Main!Mark pulls out all the stops… to make sure the house is empty! Mom and Paul are out-out, and going back to his. Ollie is doing his first human friend sleep-over. And you? He's been promising you quality time for months. ("Sorry Cecil, better call your backup heroes, cause my phone is off!") The bed exists somewhere under a mountain of rose petals, and Mark definitely took the challenge of speed-lighting one hundred candles seriously. (Hard to do as a Viltrumite due to air displacement.)
He wants blindfolds, dipping sauces and strawberries. He wants slow kisses and a strip-tease to the god-awful sleazy jazzy playlist Music Streaming App suggested for V-Day. And when he lays you down on his bed, as gently as a lamb but grinning like a wolf, he wants our sweet, whole-hearted moans. He wants those ahs to be punctured with praise for him. "Oh god! Yes Mark! Right there!" Oh, those gentle first strokes are tender, expressing all of his love for you, for your unending patience. Then he's rougher, faster, harder, to a chorus of bed squeaks and your screams of his name. "God, don't stop Mark! Keep going! More, more!" He drags your thighs close around his waist, his super-powered grip on your hips as he works into you. Your pleasure is his heart's desire, his cock digging deeper into the soft piece of heaving, rubbing against your velvety wet walls. His cockhead kisses your womb and you squirm and mewl beneath him. "Come on, sweetie. Let's come together." He smiles at you, with such radiant love that you forgive him for taking away your ability to breathe or form a coherent sentence. You've gone gaga for his cock and that's okay.
Because you know, after he comes inside of you, he'll take good care of you. Three heavy, final thrusts of his dick, stretching you out to an impossible fullness, and he's buried deep. Hot seed fills you, tiny little grunting thrusts pushing it deeper, overwhelming your already sensitive cunt. You can feel the rush of your own orgasm, the hot flush of your cheeks as you know he's marked you so fully from the inside. Your pussy clenches, milking the last of him as he groans, back arching, a beautiful curved profile in the candlelight. As you come down, you whine softly, thighs pressing around him, core clenching as you try to force him out. "Sorry sweetie, did I overdo it?" He's sheepish but not regretful as he pulls out. He leans down, kissing your clit, humming in appreciation for how you taste of both of you. Your shiver of anticipation makes him grin, his face brightening. "Oh yeah? Want more? Cause I will never stop loving you baby… And I have you all night."
Lensless!Mark approaches Valentine's Day like a game, much like everything else in his life. He's hidden a bingo sheet under his pillow of all the nasty things he wants to do to your body. Who's going to moan the loudest? You. Who's going to have fifteen orgasms? You. Who's going to pass out out and wake up with cum-face? Well, a boy can dream, but let's be real here: you. He's gone the extra mile for this fuck-fest and loaded up with a collection of sugary treats and energy drinks. Cans of whipped cream, gummy snakes, heart candy and sour straps line his chest of drawers.
But the piece de resistance is the harness and pulley system he's rigged in his room, a step further in the rope games the two of you enjoy together. Colourful soft silk looks beautiful wound around your body, pressing into your delicate skin. The expertly woven knots create tight pressure and no pain. Even now, he's grinning as he ties you up on his bed, wolf whistling when he finishes. "Look. at. you, babes. My little snack, all trussed up and ready to go." He gathers you up in his arms, kissing you like he's trying to inhale your hair, deep and moaning into your mouth. He nips your lip as you part for him, then trails hot kisses down your neck as he carries you over to the harness. He straps you in with wandering hands, squeezing your breasts made prominent by the shibari, squeezing the fat of your thigh to watch you shudder and gasp. He loves knowing he can have you anywhere, unresisting. And you love knowing he's taken the time to slow down, to stay still, to focus wholly on your body.
He starts with the whipped cream. He shakes the can, and sprays the cold delicacy all over your nipples and breasts. His other hand settles between your thighs, stroking the intimate creases where hip meets pelvis, a teasing, trailing sensation against your sensitive skin. "You know what to say if this gets too much…" He murmurs, his eyes devouring you already. He leans down, pierced tongue darting over your erect nipples, lapping up creaming and making you buck into the rope. The other hand moves unerringly between your slick folds, stroking your slick over the lips of your pussy. He hums in delight around your breast, grinning as you groan in want. His index finger flicks your clit as he nips the point of your boob, catching it in his teeth before sucking. As you buck in the ropes weightlessly in the ropes, his index finger slips inside you, unfurling expertly, stroking down the walls of your cunt until he finds the spot that makes you sing.
