warning: contains pornographic links to Invincible. not recommended for minors. links taken from X (formerly Twitter). reader with vagina
Mark Grayson
• He likes it when you're in charge.
• He pants heavily when you proboca him.
• Mark is impressed when you do that to his penis.
Mark Sinister
• He loves you silently and using accessories.
• Love will strengthen you.
• He would definitely do it.
Omni-Mark
• He likes to fuck you while you watch him.
• Suck her pussy like a champion.
• Sometimes, he lets you take charge.
Viltrumite Mark
• Want to fill your pussy with cum
• He does NOT like to use condoms.
• He wants to drive you crazy with his dick
Mohawk Mark
• He's definitely going to use his own fingers to widen her vagina and anus.
• You just have to accept it silently.
• Did I mention that he loves playing with his anus?
Masked Mark
• He likes to feel you with his fingers
• You can use it, he likes it.
• He loves to worship you.
Atomic Eve
• ✂️
• Maybe she likes sucking pussy too much.
• Play with her pussy too s2
Author's note: Hi everyone! How are you all doing? I hope you're well. Well folks, I'm in heat, my libido is through the roof, and I decided to bring you this slightly different chapter. I hope you enjoyed it.Do you want other characters? Let me know here and I'll take care of it 💓 See you next time!
“C’mon, baby..c’monn-one more. One more, pretty girl! Please? Pleease?”
Mark begged you, kissing at and licking your juices from your inner thigh as his two fingers pushed in and out of you. He’s been down there for too long already. One moment you two were giggling and laughing over the stupid movie he put on, the next he was on his knees, kissing through your underwear and begging to just have a small taste.
“M-Mark, calm down” you whine at him, your hand tugging at his dark hair weakly. You barely had the strength to use your voice, let alone manage to pull your half alien boyfriend away from what he so desperately wants.
“I know you can keep going. You’re strong, aren’t you baby? Just one more-Only one!” He added on as if you weren’t whining after the third orgasm. His lips latch onto your clit, gently sucking as his fingers pound in and out of you. The noises that fill the room are borderline gross; wet squelching from your poor, overstimulated hole, his muffled moans that send the sweetest vibrations through you, your weak whines and huffs. All straight from a porno.
“I know, baby, I know-“ he murmured the soft reassurance as he pulled his fingers out, quickly replacing them with his tongue. You huff and writhe under him, soft thighs squeezing around his skull as your breathing picks up.
Then there you are again, being pushed over the edge for the umpteenth time in the hour. You gasp, whiny moans filling the room as you finish. He never stops, getting faster if anything, slurping loudly and moaning into you, his deep eyes stuck on your face just to see those perfect lips spilt open in a silent scream as he eats your cum right out of you
“god baby..” he breathed out as he sat back on his heels. His face is covered in your juices, all messy with a big grin on his lips, tongue moving out to lick the corner of his mouth.
mohawk!mark who eats your pussy with your arms and legs tied until you’re squirting and leaking all over his face as he continues to fuck you with his tongue until you pass out
mohawk!mark who holds your nose closed as he fucks your throat until your face gets red and you can’t breathe
mohawk!mark who wakes you up sometimes rubbing his cock over the cascade of wetness coating your core
mohawk!mark who loves when you lay your head on the edge of the mattress while he slips down your throat, eyes watching the bugle getting further everytime he thrusts
mohawk!mark who can’t help but not open you fully before sliding his cock in your ass for the first time imagining how tight you’ll feel squeezing him
mohawk!mark who keeps you spread out, a large dildo and vibrator strapped to your body as he sits in front of you watching while you fail at fighting the overstimulation he’s putting you through
mohawk!mark who has a rule to say your safe word twice before he stops
mohawk!mark who whispers things like “oh you like that, don’t you?” with a teasing laugh as he pounds into your tight pussy from behind, “keep taking it baby don’t worry i’m not stopping” as he grunts in your ear while he’s slamming his swollen leaking cock into you or “fuck you’re ruining me, i know you feel it” while he fucks up into you while you’re riding him
mohawk!mark who starts arguments and pisses you off just so he can fuck the attitude out of you
mohawk!mark who’s fingers abuse your clit and walls until you’re whining with your eyes forced on what he’s doing to you, “watch me while i ruin you”
+ what happens when they want you ‘n you aren’t there ? :3
warnings: 18+, male masturbation, bed + pillow humping, pantie sniffing, jerking off w panties idk, unhygienic (?) homemade porn videos, filming n recordings (past), drooling, lube, spitting in mouth, um established relationships. i made the layout b4 i even finished writing this so lmk if i missed something
MARK GRAYSON:
He’ll try to be patient. Checks your shared location like it’s going to move just because he wants it to—thumb tapping the screen, jaw clenched, cock straining hard against his waistband. You’re still out. Still far. Still not here, and it’s driving him insane. He tells himself to wait. Tells himself to be good for you. But the ache just gets worse. Heavier. His body knows what it wants. Who it wants. And eventually, he cracks.
Your door creaks open like it’s part of the ritual. He slips in, heart hammering, sweat already sticking to his skin. The room swallows him whole—smells like your shampoo, your lotion, your sleep. It’s intoxicating. Every part of it is you. The bed’s made, all soft and sweet and innocent. Plushies propped up like a lineup of voyeurs. His hands tremble as he kneels onto the mattress like it’s holy. And maybe it is—this is where you dream. Where you cry. Where you’ve opened your legs for him, let him fill you up over and over, made those breathy little sounds that echo in his skull when he touches himself at night.
