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Lazy-ahh, first, your brain his huge and wrinkly for all the writing you’ve shared with us! You’re easily one of my fav Invincible writers! 🛐🛐🛐 Second, bless you for giving us more male reader in this desolate fandom 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Third, I had a request I’ve been thinking about and having a tough time deciding which Mark I wanted. I HC that Viltrumites can purr! Can we get something about male reader witnessing main Mark purr for the first time because of him? And reader’s completely weak for how cute it is. 🥺

THE SOUNDS HE MAKES (ARE ONLY FOR YOU)

pairing mark grayson x male reader

mark grayson purrs. it’s a secret only you know—something between a biological quirk and a love language, vibrating against your skin every time you touch him just right. and god, do you love finding new ways to draw it out of him.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

you never expected to fall for someone like mark grayson. loud, optimistic, annoyingly persistent—everything you usually couldn’t stand. the first time you met him, he was all wide-eyed enthusiasm, rambling about superheroes like it was the most important thing in the world. you’d scoffed, called him an idiot under your breath, but he just grinned like you’d handed him a damn trophy. it pissed you off. or at least, that’s what you thought you felt.

but then he kept showing up—in the hallways at school, at the shitty diner you worked at, even outside your apartment like some lost puppy. and no matter how much you snapped at him, he never left. just stood there, smiling like you weren’t being a complete asshole, until one day, you realized you were looking for him too.

now, a year deep into dating the idiot, and somehow, you hadn’t strangled him yet. (though not for lack of trying.)

it was a lazy afternoon, the two of you sprawled across his bed, your head resting on his chest as he rambled about some comic book shit. you weren’t really listening, more focused on the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. you traced idle patterns along his ribs, just to feel him shiver, and smirked when his voice hitched mid-sentence.

"you’re not even paying attention, are you?" mark huffed, but there was no real annoyance in it.

"nope," you admitted, dragging your nails lightly down his side just to watch him squirm.

he laughed, breathless, and caught your wrist—not to stop you, just to lace his fingers through yours. "you’re such a dick."

"you love it," you muttered, half expecting him to roll his eyes or shove you off like anyone else would. but mark just squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that made your chest tighten.

"yeah," he said, soft and stupidly sincere. "i do."

your pulse jumped. you weren’t used to this—being wanted, being loved, especially not by someone who looked at you like you hung the damn stars. it made you feel exposed, raw in a way that should’ve sent you running. but then mark smiled, all crooked and fond, and you couldn’t help but curl closer, pressing your face into his shoulder to hide the way your own lips betrayed you.

that’s when you felt it—a low, rumbling vibration against your ear, so deep you almost missed it.

you stiffened. "the hell was that?"

mark blinked down at you, confused. "what was what?"

"that—that noise. did you just—" you cut yourself off as it happened again, the sound unmistakable this time. a deep, content purr, resonating from his chest.

your eyes narrowed, fingers stilling against his ribs as you lifted your head just enough to glare at him. the sound was unmistakable now—a deep, rhythmic hum vibrating through his chest, warm and alive under your cheek. it shouldn’t have been possible, but then again, neither was half the shit mark could do.

"are you fucking purring?" you demanded, voice rough with disbelief.

mark’s face flushed instantly, his stupidly long lashes fluttering as he avoided your gaze. "i—uh. maybe?" his voice cracked, and the purr stuttered for a second before doubling in intensity, like his traitorous body was daring you to tease him.

your chest did something embarrassing—tightening, then melting all at once. it was disgustingly cute. like finding out a wolf could wag its tail. here was this idiot who could level buildings with his fists, who talked shit in the middle of fights like it was a damn comedy routine, and he was purring because of you. because you’d scratched his scalp like some kind of overgrown housecat.

you should've mocked him. should've rolled your eyes so hard they'd get stuck, called him a pathetic excuse for an alien warrior—but your traitorous fingers were already moving, sliding through those soft dark curls like they had a mind of their own. your nails scraped gently against his scalp, barely there but enough to make his breath catch, and god help you, you needed to hear that deep, rumbling purr again like you needed your next breath.

