• (no) strings attached (rex sloan x mohawk mark x f!musician!reader, nsfw)
• once a rolling stone, now gathers moss (rex sloan, drabble, hurt/no comfort)
• forgiveness (viltrum mark x fem!alien!reader, nsfw)
my tags:
#maddie's reading list - my digital library
#maddie yaps - my thoughts
#maddie's asks - my ask box replies
#maddie's midnight snacks - nsfw/sexual content (other's or mine)
tags and warnings: 1980s AU, meet cute, love at first sight, smoking, civillian Rex, curly hair reader
It was a sunny afternoon in the summer of 1984.
The city was quieter, the streets emptier, and your dog, a poodle called Agatha, was leading the way. Her freshly washed and trimmed fur was shining in the sun, faint smell of a dog shampoo lingering behind her. No matter how many times you've crossed this exact path going back home from the park with her, everyone's heads turned at the sight of you two. It never failed to make you lip corners lift, and you had your 11-year-old self to thank for choosing the one puppy from the litter with the exact coat color as your curls.
For some reason, that day, Agatha was pulling harder than usual, choosing new ways to get to your apartment. And you let her, more than happy to bathe in the golden rays just a little bit longer. Little did you know, you would be thanking her for the rest of your life she chose to take a left instead of a right just before your block.
You heard it first, the iconic bassline of Every Breath You Take by The Police. Your head snapped up at the familiar sound, and that's when you saw him. And you stopped in your tracks, the view nothing short of angelic.
He was sitting on the window sill of his ground floor apartment with windows open wide, music spilling from his room to the otherwise empty sidewalk, cigarette between his fingers. His long, auburn hair were resting on his shoulders, shimmering in the afternoon light, almost like catching fire. His face was made up of sharp lines and edges, with his sharp, hooked nose tying everything into a breathtaking, cohesive image.
The man was already facing you, his round, green like forest trees eyes set on you, glancing at your dog every other second. For a while, none of you speak, taking in the view, both of you glad that every decision you've ever made led you right to this moment.
"They say dogs look alike their owners." His voice was low and warm, his mouth sharpening with a smirk that made your knees buckle. Agatha sat at your feet, panting, her nose pointing at the man like he's a treasure she found just for you. "Or the other way round," he added, taking one last drag of his cigarette before putting it down in the ashtray.
"Haven't seen you before," was all you managed to utter, failing to calm your heart pumping wildly against your ribs.
"I just moved here a week ago," The redhead tilted his head, eyelids drooping heavily over his glimmering, emerald eyes. "You live around?"
"Yeah, just two blocks away."
His eyes dragged slowly from the tip of your head, down to your toes, stopping at your loyal companion who was now laying on the pavement, patiently waiting for either one of you to make the first move.
"Wanna listen to some music?" The man broke the silence first, shifting on the window sill, pointing with his head to the inside of his place.
"Do you have Madonna by any chance?" You replied quickly but confidently, getting back your footing now that the beautiful man has invited you in.
"The whole album and two singles." He sounded nothing short of proud. Whether of you or himself, you wouldn't know. Not like it mattered at the time.
Without a word, you reached down and grab Agatha by the bum and below her front paws, before handing her to the redhead. He quickly jumped off the window sill, taking your poodle from you, your fingers brushing. The first contact with his rough skin has sent a lightning down your veins, right to your heart.
Then, he reached his hand out to you, and you grabbed his palm into yours, clasping it hard before climbing to his place through the window. When you hopped over the ledge, you lost your balance, but the man caught you in his arms, pulling you close to himself.
And in that moment you both just stood there, eyes glimmering with excitement and hope, chests flush together. It was like the time has slowed down, your skin tingling, head getting dizzy.
"What's your name?" You said weakly, barely hiding the tremble in your voice.
"I'm Rex," he replied smoothly, still not letting you go. "You?"
A smile crept up your face as you gave him your name. Rex repeated it carefully, as if trying how it rolls of his tongue, his face showing he liked the way it tasted in his mouth.
That afternoon, you, Rex and Agatha stayed in, going through his impressive vinyls collection, music cutting through the thick clouds of cigarette smoke.
That afternoon quickly turned into the night, and then another.
