you falter now? I don’t understand,” you admit. “Families don’t exist for our people. You want me to be strong, but not enough that I be trained like the rest of you.”
“You were the only one to ever smile at me,” he states simply.
You really hated when you felt bad for him.
Your little moment is interrupted when you hear Mark shout.
“Get away from her!” You raise a hand, stopping his charge as he stares at you in confusion.
“Father, what are you doing? I thought maybe you wanted me to be the one to kill you, but it’s that not that,” you exhale steadily before continuing, “The day you didn’t kill me or take me, you became a traitor. You don’t care about the Empire, clearly, and based on the way you keep following me around like a sad, old dog, there’s more to you than just wanting to fight. What do you want?”
“I want you to live as you always have, without the influence of anyone but myself,” he says. “That way, you can still bear to look at me. That matters more than anything else. Treachery or even destroying this planet, it doesn't matter what I do, so you must remain as yourself.”
That’s almost sweet.
“I came here to drench myself in blood, but now, I will crush this planet against my heel, even if it’s against the Empire’s wishes, for attaching itself to you like a parasite, wasting away your potential and time,” he vows. “I will liberate you from this weakness.”
What?
“What!?” Mark, who was previously stuck in a shellshocked state, shouts.
Your father turns back to Mark, glee gone from his face, replaced with a look of loathing. Before he can move, you wrap your arms around him, feeling him stiffen in shock, as he stares down at you.
“Father! Dad! Dad, you’re right, I’ve gotten attached to this place, for better or worse. Maybe that makes me weak. But, I’m okay with that,” you nervously ramble, clutching onto the man like a lifeline, even thought you have to resist the urge to start shaking. You need to come up with something quick. “The truth is…that I want to start a life here. On a planet where blood and bonds ties us together, where families are forged. Because I’m…”
You silently apologize to Mark.
“I’m with child. Nolan’s son is the father,” you lie, looking your father in the eye. “Here, parents raise their child. They spend every day with them. And…and grandparents are very involved! They just pop up and spoil their grandkids…and that’s totally something I want.”
“A child?” Your father brokenly gasps, looking back at Oliver’s battered form.
“No, that’s not—obviously not! I meant, in my womb, dad!” You yell, pulling away.
He stares at your stomach like you have a bomb strapped to you. He stumbles back before flying away, concrete breaking under the impact. You wonder if canon even matters anymore.
You’ve saved thousands, but at what cost?
Mark finally regains the ability to speak, “We’re pregnant!?”
“I lie when I'm scared, Mark! You should know that!”
*
When you exit the washroom after a very long shower, you’re not surprised to find Mark in your hotel suite, awkward lounging on your bed, staring a bit too long at your fluffy bathrobe for it to be an admiring gaze.
“How was Rex’s going away party?” You ask, sitting next to him, crossing your bare legs.
“Great, I’m happy for him. They missed you, actually. Rex wanted to thank you for taking down that variant,” he smiles, and you take note that most of his injuries have already healed. You stopped the worst of it. “Rae too, looks like they’re a thing now. Didn’t see that coming.”
You hum, an urge to bully him hitting you. You turn to face him, “Do you want to have sex?”
“S-shouldn’t I buy you dinner or take you to a movie first?” He blurts out.
“You wanna take me out?” You ask.
“Yes, of course, I think we’re doing things a little…out of order?” He says. “I mean, sex is also, hmn, good. Really good.
“I was just thinking you should put a baby in me before Conquest comes back,” you explain casually. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. I figured we might as well go along with it.”
He chokes, and you bite back a smile.
He’s too easy.
“You don’t have to. It’s a better alternative than fighting him, but we can figure it out,” you continue, “Maybe we could—“
You’re cut off when he presses his lips against yours, hands cradling the back of your head. Any noise you make is swallowed by him. He pulls away, nose brushing against yours.
“Let’s do it,” he declares.
“Uh, I think your line is supposed to be ‘that’s crazy’ or ‘how can we have a baby’,” you reply, face feeling hot at his sudden boldness.
“I mean, it’s like you said, it’s the best alternative. I’d rather have Grandpa Conquest showing up than the bloodthirsty version,” he says, hand already moving to untie your robe.
“Dude, no way do you want a baby,” you blanch. Is this a game of chicken? Are you losing said game of chicken?
“We can at least try,” he says dragging you further up the bed. “And we can figure out the money thing. I wouldn't let the mother of my child go hungry."
“Well, uh, I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to try,” you bite your lip before he pushes you down by the shoulders, climbing atop you, pressing his mouth against your neck.
“We’re doing this for Earth,” he mumbles in between his sucking and biting.
“For peace,” you agree, a little breathless.
This was either going to cause Cecil a stroke or be some good wank material.
*
“I think I might be a little obsessed with you,” he admits from in between your thighs, face drenched.
Join the club, you think delirious.
Mc’s mom looking up from hell to see Conquest doing the same thing he shamed her for; loving their daughter: I’m going to rip his dick off
*
Mc:
Thaedus: what have you done
*
Cecil, after meeting mc: mass suicide?
*
Mc, bullying Cecil because she can’t kill her dad: damn I need therapy
Mc: I’m going to physically intimidate that old man again.
*
Mc, sobbing after hearing someone sing ‘happy birthday’:
Mark, the ‘someone’: I’m…sorry??
*
Mark: so you’re not pregnant 😔
Oliver, lying a couple feet away, bleeding out: can you do this shit somewhere else
*
Mark: why is that variant still here…and why is he holding roses
Mc: should we keep him as a dog or something
Mark: no??
*
GDA admins, after basically creating a sex tape: delete…or save🤭
*
Conquest: where is the womb??? Where is my grandchild being held!?
I feel like whenever I come up with a title before I actually write a fic, I end up changing everything and doing a rewrite, which is what happened here…I decided to make mc apart of the coalition rather than the empire, creating a more estranged relationship, the only way love could form since it would impossible if mc was raised the Viltrumite way…anyone still around from when I made the original poll? I prefer this version more since there’s more freedom to write the mcs personality when they’re not part of a regime
Anyway even the style of the fic changed from being manwha adjacent to becoming a mix of Gintama/adult swin humour lol
But yay over 6.6k words ughh lemme know about any errors, I’m so bad at editing
ft: mainstream!mark and variants (mohawk, viltrum, omni, sheisty, sinister) (invincible)
reader: fem
wc: 2604
summary: hey siri is it gay to want to crack the female version of my dead best friend?
cw: canon typical violence, foul language, and the variants are kinda sorta freaky in this
requested by: @sophsthebest
this was so fun to write lowk and I would've been done faster if not for the blood moon event in dbd so err yeah I'm going to go die in a hole now
edit: so i quit writing invincible but here's a partial part two
Life is strange, really.
One moment, you’re helping refold shirts because some people don’t even have the decency to put stuff back to where they found it, and the next, an international warning tells you to stay inside because there are evil variants of your boyfriend now roaming the Earth with unclear intentions.
You share a look with your coworker, who looks just as off-put by the information, her fingers curling around her phone as her brow dips. Just as her lips part to speak, the first building falls. It’s only a few blocks away, and the ground beneath your feet trembles at its sudden collapse.
You hear the screams of those out on the street, internally debating whether or not to follow suit until a notification from Mark lights up your screen, the ridiculous nickname you’d set when you were twelve a small comfort to your racing heart.
MarkyWarky: please tell me you’re okay
You: i’m fine
You: i’m just scared mark
You: why are there so many versions of you anyway…
MarkyWarky: i wish i could tell you
MarkyWarky: just stay put alright im otw
The message does little to soothe, and you can’t help but stare at your screen with nothing but apprehension. Your coworker is quick to seize you by the arm when the sound of collapsing buildings and wailing cars draws closer, ushering you into the break room with the floor manager as though the small, unwindowed room would protect you from the raw strength of a Viltrumite.
“Holy shit, we’re gonna die…We’re actually going to die…” The floor manager, Kasandra, curls into herself with tears already welled in her eyes as she chokes back a sob. No one says anything, unable to face the grim reality at steak when debris begins to crumble around you. You all huddle into the furthest corner as your hope in Mark begins to wane.
Small pieces of rubble hit your head as you tuck your head tightly into Kasandra’s shaking shoulder, the lights overhead flickering violently when the ceiling begins to cave in on itself. There’s no use holding back the tears now and you can’t hide your anguished cries, unheard over the collapsing infrastructure.
This is it, you think, mentally saying your goodbyes to everyone you’ve grown to love. Amber. Eve. William. Mark—oh, Mark. The annoying boy next door who grew to be your first love.
Sparks flare as the light above you finally collapses, but you don’t feel a throbbing pain in your head or death’s cold embrace, instead, you find yourself wrapped in a familiar pair of arms, still clinging to an almost catatonic Kasandra while your coworker grips the forearm wrapped around the three of you.
“I’ve got you,” a voice in your ear says, and you can feel the tears begin to well once more, though, this time out of relief. Mark is quick to shoot from the rubble, hold unwavering before he sets the three of you down and urges you to run to safety.
Your two coworkers are quick to flee, but you stupidly linger, worry etched onto your features at the sight of Mark’s beaten face and tattered suit. In the distance, you can see Eve facing valiantly against a variant, the odd cloth mask adorned on his face his most defining trait. She pants, her palms facing outward to just barely raise a shield against his erratic punches.
Mark pulls your attention back to him, face pinched as his thumb traces your lower lip in an attempt to ground both you and himself. His lips are soft against your forehead for a brief moment before he pulls back, staring at you through his cracked goggles with an emotion you can’t quite place.
“I love you,” you whisper, stroking his bruised cheek softly.
“I love you too. But, you need to go. Now. I’ll check on you soon, promise.”
So, you run as fast as your legs can carry you, doing your best to ignore the ruins and corpses that seem to block every turn.
You don’t get far.
A shadow overhead blocks the sun—its presence so oppressive and commandeering that it freezes you in place.
“Another survivor?”
You can’t bring yourself to turn despite the way your heart lurches at the familiarity of the voice. Your breath hitches when the shadow lowers—whatever twisted version of Mark this is drawing ever closer like a lion to its prey.
“I thought those other two were the last of them, but what’s one more?” The voice is cold, almost clinical, very unlike the warmth that radiated off of your Mark. A glove is quick to find purchase on your throat, and you glance down to see the red rubber shining beneath the sun.
Blood coats the hand, tinting the glove an even darker shade of red than what you’d first surmised. You try not to think about the warmth of it as his grip grows tighter, making it harder to breathe, but not enough to kill, like he’s messing with you in some cruel, twisted way.
“You’re this dimension’s girlfriend, aren’t you?” His lips press against the shell of your ear, jerking your body to face the fight between Mark and the clothed one from before alongside Eve, who reaches out to you weakly before eventually crashing against the side of one of the buildings. Your Mark wheezes, clutching at his chest when the cloth-masked variant throws him into a nearby building by the hair. “Pathetic.”
The sound barrier tears as another Mark enters the fray, his mohawk wild and unkempt in the wind as he grins at the sight of battle, though there’s no amusement behind his smile. “Who the hell do you think you are running off like that?” For a moment, his wild eyes slip to where you and your captor reside, a flicker of…something flashing through his before it fizzles away. “Keeping hostages alive? Didn’t peg you for the cruel type.”
You barely register the click of the Invincible’s tongue over the roaring beat of your heart, his thumb remaining stationary over your pulse point; a warning. He could snap your neck at any given moment, and you don’t know what’s stopping him, but you’re grateful for whatever’s causing him to hesitate.
“Come on, just put her out of her misery already,” the mohawked Mark goads with a small shrug as he pulls his fist back to punch your Mark into the concrete when the cloth-masked variant throws him in his direction. Cracks split beneath your feet at the sheer force, the ground almost giving way, but all you can do is watch as your Mark slowly gets up from the crater his body had formed.
He locks eyes with you, something snapping inside of him at the sight of the variant clad in a suit nearly identical to Omni-Man’s wrapping his hand around your throat.
“[Name]!” He calls out, bursting free from the grasp of the two other Marks with a renewed sense of vigor.
Time seems to freeze the moment your name leaves his bloodied lips, the Mark holding you hostage too stunned to react when your Mark’s fist collides with his jaw hard enough to send him three blocks away. It isn’t long until you’re swept into Mark’s arms, the hold both protective and possessive as he glares at the other two, his chest heaving with each labored breath he struggles to take.
