18 / Broke Artist (i barely post shit) / Multifandom / Any prns / Lowkey anti-social / My fave characters should suffer, would suffer, could suffer, will suffer and can suffer.
This is like a few months old, maybe, this was for a fic cuz of a joke but I'm so embarrassed to tag them (cuz holy shit this took way too long to post then I originally did AND THEY'RE ALMOST NEAR ARC 3.) so I'm just going to discreetly say it's from My Dear Girlfriend lel
It looks like 4 different ppl collab art style, my currently art style doesn't even look like this annymoree 😭
ERM ahem enough with the rant. I hope I get more free time to post more... I miss a lot of things that happened here clearly but I still love Mark Grayson.
let pinterest describe you to its best abilitys and share how accurate you believe it is!! use the first picture that pops up!!
first search “aesthetic”, then “character”, and lastly “me”
i think mine is pretty accurate!!😭
no pressure tags ⋆˙⟡ @mattybsgroupie @bernardsbendystraws @mattsweethrt @mattscoquette @whore4mattandchris @whor3ing @stvrniolostan @chrisbratt333 + anyone else who would like to join in!!
ahhh ty for the tag @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery love youu <33
aesthetic ✶ character ✶ me
lol i’m genuinely surprised by this but i love it sm
no pressure tags! : @samsblades, @holdinggrudges, @xoswiftieprincess, @elliewithcellie, @rubyvhs, @hhoneylemon, @littlesoulshine, @bluemerakis, and anyone else who’d like to join!!
Character/s: Marcy "Mark" Grayson & Willow "William" Clockwell. (She can clock yo shi.)
I just feel like this hairstyle fits her (William) a lot.
Could be seen as platonic or romantic. This can also be set in the mainstream universe or the "I miss William" universe.
(originally gonna do Y/N instead of Willow but I got bored)
"Heh, wow, this is so much more difficult than I thought it'd be."
Pairing: Mark Grayson x Tutor! Reader
Word Count: 5.5k
Content Warnings: Heavily implied Mental Health Issues, Jealous Mark, Flustered Meet Cutes, Fluff, Angst, Set around S2x01. Gets a little steamy. Use of She/Her pronouns for reader.
Summary: You thought it'd be a one time thing, tutoring Mark Grayson because he's failing math. It's not a big deal, just teach him things you can barely remember yourself, overthink about 'Am I doing this right?' Or 'Please don't notice I'm googling algebra'. Today's no different, meet up, study, pretend you're not looking at him. Rinse and Repeat.
A/N: Theres use of Y/N, Things get a little tender *fans head*. Here's the songs they listen to:
Mutt - Leon Thomas
Feel It - d4vd
The locker shuts. Cold and distant in the corner of the hallway in the least used building of the school. It might be wise, at this point, to assume no one has or ever will tread down this path. The school had turned the classroom at the end into a storage space where the goths and potheads come to smoke weed instead of at the mall. You think you've seen the janitor come down here one or twice as well. The handle looks suspiciously crusted over and the room reeks of cigarettes. There's nothing special about your locker. You have no idea why you're the only student assigned here. You do know your face sags once you pick up your shoes after gym. Glancing at the same walls during class transfer. You pretend the whispers are about the parties this week, or a faint hope it's of another student, maybe Jennifer, though the thought makes you feel bad.
You let go of the locker, just about turning to face the hallway when you hear it.
The furious sound of sneakers squealing on freshly polished concrete. The sound is far away, quickly getting closer until you see a man round the corner. Your heart drops. One loud, thumping beat that sends fear pulse through you. White sneakers, no doubt a new pair, like always. Beige slacks-- no rest for the future college student, a navy, double-striped sweater straight from an Italian catalogue. Your eyes flit to his face, The devils temptation. Mark Grayson sweaty. Beaming, worried. Then relieved, faster, his galloping book bag chasing after him.
He calls your name, waving like a bird forgot its other wing. Skidding to a stop just as he's about to run you over.
"Y/N!" A singular piece of paper floats a few feet away from him, math equations barely scribbled on. Your eyes go back to Mark, "Thank G- Great. It's good you're still here. I uh, was worried you left. Because I have homework!"
Marks grin twitches. So small you'd have barely noticed if you haven't been spending every day afterschool staring at his face.