"maybe?" you deadpanned, propping yourself up on one elbow to give him your best unimpressed glare, even as your free hand stayed tangled in his hair like you were afraid he'd float away. the way his pupils dilated when you tugged just slightly made your stomach do stupid flips. "since when do you purr? you some kinda fucked up space cat?"

he groaned like you were personally torturing him, covering his face with those big hands that could crush steel but always touched you like you were made of glass. "since always, okay?" his voice came out muffled, embarrassed. "it's a viltrumite thing. i can't help it when i'm—" he cut himself off abruptly, but the tips of his ears burned crimson.

your heartbeat kicked up at what he wasn't saying. when he was what? happy? content? completely fucking gone for you? you stared at him for a long moment, memorizing the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard, the faint tremor in his fingers where they covered his flushed face. then, because you were weak and he was yours, you flopped back down onto his chest with enough force to knock the air out of a normal person, pressing your ear firmly against the warm skin over his heart. you needed that sound like a drowning man needed air.

mark yelped, his whole body tensing beneath you. "what're you—?"

"shut up," you muttered, listening intently for that telltale vibration. the purring had stopped, and that just wouldn't do. your fingers trailed down his side, tracing the defined muscles there with deliberate slowness, lips pursing in poorly concealed anticipation when he squirmed under your touch. "do it again." your voice came out rougher than you intended, almost pleading, and fuck if that didn't make your face heat up. but you'd burn the world down to hear that sound again, to know you were the one who drew it out of him.

"i'm not a damn cat," he grumbled, voice already going thick and syrupy as your fingers found their way back to his hair. the protest died in his throat the moment your nails scraped gently along his scalp, that deep vibration starting up again—quieter this time, like a distant thunderstorm rolling in, hesitant like he was afraid you'd pull away.

something in your chest cracked open like dawn breaking. it was stupid. ridiculous, even. but god, it was cute in a way that made your ribs ache—this invincible boy who could punch through mountains melting under your touch, reduced to nothing but warm skin and rumbling contentment. the sound wrapped around you like sunlight through curtains, golden and impossible to ignore.

"huh," you said, voice softer than you'd ever admit, the word barely more than an exhale against his collarbone. "didn't know you could do that." didn't know you trusted me enough to let me hear it, you didn't add.

mark peeked down at you through his lashes, still pink-faced like a sunrise. "you're not gonna make fun of me?" he asked, but the way he leaned into your touch betrayed how much he already knew the answer.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes with all the theatricality you could muster. "oh, i'm gonna make fun of you forever." but your traitorous fingers kept moving through his curls, slow and reverent, and the purr grew louder, vibrating through you like a live wire, like the hum of power lines after a storm, like something alive and electric settling deep in your bones.

you hated how much you loved it. hated how your stupid heart turned traitor, flipping like a dying fish in your chest, how your blood sang in your veins like it had finally remembered what happiness tasted like. so of course you buried your face in the warm expanse of his chest, hiding the way your lips curved into a smile too tender for either of you to acknowledge, pressing closer until you could feel that purr in your teeth, in your soul, in all the broken places you'd never admit existed.

"freak," you mumbled into his skin, but there was no bite to it—just honey-thick fondness dripping from every syllable, so obvious even you couldn't pretend otherwise. your fingers tightened in his hair just to hear that purr stutter, just to feel him shiver against you, and fuck if that didn't make your chest burn brighter than any sun.

mark's laugh vibrated through you before you even heard it, that stupid, sunshine-bright sound that always made your chest feel too tight. his arms wrapped around you like living seatbelts, pulling until every inch of you was pressed against him—your nose buried in the crook of his neck, your knees slotting between his like puzzle pieces finally clicking together. when you tilted your head up to glare halfheartedly, his expression did something devastating; his eyes crinkled at the corners, his stupidly soft lips curving into a smile so warm it could've powered a small city. he looked at you like you'd hung the damn moon, like you were christmas morning and the last slice of pizza and every good thing rolled into one.