Len knows how to unmake you. Your body has been his playground for a while now, and you're his favourite toy. He, proudly, loudly claims he was made for two things in life: fighting and fucking you. He's good at both. A second finger stretches you out, and he's rubbing his cheeks into your creamed up breasts, a sigh of contentment as he makes a mess out of both him and you. His fingers pump faster, listening to your heart as you moan and twitch in the gentle prison he's made for you. "Babes, you sound so good like this. Oh yeah, gonna make you cum. I can hear it in your heart. Sing my name! Do it." A third finger now, a stretching pressure that makes you lose your mind. "Be good for me and I'll give you even more." He purrs, licking your body as you squirt around his hand. "Oh fuck, soaking me already? Fuck, you're so slutty." He says it like it's the highest praise- and as you clench around him, head tilting back as you moan for him, it really is the nicest thing he's called you today.
"That's one babes. Let's go for more!" He sing-songs in that sweet, frustrating way of his. He pulls his fingers out, rubbing your cunt with the heel of his palm to watch you shudder in overstimulation. And then he's back with the whipped cream, spraying the whole of your front, drawing patterns in cream and laughing to himself. He presses heart candy into your nipples, and then grabs what looks like a giant shaker. "Look baby! I even got sprinkles for you." You stare up at him in a daze. Because he's about to sprinkle all over you. That boyish laugh is an infection and you're sick for him.
The multicoloured sprinkles turn your body into a wrapped up rainbow of sugary delight. He moves now, adjusting your body slightly on the harness. The suspension makes you feel weightless, a doll for him to touch and move as he so desires. "Ooh, so wet." He murmurs, pressing his hard cock against your entrance, teasing you with the tip as he covers himself in your slick. "So tight. You always take me so good." Like he hasn't done this a million times already- somehow still loving how fucking tight you get for him when he pushes into you in one solid stroke. He holds you steady as the force of him makes you swing away, and before you have time to adjust to him, before you can catch your breath, he's pulling back out and then in with a slap of skin against skin. His moans are just as filthy and sweet as yours. "Fuck yes! Fuck! Always wanted to fuck a cake!"
He pulls you around him, pressing deeper inside of you until you're sweating through the ropes at the impact of his cock against your walls. He leans down, licking stripes along your cream-covered navel. He rubs the bulge he makes in your pelvis, watching himself with a feral grin and an expression of awe as he holds his pace and fucks in tiny little strokes, hitting the spongy wall where cunt meets cervix. "Gonna cum!" He mutters, pulling out even as you squeeze his dick tight, hand shifting to rub himself out all over your stomach. His eyes are glued to the mess he makes, fingers mixing through the cum and cream all over you. "Awww, you make the sweetest little cum-cake. Cumcakes, that's your new name."
Shiesty!Mark doesn't give two shits about Valentine's Day, and is an asshole. But fortunately he's dating an asshole too, and you're about to remind him exactly why he should be worshipping you at your feet. It starts with him creeping home at ungodly hours of the morning, then him stretched out on your bed, arms folding behind his head in a rare moment of relaxation. You tug his stupid tracksuit pants down, hoisting down his boxers, and then you're gripping him, stroking his dick until he's firm and heavy in your hands, his thick girth leaking beads of precum to a gentle melody of him groaning and cursing you for teasing him in equal measures.
You bow your head over his member, coquette beneath a veil of thick lashes, kiss the tip and lick the salty cum, and then bite him. Hard.
"FUCK!" His body jolts, pushing himself to sitting as he stares in disbelief at you. You press your hand on his chest and push hard, although he doesn't move unless he wants to. "You forgot about Valentine's Day?" You ask, grinning up at him from where your hold his dick as a prisoner. "Didn't forget… just don't give a fuck about one day when I can have you whenever I want." Gruff but somehow soft, a plea that's wrapped up in his force of will, his desperate desire to conquer you without needing to be conquered in turn.
"Uh huh. Sure buddy. Sure." You bend your head again and his body is still. You can feel the tension in his abdomen from where he's trying not to squirm, not so how how much he's waiting for the next bit of pain or pleasure you'll give him. You open your mouth wider, your cunt clenching as you swallow the meat of him, tongue wrapping around his shaft. His pleased moan of triumph quickly turns to another cursed fuck as you graze your teeth up and down his length, letting him feel how exquisitely you can manipulate him through his dick, how quickly he'll say whatever needs to be said just to get you to play nice for a moment. Your pull off until your teeth catch his tip, the pressure just enough to hold him place. His face is wide, brown eyes full of wonder and adoration as you hold him there on the edge.