He palms his cock through his pants, then gives up—yanks them down, lets it slap against his stomach, flushed dark and leaking. The tip’s sticky, already drooling onto the hem of your sheets. And he loses it.
Presses his hips down into your pillow, drags his cock through the plush fabric, smearing precum into the scent of you. It’s desperate. Messy. Every rut makes him groan deeper, louder—your name spilling past his lips like it’s the only word he knows. He moans it into your sheets, into your scent, into the soft plush you sleep with curled in your arms. He wants to come inside you. That’s all he wants. Not his hand. Not this pillow. You.
But you’re not here, and he’s losing it, fucking the ghost of you in his head like it’s real. Hips grinding, cock flushed and weeping, leaking slick across your pillowcase while he whines your name with his eyes squeezed shut. He bites down on the fabric. Moans into it—shameless, unhinged—grinding like a dog in heat until he spills hard and heavy, hips stuttering, panting like he’s run a mile.
Cum soaks into the pillow. It’s hot. Sticky. So much he curses under his breath, shuddering with the aftershocks, head spinning, body trembling like he just broke. But even when it’s done, when he’s twitching and raw and fucked-out, he doesn’t move. He stays there. Nose buried in your scent. Cock softening against the mess. Still whispering your name under his breath like he’s trying to summon you home.
MOHAWK ! MARK:
Doesn’t fret. Doesn’t say anything when he gets home. Just kicks off his shoes, shirt already halfway off, belt hanging loose as he moves straight to the living room like something’s pulling him. It’s instinct now. The leather couch still smells like the two of you. Still carries the imprint of you from the last time you let him fold you over the armrest and make a mess out of you.
He flops down with a soft grunt, lazy but already half-hard, already twitching against the zipper. It’s not even about the build-up anymore. He knows what he wants. Knows exactly where to find it. He grabs the remote, turns on the big screen, pulls up that video. That one. The one where you’re already moaning before the picture even clears up. The one where you’re a vision of sweat and spit and need, babbling his name stupidly like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.
Volume? Maxed. He wants the neighbors to hear. Wants your voice echoing down the hall like you’re still here, still taking his dick like you missed him, like your whole body was starving for him. And god, you looked like it too. All swollen spit covered lips and smeared mascara, thighs shaking as you bounced on his cock like you needed it to breathe. And that laugh—breathy, messy, dizzy from the high of it—it plays and he twitches in his sweats.
He palms himself through the fabric, slow at first, watching the screen with that lazy hunger, that boyish grin he only gets when you’re involved. His other hand slides into his waistband, drags his boxers down just far enough to wrap around himself, already leaking, already slick with pre rolling down his pretty tip. He groans, head falling back against the couch.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he mutters, voice half-lidded and low, watching you gasp onscreen, body shuddering as you take him deeper, messier, wetter.
You were so sloppy in that video. Couldn’t stop drooling. Couldn’t stop moaning. Your hands were grabbing at everything—his thighs, the sheets, your own chest—and your legs wouldn’t stop twitching. He loved it. Loves it. Rewinds that part sometimes. Watches the moment you cream around him over and over like it’s the highlight reel of his life. His fist moves faster now, messy, lube-slick from the bottle he always leaves on the side table just for this. Doesn’t care that it’s dripping down his hand, doesn’t care that his hips are jerking off the couch cushion, just chasing the sound of your moan in his ears.
You start begging in the video. Not even coherent—just whines, gasps, “please” on repeat like a song stuck in your throat. And he groans again, thumb teasing his slit, hips stuttering. He watches himself grab your face in the video, spit in your mouth and make you swallow it, and your eyes rolled back like it was love.
That’s what gets him. That look you gave him right after. All pupils and tears and worship. That breathless little “I love you” when you were too wrecked to pretend you didn’t mean it. That’s when he finishes—hard, messy, groaning your name into his fist as it shoots over his stomach, hot and thick and everywhere. He doesn’t even clean it up right away. Just lies there, spent and sticky and panting, eyes still locked on the screen, where you’re slumped over him, giggling like sin.
He smiles, dumb and full and satisfied. Grabs his phone. Pulls up your contact. Doesn’t text you.
SINISTER ! MARK:
Most of the time, he doesn’t even ask. He sees you and it’s over. He’s on you—hands on your waist, his voice low and ragged in your ear, hard already, mouthing at your neck like he’s starving. You know that look—pupils blown, jaw clenched, like he’s barely holding back from bending you over wherever you’re standing. That’s his usual.
But when you’re busy—when you brush past him with that little cute distracted face, muttering, “Later, I’m working,” like that means anything to him? Like your schedule’s more important than his need? That’s when the switch flips. He won’t fight you on it. Not out loud. But something festers under his skin, tight and hot. He watches you walk away and every step you take away from him makes his fists curl. Makes his cock ache. He chews the inside of his cheek, breathing sharp through his nose, and when you disappear into your little world, he turns on his heel and stalks straight to your bedroom like he owns it. Like he owns you.
The door closes and it’s like something breaks. He tears into your hamper like an addict tearing through pill bottles, yanking clothes out with shaking fingers until he finds them—your panties. He always knows the pair. Maybe it’s the black lace ones you wore the night he had you choking on your own moans. Maybe it’s the cotton ones with the little bow that ride up when you bend over. Doesn’t matter. They’re used. Still warm. Still damp.