"Right, Totally slipped my mind." You laugh, but it comes out wrong. Barely put together with glue and dreams.
His posture shifts, fingers jerking at his side. "Oh man. Don't tell me I'm interrupting you."
"Not at all! I'm already used to the new schedule by now." Punch yourself, punch yourself, fuck, God, where's the sewing needle?
You lock your hands behind your back and pick at your fingers. "Uh, no you're not interrupting. I was just going to leave though, I thought you forgot."
"I'd never forget!" Mark interjects, hand resting on the back of his neck, he winces then. You can vaguely see his fingers curl on the hairs at his nape. "My uh, grade depends on it. Especially if I, uh, wanna throw that...party...this Saturday."
Your heart feels shot at. Ofcourse he wouldn't miss your tutoring lesson. He needs that Math grade up. Another shot, he's throwing a party? You're not invited?
You're reminded, again, you're his Pre-Calc tutor. It's the only interaction you both have. You don't have his number, you don't have any other classes. He doesn't know you that well.
"Yeah," you walk with stones in your chest. Signaling with your head to, "Come on."
------------
The library is old. Dust collecting in every crevice a library could have. It's gotten so bad-- there's a warning graffitied at the entrance. It's older than time. Apparently, the schools been established for 3 centuries. It's an insane exaggeration, though it definitely feels like it when every book is about "How to Turn Certain Herbs Into Tonics" or "The Ancient History of Earth, a Geochronolagical and Stratigraphic Record". Half of everything in the floor is jargon salad.
Mark sits before you, phone playing music in the background now that the librarians are gone. You find the music distracting in a good way. Feet dancing below the table Mark luckily can't see. Your pencil dances along with the beat, head in your hands while you stare down at an algebra textbook.
You hear a small laugh, Mark is still staring down at his own paper. Fingertips barely grazing his lips like he wants to rub away at a smile.
"Are numbers that funny?"
Marks eyes find you almost instantly. Mouth twisting into...something. His own paper is empty while you go over how to solve for 'X'. He hasn't even tried.
"Nah, no. It's something else." He waves it off, going back to staring at his paper like the answers will write themselves. His wooden Pencil is chewed on the eraser bit.
Your eyes fall back to your textbook. Not really paying attention to the words. Sharp canines find the skin of your cheeks.
"Uhm," You need to solve the equation. What did your teacher say? You subtract X.
"The Textbooks suggests- it says something new," You laugh backwards. "Mr. Hopkins gave me a different packet so I just gotta get a refresher of the one he gave you." Photomath it.
"Take your time!" Mark says absentmindedly. "It's not like I have anywhere else to be, Obviously." He chuckles. Brown eyes skimming the paper. Writing some note down in the margin.
Your knuckles whiten on the cover. Teeth gnawing away until you taste copper. You plant your feet and sit up straighter.
Khan Academy. You need to look up khan academy.
You grab for your phone as soon as you get a notification. It's a notif from Interflix. Seance Dog season 4 just dropped. You quickly swipe it away in favor of opening up Metube and quickly typing in the one thing that could redeem you right now.
You play the first video. "Intro to Algebra."
Marks phone continues to play music, something he switched but haven't been paying attention to in lieu of watching the video with the volume off. You're blankly scrolling through the comments hoping someone simplified it.
'Awesome Guy'
'Great Vid 👍🏼'
'Got a 90 thanks to you!'
The song switches again. A different genre. Fuck, you're taking too long. You grab your airpods and connect them to your phone.
The guys voice distracts you from the bubbling panic.
You lean back, entirely focused. He actually explains it really well. The comments are all praising him. A particular one has you bursting into a fit of giggles.
'Too distracting!!!-'
"This guys voice is really nice." You read, amused. You type out a reply. This guys saving my life too, my friend.
You set the phone down, feeling confident.
Mark is staring at you. You nearly jump.
"Oh, shit, hey." An apologetic smile, "Sorry, I got distracted. Are you ready?"
You take out an earbud, you haven't noticed the music stopped playing. Your voice echoes in the library.
"Are you busy?" Marks face is twisted. Brows knit. Nose crinkled. He scrapes the graphite of his pencil along the corner of the table. "Sorry...Uh, I know this is boring."
"Not at all! We just gotta get through the first paper. Trust me it's easy." You assure him, feeling bad for leaving him on hold. Even worse for letting him think you know what the fuck you're doing. "Here, I'll show you."