It wasn't until two days later you finally got back home, completely ignoring your mother's screams and chastises, focused on the warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.
It was then, that your life has truly started.
maddie's scribbles: is the title sappy? maybe. but! it's based on a true story—this is how my parents met!
wc: 1728 // cw: kinda spoilers for the comics, smut, dubcon, rough sex, reader has an alien body with human adjacent genitalia (pussy) // based on this request
a/n: i really took the 'alien reader' to heart and ran with it
[edit]: i've added Earth's Mark perspective!
The sky above you is pale and clear, with the main star shining bright and low, slowly making its way past the horizon. Your head is spinning, but not too bad—the soft, dewy, green bedding you landed on made the impact a little less painful.
You sit up and massage the throbbing spot right behind your rear left antenna. Everything around is so colorful, with lots of different species of plants you've never seen before blooming with what must be this planet's flowers.
The last thing you remember is screaming. And it was you, obviously. Mark would never make a peep, no matter how terrified he truly felt. Perks of Viltrumite training, I guess.
Wait—Where is he, anyway?
Wiping off dust from your spacesuit, you explore the area, looking for your mate. But he's nowhere to be seen. So you get into the air and fly away, eyes flicking around in search for the heir.
It's not like you're worried. Not for him, at least. Mark can fend for himself, and so can you. And together you're indestructible, but on your own—not as much. And since you have absolutely zero idea what planet did you land on, it's best to find him and get out of here.
You might encounter absolutely anything and anyone here; there's no way of knowing if this planet is home to creatures aggressive and vile like the Ragnars, or rather peaceful and kind like the Thraxans. It's also quite possibly not a Viltrum colony, since no one greeted you the moment you hit the ground like a meteorite, struck down like a rookie by some damned satellite.
Calling for him is pointless; if he's near, he will hear you, or find you by your scent. Otherwise, you're risking outing yourself as vulnerable on an alien planet. And if anything hurts you, Mark will wipe any and every species off the surface of this place.
Tall buildings start popping on the horizon line, smaller settlements with tiny houses below you. The area looks calm, peaceful and quiet. But you know you can't trust it, not until—
"Mark!" You yelp happily and glide down at your maximum speed, tackling him to the ground. He lands on his back, arms covering his face as you straddle him with your legs. "I am so happy I've found you—" you mumble between peppering his arms with kisses, and that's when you realize he looks different.
"What are you wearing?" You lean back, resting your weight on all four hands bracketing his head and shoulders. "Or, never mind. Better tell me where the hell are we—stop covering your face!" You groan, forcibly trying to remove his arms, but to no avail. "What is wrong with you?"
"Leave me alone!" Mark shouts and pushes you off him, much gentler than you expected. Something's off, and it settles heavy in your chest, both of your hearts dropping low.
"Hey…" You crawl back to him and try to cradle his face, but he sits up, his back facing you. "It's me," your voice trembles now, as you slowly move closer to him, "your mate."
"I don't know you!"
The words hit you like a thousand daggers. He must be hurt, there's no other explanation for this odd behavior.
"Mark…" you whisper and rest your right hands on his back, smoothing them down the line of the rigid muscles you know so well. When he tenses at your touch like a cornered animal, you gasp. What has this planet done to him?
"You don't remember me?" You question, inching closer, your breath warming his neck. Then, an idea pops up in your head. And so you snake on your right arms around his torso, with one of your left hands threading through his silky, black hair. "I think you need a little reminder," you coo, your lips grazing the back of his ear.
Mark's body is softer than you remember, but as warm as always. His skin prickles when you slide your hand under the weird top he's wearing. You smirk; your plan working just as you wished it would.
"Look at me," you purr and not waiting for his reply, you take his chin and turn his head towards you, until your lips meet his in the softest, gentlest kiss you two ever shared.
It doesn't last long until you're suddenly airborne, Mark left on the ground with eyes open wide like the full moon, shock and terror written all over his face. You want to turn, see who has this steel hold on all four of your hands, until the familiar smell hits your scent glands.
"I'm taking you back home. Now," your Mark growls and flies off with the speed of light, leading you to a glowing, purple portal.