He groans when he grabs them, runs his thumb over the crotch like he’s stroking you, like if he touches it just right you’ll appear. His hands shake as he presses them to his face, nose buried deep, and inhales so hard it sounds like he’s gasping through water.
And that’s when he unzips, fast, furious, because he’s already leaking. Already twitching. Already picturing you riding him with that smug little smile, telling him he’s just your’s while he’s losing his mind underneath you. But you’re not here. So he wraps the panties around his cock, tight. Soaked lace kissing his tip, stretching over his shaft. He jerks himself off like he’s angry—like he’s punishing you for not being here, punishing himself for needing you this bad. Fist moving rough and fast, jaw tight, breath coming in snarls.
He’s talking the whole time, too. Saying things you’d pretend to be shocked by if you heard. “Look at this. Look what you do to me. Can’t even leave your scent behind without me fucking losing it.” He presses the panties to his mouth, sucks on them like he wants to taste your cunt through memory alone, and nearly growls as his hips buck into his own hand.
And when he finally cums, it’s violent. Hot ropes of it spilling through the lace, dripping from his fingers, landing in messy spurts across your underwear like it’s some offering. He doesn’t stop right away. Keeps stroking even when it stings, just to make sure it’s everywhere. Just to ruin it. To claim it. To make sure that even when you’re not here, some part of you belongs to him.
He stares at the mess afterward, panting, sweat sticking to his chest. Picks up your panties like they’re sacred and filthy at once, holds them up with a crooked little grin. “Bet you’d cry if you saw this,” he murmurs, half-laughing. “Bet you’d get wet.”
And maybe he tucks them under his pillow after. Or maybe he wears them in his pocket the next time he sees you—just so he can remember what you smell like while you talk about your day like you didn’t just get used like a fleshlight in his head twenty minutes ago. You’re an obsession. Something sweet, soft, and permanently his.
ooooomigosh ur writing is so cool and pretty! i was wondering if you could writing something, anything really, about mohawk mark and that suuuuuper annoying mimicking trait of his. i feel like he’d mock yn’s whines and moans right back to her, loud and scarily accurate. or even holding it against her in general? like “oh that’s not what you were saying last night-” yk?
MOAN LIKE A BITCH!
❛❛He want a quickie, let him lick me, then I started gaspin'!❜❜
Synopsis: Mark loves teasing you, especially with how loud you get when he has you bent over.
Pairing: Mohawk Mark x Chubby! Reader
Warnings: Heavy teasing, female reader, vaginal sex, slight edging, overstimulation, mdom, mean dom, fsub, some degradation, minor praise, public sex (they're in a washroom, so it technically applies), fingering, dumbfication, cock drunk.
AN: I 100% agree anon, he'd be so annoying to fuck. An absolute meanie. But like still hot while doing it??? I think I have an issue. Also THANK YOU FOR 100 FOLLOWERS!
Word Count: 1.1k
Mark made it a point to rub in just how much he pleased you. Prick gets off by how embarrassed you get when he dicks you down. Especially how loud you'd get.
That's why he has you bent over a stingy washroom sink. Skirt bunched at your waist, tits pressed firmly against the cool porcelain.
Panties pushed aside—perfect view of your drenched folds glistening under the low light. The faint sound of music drifting in the background, party long forgotten.
His hot breath grazed your ears, his hand trailing down the curve of your spine. Feather light touch sent a shiver down your spine.
“Must have been fantasizing about this, hmm? I mean, you didn't even wear shorts!” His hand stopped at your fat cunt, he gave it a tentative tap. Spreading your slick folds, admiring your pussy.
You shivered, lips clamped shut. He continued, collecting your essence on his fingers, rubbing along your puffy folds. “C'mon, not even a little whimper. I know you love it when I play with this pussy,” he huffed.
A wicked grin spread on his lips, his body hunched over yours, smearing sloppy kisses down the juncture of your neck.
Hot breath fanning your skin makes your breath hitch. His index finger swiped over your aching clit causing you to gasp.
“I know you can give more than that,” his fingers toyed with your sensitive clit, your lips wobbled, your restrain snapping like twigs.
You moaned, you already knew you were done for. He mimicked it, almost perfectly, “That's how it's supposed to be. Moaning like a bitch for me.”
Two fingers probed your quivering hole, sliding in with ease. “So wet, and I've barely touched you.” The intrusion was tantalizing.
His movements were slow. Agonizingly slow. You could feel your resolve fizzling out, you rolled your hips against his hand. The delicious feeling of thick fingers pumping into you sent a jolt of pleasure down your spine.
Your breath staggered, soft moans tumbled from your lips. “Aw, is the slut enjoying my fingers? Gripping em’ tight,” he cooed, angling them higher to curl at your g-spot.
You jolted, whining at the added stimulation. “I asked you a question. You're a big girl, aren't ya? Use your words.” fingers bumping at your sweet spot, making your legs tremble.
“I love it… Love your fingers, Mark. M’fuck,” you slurred, feeling heat crawl up your cheeks as the little pride you had left withered away.
“I love it, love your fingers, Mark. Of course you do, I’m the best.” his finger picked up their pace, fast and overwhelmingly good.
Broken moans fell from your lips like a waterfall, Mark only huffed with pride. The familiar knot in your stomach tightened, walls clamping down on his fingers.