You spend half an hour teaching mark how to solve basic algebra. You ditch the calc problems. Clearly neither you nor him are capable of even thinking about solving it. Mark catches up in no time, solving your problems without a word. He asks you basic questions that you can answer, and you've had to correct yourself more than once when he stumbles on one of the questions.
You have no clue how Mark thought you'd be the one to go for tutoring. You can vaguely recall that day he first asked you. Pre-Calc was both your second to last block. You were getting ready to pack up and head for gym when he came up to you, leaning against your desk with all the confidence of a guy clearly wanting something.
"Y/N!"
You look up from your bag. One hand grasping at his bag, the other placed beside your unfinished classwork.
Mark blinks twice, reeling himself back like he just realized something.
"Y/N, right?" He blurts.
You stop fumbling through your bag, releasing the wads of paper that you were about to throw out. You grab a compact mirror you haven't used since freshman year and pretend like you were looking for it. Fuck. Mark Grayson is talking to you?
"Uhm."
"Yes?" You wince, ripping your eyes away from Mark's to instead stare at a corny math joke poster.
A nod. Mark slings his backpack forward and rummages around until he pulls out a crumpled paper. It's the math homework Mr. Hopkins handed out.
"Right so, not like I forgot what Mr. H said but Maths been kind of kicking my ass lately. I was hoping- uh, thinking if you were, like, available. To teach me. Pre-Calc?"
You mean teach you how to use Google? Or Metube? Or literally whatever I can use to help me cheat on homework?
"You want...Me...to tutor you?" You say incredulously. I don't know what the fuck we're doing. "I don't know if I can."
Mark glances at the classwork on your desk. You hurriedly cram it inside your backpack alongside the other wads of paper. "That's extra credit, ahah! I get bored in math. My grade is so high." You spit. Lying like a whore at church. Marks eyes follow your hands and stay on your bag. Finally glancing at you after a second. A small glint makes its way to his eyes.
"Or we can both study. I'm not really busy afterschool until 5. Plus-- I'm a fast learner, and uh, you can work on that extra credit."
He tilts his head boyishly. The action rips a cavern open inside your head and you blank. Heat rises to your cheeks like a caveman discovering it has a penis.
"I guess we can." You mutter, eyes bore holes into the compact you're fidgeting with. Willing your heart to stop running delusional miles. You're hallucinating.
"I'm free tomorrow," you nod, staring at your own face and watching the red fade. You lift your gaze and offer a gentle smile. Packing the compact into your buttpocket and standing. Mark doesn't step back. "See you after class? I'll uhm, get these old tutor joints up and running."
You don't think you can teach this boy jack shit. But he came up to you for a reason. It's not like there's much to do after school anyways. Except stare at a computer and play Stardew Valley.
Marks whole demeanor changes. Hopeful and wide eyed, smile lopsided and toothy.
"It's a date?"
Your body does a 180. Blinking rapidly like you hadn't heard him clearly. Feeling heat creep up your neck and causing you to part your lips. "I'm sorry?"
Pure horror. He waves his hand, "The date- Tomorrow! I forgot the date tomorrow. It's Saturday, right?"
Most definitely not. "Oh. No it's Tuesday."
"Right!" He taps the desk with his fist and points at you with his index. "See, totally need tutoring. I'm like a baby. I just say anything and hope it's right."
You snort involuntarily. Hand clamping over your grin. Your eyes squint, failing to stop laughter from bubbling out. Oh my god?
His own eyes narrow, but there's a smirk on his lips. You miss the way he studies your face. Roaming past your hands, your smile. The tension before is lifted. Less suffocating. Easy. You gather yourself before you split into pieces. With the last breathless giggle, Marks staring becomes apparent. A light flush to his cheeks, one eyebrow raised and leaning his ass on your desk. He looks exactly like Debbie Grayson back in those grade school parent-teacher conferences.
"See ya tomorrow." He hums, voice wavering with something.
You bid goodbye, sidestepping the desk and barely sparing a second glance until you're outside and several feet away. The hallway blurs with your hurried steps until you come across the main entrance. Adjacent a water fountain.
You stare at it for minutes before you slam your hand on the button and shower yourself with freezing water. Gasping as the feeling wades through your hair. Praying that your own red face fades into nothing
"-So then once you dive into negative territory, it becomes a complex square root function that can generate negative or complex outputs."