"yeah, yeah," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead that made your traitorous heart stutter. his purr kicked up another notch, thrumming through your ribcage until you wondered if he could feel your heartbeat matching its rhythm. "love you too, asshole."

and if you stayed like that for hours—mark's fingers tracing idle patterns along your spine, your hands fisted in the back of his shirt like you were afraid he'd disappear, his purr a constant, comforting rumble beneath your ear—well. no one had to know how easily he turned you into putty in his hands.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

it became your best-kept obsession—cataloging every way to coax those rumbling purrs from mark's chest. the sharp intake of breath when your fingers found that spot just behind his ear, the way his lashes would tremble against his flushed cheeks when you scratched lightly down the nape of his neck. you'd discovered he was embarrassingly responsive to the smallest affections—your lips brushing his temple, your palm resting warm against the small of his back, even just breathing his name into the space between his shoulder blades in that private tone you never used with anyone else. each time, your ribs would ache with something too big to name, this glowing, golden feeling like you'd struck treasure no one else knew existed. and mark? he'd go pliant against you every single time, his purrs thrumming through your skin like a second heartbeat, his entire body thrumming with quiet joy just because it was you.

tonight, you waited until he was half-asleep against you, his head heavy on your chest as some old movie played forgotten in the background. you started slow—fingertips tracing meaningless patterns along his shoulder, feeling the way his breathing deepened. then, with deliberate care, you carded your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you knew drove him crazy.

mark made this soft, punched-out noise against your collarbone, his body going lax against yours. "mmph...cheater," he mumbled, but he was already nuzzling closer, his arms tightening around your waist.

"shhh," you murmured, smiling against the crown of his head as that familiar rumble started up, quiet at first then growing stronger as you kept petting him. his purrs reverberated through your chest, syncing up with your heartbeat in a way that made something tender and aching swell in your throat.

"feels good?" you asked, already knowing the answer from the way he'd practically turned to putty in your arms.

mark tilted his head up just enough to press a sleepy kiss to your jaw, his lips warm and slightly chapped from where he’d been biting them earlier. “cause it’s you,” he slurred, voice thick with drowsy affection, like those three words held the entire universe inside them. and maybe they did—because with every purr, every content sigh, he was telling you without words what you already knew: he was yours, completely and utterly, in every way that mattered.

you couldn’t help it—your fingers tightened in his hair, tilting his face up to yours, and then your mouth was on his, slow and deep and burning. mark made a muffled sound against your lips, half-surprise, half-pleasure, before melting into the kiss like he’d been waiting for it all night. his purr kicked up instantly, vibrating against your chest as his hands slid under your shirt, palms warm and rough against your skin.

the kiss turned messy fast—mark biting at your lower lip just hard enough to make you groan, your tongue sliding against his in a rhythm that had him arching into you. his purrs grew louder, more frantic, every drag of his fingers down your spine pulling another broken sound from your throat. you could feel the way his body trembled under your touch, the way his breath hitched when you nipped at his collarbone, his hips jerking against yours in a silent plea for more.

"fuck," he gasped when you finally pulled back for air, his pupils blown wide, lips kiss-swollen and glistening. his purr was a constant, needy rumble now, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear. "you—you can’t just—"

you cut him off with another searing kiss, swallowing his whimper, your teeth scraping over his pulse point just to hear him fall apart all over again. his breath hitches, sharp and wet against your lips, his fingers twisting desperately in your shirt like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. you don’t let up—your tongue swipes over the bite mark, soothing the sting just to draw another broken sound from him, and fuck, you could live off this, the way his body arches into yours like he’s trying to fuse your skeletons together.

his skin is fever-hot under your palms as you slide them down his sides, mapping every shuddering breath, every twitch of muscle. when your thumbs brush the sensitive dip of his hips, he makes this noise—half gasp, half sob—his back bowing off the mattress as his purr stutters into a ragged, staticky vibration. you can feel it, the way his control splinters under your touch, his usual confident swagger reduced to trembling thighs and fluttering lashes. you still can't fucking believe you didn't notice such an important thing about mark earlier. he must have used all his strength to suppress the sounds he made to hide this from you for so long. no more hiding, you say.