“Mark, I'm gonna cum…please!” He quickly withdrew his fingers with a wet plop. You groan, looking over your shoulder, lips pursed in a scowl. “I was close!”
Mark cocked his head to the side, a lazy grin on his lips. “So impatient, you’ll cum, eventually” Harshly slapping your ass, he unbuckled his pants, fabric pooling at his ankles.
“I mean, I’m curious to see how long you’ll last.” Tip of his cock aligned itself against your slick hole. “Y'know, like a fun little experiment.” He mused, pushing in.
You gasped, you could've cummed right there from the delicious stretch of his thick cock. An angry red tip is already reaching the deepest part of you.
“See? Won't it be better to cum on my dick sweetcheeks?” he cooed, rough palms slide over the expense of your ass. Rolling his hips in slow thrusts.
Your mind reeled, hands gripping the delicate porcelain beneath you. “Yes, God yes.”
“Already breathless and I haven't even fucked you silly.” drawing his hips back for a particularly harsh thrust making you gasp.
He continued, each swift roll of his hips grew rougher. Until the echo of skin slapping and breathy moans bounced off the walls.
“Isn't this better, baby?” Mark's grip around your hips was bruising, his smile taunting.
Your thoughts practically melted with each languid stroke of his cock. He only snorted, “C'mon, tell me my dicks better. I know you can do it f'me, baby.”
His words flew over your head. Not even attempting to register his words. The clawing feeling of your orgasm approaching.
Your silence drew him to pause mid thrust. Sudden loss made your fogged mind clear
“No! Please, just keep going!” You whined, hips grinding against his, a feeble attempt to get any friction.
“Please, just keep going. Then answer my question. My dicks better ain't it?”He cackled, pinching your ass cheek.
“Yes! Your dicks, ahh, amazing,” you squeaked. The torturous start and stop was evermore irritating.
His pace was brutal, damn near knocking the air from your lungs. Your grip on reality slipped from your fingers, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. The familiar knot of release forming in your abdomen, only to quickly dissipate.
You whimpered at another ruined orgasm. “Please, Mark. Wanna cum…please let me cum!” You babbled. Hands clawing at the porcelain beneath you, the cool touch only ebbing your frustration further.
His fingers swiped at your clit in fast circles “You really wanna cum?
“Yes! F-fuck yes….gotta c-cum.”
“Then cum.”
Your legs buckled, vision splotchy as your orgasm crashed into you, a high pitched cry of ecstasy.
Mark didn't stutter, even as your pussy clamped down, gripping him like a vice. “Look at that, did my slut enjoy herself?”
You nodded your head haphazardly, “yes, yeah…so much…m'fuck.” Even as the waves of your orgasm subsided, his frantic movements continued.
Your hips jerked away, pleasure becoming overwhelming. “No! Shit, ngh, too much! Mark…too much!”
“You wanted to cum, didn't you baby? So cum again f'me.” He cooed. Your second orgasm hit you like a train, you withered beneath him.
It went on, you've lost track of how many orgasms he's given you. Relentless abuse of your poor cunt muddled your mind further.
“C'mon slut. Just one more for aah, me. Can't you do that?” you moaned meekly, pussy clamping down weakly against his pistoning cock.
“There we go, cream on my cock one last time, hah. Shit…just one more, m'so close.” Mark babbled, his resolve teetering as his cock twitched.
He grumbled, thick spurts of cum painting your walls. “Fuck, your pussy milking me dry, sweetheart.” You groaned, both your releases smeared against your thick thighs.
Your legs crumbled beneath you, Mark held you up with ease, “C'mon, you've had multiple orgasms and I only had one. Seems a little unfair, huh?” Littering sloppy open mouth kisses along your soft jaw.
"Hey man.. Is it okay if I fuck your girlfriend?",
Authors Note: Few headcanons for Mohawk Mark. He's alternative, he has fangs (personal thing I attach to viltrumite physiology), he has piercings, and he's amazing in bed.
Summary: Basically Mark hatches a plan to get you to cuck him, by letting his much hotter variant stay with you. MDNI // 18+
Warnings: Gross shit idk what to tell you. Dacryphilia, excessive cum, degradation, improper use of flight and super strength, bimbo (warning she's really airheaded) reader, roughness, saliva/drool, multiple rounds, OOC Mohawk Mark (he's a bit flanderized, might be overly crazy), cunnilingus, piercing, alternative vibes, afab chubby reader, not accurate physiology or depictions of sex duh, I'm a virgin, tiniest bit of selfcest, exhibitionism, cucking. Not proofread. MDNI // 18+
You've been dating Mark a little while, and despite being from separate worlds with you being a weird girl and him a superhero, you somehow you make it work. Well, that was until an additional person was thrown into the mix. One of his crazy variants. Apparently he's displaced. Something, something, Angstrom, who knows. Basically, he was homeless and out of the kindness of Mark's heart, he decided to let him stay with you two. Without asking you first.. Irritated as you are, when the two of you first meet, you're drawn in. You were surprised how much he favored your boyfriend. Same chiseled body, sharp angular features, soft eyes, and that tight blue spandex. Except he seemed more like you.. There were differences sure like your soft, plush thighs and pudgy stomach. While he was built like a greek statue. You could see every muscle ripple beneath his suit as both of his hands settled on his hips. Before you could say anything, he leaned close, his eyes narrowing to thin slits. Clearly studying you. His face was so close you felt his stubble gently scratch your cheek, which made your boyfriend uncomfortable.