Before you know it, you're back on Viltrum—familiar shade of gray stretching everywhere your eyes can reach. Then, in a blink of an eye, you're in your shared quarters, your back hitting the wall so forcefully all air is kicked out of you.
"You've betrayed me." Mark spits slowly, his fingers curled tight around your neck. With your legs above the ground, you scrape them against the smooth wall for some purchase, but he only pushes you more against the surface.
"I—I thought—it was—you—" You rasp, all four of your hands holding his arm. But that explanation only makes him more furious, as he furrows his brows over his dark, soulless eyes.
"You've mistaken me for some pathetic copy?"
"He—he smelled—" you gulp, very close to running out of oxygen, "—exactly the same—"
"Liar!" He loses it completely and screams, then throws you across the room until you hit the bed with your ass up. Before you get a chance to move, Mark's rough, claiming hands are on you, ripping the bottom of your Viltrumite colony suit into pieces.
"That man you allegedly thought was me," Mark pants, pressing on your bare ass with his already hard cock, "reeked of weakness, and fear."
You whine when he rolls his hips against you and shouts, "And I'm no coward! Say it!"
"You're—" you choke on a sob at his rough fingers sliding up into both of your holes, "—not a coward."
Mark takes away his hand from your already wet folds and smears the slick on your cheeks, before lowering himself, his voice getting low and dangerous as he whispers against your cheek, "Need I remind you, who's your one and only owner?"
With tears streaming down your face, you nod vigorously, but he only grabs your mouth forcefully, making you look at him. "Answer me, now."
"Yes—please, I want—" you yelp as he smacks your ass, correcting your choice of words, "—need a reminder."
"Thought so," he replies, his voice gravelly and laced with heat.
You don't have to wait long, as he grabs both of your lower arms with one hand at the small of your back, his other hand busy with breaking free from the confines of his suit. He hisses when cool air lick his hardened length, only to soothe it seconds later, gliding the tip along your folds.
It only takes him one clean thrust to bury himself up to the hilt, and then he immediately starts rocking his hips with relentless speed and force. You barely have time to adjust to his size, whines and whimper spilling out of you, when Mark pushes his thumb inside your puckered hole.
'I should—execute you—for that," he groans, not slowing down despite your two free arms grabbing at him. "To dishonor me—nhgf—the heir, is treason."
"Please…" you manage between uncontrollable cries, as his cock hits that perfect spot inside you over and over again. With addition of his thumb going in and out your ass, you're pitifully close to your orgasm, the whole dynamic getting you there insanely fast.
"If you're begging for forgiveness—" his voice goes down an octave, laced with effort as hips hit against yours even faster, bed frame squeaking and threatening to break, "—do it properly."
"Forgive me! Please!"
"So pathetic." You can almost hear the faintest smirk in his voice, but it doesn't worry you, because Mark snakes his hand around your waist to your clit, and presses it with the perfect pressure, sending you right over the edge.
You grab and twist your fingers around the plain bedding, your body shaking like a leaf on the wind and coat his length and suit with your slick.
This brings him closer too, as after only a few more thrusts, he still against you and spills hot, white ropes inside you, with quiet groans leaving his cold, plush lips.
For a moment, his chamber is quiet if not for your ragged breaths. When he pulls out, you tremble, feeling his cum trickling down your pussy. Mark throws a wet rag at you with disgust, but you know him well enough to see there's silent praise in his judging look, too.
"Clean yourself. You stink of that pitiful knock-off version of me."
You get up from the bed and wipe away whatever you can, before picking up the shredded pieces of your suit from the ground. When you look up, Mark is already naked—and hard, again.
"Why are you still dressed? You look ridiculous." He raises a brow, staring at the offending remnants of fabric clinging to your chest. Without a peep you free yourself of your top and come up closer to him, risking resting all of your hands on his chest and abdomen.
"On your knees," Mark commands calmly, "you're not forgiven yet."
🪐👽⭐️💜
Mark Grayson, a regular human teenage boy, was still sitting on the ground after someone who looked exactly like him dragged away a green and pink, four-armed alien girl—who kissed him like she knew him—through a purple, glowing portal.
He stared at the sky, were the two of them just vanished, still bewildered. Not with the existence of dimension portals, aliens or his doppelgangers—when your dad's a Viltrumite, you're fully aware of such things.