Marks voice lulls you back to the present. Soft in your head and close. Past the memory you dream of behind closed doors. Goosebumps trail down your arms. The thought of ignoring Mark and making it seem like you're bored, or worse- annoyed makes you nauseous. His form leans over yours, right hand writing down Mathematical word soup in your textbook while his other is firm on your left shoulder. The warmth seeps through the fabric of your hoodie. A large, neatly manicured hand. You have no clue what's going on, and when you turn, you spot his face right next to yours, eyeing.
He's staring at you, closer than you've ever seen him, ever felt him. Your stomach roils. Fluttering and evil with how confusing it leaves you.
"Are you okay?" He mumbles, unneeded quietness in an empty library. It passes through your ears like molasses. Too focused on his smell. God, is that Valentino? He smells like a fucking dream. You're so fucked. Is he teaching you calculus?
'This guys voice is really nice.'
Your mind blanches. The textbook captivating your attention like it suddenly makes sense.
"I get it now." You say, but you're not talking about this nonsense. You'll never fucking get it.
Mark lights up, but it's reserved. "Seriously? That's great! Uh, It's pretty easy once you get past all the rules and stuff. Fast learner."
"Me is, I am." He adds, straightening.
"Right."
"We still have 30 minutes," Marks Homework left forgotten again. "Let's get that done, okay Mark?"
After 5, you've come to learn, Is Marks shift at BurgerMart. You never asked him, he just talks about himself so often you feel like you know everything about him. Including how William (Marks Best Buddy For Life- his words) drives him after school. You've also come to learn, that Mark Loves to talk when there's silence. Or maybe that's only with you since you're so determined to be quiet whenever you tutor him. Content to just answer any question with a bald headed lie. Mark talks, you listen, and when you say something back, Mark yaps with questions about said thing like it's the most interesting thing on planet Earth.
You watch Mark go through the questions one by one, pencil gliding across the paper like he wasn't just staring at it an hour ago. Mark only looks up to resume the music, and when he does so he catches you staring at him. This time you don't shy away. Head resting on your palm in contemplation. His eyes flit back down. Pen stalling on one equation, worrying his lips.
The music comes back to you nicely. Feet dancing once more. You tap your mechanical pencil to the rhythm.
She said take your time what's the rush?
Marks chewing the eraser. Focusing on the same question. Your eyes avert to his hair, his ears, roaming over the planes of his face and over the lids of his eyes, pretty eyes. Brown, you think. No, you know what color they are, they're Toffee. A sweet color and they're Amber in the sunlight. Outside, during summer, you've seen them glow. His lips. Pursed around the eraser while it fights to stay on from his onslaught. Pretty, little lips that never stay shut for more than too seconds. Shoulders, wide like his fathers. A man you've seen when Mark used to play baseball freshman year. Outside on the bleachers next to his wife, the loudest parents for a kid who was clearly embarrassed.
You remember that face. Outside afterschool. You spent the end of your last period crying because some kid joked about a boy liking you. You stood just outside the game, watching Mark grow progressively redder when his parents cheered just at him batting up. The pitcher threw the ball, but somehow, for whatever reason, His eyes found you. Shocked. Completely missing the ball and getting a final strike. His cheeks got so red. A full, flushed face that had you bursting with laughter. You ran before he could say anything, giggling down the railing's.
Mark is red in the face now. Staring so intently at the paper you fear he's going to burn a hole through it. The pencil is gone from his lips, clenched in hand so hard the graphite snapped. A pretty blush adorns his face, you don't think he's ever looked so pretty.
Marks eyes land on you for the first time since. Wavering before settling on his phone.
I said baby I'm a dog I'm a mutt.
Back to the paper.
"Y/N?"
"Mh?"
Mark rests his hand on his neck, soft.
"You're staring."
"Mh."
Mark pencil goes to the margins. Scribbling with the broken nub. Brows scrunching while he writes. You check the time on your phone. 4:30 PM.
"Welp." You clap twice. "Times up. Uhm. See you tomorrow."
You pack. Head swimming through wades of murky water. You barely register the scrape of a chair or Marks voice until he's suddenly infront of you. A tight knot forms in your throat, observing the way Mark looks disheveled.