“No fuckin’ way.” The mohawked variant blinks slowly, his lips pulling into a mix of a grimace and a smirk. “That’s unfair on so many levels.” He turns to the Mark in a cloth mask who seems to share the same sentiment, mumbling under his breath about how unfair it is that this version of him gets the hot babe.
Omni-Man Mark merely scoffs when he floats back, his suit still pristine as though he’d never been thrown at all while he crosses his arms over his chest, scrutinizing the way you tremble in this version of him’s hold. You aren’t the best friend he’d killed mercilessly back in his dimension. Here, you were a woman—his woman. And he’d be damned if he couldn’t kill two birds with one stone.
A best friend and a wife. Who would’ve thought?
While he’d never seen the other, male, version of you in a romantic light, his heart stirs at the thought of taking this version of you for himself. It’s not like it’ll take much to kill this Mark; he’s already as good as dead anyway—
“Is everything alright here?” Clad in white and silver, yet another version of Mark descends from the sky like some sort of disgraced angel.
“Ugh, why are you here?” Mohawk Mark rolls his eyes obnoxiously, his gaze only briefly flickering to the new variant.
“Angstrom sent me to see if you all were sticking to the plan, which clearly you aren’t.”
“Aww, the lil’Viltrum baby can’t do anything without a mission? How sad!” He bats his lashes dramatically before sneering. “What are you gonna do next, bark? Who gives a shit about the plan? You’re acting as if you weren’t gonna kill him after anyway!”
The Mark in the Viltrum uniform chooses not to dignify him with a response.
Unbothered by his counterpart’s nonchalance, the mohawked Mark sets his sights back on you, spreading his arms wide as if to welcome you in with a hug. “Hey, [Name], it’s just me. Just Mark. Your best friend, remember? We used to play CoD and shit when your parents were out.”
Viltrum Mark’s brows furrow at the familiar name, steady gaze finally paying you mind as you try to sink further into the Mark of this dimension’s arms. You’re a lot…softer than he recalls you being, your form far less filled out; almost feminine. But, that couldn’t be right, right? How cruel would it be for this version of him to have the perfect mate whilst he, while grateful for your prior companionship, was stuck with nothing more than a best friend? One that he’d ultimately killed for resisting.
Surely, his brain is playing tricks on him.
Then he hears it—they all hear it.
The small terrified whimper you let out, the sound almost heavenly as you try to curl into Mark like your life depends on it. Which you suppose it does at this very moment.
A collective groan settles across all the present variations of Mark, all differing levels of arousal. They can practically taste the fear emanating off of you, stalking closer like a pack of deranged wolves.
Disgust pulls at Mark’s lips at the look in their eyes, his arms trembling around you as the last line of defense between you and these monstrous versions of him. “What the hell are you guys on about?” He seethes, only to be met by a suffocating silence.
Viltrum Mark appears in front of you before you and Mark can process his presence, tearing you out of your boyfriend’s arms despite your screaming protests. His grip is firm, but it’s the underlying softness in it that has you trembling with both fear and confusion. One of his hands finds your chin, stroking the contour of your jaw while his thumb gently presses down on your lower lip in a similar fashion that your Mark had done earlier.
“You’re [Name].” His face twists with perplexion as he speaks. “But, you’re so soft.” You feel his other hand fall from your arm, settling on your hip as if to prove a point. He squeezes and prods the fat, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the soft skin underneath, his fingers splaying against your stomach while his nose buries itself in your neck. “You’d be a great mother.”
No.
No.
No.
This can’t be happening—
You’re pulled into another set of arms. These ones leaner yet more possessive than the Viltrum Mark’s. But not yours.
“Jesus what the fuck is wrong with you.” Mohawk Mark’s voice rasps mockingly above you, his arm curling around you and dangerously close to your breasts. You know he feels your heart stop, snorting cruelly as he pulls you flush against him. His gloved hand tilts your chin up to him cruelly, relishing in the way tears well in your eyes.
“P-Please…” You weakly claw at his wrist despite knowing how useless it is in comparison to his innate strength.
Holy fuck, he could get used to the sound of that.
Man, why couldn’t you be a girl in his world too? Oh, the things he would do to you. How he would ruin you. He wonders if you’re similar to his [Name], the [Name] who trusted him to do the right thing only to die trying to stop what’s already been done. Do you play the same sport as your male counterpart? Enjoy the same food? Ah, whatever, you’re still his, no matter his relation to you. Best friend or otherwise.
“Get away from her you fucking freak!” Your Mark’s garbled voice reaches your ears, his fist colliding with the side of the mohawked variant’s head, sending him careening into the white-clad Viltrumite. Mark doesn’t even get the chance to look over you before he shoots into the air with you in his hold, tucking your head into his shoulder as he whispers calming words into the crown of your head. “I’ve got you, baby,” he echoes his prior sentiment, flying as fast as he can with the cloth-mask and Omni-Man wannabe hot on his tail.
A familiar red glove catches Mark’s leg, snapping it easily. Mark screams, his teeth grinding as he pivots his other leg directly into the variant’s face, no doubt breaking his nose before he crashes into the cloth-masked Mark, who yells obscenities as the two of them crash into the city below.
Finally, silence settles between the two of you. Heavy with confusion. Heavy with fear.
“What the hell was that…” You cling to him, trembling like a newborn fawn in his hold.
“I—I don’t know.” He buries his nose in your neck as he lowers into a desolate field miles away from any civilization, breathing in your comforting scent beneath the smell of iron and ash that seem to cling to your skin while he settles against a tree. The field is peaceful; untouched by the destruction that plagues the rest of the world.
“...What about Eve and the others?” You hesitate, palms hovering over his broken leg to do your best to put the limb back together. The bone melds back together grotesquely, it's disgusting snap a sound you think you’ll never get used to.
“Eve slipped away before things got ugly. I’m not too sure about the others…” He lets out a low hiss, his fingers digging into the ground when his skin gets pulled tautly back into place. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I won’t let them get to you, not as long as I’m still breathing, alright?”
“Okay,” you breathe out, collapsing into his chest as you try not to think about everything you’ve lost in such a short amount of time. He kisses your forehead gently, leaning back against the tree for only a moment of respite.
“Aww, what a cute sight.” A patronizing voice overhead has both of you snapping your heads to the sound. Clad in yellow and black with a billowing cape behind him, this version of Mark sneers, his gaze looking between you and Mark. His brows raise beneath his mask, lips forming something akin to a sadistic grin. “Well, well, well. You’re looking a bit different here, aren’t you, [Name]?”
SYNOPSIS — (req) mark comes back after his mission but something is off about him…
CONTENT — 18+ minors dni | sex pollen, shower sex, established relationship, technically dub con because of sex pollen but you want each other either way, pet names (baby, sweetheart), hand job, oral (f! receiving), light choking, cum eating? nipple play, biting, marking, light dirty talk? mating press, doggy position, cowgirl position, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie. let me know if i’ve missed anything!
WC — 5.4k
NOTE — i mean… my username is lovee-potions
MASTERLIST | REQUEST
The room was quiet in that restless, too-late kind of way, where every little sound seemed louder than it should have been. The street outside had long since gone still, the light from the window spilling thin stripes across the blankets, but you still couldn’t sleep.
Your sheets were twisted around your legs, warm but uncomfortable, as you stared at the ceiling—trying to force your mind to focus on anything but Mark. Count the cracks in the paint. Listen to the hum of the heater. Focus on the soft rustle of the sheets when you shifted your legs. None of it helped. Every time your eyes closed, your thoughts went right back to him.
You turned onto your side, then your other side, then back again. Rolling onto your stomach, you buried your face in the pillow with a frustrated sigh. The clock on your bedside table glowed with an unforgiving brightness: 2:43AM. You reached for your phone for the third time in ten minutes, half-hoping for a message and half-afraid of what it might say. Nothing. Still nothing.
You hugged the phone to your chest for a second before setting it back on the nightstand, then sat up and rubbed at your face. Your eyes felt heavy, but your body was all nerves, like it had forgotten how to relax. You pulled your knees up under the blankets and stared at the dark window.
Mark would probably hate seeing you like this. He always got this soft, guilty look when he realised you’d been worrying about him. He never liked making you wait. He never liked the fear in your voice when you asked if he was okay.
A sudden sound outside the window made you freeze. Your whole body went tense, heart jumping into your throat, and you were halfway out of bed before you realised it was only the wind brushing the tree branches against the glass. You let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding and sank back onto the mattress, embarrassed even though no one was there.
After a moment, you reached over and switched on the small lamp beside the bed. The warm light filled the room just enough to make the shadows less sharp. You looked around at the little pieces of Mark that had somehow ended up in your room over time: the hoodie he’d left behind, folded over the chair; the spare comic he’d shoved into your bookshelf because he swore you ‘had to read it’; the stupid souvenir he’d bought on a date and forgotten to take back.
You exhaled slowly, standing once again and heading to the bathroom. The light was harsh at first, making you squint as you flicked it on. You reached for the shower, turning the water on and letting it run as steam slowly began to fill the room.
You caught your reflection in the mirror as you began to undress—the bags under your eyes making you grimace. You stepped under the warm water and let it hit your shoulders, your back, your face—letting the heat sink into the tight places in your body.
For a little while, you focused only on the feeling of it, on the rhythm of the water, on the simple act of breathing until your lungs stopped catching. You pressed your palms against the tile and closed your eyes, trying to wash away the fear that kept circling back.
You tried not to think. Tried not to imagine where he was, what he was doing, whether he was hurt. You were still deep in thought, still caught up in the same loop of dread, running through every possibility your mind could invent. You didn’t hear the bathroom door open, nor the soft rustling of clothes hitting the floor.
You didn’t register the shower door opening and closing until strong arms slipped around your waist that your whole body jolted in surprise, and before you could even turn your head, Mark was there, pressing himself close against your back.
His hold tightened just slightly, like he was making sure you were real. Like he needed to feel you there as much as you needed to feel him. One of his hands rested over your stomach, his thumb moving in a small, absent circle, and when he finally lifted his head, you could hear the tiredness in his voice.
“Missed you,” he murmured, placing a soft kiss against your pulse point.
“Mark?” you gasped, your hands immediately coming up as you turned in his arms.
Your eyes moved over him quickly, taking in everything at once. His skin was flushed, a deep heat radiating off him that you could feel even without touching. There was a faint sheen of sweat along his forehead, trailing down the side of his neck, catching along his collarbone. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath just a little too fast, a little too sharp.
“Mark…” you said again, softer now, your hands shifting from his shoulders to cup his face, then sliding down to his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall beneath your palm. “Hey—slow down. Breathe.”
He let out a shaky breath at that, almost like he hadn’t realised how hard he was breathing until you said it. His forehead dropped forward, resting briefly against yours, his eyes closing as he tried to steady himself.
“I—” he started, voice catching slightly before he swallowed it down.
Your brows pulled together, worry tightening in your chest again. “What’s going on?” you asked, searching his face. “Are you injured?”
“No, I—fuck—” Mark tried again, the word slipping out under his breath as his grip on your waist tightened. He swallowed hard, jaw clenching slightly. “It hurts.”
Your stomach dropped. “What hurts? I thought you said you weren’t injured—”
“I’m not injured,” he cut in quickly, his voice rougher now—strained in a way you weren’t used to hearing from him. Like he was trying to explain something he didn’t have the words for. Like even he didn’t fully understand it.
You blinked at him, frustration flickering through the concern. “What? Mark? I dont… You’re really confusing me right now,” you sighed, your hands still resting against him, grounding but unsure.
Mark shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck and dropping his gaze. He let out a weak exhale before glancing back up at you and gesturing downwards. “It hurts.”
Your eyes followed his motion, and cursed yourself for not noticing sooner. He was hard. Painfully so. Mark kept his gaze on yours as you gave him an up down and had the audacity to look sheepish. He ran a weak hand through his wet hair before letting it fall back down to his side where it tapped nervously against his leg.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my life,” he said exasperatedly.
“Okay, ouch,” you teased, tracing your fingers down his chest, past his stomach and down to the tuft of hair trailing to his base until you wrapped a hand around his cock, savouring how he throbbed under your palm. “What have I been doing wrong?”