No, he was terrified with the fact that he liked it—liked her kissing him, and that he was enamored by her smell of all things. And the worst part is, he's probably never going to see her again.
main m.list | mark grayson m.list | join the taglist
The first trimester passes in a blur, quickly and not fast enough all at once. You spent far too much time bent over a toilet and surviving on saltines. Rex learned the exact angle to hold your hair back without it pulling. He had alarms set for vitamins, even though you threw them up anyway. The exhaustion was so deep it felt like gravity had doubled.
There were apologies folded into everything. For snapped words and for canceled plans. For the way your body becomes unfamiliar territory even to yourself.
Rex adapted badly at first and then all at once like it all clicked in exactly how he needed to care for you. He learned which smells make you gag and quietly switches all soaps in the house. He stopped bringing home takeout unless it’s on ‘the list’. He started reading things at night on his phone, face lit blue in the dark, like he’s cramming for an exam he didn’t know if he would pass.
By the time the nausea finally loosens its grip, he’s already built a routine around you. The second trimester felt like a much needed breath of fresh air. Food tastes like food again. Your energy creeps back in cautious increments. Your body changes in ways that are startling but no longer frightening. There’s a heartbeat you’ve heard more than once now, and it’s a sound that no longer feels unreal.
Rex talks to your stomach when he thinks you’re asleep and you pretend not to notice.
There’s laughter again. Soft touches that aren’t careful for fear’s sake, but because he wants you to feel loved in the quiet ways. Arguments about paint colors and whether the second bedroom needs to stay a gym for “as long as possible.” And now you’re buckled into the passenger seat, the city rolling by outside the window, the afternoon sun cutting through the windshield.
Today’s the anatomy scan and you find out the gender.
“I’m just saying,” Rex says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, far too casual for a man vibrating with anticipation, “we should consider something strong. Powerful. Something that says apex predator.”
You sigh, already knowing where this is going, “Rex, honey, for the umpteenth time… We are not naming our child ‘Raptor.’”
“It’s not that weird,” he argues, pouting your direction for a moment before looking back at the road, “People name kids Hunter. Or Bear.”
“Rex,” you say flatly before your interrupted.
“Or Rex!”
“…I wouldn’t choose those names for any child.”
He grins, unapologetic, “Okay, fine. What about Cera?”
You pause, a couple of students coming to mind.
“… Sarah?” you repeat, suspicious.
“Yeah,” he says quickly, too quickly, “It’s cute. Short. Normal. We could spell it different. C-E-R-A.”
You narrow your eyes, looking out the windshield and repeating it, “Cera Sloan.”
“It’s just— normal,” he shrugs, eyes fixed on the road, “Soft. Nice.”
Something clicks in your mind and slowly, horrifically, You turn toward him, “Cera… Wait. Like—”
He keeps driving, looking straight ahead, unmoving. Like you won’t notice the tension suddenly creeping into his shoulders.
“…like, triCERAtops?” you finish staring at him.
There’s a beat and then Rex winces, “…No.”
“Rex.”
He groans, shoulders slumping, “Okay, yes. But listen— it’s subtle! No one would ever know but us!”
“You absolutely thought you got away with that,” you say, incredulously.
“I did for a second!” he protests, “You said it was normal!”
“I said it was normal before I realized you were sneaking dinosaurs into our child’s legal identity!”
He pouts, full-on, jaw set and lips pushed out like he’s personally been wronged by the universe.
“That hurts,” he mutters. “Cera’s a strong female dinosaur in ‘The Land Before Time’”
“You cannot be serious right now.”
“I’m just saying,” he adds, wounded, “My name is Rex! It would make sense if my kid was named after a dinosaur.”
You stare at him for a few silent beats, “…You want to name our son Rex Junior?”
“No,” he says quickly. “Okay, maybe. But only because you keep telling me ‘no’ to Raptor!”
You lean your head back against the seat and close your eyes, “I’m begging you to stop.”
He laughs then, bright and nervous and full of joy he doesn’t know what to do with.
The car slows as he pulls into the parking lot and he reaches over, squeezing your hand.