"Hey, what're you?–" He started.
"I'm wondering how your dumbass manged to get her, she's out of your league." He said matter of factly, then pulled back, flashing a shit eating grin.
Your knees almost buckled, but you didn't waver, even as his tongue slipped out, revealing a delectable silver glint in the center. "Um.." You said quietly, eyes averting elsewhere. In your mind you'd already felt yourself replacing your Mark with him. One of your fingers loosely twirled one of your curls and you said. "What do we call you?"
"You can call me anything you want, honestly. But your boyfriend, well, he can call me the upgrade." Without wasting time, he secured himself to your side, hand sliding around your waist. Pulling you snugly to his side with a shy little "oh!" from you.
Mark was seething and immediately ran a hand down his face. "Hey, dipshit, you'd be living under a bridge right now if not for me. A little less macking on my girlfriend would be cool." Instead of yanking you away like you were property, he just inwardly groaned. Especially with that light filling your eyes, no matter how well you tried to hide it. He was acting weird, you just couldn't place why he seemed so chipper.. As if he liked seeing you two so close or something.
It was hard to tell. That very night, he watched you two like that one guy from Dexter. You tried to pretend you weren't listening to Mohawk, tried to pretend his hand wasn't brushing higher and higher up your thigh. Teasing the edge of your skirt, as if that was just part of the story he was telling.
"He tried to eat me. That guy was fucking crazy. He tried to eat your boyfriend too. I saved him though." He said.
"My hero.." You whispered, a little too breathlessly. You weren't looking at Mohawk though, just the ground. Leaning against the arm of the couch, just ashamed of the crush brewing inside of you.
"Yeah?" He said lowly, his hand stopped again, fingers idly tracing the fringe edge of your skirt. Gloved fingers teasing your skin.
Your boyfriend, who'd been watching the entire interaction, was less than pleased. But something bubbled beneath the surface. A disgusting, yet harmless desire. One he'd kept from both of you. No.. Mark wasn't Doakes.. He was the villain in this scenario. For he had an ulterior motive. One that made his lips form a sleazy grin, each time Mohawks finger threatened to slip under your skirt. His eyes flitted down your body. You were wearing one of his shirts that stretched beautifully over your chest. And a tight little skirt that barely made it past your thighs. You glanced over to your boyfriend, fixated on him and how he felt. In the end, you loved him and despite this crush, you'd never hurt him. Which is why his expression confused you.
He looked drunk almost. A lovesick blush flickered across his cheekbones, and his eyes were half lidded. His lip quivering, and hand struggling to keep him upright as he leaned against the dining table. Your eyes dropped, only to widen in surprise at his erection.
"Mark mmph–!?" Mohawk gently squeezed your cheeks and turned you back to him, and you rested a hand on his wrist. Way too confused..
"Hey, babe I was talking. You're gonna hurt my feelings." Mohawk stated plainly, as if Mark wasn't leaning against the dining table for dear life.
"But.." You glanced back at your boyfriend. Confused. Your eyes rolled up to the ceiling. The beautiful gears in your head grinded to a halt at the realization. "I think.. I think he's a–"
"Cuck." Mohawk interrupted. He glanced at his variant, with disgust, before letting out an obnoxious sigh. "What a fucking loser. Score a 10/10 and all you can do is picture her getting fucked by a real man." He rolled his eyes.
Your cheeks grew warm, not from discomfort but from his boldness. You glanced over at Mark. Lip forming a little pout. "It is.. a bit pathetic huh..?"
Mark was fighting for his life. A blush passed over his cheeks, settling over his cheekbones and nose. His eyes constantly switched between you and his variant. Whilst his teeth grazed his bottom lip. Safe to say he was right, he was a cuck at heart and had been dreaming about this very moment. His trembling ceased momentarily so he could raise to his full height. "Uh.." His lower belly felt boiling hot, his legs wobbled with nervous energy as he dragged a dining chair with him from the kitchen to the living room.
You and Mohawk watched in silence, accompanied only by the scraping of the chair before Mark came to a stop a distance in front of you two. Your expressions were so diverse. Mohawk looked disturbed. Eyebrows furrowed, lips in the meanest grimace, and hatred pooling into his empty black eyes. Whilst you were apologetic, worried, loving, even still. "Mark? Why didn't you just tell me..?"
"Because he's a bitch." Mohawk replied harshly. To which you frowned. Finally putting up with his rudeness.
"No he's not. And you'd still be trapped if not for him.." You replied. Still, you didn't get off the couch. Didn't take his hand off your thigh, didn't even make an attempt to push him away. Instead, you looked over at your boyfriend, who cleared his throat.
"Look.. I know, I should've just tried talking about it. But I was afraid you'd think lesser of me. But, I'm starting to think that's what turns me on.." He rubbed the back of his neck. Shyly taking his place on the infamous cuck chair. "If you want, if you're comfortable.. I don't mind you sleeping with someone else. Even him."
Mohawk Mark seems to stare through your boyfriend. Before chuckling. "Like I said, he's a bitch. Honestly you'd be better off with me.." He glanced over at you. The moment you two locked eyes, he pressed a kiss to your lips. He repeated the action, slowly applying just a little more pressure. Each kiss sent a shiver down your spine and warmth flitted across your body. Butterflies swarmed your belly.
Mark was already too far gone. His cock strained his suit, goggles fogging up from his own breath, as he palmed himself through his suit. "You know.. I never thought this would be us."