Fingers rake through the tuffs of his hair, captivating you.
"Wait, wait-" Mark holds up a hand. "Uh, shit. I- I have uhm. So I know...you see...I really, really appreciate you taking the time to tutor me, (Y/N). It's like, life saving. Or something." Inhale, another rake through the hair. Amber eyes. "I don't feel like I've been completely honest. About this." He motions towards the table. Sighing. "You don't have to tutor me anymore."
A giant pit lands in your stomach.
"Heh, wow, this is so much more difficult than I thought it'd be." Mark averts his eyes, unable to look at you without floundering. But then he remembers your laughter, your comment. He slides a hand down his face, sounding exasperated. "I've never needed tutoring, for math at least. Moms good with numbers.
Mark inhales, sucking in all the dusty air in the library like a vacuum, you envy the oxygen. His lips turn down into a frown. "So, Sorry for lying about that. You're clearly busy, and bored. Aaand I feel like a dick making you do this."
Your own mind screams in confusion. Rejection. Uselessness. You could have thought him something new if you were smarter. Your mind doesn't even register him not needing the tutoring. For whatever reason, it doesn't register. Your heart skips a beat in the worst way, making anxiety rush through you because you like spending time with Mark. You had been excited about this since he first asked you. Finally, after months of being alone, someone wanted to hang out with you, even if it was for their own benefit. For whatever benefit. Your vision begins to blur, throat constricting with fighting back tears.
"I also lied about the party on Saturday, I'm just throwing game night with William and some friends," Mark blurts at the twist in your face, panic seeping through his words, "Uhm, shit, and I guess about me being late too. I was talking to Amber about suh-something and she got really mad so I promised her but that's totally unrelated kind of not really, but the point is,"
Marks words crack open your ribcage and personally crush your heart into tiny, small, useless pieces. Your lip quivers. You can't help but nod along. Voice gone useless and focusing solely on not crying. You need to leave, you need to move, go to your locker and cry in that desolate classroom where no one can hear you. Because you've been stupid, thinking you can be useful to someone, especially Mark Grayson.
"That I, Really, really...like..." Mark stumbles over his words, finally noticing the way your face is twisted not in anger, nor disbelief, his eyes roam over your face and settle on your eyes. Concern overriding whatever it was he was going to say. "Are...hey are you okay?"
Mark takes a step forward, hand unsure, going as if to touch something. Your unshed tears break like a damn. One, two, then more and more spill on to the rugged floor when you turn your head and hide your face from him. You sniffle, mouth twisting into an ugly frown.
"Y/N?" Mark gapes, suddenly on you and resting that fucking hand on your shoulder. The sensation bristles, shooting fear and scalding reject up your neck.
"Mh." You shake your head, using your book bag as a distraction.
"Why are you crying?" Mark says softly, voice laced with panic. "Shit, Did I say something wrong?"
Yes. No. Your head is a fucking mess. You cry harder, feeling guilty and a waste. You hide your face behind your hands, sobs wracking your frame.
You warble out a sentence. Small and hidden behind picked bloody hands. You don't even have the will to curl them so he can't see. Can't see how much of a mess you are about all of this. You can't be normal about things, you always have to overthink and make things worse. Harder then they have to be.
Soft hands gently, barely, grasp your wrist and move your hands away from your face. Your body tenses. Needing to hide, but Mark is slightly bent over you, he looks sad.
"What did you say?" Softly, tenderly.
You feel snot dribble down your nose like a wet baby.
"I like spending time with you," your words come out broken, ashamed at being seen like this. Like needing to tutor him after school. Like having found a routine and comfort in seeing his face for two hours. Chewing on a pencil, laughing loudly at your dumb jokes, listening to him talk endlessly about parties or hang outs with other people.
"And," You realize, selfishly, you never want this to stop. Because you like hanging out with Mark Grayson. You like seeing him waiting at your locker, fixing his hair with his phone, smiling when he sees you round the corner and already meeting you halfway. Gym shoes all but forgotten. You like the thought that he has to practically race across school to meet you before you pretend to leave, like you have something to do after school. You can't pretend to be okay with this ending, because for the first time, you felt needed. You felt someone looking for you, not at you.
"And I really, really like you."
Mark takes a sharp inhale.