“Okay,” he says, softer now, “No dinosaurs. Probably.”
You snort, “You’re lying.”
“Maybe a little.” He says with a grin
You sit there for a moment before getting out—hands linked, hearts racing— both of you knowing that in just a little while, this abstract, beloved maybe is going to sharpen into something more specific, and carve its space out in the new chapter of your lives that would soon be arriving.
📝🏅📚🏅📝
“They’re going to figure it out.” Rex complains on Monday morning, his fingers brushing over the hoodie he pulled on, just a solid color matching the color of the dress on your frame.
You huff out a soft laugh, your hand running over the round bump of your stomach showing under the fabric, “that’s the point isn’t it? Subtlety?”
“Yeah, sure babe,” Rex starts, coming up behind you to press a kiss to your temple, his large hand running over the path your hand had just traced, “but this is like, they’ll guess as soon as we walk in, kind of subtle.”
You lay your head back against his shoulder, your pretty gaze settling on his face, “well, again. They’re supposed to.”
Rex huffs, fingers drawing soft circles over your stomach, his green eyes sweeping over your features until they land on your lips. He leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut to give you a soft kiss on your lips.
📝🏅📚🏅📝
You’d spent twenty minutes arguing with Rex this morning about whether the matching colors were too obvious, and now first period has come and gone with absolutely nothing.
Not a single comment. No whispers, or dramatic gasps. Just teenagers asking for hall passes and complaining about quizzes.
By second period, Rex is getting offended.
“You’re telling me,” he says, appearing in your doorway during planning with his arms crossed, hoodie stretched across his broad chest, “that not one person has noticed?”
You glance up from your laptop, thoroughly unbothered, “Maybe they’re being polite.”
“They are not polite,” he says immediately,lOne kid barked at me last week.”
You snort, “That was because you told him his layup looked like ‘a newborn baby giraffe’”
“It was like watching a newborn baby giraffe trying to do a layup. I make no apologies.”He gestures vaguely at himself with a huff, “I wore—“
“Go teach your class, Coach Sloan.” You interrupt with a soft smile.
He points at you like this conversation is unfinished, “They’re gonna figure it out.”
“They’re supposed to.”
“Yeah, but I thought there’d be drama.”
“You wanted drama from our gender reveal?”
“I work in a high school,” he says flatly, motioning vaguely to the atmosphere of your classroom, “Drama is complimentary.”
By lunch, there was still nothing. A few lingering looks. One student quietly asked if it’s spirit week because you two were matching. Another does compliment your dress. Someone asks Rex if he lost a bet, and he genuinely looked insulted by that one.
The end of the school day rolls around and Rex is standing in the gym, whistle hanging around his neck while the varsity boys warm up.
He’s in a mood now. A dramatic one.
“You guys are observant as hell when someone changes deodorant,” he mutters, tossing a basketball toward the rack, “But today? Nothing?”
“What are you talking about?” one player asks.
Rex gestures at himself, “Anything look different?”
“…You got a haircut?” someone guesses.
“No.”
“New shoes?”
“No.”
“You shave weird?”
“What does that even mean?” The boys shrug. One kid squints at him for a second before his eyes drift down to the hoodie.
“…Didn’t take you for a pink guy, Coach Sloan.”
Rex freezes. Then very slowly turns, “You noticed the pink?”
The whole team goes quiet. Because that tone means something is happening that usually results in them running line drills.
The kid blinks, “Uh. Yeah?”
Rex lets out the biggest, most offended laugh.
“six periods,” he says, pointing accusingly at the ceiling like God himself failed a test. “SIX. PERIODS.”
“Coach, what are you talking about?”
He practically beams now, chest puffing up.
“It’s almost like,” he says, dragging the moment out with theatrical agony, “I’M A GIRL DAD.”
There’s silence that follows. Collective confusion from the group of teenaged boys.
📝🏅📚🏅📝
The house is warm in the way only home can be after a long day. Shoes are kicked off near the door. Dinner dishes abandoned in the sink with promises to deal with them “later.” The television hums quietly in the background, an NBA game on that you couldn’t care less about and that Rex isn’t even watching.
You’re curled into the corner of the couch, one hand absentmindedly resting over the curve of your stomach while the other scrolls lazily through your phone.