You were about to look at him, when Mohawks gloved fingers gently guided your eyes back to him. "He's pathetic baby, look at me. You don't need him. Don't you want a real man? A better one?"
The sluttiest, "Uh huh!" You could manage slipped out. He pressed his lips against yours, and let his fingers drift under your skirt. Teasingly running all the way up to your panties before sliding back down. "Mark.." You whispered against his lips, before breaking the kiss. You bit your lip, looking up at Mohawk, before whispering loud enough for Mark to hear. "Well.. I guess I should call you something different huh?.. Upgrades come in different packaging and all. Wouldn't want to get confused."
Mohawks lips twisted into a grin, and he glanced over at Mark. Who let out the cutest whimper. He couldn't help it. Seems being belittled and replaced was doing more to him than anything else ever has.
"Guess she's my girl now." Mohawk replied in a husky voice. "Let me show you how to handle her since you're fucking incapable."
Mohawk helped you climb onto the couch, where you laid back against the arm. One of your legs was draped against the back pillows, the other rested at Mohawks waist, and he comfortably sat between your legs. Once again his fingers inched under your skirt. He teasingly massaged you through your panties, the skimpy little cloth hid his motions from your boyfriend. Save for the circular ripples each time he moved.
You let out a soft whimper. "You're.." Your voice was shaky, as you were trying to get used to degrading your boyfriend. "You're so much better than Mark." Unknowingly stroking Mohawks ego, in tandem with your boyfriend stroking his hard member. His hand shakily passed up and down his cock, which had cartoonishly stretched his suit and stood upright. You eyed his cock, surprised your words worked so well.
Mohawk sped up his fingers, and you let out a tender moan. He was getting to you. His eyebrows furrowed, the one with the sexy eyebrow slit was arched slightly, his tongue, traced his bottom lip. He watched your expression intently. Hooked on your moans and your pleasure. "He's so pathetic huh? Such a loser. Bet he's never made you cum. Bet he's never fucked you right.." You moaned loudly, as his fingers slipped into your panties to circle your clit directly. "Yeah? Isn't he pathetic, doll? Such a fucking loser."
"Mhmmm!!" You replied absent-mindedly. You felt Mohawks other hand fondling your breast through your shirt, and Mark damn near lost his mind. His cock twitched, pre cum staining his suit, at this point he was starting to tear the costume with how hard he's been handling his dick. Seeing his variant manhandle you, and touch you just right, it made him sick how much it turned him on. Mohawk pulled his hand off your clit.
He let his tongue drift up his glistening gloves. Curiously tasting your essence. You looked up at him shyly. He bit his lip, eyes glazed over with lust. "He doesn't deserve you." He grabbed your thighs, and suddenly, you were hoisted up with impossible strength. He had you lifted up over his head as laid back on the couch. Boots propped up on the cushions, yeah, he clearly didn't respect Mark at all. Your eyes flew open wide as he held you up over his face. A strength even Mark hadn't shown off for you. "M–M.."
Without hesitation, he had your panties ripped off, simply with his teeth. And as the pretty lace slinked from the corner of his mouth, you trembled. "Fuck.. Mohawk. " You corrected yourself. His grin nearly split his face in half, that dangerous, wild look in his eyes had your heart thumping wildly. Without hesitation he sat your pussy right on his tongue. Where his slutty piercing drifted along your folds so perfectly. It was cool against your heated flesh in a way that made you cry out.
Mark's eyes drifted along his variants jaw, where your skirt partially obscured his motions. It was like an intimate act he wasn't apart of, and it made him melt. That exclusion, that perversion of an act met solely for him and his girlfriend, it was delectable. He felt lightheaded. When he caught his variants eyes they were half lidded, pussy drunk.. They shared the same lovesick, sleazy glare. Mohawk watched Mark, as his tongue skillfully slurped at his girlfriends cunt. Lapping up her juices with unmatched frenzy. The sounds were as sinful. The room was filled with messy, gushy noises, translucent slick seemed to dribble down Mohawks jaw.
Your voice was so delicate, growing quieter and quieter as you got close. But each time your voice fade, Mohawk made sure to snatch more moans from you. The way he flicked his tongue against you was fucking criminal. How come Mark never tasted you like this..? Your head tossed back, and one of Mohawks hands guided your hips. Gently coaxing you into riding his face. "So close.." You whispered. Eyes rolled back into your skull.
Mohawks response was muffled into your aching pussy, as his tongue so carefully slipped back and forth between your clit, and your entrance. He rocked you back and forth heinously you almost forgot your boyfriend was sitting over there. Your hands drifted up your stomach, sliding past your chest, resting on your shoulders. Passively running up your neck. You were so in tune with Mohawks tongue you were offended you had his shirt on still.
Your eyes glanced at your helpless boyfriend, watching lovingly, and moaned for his variant, just as you came on his tongue. Squirted actually, which surprised Mark. You climbed off Mohawk so he could sit up. Your slick made his jaw glisten. And even his neck. "You taste good."
"I've never... It's never came out like that." You replied.
Mohawks eyes flew open. "Wow.. he really wasn't treating you right huh? No wonder she's been purring for me. Poor things been neglected."
Mark's eyes widened and he was tempted to get off the chair to taste some of the slick glistening on your inner thigh. Mohawk noticed and clicked his tongue. "Aww you're so pathetic.. Bet you want a taste huh..? You'll be lucky if you even get to suck it off my cock after we're done." He cackled right after that, seeming to enjoy how Mark's face fell.