Mark groaned at that, seemingly torn between frustration and amusement. He threw his head back against the tiles, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, “No—not like—you know what I mean—its that stupid alien thing—”
“What ‘stupid alien thing’?” you wondered, moving your hand down and teasingly trailing your fingernails over the skin of his balls.
The sensation made him cry out, his cock jerking hard against his stomach. His eyes fluttered shut for a brief second as he tried to keep his composure—his chest rising and falling a little faster with each second that passed.
“There was an object… some kind of relic, I think,” he tried to explain, gulping back a groan. “It gave me this… I dunno, headache, and I thought everything was fine but now—”
“You’re aroused?” you questioned, wrapping your hand back around his base.
“Yeah,” he rasped out after a second. “F-fuck—I—”
“So you inhaled some aphrodisiac?” you laughed softly, slowly moving your hand.
He dragged both hands down his face with a groan that sounded like it had been ripped from his soul. Mark's thighs trembled, his hips thrusting up helplessly into your touch. He was trying, and failing, to keep himself under control, his hands clenching into trembling fists at his sides.
You gave your hand one particular tug and he whined loudly. His tip was flushed an angry-red, glistening and soaked with his precum. The vein along the underside of his length pulsed dangerously each time your thumb slit along the slit in his tip.
“You—you don’t have to do this,” he said, teeth clamped down hard on his lip. “I can wait—oh fuck—I can wait it out…”
“No you can’t, Mark,” you swallowed, your thighs pressing together on their own accord. “You’re in pain. I want to help. I want to make you feel better.”
With one hand firm at his base, your other hand picked up the speed around the head of him. His hips jolted as he fucked himself into your fist. He moaned your name, causing your heart to stutter in your chest at the low, needy sound.
“I’m sorry. I—I’m so sorry… this… please,” Mark groaned out your name. “I’ll—just like that.”
He panted, drawing in gasps of air, and babbled mindlessly. His hips continued to jerk into your hand, unable to help himself, lost to the pleasure. One of his hands came up to the junction of your jaw, pulling your lips onto his.
He took your breath away with how deeply he kissed you. it was incessant, all tongue and teeth. But you let him have his way with you—whatever he needed to feel better—while he broke free to mouth at your pulse.
His tongue flattened against your skin and dragged all the way up your neck, to take your earlobe in his mouth and suck. You moaned at the action, your hand tightening around him. That was all Mark needed before he came with a stuttered cry.
His cock pulsed in your grip, your name tearing from his throat. It felt endless, never seeing him come so much. Mark saw stars, his hips twitching with the force of his orgasm. It was almost painful in its intensity, the pleasure so sharp it made his legs shake.
Thick ropes of cum hit your stomach and trickled down your wrist before being washed away by the spray of water. But still, it wasn't enough. He needed you impossibly closer, he needed to consume every inch of space between you, and despite how much Mark just came, he was still hard. Desperately so.
The relief he expected, the clarity that should have come, was nowhere to be found. If anything, Mark found himself even more aroused than before. Another wave of confused arousal crashed through him, making him groan weakly. He dropped his head onto your shoulder, moving his hips into your hand once again as he hopelessly tried to find some form of relief.
You reached a hand to the back of his head, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him back to look at you. You barely got a look at how hazy Mark’s eyes were before he lunged forward and captured your mouth in another kiss.
Mark tried to be gentle but the second your lips parted for him, he was taken over by a need so consuming that he let the last thread of control fray to nothing. One hand fisted your hair, gripping it tight to angle your head exactly where he needed it, while the other gripped your waist.
He pulled you flush to his body, his chest pressed against yours. Gasping at his touch, Mark immediately took advantage, sweeping his tongue past yours. The hand that was on your waist slid down to the curve of your ass, squeezing gently before he lifted you up and pressed you back against the cool surface of the tiles.
Your legs wrapped naturally around his waist and you felt his cock brush against your folds. Water sluiced between you as he pressed closer, the tile cool against your bare back compared to the heat of him.
Mark sucked your bottom lip between his teeth and released it slowly before pulling back. You made a small wounded sound that went straight to his cock and you felt it twitch against your stomach.
Glancing down at his lips, you took in how they were spit-covered, plump and parted as he gulped back his pleasure. Just the sight of him so wrecked made your head spin and thighs clench. His chest heaved against yours, breath coming hard and fast as he pressed his forehead against yours.
“Baby, I can’t,” he panted raggedly, his voice barely recognisable. “You don’t understand… I’m not… I don’t know if I can be gentle.”
“That’s okay, Mark,” you whispered against his lips, sliding a hand up his shoulder to curl around the base of his neck. “Take what you need. Take me.”
“I—are you sure?” he breathed, glancing between your eyes as he tried to find any sort of hesitation. “I don't know if I can stop once I start…”
“Then don’t stop,” you purred, tightening your hand around the base of his neck.
He was all over you in seconds, his teeth scraping against your neck, hot and demanding against your skin—kissing, nipping, licking until he had a trail of marks blooming across it. He didn’t bother hiding how badly he wanted this—how badly he needed to be touching you.
His mouth crashed back onto yours with bruising intensity and your lips parted for him instantly, allowing him to take full control of the kiss. The hand that was in your hair moved down and wrapped around his cock, pumping himself a few times before lining up against your entrance.
You rolled your hips against him, the thick head of his cock dragging through your folds and gathering your slick. The action made your breath stutter, your thighs tightening helplessly around him, trying to draw him even closer, to get more of that intoxicating pleasure.
With one shaky thrust of his hips, Mark buried himself deep inside you, and the sensation punched a desperate sound from the both of you. A long, drawn-out moan left your lips as he stretched you open and filled you completely.
“Oh God, sweetheart,” he murmured, dipping his head and latching his lips onto your neck and sucking hard.
Mark held himself deep inside you for a brief moment that felt like an eternity. He drew back his hips until the tip of his cock slid right to the very edges of your entrance, and then drove it back in, burying himself to the hilt.
You reached a hand up, threading your fingers through the wet strands and tugging at them. He lifted his head from your shoulder and glanced down at where your bodies met, watching his cock slide in and out of you at a frantic pace.
“Feels so good,” he breathed, brushing a calloused thumb over your bottom lip.
As your lips part to let out a moan, Mark slid his thumb into your mouth—pressing the pad of his thumb down against your tongue to make you swallow around it instead. Mark cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering as you sucked on his thumb—his gaze darkened as he watched the way your lips slid over it.
His thumb pulled free from your mouth with a soft, wet pop—a string of saliva connecting him to your bottom lip. His fingers gripped your chin, tilting your head back. He closed the last bit of space between you, lips hovering millimeters above your own, his breath mingling with yours.
Mark’s grip on your chin shifted, his fingers curling to cradle your jaw as his hips slowly began to lose their rhythm as he got closer to his impending orgasm. His thumb moved to the underside of your jaw, tracing the line of your pulse with feather-light pressure.
His thumb moved again, shifting to the delicate column of your throat. He gently squeezed, enough to feel your pulse stutter beneath his touch as he leaned closer. His gaze drifted down to your neck, studying the way you shivered when he exerted that bit of pressure.
“Fuck, I’m close,” he panted, his thumb rubbing small, teasing circles on your fluttering pulse.
Mark’s body tensed at the feeling of your nails raking down his back, a sharp groan tearing from his throat. His hips stuttered again, losing their rhythm as pleasure spiked through him. He pressed you harder against the wall with one hand braced beside your head while the other gripped your thigh to hike it higher around his waist.
Water cascaded over both of you as he leaned in close enough that all you could see was him—dark lashes dripping wet and eyes burning into yours. Mark’s grip on your thigh tightened, his pace turning rougher—needy.
His free hand slid between you, his fingers finding your clit with cruel precision as he drove into you deeper. His fingers pressed harder, his hips pistoning with brutal efficiency. His forehead dropped against your shoulder as the tension in him coiled tighter.
“I’m gonna—I’m—oh shit—” he groaned, coming undone above you.
Your name ripped from his throat like a prayer as he came inside you. He buried himself as deep as he could go as his cock throbbed inside you, pulsing violently as he emptied himself inside your cunt.
There was too much—pulse after pulse filling you beyond capacity. You clenched around him, your body milking every last drop until his cum started to leak around the base of him, dripping down your thighs.
You were coming a few seconds after before your brain could even register it was happening. His arms locked around you in a vice grip, keeping you flush against him as he rode out both your highs with slow, grinding rolls of his hips.
“Fuck—fuck,” he muttered into the curve of your neck.
“Mark,” your voice cracked, still feeling how hard he was.
Blindly reaching to his left, Mark turned off the water before stumbling out of the shower with you still in his arms. He moved with urgency, carrying you a few steps to your bed and laying you down.
He followed you down, planting his forearm beside your head and covering your body with his. You were briefly wary of making everything wet, but then Mark kissed you and every thought evaporated from your mind.
His mouth left a trail of kisses down the column of your neck, pausing to nip lightly at the mark he’d made earlier. He continued his path down your body, his mouth leaving a scalding trail of wet kisses on your skin until he sucked your nipple between his lips.
Mark’s tongue circled the sensitive peak before his teeth grazed against it teasingly. His hand came up to the other, his thumb flicking over the nipple once, twice—watching how it stiffened under his touch before pinching it hard enough to make you gasp.
“Fuck, Mark,” you moaned, arching your back into his touch.
Threading your fingers into his hair, you tugged at the strands as he sucked your nipple into his mouth. His hand palmed and kneaded the other, clinging onto every whining plea that fell from your lips.
Mark groaned against your skin, his hips grinding down against the mattress. He switched to the other side, alternating between your breasts, his tongue laving over the other sensitive mound. He licked, sucked and nipped until both your nipples were peaked and glistened with his spit.
His mouth trailed down your stomach, leaving open-mouthed kisses in his wake until his hand smoothed up the inside of your thighs before pushing them apart. He manoeuvred you into the perfect position before propping himself on his elbows between your legs.
Only when his hand trailed down to your thigh, his knuckles lightly brushing over your skin, did you finally stop him.
“Mark,” you sighed, holding him back with the hand still tangled in his hair. “It’s not about me, Mark… this is about you.”
“No, I need this,” Mark shook his head, pulling your thighs over his shoulders. “I need to make you feel good too.”
Before you could protest any further, he bruised his face between your legs and devoured you like a man starved. Mark flattened his tongue, licking a long stripe up your slick folds from your aching hole to your clit.
“Oh, fuck,” you panted, tightening your thighs around his head and practically suffocating him.
Mark moaned against your core, reveling in the taste of you and him on his tongue, before his lips latched onto your clit. Your fingers twisted tightly in his hair as your hips bucked up helplessly in response to the maddening sensation.
He tilted his head down, shifting one of his hands to spread you wider with his thumb, opening you up as he licked and prodded at your entrance as the bridge of his nose brushed against your clit. Mark didn’t know if he could be able to keep it slow for long, not with you—not when he took such sick pride in taking you apart like this.
“So fucking delicious,” Mark murmured, pulling back for a second to spit onto your throbbing cunt. As if you needed any more lubrication.
He dove back in, his tongue spearing inside—the obscene wet sound mixing with your gasping moan. Your toes curled as he slid his tongue in and out over and over, curling and massaging your insides.
The sight of Mark was nearly enough to send you over the edge. All flushed skin and flexing muscle, he seeked his own friction by grinding down against the mattress, aching for a bit of relief from the pressure. Mark savoured the taste of you, closing his eyes and humming into your cunt.
Your head lolled even further back into the pillows as the vibrations shot through your body, your eyes fixed at the ceiling and almost teary from how good you felt. Then, without warning, Mark’s two fingers sunk into you as his mouth re-attached to your clit.
“Mark—fuck—Mark,” you moaned incoherently.
As his fingers curled and uncurled against your g-spot, you tilted your hips up to meet the thrusts of his hand. You were shaking now, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as the coil in your stomach wound up tighter and tighter.
Mark’s tongue and fingers continued to work in tandem, coaxing you closer and closer to your orgasm.
“Need you to come,” Mark rasped against you, feeling you clench around his fingers.
The raw pleading tone of his voice is what does it. Your back arched off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Mark watched you with rapt attention, keeping his mouth sealed around you—devouring every aftershock.