Rex is pacing like a man recounting a personal injustice before a jury.
“I just don’t understand,” he says for what is definitely the seventh time tonight, dragging a hand through his hair, “Teenagers are supposed to pick up on stuff.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, dangerously close to smiling, “Mhm.”
“No seriously,” he continues, pointing dramatically at absolutely nothing, “These are the same kids who figured out Mr. Jenkins was getting divorced because he stopped wearing plaid.”
You hum again in acknowledgment, your eyes flitting up to watch your pacing boyfriend.
“They noticed Coach Ramirez switched shampoo.”
“That was a weird week.” You say admittedly, shutting your phone off and laying it on your chest.
“Exactly!” Rex says, vindicated in your agreement, “But suddenly nobody can crack the mystery of pink hoodie plus pink dress on teachers expecting baby?”
Your shoulders start shaking as you try to hold back a laugh at how intense he is about this. Rex narrows his eyes, suddenly suspicious of you, “…Why are you making that face?”
“What face?”
“That face.” He gestures vaguely, “The one where you look like you know something and are trying not to laugh at me.”
You fail spectacularly at suppressing a grin, “I’m not laughing at you.”
His eyes narrow further, “You are absolutely laughing at me.”
He plants himself in front of the couch now, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at you seriously, “What?”
You look away. Nothing destroys composure faster than eye contact with a man already suspicious.
“Baby.”
Silence.
“Baaaaabe.”That sing-song tone means he’s one step away from becoming unbearable.
You sigh dramatically, “Okay.”
His brows lift, “…Okay what?”
You set your phone down, no longer fighting your smile as you shrug one shoulder, “Everyone on staff knew.”
Rex blinks, his expression somewhere between confused and betrayed, “What.”
“They figured it out immediately.”
“What?!”
“Like…” you wince slightly, “first period immediately.”
He stares at you, silent for a few beats before blurting, “WHAT?”
You finally start laughing, “They all understood the matching colors!”
His jaw drops, “Then why didn’t anyone say anything?!”
You press your lips together, trying and failing to look innocent, “Well… I told them not to.”
Silence comes from him now. Deep, terrible, offended silence. Rex looks like a man who has just discovered betrayal in its purest form, “You what?”
“I said,” you repeat, voice wobbling with laughter, “don’t tell Rex yet.”
His mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, “Why would you do that to me?”
You shrug, entirely unrepentant, “I think it’s cute when you crash out.”
The look he gives you. It’s something of pure devastation, “… Cute?”
“Mhm.”
“I have spent twelve hours emotionally suffering.”
“You dramatically interrogated teenagers, actually.” You counter, still in a fit of giggles.
“They failed me!”
“They’re sixteen, babe.”
“You weaponized my coworkers against me!”
Now you’re laughing hard enough your stomach hurts. Which, unfortunately, makes the baby kick. Your laughter trails off, your hand dropping instinctively to your stomach where you felt the movement.
Rex notices immediately, concern etched on his expression as he drops to his knees in front of you, “What?”
You grab his wrist and pull his hand over, up until now he hadn’t been able to feel the kicks and flutters you felt inside your stomach, the baby still too small to make the movement strong enough to be felt on the outside of your belly. It didn’t stop you from trying every time though, laying his hand against where you had felt the little one, “There.”
His expression softens instantly, hand still as he focuses intently. The kick comes again. Only this time his entire face changes. Like someone reached inside him and turned on the brightest light.
“…Hey, peanut,” he murmurs automatically, his warm hand running back and forth a bit in the area, “You teaming up with your mom already?”
You snort, “She absolutely is.”
He squints at your stomach:
“Listen,” he says seriously, “Daddy supports women’s rights, but not women’s wrongs.”
You burst into laughter again and another kick lands directly against his palm and he gasps, “She likes me better.”
You glance up at him. Still pink-cheeked from laughing, a little offended by his statement, “she does not.”
He chuckles softly before leaning down to kiss your forehead, “… Do you think it’s too late to convince people her middle name should be Cera?”
You stare at him, unamused because of course he brought it back around to that, “Rex.”
“She doesn’t even know what a triceratops is yet!”