You slowly pulled his shirt over your head, and let it slide to the floor. You unclipped your bra, letting your breasts bounce out. Mohawk let out a whistle before rejoining you on the couch. One of his gloved hands gently squeezed your breast, before pinching your nipple between his fingers. "These.. fucking tits. Where were you in my world..? How have we never met before?" He leaned forwards and took it into his mouth.
Mark squirmed uncomfortably, his hand hesitated over his cock, wanting to wait until you guys actually started fucking before embarrassingly spilling cum to you cucking him. Mohawk pulled away from your nipple with an audible pop, leaving it glistening with his spit. For a moment he looked at you, with a yearning only a madman who'd been deprived of intimacy for a while, could manage. His mohawk waa tousled, his face flushed, and body rigid. His cock sat upright in his suit, thick, and long, veins curling down the sides. It was.. unfortunately bigger than your boyfriends. He zipped down his suit, and slipped out of it. His herculean physique left you dizzy. Especially his dick.
Tall and pretty, with a furious red tip that leaked thick white pre. Beautiful veins, and a nice curve that made your head tilt. You couldn't keep your eyes off it which made his ego bloom. "Bigger than him too huh? Tell me why you're with this fucker again? Cause he looks like me? Not good enough though huh sweetheart?" He grinned again, and his canines, just barely hooked over his bottom lip. A detail that made your heart thrumm dangerously.
You hadn't looked at your boyfriend since cumming, to be fair, he was just drooling and pathetically edging himself, not much to see there. Main attraction was Mohawk. Hotter version of your boyfriend, better in everyway.. Mohawk tilted his head, eyes rolling to his variant before he suddenly grabbed you, hoisting you into the air with him. The two of you hovered into the air, and he sat you on his lap.
"Hey sweetcheeks, promise you won't leave your boyfriend for me, yeah?" Before you could reply, he gently sat you down on his cock. The stretch was slow and delicious. You felt him slide through so easily, and as you too hovered, little dribbles of your slick trickled down to the sofa. His cock snugly filled you to the brim, and then some. He pressed his lips near your ear, and said. "Don't fall in love now, you got a boyfriend." He helped you lift up before slamming you down on his cock again.
A desperate whine left your lips. "Mm!" You started. As he meanly started thrusting into you, while his hands guided your hips into a steady rhythm. His dick felt perfect, it filled you completely, and your walls spasmed around him. Each time he pulled out he had you trembling, and once he was back in, you let out the prettiest cries.
"How cruel, fucking me in front of him. Don't you love him?" He tilted his head back. His smile was callous, so evil.. You tried to remember who he was talking about but each thrust filled your head up with false memories. Visions of a future with the man who was fucking you so right. Your arms flew around his neck. Your pupils turned into lust blown hearts.
Mark was blown away, just as his hand had resumed its path up and down his cock, he felt his heart pumping. He was too far gone. He felt his orgasm moments away, but he couldn't bare to stop, not with his variant fucking your brains out like this.
Mohawk let his arms wrap around your midsection, and let you take over. Your hips wildly spur to action, rolling at unimaginable speed just to impale yourself on his monster. You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes, your body trembled and his groans tore through you. He held you tighter. "How's that baby? A real man, fucking you raw. Fucking you up. Im better than him, yeah? Bet he's never been enough for you huh?" His voice cracked, indicating his need for your approval had him desperate, no matter how much bravado he held up.
Instead of disagreeing.. You moaned out, "So much better." And Mark shot ropes, not just a normal amount. No thick bundles of cum shot out of him, and he whimpered, tears dribbled down his cheeks. He leaned back against the chair. His own teary sniffling, didn't hinder his hand running up and down his cock. Black messy curls obscured his goggles, which had gotten so foggy. With his freehand he tore off his mask so he could see. He looked so pathetic. Practically sobbing, so lost in his own deluded pleasure he didn't care if he was losing you. Didn't kind how you two were belittling him by literally fucking overhead as if he wasn't there.
His cum egregiously, sloppily coating his hands as he kept going, trickling out Iike a gushing volcano. It was undeniably attractive. Your eyes rolled back into their skull, and when you struggled to ride Mohawk, his hands appeared on your hips to help you pick up the pace. His cock bullied your sweetspot without mercy.. He sucked in his cheeks, hoping to hide how good it felt, to be so deep in your warmth.. He hadn't felt a woman in so long.. And you were perfect.
How your bodies fit together, your soft skin against his rigid muscle. He tried keep calm but you were making him lose his mind. Each time he bounced you on his dick he could hardly stave off his climax. Oh he was going to fill you up so nicely. Bury you with cum and hope he knocked you up, honestly, nice little gift for that fucking loser boyfriend of yours. "F-Fuck." He stuttered, his thrusts wavering.
Your whiny moans evolved into pornographic sounds of euphoria, and your brain, if you had one left completely fizzled out. With one more brutal thrust, Mohawk filled you up with his cum, and it sloppily gushed out in a ring at the base of his cock. Spilling onto the couch. Your orgasm hit at the same time and you buried your face into his neck, pulling him close. Your fingers tracing down his scalpulas, just easing the tensed muscles..
You shyly peeked down behind you at your boyfriend who'd keeled off his designated chair in the heat of passion. You shared the same look of disgust as Mohawk. Leaning your head back on his shoulder to say, "...Would you forgive me if I broke my promise..?"