And then you bite down again, and he bucks, groaning once more. You can't hurt him, not really- Viltrumite dick is as tough as it is hard when they're ready to go. But the sensation isn't lost on him, the pain turning to pleasure as you suck and bite him in equal measure. "Fucking hell…" He mutters, and then submits to your touch at last, watching with a dazed expression of love as you punish him for forgetting again. He cums in your mouth, filling your throat with a thick, salty load. Before you've even pulled off, he's holding your arms, hoisting you bodily over him until he can rip a hole in your pants and seat you on his still-hard cock. "You wanna play dirty babe? Gonna hold you here and impale you over and over again until you cry. Got it? I'm gonna show you the best fucking day just to shut you up." And then he laughs as he makes good on his promise and threat, bouncing you up and down on his cock until you're gushing over him, pleading for him to cum.
Mohawk!Mark expects the gifts and the adulation- it's what he's used to, after all. He chased you hard until you finally said yes, and the afterglow of triumph still carries through every moment he fucks you, smug and smirking, until you're begging for him to release you. Loving Mohawk isn't easy, but he always goes extra hard when you call him 'my king', 'my emperor', or fuck forbid, 'master'. It's more than just a kink- it's the natural order of things in his mind. You, on your knees, servicing him, is the way the world should be.
So imagine his confusion when he bursts through the door of your shared apartment and you greet him with an off-hand wave, busy with your own self-care routine involving a lot of towels and nail polish. The shit-eating grin falls away, replaced by something meaner, a dark look of furrowed brows and sharp teeth. The air grows more and more heated. You flow from one activity to the next, never leaving yourself open, dancing with danger as the tension escalates. It's not long before he's catching your wrist, trying to pull you into him, and you're having to bat him away with a hand. "Not now, Mark. Give me five minutes." Five minutes, ten minutes, there's always another five to go. He's trailing you in a way that says it's entirely accidental, but his eyes never leave your face, never leave that slowly growing smile as the teasing ramps up.
It's when you're getting changed from sweats to a cute little dress that he snarls- a pure, animalistic sound that vibrates from head to toe. "I know what you're fucking doing." You turn that sweet smile on his face, batting your eyelashes in a picture of innocence. "What's that?" You prompt, and his dark look of fury turns into a grin, still just as potent, but now vicious in the way he wants to rip you apart. "Testing me. Taunting me. Acting like you're too good for me. Well, fuck you too."
"Oh, really?" Your voice is so sweet it's liquid syrup in the air. You turn to him, your body an open invitation, boobs packed tight into a dress two sizes too small and a hem too high to be reasonable. His eyes travel the length of you and you can practically feel the huff of air from his nose.
"Fuck. I'm going to fucking ruin you. Get here now." It's that deep, bossy timbre that sets you off, a mad little giggle that delights in his fury. He doesn't wait, he's too hungry for that, but he crosses the room in two long strides and pushes you up against the wall. "You fucking little tease, look at this. You've been playing me all day." He mutters into your ear, but his hand has reached beneath the flimsy cotton of your dressed and pulled your panties aside. He strokes the slick, sweet as anything, and then shoves his fingers in your mouth. Your eyes widen in surprise, breath hitching. "Taste that?! Know what that is? That's you, fucking praying I'll open your legs tonight and fuck you into tomorrow." He laughs, a low sound that tickles against your neck. Then he's biting your neck, sucking huge hickeys into delicate skin.
He's a fast worker when he wants to be, effective and practically cruel in his treatment of his employees. First it's up against the wall, spreading you with his knees whilst he frees his cock and fucks you, clothes still on. Then it's on the bed, your face planted into the covers, your dress around your waist as he holds your arms back and fucks you like a doll. He grunts when he cums, slapping your ass and chuckling roughly at the sound of your moans. The third time he comes, he's holding your hip with one hand and the back of your neck with the other, folding you against him so he can work deep inside of you. You're bruised, ego shattered, and mewling for more as he fills you with his cum, sticky seed spilling out and running down your thighs. "You love being used. Love it when I can fill you up over and over again. Tell me you fucking love me."
And you do. In a broken whisper, ego shattered beneath your emperor's touch, you tell him how much you love it when he fucks you into a stupor.
He does it again, just because he loves the sound of your moans.
Omni!Mark is so soft and sweet with you, and Valentine's Day is a Big Day in his internal calendar of events. He never got a chance to make it meaningful until he met you, and so he goes way, way overboard. It starts with a restaurant meal, but he's booked out the whole restaurant in some fantasied idea that that privacy is better this way. There's a cook, a waiter, and the two of you; he's picked out every meal, lost sleep over pairings and trying to figure out whether you'd be in the mood for salmon or steak.