"I like spending time with you, I like it a lot. I know I sound so desperate right now, but- but everytime we study together it makes me so happy." You spill. Heart thundering so hard you fear it'll combust and leave you dead on the floor. "I know I'm not the best at tutoring, but I can study harder. I've been studying after school so I can teach you what I've learned. God-- that sounds so pathetic. But my grades went up ever since you first asked me, and it made me happy thinking if I was getting better, maybe you were too! I-I'm sorry about lying. Fuck."
Your eyes frantically stare at Mark, taking in his reaction. Marks hands haven't left your wrist. His lips are parted, that same, pink flush blossoming over his cheeks like a flame. Eyes sparkling, toffee colored, with no tears. He's frozen. Still reeling.
"You..." his throat clicks with a swallow. Eyes wide, searching. "You like me?"
You can't pick your hands with his encasing yours. You settle for your lip. Nodding. "Mh."
Time feels like it's stopped here. With dust in the corners and songs playing faintly through a speaker. The feeling is similar to waking up. Warm at first, then the dawning of realization. A sniffle, the sound of feet shuffling on carpeted floors. You haven't noticed, but there's graphite smudged on Mark's cheek. This feeling that you've come to know regarding Mark has a name now. Wanting to wipe it away with your thumb, feel his skin underneath. To feel that happiness so out of reach when he smiles, looking at you. That feeling is torture.
Is it bad you want to revel in that? Knowing you'd stay here, with Mark, tutoring away until you both graduate? Never knowing, never being more than a tutor?
Mark's eyes look like they're twinkling. His hands fold over your own. Standing straighter. Your eyes pivot back and forth at the minuscule changes in his face. Mark sighs, all the tension leaves his body in one breath. Eyes shutting for a moment before they open once more. A fire burning beneath, replacing his slackjawed expression with one of calm surrender.
"I'm such an idiot." He huffs, cheeks flushing a darker shade of pink. He lets go of one of your hands to settle on the nape of his neck, rubbing.
"I like you too." He says, tilting his head slightly forwards, looking like a kicked puppy. You gape, mouth floundering like a fish out of water. With your hand now freed you wipe at your eyes furiously, suddenly feeling a level of whiplash so hard you might pass out. Or start flying. Maybe cry some more or wake up infront of your locker with a bruise on your head.
"What?"
Mark looks at you more intently, lips in a straight line while his eyebrow twitches. His cheeks are on fire. Practically begging you not to make him say it again but-
"I like you, too. A lot," He firmly squeezes your hand, "Since freshman year. I saw you at baseball practice once and I couldn't get your laugh out of my head for weeks. I thought it was the best sound anyone's ever made. I kept looking for you, and then I was too nervous to come up to you so I tried looking for you again and then I saw you at Mr. Hopkins Math class and,"
Mark takes a breath, closer now, voice firm despite how you can feel his hands grow clammy. You think you're dying.
"And I was like 'Holy Shit that's her. That's the girl that made me strike out in freshman year!' But I didn't know what to do because you looked so pretty and William wouldn't stop teasing me and it kind of made it worse, So I was like, 'Ok, ask her out!' But I chickened out like, last minute, but uh, I saw you were having trouble with Pre-Calc so-"
"So you asked me to tutor you." You finish. Lips wobbling. Mind reeling. "Because I'm an idiot?"
Mark panics, "No! No, I wanted to help you. And hang out, but you were so determined to help me, I thought it was cute."
"Because I'm cute." You mumble, cheeks burning. Yeah, you're gonna pass out. Heart hammering in your ribs. For the first time, not from anxiety or fear, but from something else. You sniffle once more. "You think I'm cute?"
"You're beautiful," he replies instantly, like it's not a lie. Only the absolute truth. He slowly eases his hands over your cheeks, wiping away at leftover wetness. "You're funny, You can be witty, you have amazing taste in music and you can be snarky but I find that so adorable. I love listening to you talk. It drives me crazy."
"Mark..." You have the strongest urge to run laps. You need a beer. You want to kiss him stupid.
"Yeah?" He stops. But he doesn't take his hands away. You hope he can't feel how warm your face is. How happy you are.