Mark smiled against your cunt, lapping up your release—even as it dripped down his wrist and chin. He slowed his fingers, gentling their movements, and delivering a final lick before pulling away to press open-mouthed kisses against your inner thighs.
He worked his way back up your body until he reached your face, lips glistening and hair dishevelled from your grip. Mark planted a hand beside your head, fisting the pillow as he leaned down to connect your lips.
You moaned into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. He kissed you with a desperate kind of fervour, moving a hand to your jaw and tilting your head back so he could claim as much of your mouth as possible.
Your nails raked down his back, leaving a light trail of red in their wake. Mark hissed at the feeling, bucking his hips forward and dragging the swollen head of his cock through your folds, brushing against your clit.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he whimpered, his hands trembling. “Please… I need more… I need you.”
“Fuck, Mark, I—” you gasped, still trying to catch your breath from the previous orgasm. “Yeah, okay… take me.”
You reached a hand between your bodies, guiding his cock and aligning him with your entrance. Not needing to be told twice, Mark slid his hands under your thighs, hitching your legs up until your calves were over his shoulders.
He pressed his chest down against yours, his body caging you in completely. Your hands clutched desperately at his biceps that encased you as he pushed in at an antagonising pace.
You felt every inch, every bump, every ridge, every vein, every perfect, blissful drag of his cock as he split you open once again. Your legs were practically folded to your shoulders, ankles hooked around the back of his neck.
You were so full you could barely breathe, stretched impossibly wide around him—the sensation so unbelievably overwhelming you could come from that alone. He wasn’t giving you any time to adjust, his body operating on pure unfiltered need.
“So good,” he murmured, barely holding his head aloft. “Feels so good. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just need—fuck—need you so bad. Can't stop…."
His cock was buried so far inside you it felt like he was in your stomach. Each one of his thrusts were deeper than the last—his chest smothering your gasps and moans as you took him over and over.
Mark’s arms began to tremble from the tension of keeping you folded under him. He sucked in a sharp breath like he couldn’t stand how good you felt, his hips rolling deeper while locking your eyes together.
At that point, it felt like Mark was practically a part of you. Each time he rocked forward, you chased the friction instinctively. One of Mark’s hands snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit.
A sharp cry slipped past your lips, your body jolting with overstimulation from your previous orgasms. Every muscle in your body twitched, wanting to flee from the sensation but, with being pinned beneath him, there was nowhere to go.
You were utterly trapped, unable to do anything but take it. You couldn’t hold back anymore—the combination of his thumb against your clit, his cock pounding into you was all too much.
“Oh god, oh God—” you moaned, grasping his wrist. “I’m close…”
“Please, baby,” he panted, his thrusts becoming needier.
You came with a keening cry as your third orgasm washed over you—your thighs shaking where they were pressed to your chest. Mark continued his thrusts, coaxing you through your orgasm but instead of slowing down, he became more frantic.
Then, without warning, he pulled out of you completely, ignoring your confused whimper, and his hands were on you—gripping your hips and flipping you around. He slid back inside you and bottomed out—his balls slapping against your clit.
Your jaw went slack against the pillows, cheek pressed to the soft fabric by Mark’s hand. He held you there for a moment, his chest hard against your back. His hips began to move, the tip of his cock nudging against your g-spot.
“Mark,” you whimpered, clutching the sheets below you.
“Yeah, baby?” he murmured into your neck. “You like that?”
His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades as his entire body shuddered with the effort to keep himself from coming apart. His hands shook where they gripped your hips; every drag of him inside you slow but punishingly deep.
“Doing so good f’me,” he breathed, kissing your shoulder.
His thrusts started to falter, growing erratic and sloppy—there was a desperate kind of ache in his movements now. The bed creaked beneath his thrusts, the force of his movements causing the headboard to smack against the wall.
Mark dragged a hand around to your stomach then, splaying it over your navel and pressing your back against him. He groaned at the sensation, his teeth biting down into your shoulder and remaining there as he spilled into you in hot pulses.
Thick ropes spurt into your cunt—being stuffed deeper and deeper with every half-thrust that followed. Your mouth fell open on a silent gasp, your eyes wide as he shifted slightly and angled his hips deeper.
You expected him to soften, to give you a moment to recover—even if it was for a second. But, for some unholy reason, Mark still didn’t slow down. A broken whimper fell from your lips as he pulled out of you once again—his and your release dripping from your abused cunt.
In a blur, before you could even catch your breath—before you could even think—he was moving, flipping you over in one smooth motion, pulling you on top of him and sliding you down onto his cock.
You were so full, so overwhelmed, you could barely process that he was still hard, still going, still in desperate need of you. Mark groaned, head tipping back against the headboard as you took him to the hilt.
His eyes locked onto where you rolled your hips—letting his cock slowly drag out of you before sinking right back in. Your thighs flexed as you rode him and the heat between you built. He thrusted up into you, meeting your movements with an unexpected roughness.
“Fuck, baby—” he panted, voice breathless, his finger flexing on your ass. "I can't—fuck, just need one more from you—Can you do that for me? Please, baby, just one more."
You lifted a hand from his chest and cupped his mouth as you rode him harder, faster. The pleasure was building quickly, both your thighs shaking from overstimulation. Your breasts bounced with each movement and Mark’s hands slid up your back, over your ribs, before grabbing your tits.
He squeezed your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, making your hips stutter into a slow grind that made his cock rub just right inside you. Mark was so incredibly close to losing it all—his hands roaming at any piece of skin he could reach.
His thumb slid back down to your clit, lazily rubbing circles over the swollen bud. Your back arched, pace stuttering for a second before chasing your fast approaching orgasm. You were coming before your brain could even register it was happening.
“Mark,” you moaned, tilting your head back.
Your thighs shook violently, muscles screaming, as you slowed your movements. You could hear him mumble into your palm and you pressed your hand tighter to his mouth. He was so close, and he knew you felt it too.
With a few more weak thrusts, Mark’s cock twitched inside you, and he groaned into your palm. He shuddered beneath you, the intensity of his orgasm clearly overwhelming as he filled you up one last time.
His hips slowed gradually and you let your hand fall from his mouth—the last of your strength giving out entirely. Your head lolled onto his shoulder, too heavy to hold up anymore.
Mark breathed raggedly against your hair, his chest heaving and he could finally feel the burning under his skin start to fade. His taut muscles finally loosened and the desperate need in his chest began to settle.
You were both spent, and there was nothing left for you both but to melt into one another. You nuzzled into the crook of his neck as he placed a delicate kiss on your temple. Slowly, he rubbed lazy circles into your skin—his hands soothing and gentle as you regained your bearings.
He looked down at you with a sigh of contentment, and you lifted your head just enough to kiss the underside of his jaw softly. You felt your chest flutter as he leaned in to kiss your forehead—his gaze warm and loving.
Unwillingly, Mark slowly pulled out, watching his cum spill out of you. His throat bobbed, lips parting slightly as he watched it drip down your thighs and cling to your folds.
“Looks like we’re going to need another shower,” he teased softly.
“I guess so,” you hummed sleepily, closing his mouth with a finger under his chin.
in which, MARK GRAYSON gets hit with an aphrodisiac and runs to the only person on his mind; you.
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includes: mark grayson x bestfriend!reader, fem!reader, mature content (17+), tension, lowkey situationship w/ best friend labels, pwp, piv, dry humping, premature ejaculation, cumming in boxers (markus u loser lmfao), unprotected sex, dirty-talk, obsessive behavior, breeding kink, aphrodisiac, cream-pie, 4.7k words.
‧₊˚✩彡
kinktober masterlist.
YOUR PHONE was vibrating; again. harsh, singular notes echoing and buzzing through your room, stealing you from the comfort and ignorance provided by sleep. worming its way through your thick comforters, the ring-tone frayed dangerously on your last strings of patience-- finally defeating you as you sighed, deeply, reaching for your cell-phone. the only person contacting you at such an ungodly hour would be your best friend; his texts scurrying off against the digital fibres of your screen frantically, as if he was word vomiting with his finger-tips.
blinking regretfully at your screen, the harsh lighting from your phone was blinding in contrast to the familiar darkness of your room; mark's name dashed across your screen and you think vaguely, i should have never let this man's notifications by-pass do not disturb.
a series of texts, spanning just under an hour, glow tauntingly against the shadows of your face.
---
'hi i am coming back rn' - 12:56 am
'dude i hate space some weird alien thing like... spat in my face bro' - 12:58 am
'i tjink it thought i was being rude when i looked disgusted but tbf who DOES THAT?? who spits in a strangers face' - 12:58 am
'cs that dude did it AGAIN like sorry i am not familair w ur customs ya dick' - 12:59 am
'anyways i thinkn im fine im grossed out sure but i feel fine so wtv' - 1:01 am
'my finger tips r tingly......... like weirdly tingly..................' - 1:27 am
'ok so a little bit more of me is tingly now. not a fan, would not recommend.' - 1:36 am
'i feel so weird can i come over ik ur prolly asleep bu t ur bed is better than mine n i think i js need to sleep this off' - 1:40 am
'u can say no tho duh' - 1:40 am
'i take that back, sorry. you cant say no.' - 1:42 am
'im coming.' - 1:44 am
'fuck' - 1:45 am
---
another sigh ripped itself from your lungs, and your phone met the plush of a pillow as you discarded it haphazardly from your grip. mark could be a stubborn boy sometimes, eager in his actions-- often doing before thinking. rolling onto your side to get what little rest you'd acquire for the rest of the night (you and mark had never truly been able to sleep whenever someone hosted a sleep-over; giggling wildly into the lazy hours of the night, time slipped through your fingers like sand with him. easily, and as natural as remembering to breathe); a thought wiggled its way into the depths of your mind, and you smiled ever so slightly as your eyelids grew heavy.
you were sure this was just another time where mark was acting before thinking.
✩✩✩
the act of subtlety had never been mark's strong suit-- a fact you were sorely reminded of as the sound of your window being slid open screeched throughout your bedroom. the noise was jarring, loud; as if the inanimate object itself was yelling, mark is here!
gripping your window-sill with an odd sort of clumsiness and disorganization, mark crawled through your window heavily. it creaked underneath your best friend's weight, wood splintering softly in his wake-- as if this was some sort of unpracticed affair; the bulkiness of it all caused one of your eyebrows to quirk upwards as you sat up in your bed. "mark?" you questioned, rubbing your fist to your sleep-rimmed eyes in an attempt to shoo away exhaustion.
mark swallowed; he stood silently for a moment, his labored breathing the only sound reverberating through your bedroom, before he ran a hand through his hair.
(a nervous tick he had adopted from his father; odd.)
"hey," he said hoarsely, your name following the greeting lightly. the way he sounded, the way he recited your name-- it was almost as if he wanted to say more. like there was more on his mind he was unable to utter; because his mouth clamped shut into a thin line.
"are.. you hurt?" you asked eventually, because good lord, why was mark acting so odd? "you said your finger-tips were ... uh, tingly. and then you followed with the rest of you was feeling tingly too..." your voice trailed off, your unnecessary rambling a cheap effort at lightening the mood.
the boy shook his head, before peeling off his costume's cowl. "no--! no, not hurt," he reassured, faint traces of the mark you knew bleeding through the intense air of the room. "sorry." mark apologized meekly. his dimples popped ever so slightly as you watched him chew on his bottom lip-- the fat going practically raw and bloody underneath the inhumanely sharp canines mark housed.
one of your arms reached side-ways to flick on your bed-side lamp, soft yellows and oranges illuminating your bedroom. when the light reached your best friend, your eyebrows furrowed. mark's cheeks were flushed a romantic shade of red, and his brow-bone glistened underneath a sheen layer of sweat; black locks clung to his forehead, and, had you have been able to see it-- his pupils would have been blown unnaturally large. "mark," you rasped out, motioning for him to come closer, "what's wrong?"
the tips of mark's ears now started to burn the same shade as the rest of his face, his pulse spiking as he slowly approached you. your carpet crunched softly underneath the weight of his boots, and mark took post near the end of your bed. sitting, he rested his elbows on his knees, and held his pretty little head in his hands. "i.. uh, i don't know-- nothing's wrong."