But he's here now, the picture of formality in a handsome button down shirt and a blaze that cuts his muscular figure in sharp, beautiful lines. Omni, in a suit that isn't red and white, that doesn't flutter with a cape… Somehow more vulnerable and undressed than he's ever been before, the hesitant smile, the shy gaze as he holds out your seat for you. Of course, you're dressed to the nines as well, something that catches the eye and makes a dent in his mind. You can tell he's lost the moment you arrive because his breath catches and his words fail. Speechless? Omni does silence, but not like this, not in a way that suggests his brain is entirely broken by the very vision of your beauty.
Every breath is measured, the conversation unnaturally stilted as the entree arrives (a shared tapas of dips, cured meat and pickled veg). Omni is holding his breath, waiting for your first bite as a sign of approval. Your smile is warm, cheeks flushing beneath his observant gaze. His thoughts hatch a million dreams of how this night might end. You only imagine one.
With the second course- vodka cured salmon salad- the conversation exploded after an accidental dollop of sweet mustard turned Omni as bright red as his costume. The fumbling evaporated, laughter easing the nerves. His knees brush yours beneath the table- an impossibility unless he stretches…
The third course- beef Wellington- comes with sparkling red cocktails. The strawberry liquer and dark berries hides the white wine well, giving you courage. You lean forwards and capture him in a daring kiss, letting him taste the sweet poison you both so eagerly sip. He lingers, his breath warm against your jewel-stained lips, his eyes a smouldering burn of burnished amber and old wood. He smells clean, like crisp apple and sunlit frost, and your heart thuds as your senses are besieged, swimming in him.
Dinner is finished but dessert is yet to be served. Your foot brushes his beneath the table, ankles touching. His cheeks are a pleasant red, dark eyes fixed on you, widening as you trade a blush for a coy smile and a look that invites sin. The waiter is out back with the cook, helping in the kitchen. Would Omni dare? Not without a little push, perhaps. You nudge him with your foot, trailing the tip of your stiletto heel up his calf and settling against his thigh. His body goes still, breath held hostage by your beauty and touch.
"Something wrong?" He asks, his voice a low, rough whisper.
"Sore feet." You wiggle your toes in his lap, and his brows shoot up.
"Let me help…"
The Roman straps come loose, his careful fingers unwinding the soft leather, gently rubbing along your calf. "Let me know where…" He murmurs, his gaze fixed on his plate. His fingers follow the line of your arch, the thin stockings turning his touch to a shivering feather upon your skin. Your breath catches as he traces along, settling on the pads of your flexor tendons, rubbing gentle circles into the soft, sensitive flesh beneath.
The waiter comes out. He doesn't pause, but instead shoots you an oblique look, his smile wan and lazy as he answers the waiters questions. You surely can't, breath held so as to not make a sound. He touches each of your toes in turn, running along the joint, pausing at the tip before playfully exploring the next. Yes, dessert is coming.
You exhale a huffy breath, grinning at him over your cocktail. It's real love now, a joyous, child-like feeling blossoming in your heart. It's mirrored in his expression, a quirk of his lips, the most polite flash of white teeth you've ever seen. And then he's disappearing beneath the table, your leg pressed to his hip as he crawls on his hands and knees to close the distance.
You feel his breath between your thighs, and then his hands are pushing up your dress. He trails his fingers in wonder over your bared thighs, an appreciative slowness over the garter belt, the fabric neatly portioning your tender skin for his delectable kisses. "Mark," you whisper, threading a hand through his hair, fingers carding the messy spikes.
He doesn't ask permission, not this time. A stiletto heel loosely pointed at a man's dick does things to his brain.
He rubs your core through silken underwear, nosing at the wet patch slowly spreading across the dainty cream undergarments. His other hand settles on your hip, brushing across the crease, pressing in when your body stiffens at his touch, or when your whimper or gasp. It's a reminder that you're here, in semi-public, and you need to be quiet for him. You need to be good.
Omni noses aside your panties and breathes heat over your clit and pussy. His tongue is tentative, as if he's uncertain where to start in this banquet of delight and tantalised senses. A careful nuzzle of his face against your slick cunt, and his shyness falls away. He bathes in you, drinking your essence, lapping softly like he belongs right here, under the table and between your legs. There's no meal grand enough to pull him away from his elixir you offer him, the drink of gods so sweet and dangerous that he might very well give his heart and soul for more. His tongues presses in with boldness, striking at the heart of your feminine pleasure to draw a lewd moan from your throat.
