i’m not sure if you talk requests but i may i ask for mark with a sensitive/crybaby lover? If you don’t take requests please do ignore this! I love your writing tho!!
hello anon! I'm not confident in doing requests, so no… requests are not open… but here is something for you 🤍 thank you so much for reading
mark grayson with a sensitive lover
cw. praise, crying, overstimulation, cuddling.
mark learns very quickly that you cry when it feels good.
not in a hurt way. never in a hurt way.
it’s always that pretty, overwhelmed kind of crying, where your lashes clump together and your lips part around soft little sounds you try so hard to keep quiet. you get embarrassed every time, turning your face into the pillow or covering your mouth like you can hide from him, like mark doesn’t know every sound you make by heart.
“baby,” he murmurs, voice low against your ear. “don’t hide from me.”
you whimper, fingers gripping at his shoulders. “i can’t help it.”
“i know.” his mouth brushes your cheek, catching the tear there with a kiss. “that’s why i like it.”
that makes you squeeze your eyes shut, your whole body going warm beneath him.
mark groans softly, dropping his forehead to yours. “there you go,” he whispers. “you’re so sensitive, huh?”
you nod before you can stop yourself, breath hitching when his hand slides down your side, slow and possessive, holding your hip like he’s grounding you. keeping you there with him. keeping you from floating too far into all that feeling.
“talk to me,” he says, kissing under your jaw. “too much?”
you shake your head quickly.
his thumb strokes your hip. “baby” he firmly says, dick pushing impossibly deeper when his hips ground into you.
“no,” you breathe. “not too much.”
“good girl.”
the praise hits you worse than anything else.
your eyes fill again, and mark sees it immediately. of course he does. he always does. his expression softens, even though his breathing is rough, even though his hair is messy and his cheeks are flushed and he looks like he’s barely holding himself together.
“oh, sweetheart,” he says, almost teasing. almost fond. “that’s all it takes?”
you cover your face with both hands, mortified. “mark…”
he laughs quietly, but there’s no cruelty in it. only warmth. only affection. he catches your wrists and pulls your hands away, pinning them gently beside your head.
“no, don’t do that.” his mouth finds yours, slow and deep. “let me see you.”
you melt beneath him, helpless to the way he kisses you like he has all the time in the world, like there isn’t a whole city outside that might need saving, like there isn’t anything more important than making sure you feel loved while he has you like this.
every slow roll of his hips makes your breath break.
every murmured “that’s it” makes your thighs tremble.
and mark, unfairly attentive mark, notices exactly what makes you gasp. exactly when your nails dig into his back. exactly when your body starts getting too tense, too overwhelmed, too close.
“you’re doing so well,” he whispers.
your lip trembles.
“mark, please.”
“i’ve got you.” he kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth. “i’ve got you, baby. you can cry. i don’t mind.”
that breaks you a little.
the tears slip down your cheeks before you can stop them, and mark groans like the sight ruins him. his grip tightens just slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you that he’s there. solid. warm. yours.
“so pretty like this,” he murmurs. “all sweet for me.”
you make a sound that barely resembles his name, clinging to him as the pleasure builds too fast, too hot, too much. your body shakes, and mark slows just enough to keep you with him, his voice soft and steady in your ear.
“breathe for me.”
you try.
“that’s it. good girl.” his lips brush your temple. “you’re okay. i’m right here.”
you come with a sob caught in your throat, your face pressed into his neck, and mark holds you through all of it. he doesn’t stop talking. doesn’t stop kissing you. doesn’t stop telling you how good you are, how pretty you sound, how much he loves feeling you fall apart for him.
after, when you’re limp and warm and trying to hide again, he doesn’t let you get far.
he gathers you into his chest, one hand smoothing over your back while the other cradles the side of your face.
“hey,” he says softly. “look at me.”
you peek up at him, embarrassed and teary.
mark smiles like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.
“you're so pretty, baby.”
you pout. “i cried again.”
“yeah,” he says, brushing his thumb beneath your eye. “you did.”
“that’s embarrassing.”
“no, it’s not.”
“you’re just saying that.”
“i’m really not.” he kisses you softly. “i like knowing you feel safe enough with me.”
your chest aches at that, tender and full.
mark tucks you under his chin, arms wrapping around you carefully, like he could crush mountains but would rather spend the rest of his life being gentle with you.
“besides,” he adds, voice dipping into something teasing, “you’re cute when you cry.”
you smack his chest weakly.
he laughs and catches your hand, kissing your knuckles.
“mean,” you mumble.
“crazy about you,” he corrects.
and because you’re sensitive, because you’re soft, because mark always knows exactly how to make your heart spill over—you cry a little again.