"you don't look like nothing is wrong." you commented, your patience for the boy running thin as he dodged your question again.
there was silence in your room for what felt like an eternity; you stared expectantly at your best friend, and he bore holes into your wall as he stared straight ahead-- still, avoiding your question.
he sighed, suddenly, before mark's hands met the neck-line of his hero costume. using little to no strength, you watched him rip the fabric, tearing it down the center of his abdomen. the tear stopped right at his belly-button, and he began to shrug off the uniform hastily. between the ruffling of your bedsheets at his movement and the sound of fabric being torn from his body (mark was so dramatic), you had almost missed the words that fell so plainly from his lips.
almost.
"it hurts." mark had mumbled simply.
your head tilted, eyes squinting. despite having heard him perfectly fine the first time, you still questioned the meaning behind his words. "what?" you gaped, your irises tracing the faint flex of his biceps as he peeled his arms from the sleeves of his hero costume. "what hurts? i thought you said you weren't injured--"
mark cut you off, his voice uncharacteristically rasp. desperation. "i'm not injured," he countered, as if that explained everything-- why he had been so eager all of a sudden to show up to your house.
"you're really fuckin' confusing me right now, mark," you sighed, dragging your hands up and down your face. "how can--"
mark cut you off again; except, this time, it was not with words. he stood from your bed, turning to face you. taking barely two strides had left him only a few feet away from your figure; he exhaled shakily, before gesturing downwards, "it hurts."
eyes following his motion, you felt suddenly stupid for not spotting the terribly large boner mark was sporting. in his defense-- even from overtop the sturdy fabric of his costume, it looked painful. resting along his lower stomach, you watched it pulse and jump, seemingly defiant of mark. "oh." you squeaked out, feeling something bloom desperately within your core.
"i-i can go," mark offered, stuttering nervously. "i just-- it went from like, zero to a hundred so fast--! one second i was fine, the next i was tingly, and then..." his voice trailed off, and hot burning shame crawled up the back of mark's neck. "i didn't know what to do. you- you were the only thing on my mind, suddenly and--" mark cut himself off, shutting his mouth into a thin line. the next time he spoke, it barely came out as a whisper. "i don't mean to make you uncomfortable, i know we're just friends," he mumbled sweetly, "but... if you aren't completely and utterly repulsed by me at this point, then i'd really.. uh, appreciate your help."
his confession, along with the compassion that oozed from his soul-- despite the less than ideal situation he caught himself in-- caused something to flutter to life within your ribs. it practically knocked the wind from your lungs, and the ambition (greed, hunger, restlessness) in your voice had even caught you off guard. "i can help you." the sensation of your panties dampening and clinging to the outline of your cunt unmistakable-- eyes darting down to his erection, your clit pulsed. "that's what.. best friends are for anyways, right?"
at your enthusiasm, mark seemed to flush an even deeper shade of pink— his tongue darting out to wet the plump of his lips. “are- are you sure?” he questioned, fingers playing the rip in his costume. “i kinda jus’ showed up without… asking if it was okay, you don’t have to feel obligated to help me if you don’t want to,”
“mark.” you broke his rambling quietly, swinging your legs out from underneath your comforter; the cool air that circulated your bedroom raising goosebumps along the fat of your newly exposed thighs.
the boy whispered your name back, an echo of his deepest, most riveting emotions terribly clear in his voice.
“i told you,” you started, curling a finger towards him to motion him closer to you— like expected, (like a good boy), mark obeyed wordlessly. “this is what best friends are for.”
your desire to aid mark certainly— was not out of the blue.
the both of you had been inseparable since early childhood; your bond growing suffocatingly strong day by day. wherever you went, mark followed blindly under the guise of friendship; but you both knew it was something stronger. something always there, lurking underneath the mask of comfortable touches, lingering glances, and joint souls. a singular night, years ago, you and mark had been fourteen; underneath the expanse of washington’s starry sky, your lips had slotted against his in a blind fury of affection. wrapped up in teenage innocence, mark had kissed you back with the same intensity, like he’d never get the chance again. despite this, you and him agreed to remain friends; the fear of change, fear of losing this friendship outweighing the complicated, uncharted waters of love.
the refusal, however, to make anything official didn’t stop your feelings from intensifying tenfold upon your later teenage years— mark’s, too, undying. instead, they bloomed into palms that groped far more than best friends should, and petty arguments that— instead of ending in a fit of giggles— ceased with his lips crashing ceremoniously onto yours.
nevertheless, you were now facing a line the both of you had not crossed before. as mark stood in front of you, his fingers fiddling with the rip of his hero costume, there was uncertainty and blurred lines. sweat beaded at his temples, and you could tell his self-restraint was wearing thin. mostly, though, through the uncharted fogs of intimacy-- there was lust.
"sit." you whispered, patting the bed beside you. mark did as you told, swallowing thickly. the heat radiating from his body was nothing like you had felt before-- as warm as mark usually ran, this was something entirely different. you leaned towards the boy, tilting your head slightly, to begin pressing kisses to his neck.
mark's breath caught, and his chest stuttered. there was a thick, heady need slowly blooming from his core-- and your touches, as light and teasing and beginning as they were-- were not enough. despite this, his chin moved upwards, allowing you better access to the skin on his throat. mark said your name; it was low, like a warning. "you're being so sweet," he groaned lightly.
you smiled against his pulse-point, before sucking on the flushed skin. "you say that like it's a bad thing."
"normally, it's not," mark shivered. "but i- i'm not normal right now."
that got your attention-- peeling yourself from his neck, your lips were plump and lazily coated in your saliva from your kisses. "what do you mean?"
"i told you," mark glanced down at his hands in his lap, which were busy slowly grazing the edges of the outline of his cock. "that stupid alien thing got it- it's powder all over me."
"so?" you questioned, not understanding how the two things connected.
mark flushed impossibly deeper, and you really looked at him.
he was panting, chest heaving up and down. his fingers kept twitching against his throbbing dick, and-- well, he was a mere two seconds away from drooling on you. "...you think the alien thing was an aphrodisiac?"
shamefully, mark nodded-- answering your question. "i-i've never been this hard in my life!" he exasperated, thumbs dipping into the fabric of his ripped costume, the need to yank it lower becoming all-consuming.
leaning forward again, your lips ghosted mark's jaw with ease. "okay," you whispered, vibrations sending shivers down your best friend's spine, "how do you want me to help you if i'm not allowed to be sweet?"
the sound of fabric ripping echoed through-out your bedroom again, and glancing downwards, what remained of mark's costume was dangling lifelessly from his knees. "i want," mark started, voice wavering, "i want you to let me use you."
"use me?"
mark nodded. taking advantage of your position so close to him, you felt a sturdy palm grasp the side of your face; he tilted your head, big brown irises meeting your own. "this isn't what i envisioned for our first time," the boy confessed, his breath fanning across your lips erotically. "i wanted to take my time with you."
your stomach flipped and swirled at his confession, arousal pooling thickly within your cunt. "you've thought about fucking me before?" you question; despite knowing the answer is yes (only because you cannot count the times you've fucked yourself to sleep to the thought of mark-- painfully aware the feeling is mutual), you want to hear him say it.
"no-- i've thought about making love to you," mark hums, eyelashes fluttering against your cheek due to proximity. "it feels almost.. uh, disappointing i'm not going to be doing that to you right now."
mark stood, suddenly, kicking off the remainder of his costume and discarding it aimlessly on your bedroom floor. hovering over you, he leaned forward, pressing you onto your back on the mattress.
your faces came tantalizingly close again, only now mark was lingering a few inches above you. "i don't think this will be disappointing," you express, bottom lip getting caught in between your teeth as you watch mark lick his own slooowly.
"it won't," he confirms, closing the gap between the both of you. your lips touch and the contact almost feels electric-- charged with anticipation and carnality. "and i'll make it up to you another time if it is." he mutters in between kisses, lips heavy and greedy as his mouth slots against yours. "i just-- i need you so bad, baby."
you hum, too wrapped up in the feeling of his lips on yours to pull away and speak. you toss your arms around his neck, pulling mark impossibly closer to you, and you feel him grind against your clothed pussy.
he moans whorishly at the action; every bump, every ridge, every vein of his cock more sensitive than he's ever felt in his life. the sound bleeds into your mouth, and you take the chance to stick your tongue straight down his throat. mark's hands take post on either side of your head, and he leans onto his forearms to steady himself above you-- his hips unrelenting in their movements against yours.
back and forth, over and over and over again.
the only thing separating the both of you now is mark's boxers (an embarrassingly large and crude wet spot forming where the tip of his dick rests) and your pajama shorts and panties. unhappy with this, your counter-part sticks a hand down your shorts to peel them off of your legs-- pausing his rutting until the shorts are off your frame, only to continue with a renewed hunger against your panties. "fuck," mark curses.
it's odd, hearing your best-friend curse; no, scratch that-- it's arousing hearing mark grayson curse. the swear falls from his lips, born out of impetuosity. the sound shoots straight to your pussy, and you can't help but moan.
in return, you hear mark gasp; your own sound spurring an entirely different version of the boy you love to life. he continues to hump, grind, and fuck you over-top your undergarments-- his swollen tip caressing your clit deliciously with every thrusts of his hips.
the both of you aren't even kissing anymore-- just breathing heavily, too entranced in the ecstasy of dry-humping to care about being close to each other in any other way.
"o-oh fuck," mark stutters suddenly, face falling immediately into the crook of your neck.
your eyebrows knit together momentarily, before you feel mark's entire body go rigid. "are you--?"
he nods, and a moan rips itself from his throat, almost as confirmation to what you suspected. it isn't long before the damp spot on his boxers becomes soaked-- his cum seeping through at an alarming rate. it falls in globs onto your panties, and in any other situation-- you'd be laughing.
but a good fifteen seconds have passed and-- mark is still cumming. his cock twitches underneath his underwear and he still, impossibly so, is leaking like a faucet. the worst part of it though, you realize, is that his dick is still painfully hard-- mark's orgasm having little to no aid on his arousal.
when he finally peels himself from the privacy of your neck, watery brown eyes meet yours. he opens his mouth, and you think the boy is going to apologize-- because that is a very mark grayson thing to do-- but all he asks is: "can you take me without prep?"
having caught you off-guard, you falter momentarily.
mark swallows, sucks his teeth, and then speaks again-- not waiting for you to answer his proposed question. "actually, i don't really care," he muses, his palms going to rest on your waist, "you will."
"mark--" you begin, watching him shrug off his ruined boxers easily. they fall to the floor, and you feel panic wash over you; to say mark is well-endowed would be an understatement. his cock glistens underneath the lighting from your bed-side lamp, and no amount of ambient lighting makes it look any less daunting than it is. it's not the width that's the issue-- it's the length. "holy shit, no--! i'll need something--" you try.
mark cuts you off by flipping you onto your side and pushing you further onto the bed. crawling to you, he settles in between your legs, straddling one of your thighs. the other he's got hoisted up on his shoulder by your ankle. "shh," he hushes, pressing a chaste kiss to your calf by turning his head, before using a finger to hook into your panties and pull them to the side. mark hisses, watching your cunt practically sparkle with slick. "look at how wet you are-- it'll be good, m'promise," he hums, aligning himself with your entrance.
the burn of his cock stretching you out follows not too long after his reassurances-- pain erupting from your cunt in a delightful way. mark falters, and you can see some of the boy you love resurface in this pussy-drunk, aphrodisiac infected version of mark grayson. "i know, i'm sorry," he coos. it's useless though-- as mark continues to push into you, inch by inch. "it'll feel good soon, baby, just-- haah-- let me get it in all the way."
when he bottoms out, it almost feels like mark is in your lungs. he's deeper than you thought was possible, and the way his face scrunches up suggests that he, too, feels euphoric.
without warning, his hips start to move-- his cock gliding in and out of your weeping cunt with ease. you cry out, your own hips rocking to both somehow meet his pace and thrash away from it. "ooh shit mark," you gasp, head lolling to the side.
mark only huffs in response, continuing to rock in and out of you desperately. "god-- needed this pussy s'bad," he groaned, tilting his head again to connect with your lower leg. you feel his lips begin to litter open-mouthed kisses to your ankle, the tip of his cock nudging your g-spot repeatedly.
there isn't much you can do back, in such a crude position, but you try to match your best friend's pace regardless. without thought, you shove a hand underneath your tank-top-- fingers instantly connecting to your stiffened nipples to roll them back and forth. the added stimulation has your back arching, and mark moans at the sight.