The waiter coughs from somewhere behind your shoulder, and you grip his hair tight, holding him still against your dripping cunt. "Ma'am, your boyfriend..?" He begins, laying a heart-shaped, dark chocolate and Frangelico marscapone cake before you.
"Rest room." You managed behind a too bright smile and watering eyes.
"I see." He says, in the kind of quiet confidence of a man who knows full well where this particular rest room might be. "I'll leave this here, but let me know if he would like it reheated."
Omni doesn't wait. He strains against your hand, shucking your rules just as he gave up fear and shame. This moment is all about you, all about your love, his love for you in particular. He wants you to moan as loudly and wantonly as you wish, he wants to gorge on you, fill his senses with you, and he won't be satisfied until you coat his tongue with the proof of your love.
His fingers join his tongue. One at first, curling in as his mouth moves to your clit, sucking it between his lips. A second one parts you more, and then his tongue moves, pressing his nose to your clit before shifting downwards. He licks long and deep, up and down your entrance until you're quivering, thighs shaking, then slips inside.
"God, this cake… This cake is so good."
He hums in pleasure at your words, the sensation making your mind white out. Dark chocolate cake reaches your tongue as you stroke his hair faster, encouraging him to match your pace. His soft sighs and grunts make your tummy flutter. He is a man hard at work and enjoying every moment of it, and he's all yours.
His fingers press again, and you crack, the pleasure so intense that you joke back in your seat, hips arcing. He holds you down, careful, and drinks every drop of the dribbling arousal now escaping your convulsing cunt.
When he emerges a minute late, it is with the dazed look of a victor who enjoyed the best of spoils. You dab some Frangelico mascarpone on his face, just for good measure.
Viltrum!Mark is still learning about all of Earth's silly little traditions, but Valentine's Day is fascinating. A whole day to show you how much adores you? There's just not enough time! How can you possibly understand the depths he'd go to, just to see your face? The dimensions he'd cross just to find you again? The people he'd remove, permanently, just to give you a place beside him as he takes hold of the Empire. You're his, every day of the year- but on this most special of Day of Love, he needs you to know more than any other just how far he'd go.
The morning starts with a trip to your favourite destination. He remembers how lovingly you speak of the museums you visited there, the sightseeing, walking alongside heroes of the past and soaking in the culture. He holds you hand as you walk those very same paths, listens with keen attention as you tell him stories of an Earth he's only just begun to love in earnest.
In one of your favourite botanical gardens, he leads you to a tunnel woven of wisteria and cups your face, his gaze bright and full of desire for you. He's always been attentive- a remarkable fondness for detail and planning keeps him disciplined when his mind might otherwise wander. But in this moment, his whole, entire being is focused on you. You are the pinacle of his world, the summit he wishes to earn and conquer at the same time. He tilts your head up and presses his lips to yours, a soft enquiry that deepens at your moan. He draws you close, his hands pressing against your back, your chest against the firm plane of his muscular body, the plain white shirt a stark testament to the warrior beneath. The kiss becomes demanding the longer it lasts, his tongue dancing with yours, his teeth catching your lip whenever you try to pull away. Control and dominance fight- Markus understands the language of love in the same way he knows the plans of war. This battleground has been mapped and charted, and now he plans to take you across the field and show you exactly what loving him means.
He holds your body firm in the shade of a sprawling oak, roses planted all around, the air thick with sweetness and lust. He's got you in his lap, his between your thighs as the other cradles you against your chest. He plays your body like a dulcimer, strumming from your moans of passion as his fingers find your core and search for the pleasure that takes you beyond stars and into a universe of his devotion. There's no relenting, his kissing stealing your breath as he coaxes your orgasm in a gush of your sweet slick. He rubs your clit through the waves of your aftershock until you're whining in protest at the overstimulation. "Mine," he whispers as he watches you submit to his fingers, "to love and to hold." His smile is sweet even as he wrecks you with sin.
Next it's in the shadows of some hallowed monument, as dusk settles and tourists scatter. He feeds you pieces of strange, alien fruit dipped in chocolate as you settle onto his cock. Large and thick, you cling to his shoulders and open wide at his whispered command. A hand on your hip helps you move and keep your rhythm, and Markus stifles his groans against the heat of your neck, trailing kisses as you rock against him. His hips thrust, cocking fucking deeper into you as you get wetter and your aborted moans become filthier. The quiet groan of release fills your ears like music and makes you shudder in turn, milking him for all that he has to give. He holds you gently after that, that deep, soulful brown gaze fixed on yours, searching to see if you understand yet how much he loves you, how much he'll never let you go.