"look at you," you murmur against his jaw, your voice gravel-rough with want. your fingers trail up his stomach, tracing the outline of each defined muscle like you’re memorizing him for the apocalypse. "all this just ‘cause i touch you?"

mark’s cheeks flush darker, his lips parted around uneven breaths. he tries to hide his face in the crook of your neck, but you catch his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. his pupils are blown wide, his irises barely visible rings of brown, and his expression is so ruined it makes your chest ache.

"s’not fair," he whines, his voice cracking as your hand skates lower, fingertips teasing the waistband of his sweats. his hips jerk up instinctively, chasing friction, but you hold him down with your free arm, pinning him with your weight. the way he goes pliant under you, his body surrendering before his pride does, sends a vicious thrill down your spine.

"tell me," you demand, nipping at his earlobe. "tell me who does this to you."

his breath comes in ragged, stuttering gasps—each one hotter than the last against your lips, trembling like the rest of him as he arches into your touch. his fingers scramble at your shoulders, blunt nails digging crescent moons into your skin, clinging like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. when your palm grinds down firm between his legs, he breaks for you, his purr shattering into a high, desperate whine that punches straight through your ribcage. "you," he chokes out, voice wrecked already, thighs shaking where they bracket yours. "only you, fuck—please—"

and god, you’ll never get tired of this—of how the great invincible mark grayson comes completely undone beneath you, reduced to a trembling, pleading mess with nothing but your hands and your name falling like a prayer from his kiss-swollen lips. you swallow his next broken sound with a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, licking into him slow and deep, savoring the way his breath hitches when you curl your fingers just so. his hips jerk up against your palm, chasing the friction, and the noise he makes—a punched-out, trembling moan—goes straight to your gut, white-hot and possessive.

you worship him like this: with your teeth dragging along his pulse point just to feel his purr stutter, with your free hand sliding up his chest to thumb over a peaked nipple, reveling in the way his back bows off the bed. "look at you," you murmur against his jaw, voice rough with awe. "so fucking perfect for me." his answering whimper is devastating—a broken, punched-out sound that vibrates against your throat where his face is buried.

his entire body flushes darker, that sun-kissed skin blooming a heated red from his collarbones all the way up to the tips of his ears, like you’ve lit him up from the inside. when you finally wrap your fingers around him, his hips jerk up into your grip, desperate and uncoordinated, his cock hot and heavy against your palm, the velvety skin stretched taut over thick veins. you stroke him slow and firm, twisting your wrist just the way you know he likes on the upstroke, and the wetness beading at his head smears slick over your fingers, making every drag smoother, messier. his breath comes in ragged gasps against your shoulder, his blunt nails digging half-moons into your biceps as he tries to ground himself, his thighs trembling where they bracket yours. the precome leaks steadily now, sticky and warm, and you can feel the way his stomach muscles clench under your free hand when you swipe your thumb over the swollen head, spreading the wetness in slow circles just to hear him sob your name.