But you do. You want him to know how happy you are. How good it feels knowing he wants you around like you do. So you do, you cup his head in your hands and reel him in a quick kiss. You feel mark stiffen, an inhale through his nose, hands stuttering somewhere. And then slowly, like melting wax, he hooks his hands on your waist and reels you in. Mouth parting to deepen the kiss. His lips are soft, you can vaguely make out. He tastes strongly like mint gum. You part, licking your lips. Mark makes a sound and you open your eyes. Staring at you like you punched him breathless. He drags you back, his ass makes contact with the table and you lean against him for support. Sighing softly when he settles his hands on the back of your neck. Thick fingers raking your hair, tickling you and you laugh against him. You feel him grin.
You kiss him for what feels like hours. Enjoying the way you feel everytime your lips make contact. A nibble from him and you make a sound. His fingers tighten, scratching your scalp- it makes you melt. Your lips move in tandem. You run your hands over the planes of his chest. Feeling hard muscle, and over his shoulders, down his biceps, and curl your fingers into the hard meat of his arms. He encases your form, smoothing down your neck and over your back, where you arch, and hooks his thumbs in your pants waistline, dragging you impossibly closer.
You part with a gasp, a small string of saliva connecting you both. Your lashes flutter, dizzy. His own half lidded, your eyes graze over the motion of his tongue licking his lips. He looks wrecked, he's grinning, you're flying.
"I think that's the hottest thing I've ever done." You say, resting your hands on his cheeks, feeling the strongest urge to dive in and kiss his pretty face. You think you can feel his heart racing.
"Yeah?" He sounds weak, nodding, "I think I have a boner."
You blink, "What?"
"What?!"
You both startle, feeling him envelop you in a hug, hiding you away from the voice. Your heart hammers in your ears, panic settling in when you see-
Marks face scrunches in disbelief, a tight scowl on his face. "William? What the fuck, dude!"
"And Amber!" William points to Amber, hair peaking out from behind a shelf. She looks over the case and waves.
"Guys!" Marks voice breaks, heat creeping up his cheeks. "Again, what the fuck?"
"We got tired waiting on you," Amber says, you've seen her in marks phone. She doesn't look surprised, but she's averting her gaze, grinning. "But it seems we should've gotten the memo after an hour."
"Did the breath mints work?" William asks, going back and forth between you and mark. "Oh, they totally did, Hey Y/N!"
"Hello...?" You say, cheeks squished between marks Bicep. You wave.
"Great! You finally met her, now Fuck off! Jesus."
"How're you getting home?" William raised a brow. Grinning hard. You see Mark give William the nastiest glare. He's also hot when he's angry, noted.
"Driving." He spits out.
"I'm driving him." You say, shuffling against mark to grab your keys from your pockets. You jingle them.
"Right, well," Amber places a hand on William's back, already dragging him before he can say anything else. Which you assume he was, "Be safe, see you tomorrow. Bye Mark, Bye Y/N."
"Bye! Don't forget to check your phone, Mark! Wear a condom!"
"William."
"Going going."
The both of them leave. The sound of the library door closing, you're finally alone.
You turn to Mark, Dropping your hands.
"Did you say you had a boner?"
Mark blinks. His face suspiciously blank. "No."
"I think you did-"
"Wow," Mark picks up his phone, "look at the time, it's 5:30 already? We should get going."
Your cheeks hurt from smiling. Fidgeting with the hem of Mark's shirt. Mark likes you. He likes you. He said you're beautiful, cute. Mark doesn't move from his spot on the desk, merely twisting around you to pack both of your belongings. Your eye catches on the paper he was working on. Equations so complex you'd fry your brain trying to solve them. In the margins there's doodles, a badly drawn dog with heart eyes and an arrow pointing at 'Me'. Hearts in the corner, a superhero that you think is invincible.
"Hey,"
Mark turns, you pull him in for a quick kiss. Landing another on his nose.
"I think you're cute too."
Dumbstruck. Lips quivering to fight back a smile. He averts his eyes, sighing. And then nods.
Fanart of the one and only-- Genderbent!Gayvincible.
A silly idea by @13tinysocks
(Design) Inspired by @anatomically-incorrect (You can barely see the carabiner.)
I don't really like how I drew her face. It looks like it has been surgically attached to the body. 💔 (She's still beautiful though)
This is hard to answer. (Like how hard I am.) But no joke this made me sit down and think about it.
I love Prisoner Mark. I am abNORMAL about him I swearrrrr.
origamiaround
blakekathryn
kaledo-art
vaporwave