It's the hotel that really takes the cake- a reservation you hadn't known about until he flies you to the balcony and leads you into a room with a large bouquet of flowers and a selection of tiny chocolates. He tells you he's learnt more than he ever thought possible at your side, talks to you about your favourite flowers, recounting the stories of love woven into each of them. He's spent so long planning this, finding things you might like, that you can't help but melt against him, wrapped up safe and tight in his embrace. He presses you down into the bed, gentle but firm, and you don't notice the pillows beneath your hips until he's brought your ankles above his shoulders and is fucking you with that quiet, intense desperation that underlines his every action here in your world. He's fucking you to claim, filling you deeper than ever before, holding you tight and pressing his cock to your womb in the hopes of a union that'll outlast the silliest of traditions.
"Take me, take all of me, I need to see you filled with me." He whispers into the dark. Heat flushes your skin, your ravaged cunt slick with a need for this man that can't be quenched. A heat rises inside of you, making you whine and moan for more, making your walls pull him in further. The smile he has for you is tender and affectionate, and he cups your face before he comes, calling you beloved, calling you his queen. His pace quickens, your breath catching as you feel his dick throb inside of you, painting your insides with cum that never seems to end. "So full of me," he says, but he doesn't move away. Instead, his hand reaches down, gently stroking over your abdomen. "Soon, so full of me. Us, together." That dark smile, so full of pride and love for you, marks the moment you'd realise he'd give you the world if you gave him yours.
Sinister!Mark isn't officially your boyfriend- or even a friend, really. At best, he's a work acquaintance, and this solely because he comes to your place of work both in that ridiculous (adorable?) bumblebee suit and in dark leather pants and a matching sleeveless jacket. He smiles the same- a sharp and pointed grin, teeth pressed together like he's trying to remember if he's doing it right. When he's not wearing goggles or those edgelord red sunglasses, his eyes are a warm, soft brown, as sweet as chocolate and as endearing as a puppy's. He was, perhaps from the start, the most awkwardly pleasant guy you've ever met.
You'd never had such a bumbling break-in until Valentine's Day, when two supers crashed in through the front and immediately started arguing with each other.
"This is so fucking stupid man." The first yells, an aggressive drawl in his voice. He's wide across the shoulders and posturing like he's about to break another wall.
"Just do it! You think I like being on the hook for a fucking favour." The second's wearing a black ski mask with a skull print, but the top's been cut to give space for a messy mohawk.
The first turns to you and your work colleagues and says, face mask muffling the growl, "give us all your fucking money. I don't fucking know."
Ah yes. This will go swimmingly.
They don't move much before a third crashes through, adding debris to shattered remains of the wall.
Your heart quivers in your chest. "Bumblebee." You gasp, breath catching in your throat.
The second one, with the mohawk, barks a shout of derisive laughter, which is probably his last given how hard Bumblebee hits him in the face. The mohawk guy is bodily sent flying through a wall, groaning but somehow not dead. The first turns, hands raised to the heavens in what you assume must be a prayer for mercy. "Oh, fuck off!" He curses.
Bumblebee doesn't hesitate: he grabs him and catapults him through the roof with one mighty swing.
The next breath he's hovering beside you, in all of his majestic heroism. You know you're meant to fear him- the media outlets go back and forth on whether his change of heart is genuine, or a front for a cunning attempt at a second war. But you're not afraid- not of him, not of that creaky smile that opens his door like an old oak door with unoiled hinges.
His smile is hesitant as he meets your gaze, cheek smeared with blood. "You're not hurt are you?" His voice is sort and hoarse, like gentleness dripping from an open wound.
"No."
It's not quite the answer he was expecting, or wanted, but his arm wraps around your waist in a most genteel fashion, and his arms hold you tight, sweeping you off your feet.
"Not gonna let them hurt you."
His whisper is the last thing you hear before air pressure or wind force or the strange, unfathomable dynamics of flight turn your consciousness dark. He holds you close as he flies, his most precious pet.
When you wake, it's amongst soft black bedding, the duvet warm and the pillows fresh beneath your face. As you stir Bumblebee solidifies into your vision. He's handsome, if you forget how his smile might break at the seams, how his fingers hesitate as he reaches to thread them through your hair.
"I made you cake."
You blink at him. "Sure." Your brain catches up. "Where are we?" Like somehow knowing will normalise this entirely.
"My place." He answers, and that predatory smile softens slightly. "I thought it'd be nicer. Safer." There's something dark and intimately cosy about the space- his bedroom, surely- but your eyes stray to the windows with security bars. Pretty, with an ornate, gothic swirling patterns.