"f-fuck—" mark’s fingers knot in your hair, tugging sharp enough to make your scalp sting, his hips jerking up into your grip like he’s trying to fuck into the tight heat of your fist. his purr is shattered now—glitching in his throat, a staticky, uneven thrum that breaks every time his breath hitches. you can feel the vibrations where your mouth is latched onto his nipple, your tongue swirling rough over the stiff peak before you bite down just to hear him wail, his back bowing off the sheets.

his chest heaves under your palm, sweat-slick and burning hot, every muscle in his abdomen fluttering as he teeters on the edge. you don’t let up—sucking another bruise into the delicate skin under his collarbone, licking a stripe up his throat to swallow the desperate, punched-out noises he’s making. his pulse rabbits against your lips, wild and frantic, and when you scrape your teeth over it, he sobs, his cock twitching violently in your grip.

“gonna—fuck, please—” his voice cracks, raw and wrecked, his thighs trembling where they cage your hips. you can taste the salt on his skin where your tongue drags over his nipple again, can feel the way his stomach tenses under your palm like he’s trying to hold back. his lashes are wet, his lips swollen from biting them, and when you press your forehead to his, his breath fans hot and uneven over your mouth.

your fingers tighten just enough to make him whimper, the slick twist of your wrist deliberate, perfect, and mark breaks. his back arches off the sheets, a choked, ragged cry tearing from his throat as he spills hot over your knuckles, his purr stuttering into a gasp so shattered it hurts to hear. you don’t let go—not when his hips jerk helplessly, not when his thighs clamp around your hand like he’s trying to keep you there forever, not even when his entire body locks up before collapsing, spent and trembling, into the mattress.

you kiss him through it, soft and reverent, swallowing every broken noise he makes—the hitched whines, the shuddering exhales, the way his lips move against yours like he’s still trying to say your name. his skin is fever-hot under your palms, his chest heaving as you stroke his hipbone with your clean hand, soothing now, gentling him through the aftershocks that still wrack his frame.

and god, you’re aching, your own hard-on straining against your boxers, but you barely notice—too busy memorizing the way mark’s wet lashes stick to his flushed cheeks, the way his pulse stutters under your lips when you press them to his throat, the way his fingers clutch weakly at your shirt like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. you won’t. you can’t. not when he looks like this—wrecked and beautiful and yours, his usual boundless energy reduced to this boneless, panting mess beneath you.

"look at you," you murmur, thumb brushing the tear clinging to his lash line. your voice is rougher than you mean it to be, thick with something too close to worship. "took it so fucking well, baby."

mark makes this soft, punched-out noise—half protest, half plea—as his body goes lax beneath you, but his purr stutters back to life anyway, faint at first like a dying engine trying to turn over. then it grows, uneven but persistent, vibrating through your sternum where your chest presses flush against his. you can feel it in your teeth, in the hollow of your throat, this quiet, physical proof of his contentment radiating through you like sunlight through closed eyelids.

when he finally slumps back into the sheets, his muscles melting into liquid warmth beneath your hands, his purr shifts into something deeper—smoother, like honey poured over gravel. it thrums against your skin as he nuzzles clumsily into the curve of your neck, his lips brushing your pulse point in a drowsy, open-mouthed kiss. "love you," he slurs, the words thick and syrupy with exhaustion, his arms looping around your waist to drag you down atop him with surprising strength for someone who just came apart under your touch.

and fuck, if that doesn’t hit you like a freight train—the way he clings to you even now, his fingers splaying possessively over the small of your back, his purr kicking up another notch when you settle between his thighs. his heartbeat thrums against yours, rapid but steadying, and you realize with a jolt that this—the weight of him under you, the salt-sweet taste of his skin where your lips press absentmindedly to his shoulder, the way his breath evens out against your temple—feels more like victory than anything else ever has.

3.9k words full of mark purring and reader being obsessed. honestly, if i were in reader's shoes i would've done the same thing- and sorry y'all i was in a freaky goofy mood when i wrote that second half LOLOL! thank you so much to the anon who requested this! literally screamed when i read this in my askbox, cause this is one of my guilty pleasures(?)/headcanons for mark LOL. also hell yeah male reader solidarity—we out here surviving the wasteland one soft mark grayson one-shot at a time 💀

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