"that's right," he encourages between breathy moans, hips bucking wildly against your body-- the sound of your thigh meeting his v-line creating obscene noises that reverberate through your bedroom. "feels s'good, doesn't it? g-god, you're all i've been t-thinking about since that stupid shit got into my s-system," mark whines, bottoming out inside you once again, only to push his hips deeper-- grinding and reaching places inside your pussy you didn't even know existed. "like, all at once; it was just you: your face, y-your scent, your-- fuck!-- your perfect tits n' cunt,"
mark's mindless babbling only causes your pussy to clench around his fat cock harder-- squelching and pulsating pornographically. "y-yeah?" you manage to ask, eyes rolling into the back of your skull as he begins to thrust again.
"yeah." mark confirms this with zero hesitation, sweat beginning to drip down his brow-bone and onto the bridge of his nose as he fucks you deeper. "all i could think about while fuckin' cecil was rambling on and on about shit i- i don't even care about," he groaned, head tilting backwards in pure bliss. "'c'mon invincible, didn't you get the reports on the possible foreign allyship colony in-- no, you old fuck, i don't care about that--!" mark's mockery of his boss causes you to laugh-- although it's cut short when the boy impales you on his dick again. "in fact, the only thing i-i've cared about in the past--ohh-- hour is filling my best friend up with my cum."
that causes your eyes to shoot open, and you can't conceal your shock. "w-what?" you sputter, although the way your cunt strangles mark's cock is evidence that you're not as opposed to that idea as you may seem.
"i- i can't help it, i need it," mark whines, his dick throbbing against your walls. "needed you to be wrapped around my cock, n' you let me have that," he begins, "n' now i need to stuff this pretty pussy with my cum so you'll be leakin' me for days." every thrust of his hips now is pointed-- purposeful.
your jaw goes slack, and against your better judgement, you don't argue with him; in fact, you're nodding wordlessly along to his chatter, cunt aching now with the need to be filled. your moans fill your room harmoniously with mark's.
"shiiit," mark groans, brows furrowing, before suddenly pulling out of you. you whine at the loss of him, immediately missing being full, before you feel the boy yank you towards the head of your bed. naturally, you roll onto your back from your side.
mark grabs the leg of yours he had been straddling, bringing it to his second shoulder so now both of your legs dangle near his head. leaning forward, he grasps onto your bed-frame, while aligning himself up with you again.
your back arches violently off of the pillows as mark fucks into you again, this time, not giving you time to adjust to his size. "fuck," he curses, eyes rolling into the back of his skull, "i d-don't know how i didn't immediately bend you over the second i got into your room-- shiit--! i needed this so bad,"
"too busy being nice." you groan softly, and through squinted eyes, you can see the corner of mark's lips tilt upwards.
his grip tightens on your headboard, knuckles going white at the intensity in which he's grasped onto it with. "fuuuck, it doesn't matter now, though, huh?" you shake your head, moaning desperately, and mark grins. "that's right, pretty girl, it- it doesn't. all it means is-- is that i've gotta' make up for lost time."
thrust after thrust, you suddenly feel a hot coil in your stomach begin to form. "mark," you gasp out, fingers tangling themselves in the sheets of your bed as your orgasm approaches quickly.
"oh," mark cries out, terribly in tune with your body as his own hips begin to twitch-- the loss of rhythm in his thrusts apparent as he chases his own high. "wan' you to cum all over this cock, baby," he whispers, fingers digging into your headboard. "and- and i'm going to-- haaah-- fill this cunt up with my cum, breed this sweet fuckin' pussy,"
at his words, and the idea of being filled to the brim with your best friend flooding your mind-- your cunt begins to spasm uncontrollably. "i- i'm cumming," you sob, back arching and hips twisting away (unsuccessfully) from mark's incessant thrusting.
"ooh, fuck--! yes, yesyesyes, cum all over me, that's r-right sweetheart, shit," mark follows suit not long after-- his cock pulsing and spilling his seed into your pussy at an alarming rate. he's groaning, swearing, gasping at the sensation of your cunt greedily sucking up his cum, and he rides out his high by fucking it deeper into you. "fuck-- can't waste any of this cum, right? if- if you wanna be bred, you have to take all of it," mark rambles, hips rocking into yours.
your legs tingle from where they rest on mark's shoulders-- the sensation almost enough to distract you from the heavy weight that still rests snuggly in your cunt.
almost.
through thick lashes, you glance downwards at where you and mark are still connected; although he's catching his breath, you feel mark's cock twitch to life within you again. "mark," you warn hoarsely, voice destroyed from being fucked.
mark swallows, a guilty sort of look painted across his expression. "m'sorry," he apologizes, before he retracts his cock from your cunt-- only to slam it back into you again.
you gasp at the action, toes curling and hips thrashing. "i- i can't--" you try, but mark interrupts you.
"i know," he coos, still thrusting in and out of you now, his pace quickening rapidly. "but- but i jus' need to cum again," mark argues, face scrunching at the sensation of your pussy gripping onto him-- your body's way of saying you need him to stay inside of you without words. "just one more time, okay? m-make sure-- oh fuck-- make sure this cunt is stuffed to the brim."
you nod wordlessly, chin tilting backwards as delirium washes over your body-- far too cock-drunk to tell mark you know he's lying; to tell him you know he won't be able to stop cumming inside of you, spilling into your most sacred part, bind himself to you. to tell him you know the aphrodisiac won't wear off for another few hours, that this is far better than him taking it slow with you, that you wouldn't want to be anywhere but underneath him for the rest of your life.
all you say, instead, is through gritted teeth-- as he bottoms out again, harshly, punishing your g-spot. "t-that's okay," you slur, nails dragging down mark's lower stomach, "this is what best friends are for."
PLUVOiA 25’ ® - masterlist
loren's thots: this was more plot than porn im sorry </3 it lowk feels too intimate for kinktober too like damn...... idk i think some of the appeal is the tension between reader and mark but idk u tell me. in any case i hv other mark works if this one doesnt tickle ur fancy, but i hope it does!! it tickles mine tho i lowk need this man to knock me tf up!
(Invincible Variants x Reader) Of course he would come to see you. You’re the reason he’s here, after all.
After hearing the news to stay inside as the attack of Invincible copycats decimated cities across the globe, you hid under your blanket, the light from your phone illuminating your face as you watched the broadcast for any sign of your Mark.
You could only hope that he was alright, that he wasn’t blaming himself, that he knew you were waiting for him to come back safe. He already has enough problems as is.
Your distress is momentarily tempered when you hear your window slide open and your floorboards creek. When you don’t hear Mark immediately greet you or tease you for being bundled up, any concern you felt for Mark becomes overshadowed by fear for yourself as you hear footsteps near your prone form.
You can only tremble, clutching your blanket close to your body until the room goes silent. You shakily exhale, becoming confused when another quiet beat passes. When your breath returns to normal, the blanket is ripped off of you, eliciting a scared yelp.
For a moment you only stare in confusion at the sight of your boyfriend’s estranged father before realizing it’s not Nolan Grayson that stands before you, but Mark clad in a costume similar to his father’s. His face is impassive, mouth a firm line, so unlike the expressive nature of your Mark.
He calls your name. Quietly, yet there was something heavy in his tone. Something you could almost delude yourself into thinking was longing.
His hand brushes against your cheek, moving down your face before resting on your shoulder, a finger pressed against your pulse.
“You sound healthy,” he comments, deceptively neutral in his delivery, but even behind his goggles, you could feel his gaze burning into your face, “In my world, you had cancer. By the time the Viltrumites reinforcements had arrived, it was too late. All that talk about life changing technology and medicine, but it ended up being utterly useless to me.”
Your breath hitches, but he continues, “But here there’s a me that rebelled and an you that never got sick. That got to live past high school. That’s just the way it goes, I suppose.”
His hand travels lower, brushing past your collarbone before resting on your breast, your heart hammering beneath his palm.
“Do you know why I came here?” He wonders, his free hand planting itself on your bed, as he moves his body to hover above yours until the only thing you can see is him.
“No,” you whisper, staring into black lenses.
“Because even after all these years, the only heart I wish to know, to hold, and to cherish is yours. I was willing to play human for you, to tolerate the presence of the idiots that breathed the same air as us, but then they all had the audacity to outlive you. And I can’t move on. So the selfish man that I am, I’m here to take you. To have you by my side again, no matter how much blood I have to spill,” He declares before pressing his lips against yours, muffling your gasp and cries, gripping your wrist when you try to shove at him.
He only pulls away when you start to feel lighthearted, looking down at you as you struggle to catch your breath.
“You can cry and protest all you want. You loved me once, you can do it again,” he asserts, bring your wrist to his mouth, leaving a kiss against your pulse point. “This world was doomed the moment your Mark decided to rebel. I won’t let you die because of his delusions.”
“…I’m not her,” you speak up. “I don’t know you, not really.”
“I know,” he responds, “but every inch of my body is crying out to you, and I’d rather kill everyone on this planet before I let you go again.”
He releases your wrist, instead sliding both hands under your shirt, gloved hands savouring the feel of your skin, your warmth seeping through the fabric.
“…you’re shaking,” he notes, throwing a glance at your discarded blanket on the ground, “I’m sorry, I’ll warm you up. I promise.”
“Mark,” you say, out of instinct more than anything else, your mind coming to a blank.
“Shh,” he hushes you, voice gentle but firm, “Let me take care of you. Like I always do.”
A part of you is relieved that he hasn’t taken off his cowl because you knew you’d crumble under the emotion that would undoubtedly be in his eyes. The same eyes that always held so much love and adoration towards you.
His lips press against yours again, more demanding and heated, as hands travel higher and higher until—
“Looks like I wasn’t the only one that thought to come here,” an amused but familiar voice drawls out, the Mark on top of you pulling away, body covering yours protectively.
Another Invincible sat at your window ledge, black and yellow costume starkly contrasting the rest of your room. He smiles at you when you peak around Mark’s arm.
“Honestly, you were acting so high and mighty earlier, but you’re pretty desperate, huh?” He mocks as the other Mark’s face becomes stonier. “But, really, you should fuck off somewhere else because that’s my girl you’re feeling up right now.”
Before he can respond, another voice interrupts him as you notice yet another Mark, floating behind the one at your window.
“Fucking seriously? How did you even get here before me? I bet you halfassed your locations,” The Mark with a mohawk that has you raising your eyebrow complains, “I literally called dibs on this one! Find someone else!”
Feeling the tension build up, you only hope that Mark checks in and saves you from the bullshit you’re witnessing as they begin to snarl and yap at each other like feral dogs.
Why me, you lament.
Shiesty Mark: hey, babe, it’s Big Dick Friday—why the fuck are you all here??
Why is there no Omni Mark content, he and that shiesty mark were my favourite…
I feel like omni mark is the definition of ‘quite literally hates everyone but you’
synopsis — what the title says 👅 stumbled upon this on twt and immediately thought of mark grayson. [ the link is porn btw so yeah fair warning ]
warnings — uhh porn with no plot :p
a/n — first post really nervous, i don't really write nsfw a lot so yeah mb if this is bad :( i just really had to get it out there LMFAO. i need him so bad it's actually insane. mark grayson get out my head challenge : impossible!
thinking about mark grayson being a good boy for you <3
jerking him off after a particularly stressful mission, his small moans turning into full blown whimpers and whines as he tries not to blow his load right then and there because he's a good boy, he knows better.
"baby please, please"
please just let him cum already! why are you being so mean to him, he's your sweet boy isn't he? :(
and when you give him the permission he'd been aching for, begging for, he blabbers small thank you's over and over in his whiny voice as he reaches that sweet relief, painting your hand in his sticky hot release.
he breathes heavily, eyes fluttering shut, practically panting as he tries to calm down from that intense orgasm- wait wait no, don't touch him there he's still all sensitive!
he groans, his eyes snapping open when he feels the familiar rhythm of your hand stroking his pretty cock :( he lets out embarrassingly loud noises, he can't do this again! but god it feels so good he can't help himself from bucking his hips up into your ruthless hand, wanting more.