He's got the cake now- it's surprisingly big, shaped like a heart, the scent of dark chocolate wafting tantalisingly through the room. "Did you bring me here to eat cake?" You ask him, softly, not quite believing the words that spilled out of your mouth in a haze.
He looks away, as if trying to decide what the best move might be. "Yes. Is that… wrong?"
"No." Your voice, but your brain has slowed down. You lift your gaze to meet his, the lingering darkness tinged with a hint of warmth. Deadly, yes. Your heart is pounding with the knowledge that this man has killed for far less reasons than not eating cake.
But you kind of really want to try it. It smells good.
"Can I have some?"
He looks at you, trying to see the trick or the lie in your words. Your heart continues a tango in your chest and you wonder if he can hear it. Does he know how much your heart races when you imagine his hands on you? Does he know how wide you smile when you get to watch him leave? Maybe. Or maybe this is purely innocent cake.
He doesn't have a knife. He doesn't have a fork, or a spoon, but he picks a piece with his hands and offers it to you. Slowly you open your mouth, and he slips it in, his smile widening as you receive him, cake and fingers and all, and suck thoughtfully.
"Good?"
"Amazing." You moan, and he pulls his fingers away with a grin.
"Can you guess what I used?" He picks a second piece up for you, waiting until you open your mouth to feed it to you. Your brows pucker as you think and chew, your hand reaching for his to keep his fingers in your mouth again. There's a metallic hint that sets your pulse racing and you find you want to devour him more and more. You suck a little more urgently, and his breath catches.
"No, I don't know. What is it?"
"Blood. It's a coagulant. Strengthens the flavours, too." His smile is so wide, the gleam of sharp teeth captivating you. You can't think, although you probably should. He's not intimidating, he is utterly overwhelming, and he looks at you like you're the centre of his world.
How much does he know about you? How much has he seen of what you truly are, so pitiful and desperate to feel alive again that you'd take the fear of never knowing which breath might be your last over the safer devotions of pretty much anyone else.
That you'd welcome his kiss, his touch, if he could make you feel like you belonged, with him, to him.
Those brown eyes are inscrutable, but you would throw yourself into the depths of his soul just to see where you might fit. Your gaze meets his, the intensity kindling into a live fire that consumes you both.
In a swift surge of movement, the plate is on the floor and his hands wrap around the back of your neck, holding you still. His eyes pierce yours, the intense gaze wonder and terror in equal parts. Before you can blink, he steals the breath from you in a heated kiss, hands gripping you tight, holding you still as dismantles you in an urgent press of tongue and teeth. There's an urgency to him, understated and vicious in the way he wants to claim you.
You're never going to leave. You know this… Right now, even if you wanted to run, his hands have moved to grip your shoulders. He's pushing you down, gently yes, but there's no choice in this, no backing out. He has you right where he wants you; you showed him an ounce of interest, and now he's returning the favour. The hot and desperate kisses against your neck are a mark of his wanting, sure, but the way his knee rubs against your core, the way he grinds his hips, telling you just how much he's wanted to fuck you without uttering a single word.
The soft little whimpers he draws from you as he humps you over your clothes make him chuckle against your throat. "That's it, let go for me. Show me exactly who you are underneath that mask of politeness." He's coaxing your surrender now, pulling down your panties with eager hands and hungry eyes, watching as your arousal trails from his fingers with a single stroke.
When he thrusts into you, piercing you with a single stroke, it opens you up to a new world of pleasure and pain. "Bumblebee…" You moan, lifting your hips to try and meet him. Fuck, he's big, and he doesn't seem to realise just how much, if the brutal pace is anything to judge by.
"Sinister." He corrects you with a wicked grin, hands pressed to the sides of your face as he lowers himself, grunting with animal need as he fills every inch of your pussy.
"I don't think you are." You murmur back, nipping at his stubbled jawline, before pressing a needy kiss to his lips. You drag him down on top of you, taking his weight, the full brunt of his cock as he shifts the angle. You moan and arch as best as you can as he hits the spot that makes your vision swim and your gasps turn soft and high. Your moans come quicker now- he fucks with the intent to make you cry and scream, and he wants your cum all over his cock.
"That's it. Say my name, tell me how much you want this. I'd give you everything if you let me keep you. Just stay here and you'll never have to worry about anything…" It's the sweetest of promises, one lover to another, only you'd never realised before that's what he was meant to be.
Main!Mark seems obvious, but he’s got a praise kink big time. He wants you telling him just how good he is. How hard he works, how strong he is, how he’s such a good son and brother and boyfriend. He wants every ounce of affection you could possibly offer. And if you’re between his legs on your knees while you do it? 😏 Well that’s just a dream.
Viltrumite!Mark wants you round 👏 with 👏 his 👏 child. Nonstop lmao. Back-to-back gestation periods. And it’s not just the pregnancy; it’s the breast milk too. He absolutely is trying to get in on that fountain of youth any chance he gets. Between trying to get you pregnant, seeing you grow with his offspring, then the brilliancy of watching you be a mother? Yeah, that man’s on rock around the clock.
Lensless!Mark really likes it when another man tries to hit on you. The thrill of seeing some other pathetic bastard trying to get a taste of his delicious treat? Sublime. He’s encouraging you to wear your hottest outfits every time you go out, then strategically leaving you alone while he “goes to the bathroom” just so he can watch from a distance at the poor souls shooting their shots. He’s gonna fold you like laundry that night, grinning and breathing about how he has what another man wanted.
Sinister!Mark likes BDSM. I don’t think anyone should be surprised by this lmao. But don’t be confused, this is only a one-way street. He wants you bound and gagged in every way imaginable so he can take you eight ways to Sunday. His favorite is when you’re suspended and he can circle you like prey, sizing up your body and vulnerabilities from every angle. Hope you like choking!! ‘Cause his dick and your mouth are about to become real familiar.
Omni!Mark thoroughly enjoys power dynamics. Again though, just like with Sinister this is a one-way street. He wants you begging and pleading, thighs rubbing together in desperation before he’ll even consider touching you. He wants you frantic, scrambling to present yourself to him in whatever way you think he wants. I’m gonna be honest, I think if any of them are into it, it’d be Omni who’d want you calling him daddy. Not my cup of tea, but hey, just keeping it real with y’all.
Shiesty!Mark wants threeways. Or orgies, but those are usually harder to convince people to participate in. So he’ll settle for a threeway. But understand that he is constantly on the receiving end of everything. He wants you and the third party fighting over who gets to ride his cock. He wants the other person squirming while they watch him rail you through the mattress. He likes an audience. And he really likes knowing he’s got two bad bitches throwing it back for him.
Prisoner!Mark is really into public sex. Not necessarily for the purpose of being seen (though he’s certainly not opposed to it) but more so for the freedom of being in an open area. Outside, in the woods, underneath the sprawling sky? Yeah, he’s trying to have it that way every time. He’ll respect it if you want privacy, but he’s still trying to convince you that privacy can be found outdoors too. Ever had sky sex? On a desert island? In an oasis? He’ll try all the spots with you. Just please, don’t make him be confined to a bedroom.
Mohawk!Mark really likes lingerie—namely, he likes fishnets and leather and chokers. For him, there’s something about the idea of tearing through your clothes to get to that glorious center that drives him insane. He wants you bent over with a leash attached to your choker that he’s tugging on, keeping your back perfectly arched and your breathing just barely possible. He wants you delirious (lord knows he is).
Retro!Mark honestly? Wants a bush lmfao. This isn’t to say he wants all the body hair—but the pubes? Yeah. Give it to him. Soft and bushy and natural like everyone used to be. To him it’s like a barrier between his eyes and what he really wants, and he firmly believes that’s how it should be. It’s too glorious to look at directly. He just wants to feel. On his fingers. On his tongue. On his dick. All of it.
Emperor!Mark might be a little too high on his throne, because this man wants to be watched. Yeah, he’s an exhibitionist for sure. He wants the court in session while he takes you right there in front of god and everyone. The weird thing is though he doesn’t even really acknowledge any of the viewers – to him it just makes good sense. He’s beautiful. You’re perfect. Him claiming you is something that should be witnessed.
Full-Mask!Mark likes to roleplay. He doesn’t just wear a full-mask because it’s stylish. He wears it because being Mark is just too hard to handle on most days. He wants to distance himself from the pain that rings in his chest. That means for sex, nothing is more enticing than you both pretending to be someone else. He doesn’t necessarily have any favorites, in fact switching it up is half the fun. Whatever you’re feeling he’s down for.
Melee!Mark is a foot man for sure. This is a man who knows the value of having all of your senses available to you, and that doesn’t end at fights. He wants your toes in his mouth, he wants his dick between the arches of your feet, he wants you wearing toe rings or anklets. Ultimately, he wants that sensitive and ticklish part of you that carries you through life. Let him claim them, won’t you? (Shoutout to @iloveladybuglucy for letting me explore their incredible variant!! Check the link on Melee!Mark’s name to learn more about him 😌)