"i can't, oh god i- i can't!" he whimpers, his body seemingly moving on it's own to chase that release again despite his words.
praise him, coo at him and he's all putty in your hands in an instant, willing to give you whatever you want, even if it renders him to an overstimulated pathetic mess, anything for his sweetheart.
his back arches off the bed, leaning into your touch, eyes all glossy as he loses himself in the pleasure you give him. another loud groan of your name rips from the back of his throat as he cums again.
he nearly cries when you don't stop jerking him off, are you trying to milk him dry? mindless babbles and sounds leave his pretty mouth as you use his previous load as lube, gently kissing his tears like you aren't the one overstimulating him.
he squirms and twitches under your touch, giving up on controlling his noises. the pleasure he feels bordering on painful but it only adds to the bliss, it feels so good he swears he sees stars, the only thing on his mind is you.
and when you pinch his nipples and tease them with your tongue, he knows he's done for.
his tears don't stop and neither do his moans of your name, just like your hand against his cock. he makes an effort to not scream your name when he cums for the third time in the span of such a short time by biting down on his bottom lip, he bites down so hard it draws blood. the muscles on his abdomen clenching and unclenching and you swear you've never seen a sight so beautiful.
your boyfriend looks so good like this, it's actually downright unfair how pretty he looks all blissed out like this.
the strongest man on the planet all pliant and needy under you is sure an ego boost.
and absolutely none of that helps with your own growing arousal.
his body writhes harder when you kiss him, everything feels so intense, even the kiss. with his brain turned almost all to mush he tries to sloppily kiss you back, all tongue and teeth accompanied by his soft whimpers which make you giggle.
and normally he'd laugh with you too if he wasn't all flushed and sweaty and acting like a dog in heat. his eyes still glossy as his chest heaves with the uneven breaths he takes.
and to no one's surprise he's still somewhat hard, viltrumite genes do wonders to your libido it seems.
"can you give me another one mark?" my god are you fucking crazy?! let him breathe!
but how can he deny his baby? especially when you look at him like that, but he's not even sure he can cum anymore and-
Tw: smut, sub!mark but also dom?? (switch ig), he’s down bad for you, you go at it from dusk till dawn, he wants you so bad, you can’t resist his puppy dog eyes.
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It’s been months. You can’t remember the last time you went on a proper date. And god, you tried. You tried so hard to be understanding, to feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, to try and carry some of it with you.
But you were human.
And maybe humans and viltrumites couldn’t work out.
You wanted to do this over the phone, by text, anything that wouldn’t require you to see his face, but then he’d flown straight into your kitchen, boyish smile on his face, telling you he was off for the night.
Then was a good as time as any, you decide.
─────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────────
“P-please.” He begs, dropping to his knees.
Needless to say the breakup wasn’t going to plan.
He nuzzles his face into your stomach, and you feel it tighten at the look in his eyes.
“I’ll be so good.”
You blink.
You’re not sure how you got into your bed, naked, with Mark above you (you know exactly how—you couldn’t resist the tears in his eyes as he begged for one more chance to make things better)
“H-aaah.” He’s panting in your ear now, thrusting slow and hard, each one punctuating his promises.
“You’re mine.” Thrust.
“Never gonna… hnggg… let you go.” Thrust.
“Shittttt… do you feel how,” Thrust. “Deep I am?”
He pushes his palm against the bulge that forms in your stomach every time he pushes in and you thrash wildly, the pleasure becoming too much to bear.
“Mark!” You shout out, and his palm covers your mouth, thumb pressing down on your tongue. You moan around his digit, swirling your tongue around it like you would his cock and he groans, pulsing hard inside you.
“It’s okayyy… cmon,” his voice is low, and there’s a cadence in it that only comes out when he has you like this, shivering and crying on his cock.
“I got you, babe.” You’re unsure how long you’ve been fucking, how much time has passed, but you’re so close and so you redirect his other hand to your clit. He starts drawing small and fast circles on it, and you see white behind your eyes as you finally come.
When you come back to, he’s already cleaned you up and tucked you in, and he’s back in his suit, standing by the window.
“Mark?” You ask groggily.
“Uhm… it’s sunrise. Gotta get back to work.” He hesitates, seeing how your eyebrows scrunch.
You can see the decision weighing on him. So despite it being the reason you wanted to break up with him, the hurt it had caused you, you give him a small nod.
— an invincible fanfic // mark grayson is on thin fucking ice.
synopsis: dating a superhero wasn't easy, especially when they got on their knees and begged so well.
wc: 4.1k
cw: NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL. SLIGHT ANGST AND SM*T. MDNI. NSFW CONTENT AHEAD.
includes: kinda pathetic mark?? like mark is a BEGGER and a YEARNER and y'all argue. cannon-compliant relationship problems. dirty talk. f*ngering. or*l (f receiving). cunn*lingus. multiple org*sms (f receiving). overst*mulation. marathon s*x. squ*rting. piv. cre*mpie. tell me if i missed any :p
old m.list | new m.list
you first broke up with mark grayson after 2 months and 17 days of being together. you got together with him a month later, when he confessed his identity to you and begged you to take him back. you broke up with him again 6 months and 15 days later... well, err, no. you were about to break up with him but that day never came. you couldn't. not when mark grayson was so good at making up.
now, you had been dating for two years, 7 months and 2 days.
you knew dating a superhero wasn't easy. i mean, sure, him blowing you off to save the world stung but it was bearable. him having this huge secret that you had to protect with your life weighed on you but again, bearable. what wasn't bearable were the constant injuries - mark turning up with a black eye. or two. with bruised cheeks. with long gashes alongside his sides. with broken arms or legs. and all this was on an easy day. what wasn't bearable was the constant threat of losing him. to anything and everything around you.
he was invincible. you weren't. it weighed on you.
and god, it was getting repetitive. the fights. the justified helpness of his pretty eyes. the welling of tears in your blood-shot ones. your yells, pleas. the following, constant, jagged silence from him as he chose his duty over you. again and again and again. the sound of wind whooshing as he flew out of your window when he was confronted by the problems in your relationship. it was becoming a habit. a sick, twisted reality for you and the superhero.
you should leave each other, you pysche begged you as he brushed his teeth standing behind you in the early mornings, pressing his lean, muscular body to your back. you don't work together at all, it mused again when you poured him a cup of coffee. it's just gonna end in a heartbreak, you knew as you kissed his cheeks goodbye as told you he'd be home soon.
but you two were so good together. god.
you laughed at his jokes, hand in hand when out for a walk on the off-chance when he wasn't called on his superhero duties. you smiled up at him and ruffled his hair on cafe dates. you posed with him, all matching and shit, and kissed him stupid in one of the many photobooths you went to. he would get you pizza from italy and matcha from japan. he would give you his classic million-dollar smile and ask if you could forgive him. and you did. always did. only to come back to a shitty reality.
you knew it was doomed. you should have stopped. but you didn't... you couldn't. you loved him! you loved him! you loved him... especially when he always knew how to make it up.
you could still remember the first time he fucked up, before you knew even knew his identity.
you held your head in your palms after your very first big fight. you thought it was fucking over and fairly so. you had had it. you were done. he was so absent, and so full of shit. you and mark were just not going to work out and that was fine. that was fine. that was fin-
triiiiiing!
when you opened your gate, mike stood there.
"i'm sorry," he piped up, a whole cheesecake in his hands. giving you one of his classic mark smile, he asked. "please forgive me?"
and you did. but not before you mumbled about how he wasn't allowed to cancel on you again.
he promised you he wouldn't. he then cancelled on you atleast seventeen times. then, you broke up with him. and then, he won you back again.
after that, fight after fight, mark would find a way to make it upto you. extravagant trips, food, anything! but then, it got too much. you didn't want pizza from italy or matcha from japan or tteokbokki from korea. you wanted your boyfriend. and he was rarely there. "anything" for his baby started failing when he did everything and anything except reassuring you that he'd leave this superhero life behind and just live normally with you.
and so, it changed. it went from trips and food to begging. excessive begging. mark would tear up at the thought of losing you, at the thought of ever being parted. he couldn't lose you. not after all that he had lost. and you couldn't possibly put him through that pain. that ache of loss. so, you stayed.
and that's all you did. stay. any romance between you two had gradually fizzled out. a kiss on your cheek before he left wasn't affection, it was habit. you making enough coffee for two cups wasn't care, it was habit. you automatically leaving his dinner in the fridge to be treated when he got back wasn't love. again, just a habit.
and now, at one in the morning, two years seven months and three days later, you lay awake on the bed of your shared apartment.
the window was cracked open, allowing for a safe and seamless entry for whenever mark reappeared. you probably should have slept. but you couldn't. not with the dull ache in your heart.
an hour later, the sound of the clock going tick-tock was a source of comfort rather than annoyance. your chest rose and fell in steady breaths. your eyes stared at the wall in front of you. and then...
whoosh!
the curtain fluttered as your half-viltrumite boyfriend flew in through the open window. he took off his mask, barely even glanced at you as he immediately asked, "you're awake, babe?"
"yeah." you mumbled from your position, barely lifting your head to greet him.
"oh. shit, sorry. were you waiting up on me? sorry. there was this crazy interdimensional stingray and..." at your lack of response, he sheepishly said, "sorry."
"mark." your voice was feeble, barely audible to yourself. but you knew the viltrumite had super hearing, he could probably pick up on it.
if he heard you, he didn't react. instead, he quickly took off the rest of his suit, "uh, i'll take a quick shower and come. you should sleep, babe."
"mark." you said again, louder.
that made him pause.
"yes?"
you sat up, weary and lagged, "we... we need to talk."
he blinked at you before nodding, "yeah. sure. what is it?"
"this..." you took a deep breath, pinching your forehead, "this is not working."
mark's eyebrows furrowed. his eyes softened. he stepped forward, "what?"
"this isn't working." you repeated.
"no. i mean- i heard you." his words escaped him quickly, "i did."
"you know this isn't working-" you tried to reason.
he didn't even let you finish before he had practically teleported to your side, so close to you, with his face mere inches away from yours and his hands clamoring to stroke your cheek. "babe. i know... i know it is shitty and i work unreasonably long and- and listen, i'll talk to cecil. i'll take some time off—"
"no." you turned your head away from the warmth of his hand. "that's not it."
you felt his fingers twitch against your skin, "no...?"
you met his eyes again and swallowed, "this just isn't it, mark. we're done."
you expected some kind of rambling apology, some fake promise of a far off future when he retires and has all the time in the world for you, or some sort of compensation. but nothing came. nothing but radio silence.
mark grayson simply opened his mouth and closed it shut, again and again, like a fish out of water.
finally, he sighed, "you- you always say this. every once in a while."
you blinked at his words. fury rose to your throat, "yeah? because it's the fucking truth—"
he cut you off, putting his palm on your cheek again. it was soft. it grounded you. it infuriated you. "have i not been a good boyfriend? i mean... fuck, i mean... i try to do everything right. i make up when i fuck up and i always apologize—"
you shrugged his touch away, "and that's not enough. there's no point in those extravagant gestures when you're never fucking here." your voice quietened, packed with a punch, "you're never here."
"i'm here right now."
you inhaled sharply at his words. "at almost 1.30 at night? when i waited the entire night for you to show up? you don't get it mark. you can either be invincible or be mark grayson. you cannot be both."
he blinked at your words, "i- i'm sorry."
his apology hung low in the air alongside the thick silence. he didn't say anything, and neither did you. you couldn't forgive him again, not at the expense of your own ruination.
"it's just... over." you swallowed, looking away from him, "maybe... maybe you should just-" you stopped yourself, wincing, "maybe you should not be with a civilian like me. i clearly don't understand your work and—"
mark kissed you.
at first, you didn't react. didn't kiss him back. instead of backing down, he just increased his fervor, kissing you till he felt like his superhero lungs were on the verge of collapse.
when he pulled away for air, you simply asked, "what... are you doing?"
"making up." he pleaded, "for my mistakes."
"mark..." you watched as he clamored to get his upper half of the suit off. you reached forward and touched his bicep, trying to halt halting him. but he took your palm in his, throwing off his suit somewhere on the floor of your shared apartment. his voice weighed as heavy as the ache in his eyes, "please. let me."
and you wanted to protest, wanted to tell him that sex wouldn't solve any of your problems but your tongue weighed heavy in your mouth. it had been so long since you both... touched. did anything other than kisses or quickies because mark had to run.
"please." his eyes refused to leave yours as he pressed a kiss to the back of your palm. it was chaste but something molten stirred in your core.
"okay." you nodded once, and that's all mark needed.
he kissed you immediately. his hands were on you in a second, one of them cupping your cheek while the other palmed your chest through your sleepshirt. he pushed you backwards until your back was against the headboard, until he had somehow nudged his lower half in between your thighs.
you were sandwiched between the hard wall and him.
"fuck..." you groaned into his mouth, "i missed this."
he nodded, eager, already pawing at your tshirt and ripping it off.
"mark!" you yelped at the rip of the fabric, but he didn't care. his lips latched onto your breasts, his tongue permeating the fabric with lecherous wads of saliva whilst his hips driveled against your clothed cunt.
whatever arguments you had died on the tip of your tongue. this was too much. he was too much. mark was always good at sex, thanks to the viltrumite stamina but when he was needy like this? when he had something to prove... oh god, it was hard to believe you would make out of it alive.
your clothes were ripped off of you. actually. your bra, then your shorts and panties, with not even as much as a decent apology, just the promises of "i'll buy you more." as he threw around the tattered fabric.
his lips circled your nipple, his knee grinding carefully against the heat o your apex. you arched your back and gasped into the air. he grinned against your skin and drank you in feverishly.
"fuck... c'mere." you pulled him up, kissing him again, all while his knee built up that gutting pressure against your core. it was delicious. it was delirious.
kissing down the edge of your lips, and then your jaw and then your neck, he quickly replaced his knee with his fingers. god. his fingers. long, agile digits that knew where exactly to pet. to curl. to work. it was as if you were his personal favourite experiment and he knew exactly where to push and prod to get the most favourable outcome.
he pet your gooey spot, stroking the g-spot so tenderly that it had your thighs tremble and eyes roll back in bliss. he was methodical. in and out. in and out. in and out- and oh fuck, he ramped up the tempo. his fingers delved in and out of you like a machine - precise, deep and fast - until his fingers were all but a crazy blur slick with your juices. his lips still worked against your pulsepoints, sucking in bruises that made your head spin.
"fuck, fuuuck-" you cried into the heady air, head thrown back and shaking as you felt your core tighten. your orgasm built and built until it tore through you, hot and shaking.
mark came to kiss away your cries of pleasure, to drink them in as his fingers did not halt, just momentarily slow down.
"fuck," he groaned, heavy against your lips, "you're squeezing the fuck out of me, babe."
"s-sorry."
"no." he kissed you to shut you up, "don't fuckin' apologize. feels so good. feels like heaven." he panted like he was the one who just came, and then sped up his fingers again.
"mark, no." you winced, already trying to shimmy your hips away at the overstimulation of his doughy fingertips teasing your sensitive pussy again. he groaned at the thought of you escaping, "don't run from me."
"'senough..." you argued, thick-tongued and hazy, "i'm- it's enough."
"no." he kissed you again, and then, without missing a beat, lowered himself down your body. you felt his hot, open-mouthed kisses everywhere on your simmering skin as he went down - from your collarbone to the valley of your breasts and your belly, to your hip and inner thigh. his fingers didn't stop in the slightest, and now his sinful mouth had joined in the mix.
his tongue traced delicious patterns onto your clit, teasing and probing the nub until you were forcing his head deeper in and squirming your hips farther away.
the tremor in your thighs picked up pace, and before you could run, or even think of it, mark had his arms looped steadfast around your legs. he pinned you down, rendering you useless completely and utterly.
you pawed at his head, "mark— shit... too much— seriously!"
"no, no, no." he cried against your gushing pussy, kissing it intimately, "please don't run. i have to make up for this..."
you're sure your boyfriend was rambling on in the background, something about how sweet you were and how lovely you tasted but you couldn't hear any of it, not over the dull roar of blood in your eardrums. as your second orgasm washed over you, you felt your vision blank. your back arched, nails ripped into his shoulders and eyes rolled back. for a moment, all that existed was you and mark and the sexual limbo he had subjected you to.
you're not sure how long it took — seconds, or perhaps minutes — but when you caught your breath and felt your vision return to your body, you blinked back dark spots just to find mark still attached to your core.
"mark." your throat was choked, eyes heavy with unshed tears. "no more."
he looked up at you, eyes wrecked with lust and devotion. "one more. i wanna feel you cum again. on my fingers. on my face."
if his tongue wasn't enough to give you a blood rush, his words certainly were.
you shied under his intense gaze, "you don't have to— jus-just fuck me now. im ready."
mark blinked at you, as in disbelief. "and miss the feeling of my girl squirting all over me?"
your cheeks heated impossibly higher. you demanded through the embarassment, "but I want you inside."
"i know." mark gave you a smile, still unyielding in his pumps inside your cushiony pussy. "don't worry, I'll make you squirt on my dick too."
any chance of a protest were long dismissed as mark grayson dived into your core again, drinking the erotic liquid pooling from your honeyed sex.
with how overestimated you were, and how well his fingers and mouth worked in tandem, it took only a few minutes till your vision was going splotchy and head was feeling lightheaded.
an unreal pressure built up in your lower belly, then kind that had you gasping chants of your boyfriend's name in the hopes of ruination, or salvation, or both.
"fuck, fuck, fuck—" you panted, in heat and spiraling, "it's... fuck I think I'm going to..."
"yeah?" mark groaned, using his other hand to quickly swipe against your swollen clit. the strikes of his doughy fingertips only teased the burning geyser in your core and before you knew it, you felt your body shake with need and release. a jet of liquid splashed against marks face and like an indecent man, maddened with lust, he hung open his jaw and drank all of it.
you writhed against him, shaking and trembling and gasping in pleasure, and the man still had the audacity to come place kitten licks to your quivering sex.
when, ever-so-slightly, your sanity returned to you, you opened your eyes to find mark grayson cleaning up the mess between the juncture of your thighs with the softest strokes.
you pet his hair, which was now sweaty and sticking to his handsome face.
"too much?" he asked, nuzzling his face against your perspired skin. his face was still practically dripping with your essence.
managing a weak smile, you shrugged, "eh, I've had a viltrumite boyfriend for so long. I'm used to it."
he kissed up your body again, leaving the obscene trail of your juices on your body with every kiss.
when he finally made his way to your face, you wiped off his lips with your palm. he smiled against your skin, "are we good?"
you paused at that. were you? the sex was good but... was it enough?
you looked away to the side. mark gently pulled your face back to him.
"tell me if we aren't." one of his arms hooked your legs over his hips, quickly shuffling to his stifling cock to line against your entrance.
you swallowed, "i don't know." you paused again, feeling his oozing mushroom tip kiss your entrance in such a wicked game of teasing. "i just don't even know if you love me anymore."
that seemed to do it. he blinked at you, confused.
"what?" his expression was hard to decipher, even as someone who was very transparent. "how- how can you say that?"
"i..." you inhaled, sharp, "sorry. it just feels like it..."
he rested his forehead against you, "don't ever fucking say that. don't ever." there was a strain to his words, the kind that was followed by the sheathing of his cock right inside you.
you gasped, "mark!"
but it was done. as someone who loved missions, mark grayson had already found his next. he pushed your thighs to your chest, folding you in as he bludgeoned his cock into you.
"don't fucking say that." he grunted, his pupils blown with lust and resolve. every snap back of his cock was lined with a promise. "i love you."
"i—" words came hard to you. your core was already tight and burning. you were so close.
"i love you." he said it again, like clockwork. like saying it again and again made it any more true. "you don't get to fucking question that. please."
his cock was not in the slightest jilted by the rambunctious nature of his words. he dived his leaky tip to the deepest of your core, stretching you out on himself as if it were habit. his muscled erection massaged your walls.
"mark. fuck. again—nggh!" your sanity had somehow reduced itself to only one word — his name.
he nodded, feverish, bringing one of his hands to swipe at your swollen clit again. it throbbed under him, raw and overstimulated. despite his actions, his words didn't falter. "i love you. i am gonna— fuck, fix this. hah. fix it. all of it. i love you."
with each drag of his cock back into your perfect cunt, he babbled on like a madman. you, on the other hand, were struggling to retain your sanity, much less listen to his pleas.
"fuck— oh my god—" your breathy voice was enough of an indicator of what was to come. mark momentarily stilled inside of you, quickly swiping his fingers against your drenched cunt.
your back bowed, eyes clenched shut and jaw hung open as another stream of squirt hit the man's lower abs, travelling down in rivers of sin.
the juncture of your thighs were a mess of fluids — his, yours, his, and yours. the mixture did nothing but egg him on to increase his pace, to use the fluid as lube to fuck you senseless.
recovering from your fourth consecutive orgasm, you barely registered the tightening of his jaw and his irongrip on your body. he panted, "fuck— hah. god, can I cum inside? please—ngh baby?"
you nodded, not trusting your voice to be capable of much after such violent screams of pleasure.
at your go, mark grayson increased his pace to an unfaltering degree. he was inhumane — fucking you at a speed that almost coaxed another orgasm out of your spent body. your entire body jiggled at the force of his thrusts.
and then, with a few more, he spilled inside you with a unrestrained cry, "oh— holy shit."
mark collapsed on top of you, weighing his muscular body against yours as he took deep breaths. there was a mess in between the juncture of your thighs, and there he was — still buried.
instinctively, your hand flew to his hair again. you pet it, soft and smooth.
"fuck." he groaned into your perspired skin. "that was good." mark looked up, eyes big and doubtful, "yeah?"
you managed a nod, "it was."
he smiled, "are you okay?"
you sighed, still playing with his hair, "i don't think i can walk tomorrow."
mark laughed at that, airy and unserious. "I'll fly you wherever you want."
you rolled your eyes at that. you were in a post-fuck haze, not stupid.
"as if. cecil's gonna be ringing you up any minute now."
"no." mark picked himself up to press a kiss to your lips. a quick peck. "I'll take tomorrow off."
"i thought you said a superhero never takes a day off?" and though there was a teasing lilt to your voice, the two of you knew just how deeply the question flowed.
it wasn't a joke, it was a clever way to corner him, get him to admit the truth that he believed in.
"well, i can either be mark grayson or invincible, right? i choose to be mark grayson tomorrow." he flashed you a sincere smile.
you blinked, "seriously?"
mark nodded. "seriously."
you grinned, "i love you."
"i love you more." he pressed another kiss to your lips, this one a lot longer.
when you both parted, mark smiled against your lips. "i know i fucked up. I'd be better."
you smiled too, "thanks."
mark carefully removed himself from you. he then cleaned you up, offering you one of his tshirts to sleep in. you're not sure how quickly you fell asleep, but you fell asleep against his chest, listening to the rise and fall of his chest.
next morning, when you woke up, you reached out for your boyfriend but his side of the bed was empty.
groggy and sore, you blinked the sleep out of your eyes and sighed. cecil probably called. he probably needed to go save the world from an alien species for the fiftieth time this month.
well, it was fine. whatever. it was mark. why were you even expecting anything different? he was a smooth talker. and god, the sex was amazing but when had he ever kept his promises—
"i made french toast!" he announced proudly as he walked into your bedroom, a tray table in his arms.
you blinked, "you're... here?"
"uh, yes?" he looked at you, confused, "today, im mark grayson, remember?"
you blinked from him to the tray in his hands. "right... i just thought you left—"
"cecil called thrice." mark admitted honestly, "but I told him if my girlfriend breaks up with me, I'll probably go berserk and end the planet. and the GDA wouldn't want that." he added, sheepish, "probably."
"wow." you sat up, half impressed and half terrified. "that's a lot of responsibility on my shoulders. stopping invincible from ending the planet."
"it got cecil off my ass for today." he leaned in to kiss you.
you looped your arms around his neck and kissed him back.
maybe the relationship was doomed. but the sex was bomb. and so was his french toast.
a.n: GUESS WHO GOT INTO THE INVINCIBLE FANDOM AND ALSO raise your hand if you want me to do a part two with much more angst. originally, reader was gonna leave mark's sorry ass but then i felt like being nice. hope you enjoyed the filth.
(TO ANYONE WHO'S WAITING ON MEDDLE ABOUT, I'M WORKING ON IT.)
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