Warnings: Obv dacryphilia, reader is written as afab, piv, oral, this mark has piercingssss, other smut things, profanity
A/N: Another short one but ovulating makes me an insane monster with beautiful ideas
“Awwwwe, is it too much baby?”
You have no idea why but this variant of Mark is such a good fucker that you cry every. single. time.
And he just eats it up.
This Mark loves to overstimulate you over and over. When he’s eating you out, he’ll make you cum and just keep going. The second he flicks that tongue piercing on your clit it’s over. Tears will be streaming down your face and he just won’t stop.
You hardly noticed that your crying also really seemed to turn him on.
It would weird you out but it didn’t since he’d use that as motivation to fuck you harder and deeper. You didn’t complain either.
This Mark also had a Prince Albert so that brushing along your insides also made you cum quicker. He’d start to thrust deep and slowwww after you orgasm the first time. Help you “ride it out” he would lie. But then you started to try and push him off of you because you were just so sensitive and he’d just laugh in your face.
“What? You what me to stop? Use your words, princess.” He’d coo, warm breath against your neck. “I can’t understand you with all that cryin’…”
But all you could do is whine and sob. It hurt so good.
And maybe you liked that he fucked you hungrier when you cried. Maybe you liked how he’d get that sparkle in his eyes, that look of pure lust and desire. How he’d cage you in like a predator catching prey and kiss your tears off your wet cheeks.
He’d grip your hips and thighs harder the second you start really sobbing. You swear sometimes he fucking whimpers too once you start saying his name. Begging him to show you any ounce of mercy.
This Mark also really really fucking loves throat fucking. He’s ease in all nice and slow, praising you even if you didn’t gag (of course, it was inevitable though as he was just that thick and long enough). Then he would cup the sides of your pretty little face and go crazy. Not only did the slick, loud noises of his dick sliding in and out of your throat drive him mad, but he couldn’t help but groan deeply when you started crying again.
That sobbing and choking around him made him twitch in your mouth like crazy. He hate’s deciding whether to finish on your face or deep in your throat because he loves both. Regardless, he loves the drenched look on your face when he pulled away. He’d admire your face as you had teary eyes, tear stained cheeks and spit covering your lips and chin.
Fuck, he could make it his lock screen.
And, god, don’t let him make you cry when you’re wearing mascara. The second he sees your face covered with black tear streaks it’s so over. He just cums on the spot. He doesn’t even apologize or warn you he just does.
He doesn’t care how, but he’ll do anything to make you cry for him.
How to 'pretty please?' your way into fucking your captive. // Mark Grayson
Notes: This was originally a Lensless test fic before I realized he takes a lot of aspects from multiple variants. Feel free to imagine whoever you want in this. Had a lot of inspiration from @13tinysocks characterization of Lensless and that art they made of Mohawk fingering dregs 💔 Can you tell I'm absolutely normal about mdgf.
Content/warnings: You get kidnapped and almost fuck the guy who did it. Reader could be either female or male, biting, outercourse, whatever you would call touching someone through their clothes. Stalking, dub-con. You get blueballed.
Word count: 702
Ever since Mark had plucked you off the street mid fight and locked you away in his room on a Viltrumite ship parked outside Earth's gravitational field, he'd been staring at you with a kind of expectative glint in his eye that spoke of nothing good for you, or your future. When he wasn't getting into fights, he was bouncing on his heels close behind you, eyes crinkled and smile crooked while he blabbered on about killing some poor soul or squashing rebellions, until you'd respond negatively. Mark gave little indication he cared at all about privacy when you woke up at odd hours of the night to find him cuddled up to you or standing in the corner and watching you sleep, butt ass naked and only barely visible under distant light through the metal shutters over the windows.
He drapes himself over your shoulders as you walk, going increasingly slack until his legs drag behind him on the floor, and you eventually crumple under his weight, hard. He crawls over you, arms circling your waist and face emerging over your shoulder. He rolls onto his back with you in tow, squirming and kicking in his grip. Mark gives a little squeeze that makes you squeak and steals the breath from your lungs. When you go limp, he tightens his grip around your middle, only loosening with disappointment when he doesn't get the reaction he seems to want from you. He whispers close to your ear, cheek squishing against yours. “Aww, come on. Do it again. I like when you struggle.”
He gives another squeeze that makes your ribs and back pop in a way that sets off your nerves before he gives up, but his grip doesn't relinquish. Your head lifts, before you let it fall, the back of your skull banging against his nose and earning you a groan that doesn't sound pained, but instead pleased. You doubt you've done any damage, because there's no crunch of the cartilage on his nose, and your head just winds up pounding. Mark draws his legs up to plant his feet flat on the ground, sitting both you, and himself up.
He sets his hand on your thigh and pauses, fingers lightly pressing into the meat of your leg. When you don't tell him to stop, he brings it to hang over the side of his leg, low and slow in case you want to tell him to fuck off. His other hand comes around and hooks it on the invisible magnetic zipper of the Viltrumite uniform on your body, before he slowly drags it down with a finger, and you tense when the cold air of the ship washes over your skin, flinching from the breeze and eyes squeezing shut. Mark's lips meet your cheek in a gesture that's too sweet to not be backing something that's about to be nefarious. And nefarious it is, because shortly after he's sinking his teeth into the soft flesh, and you elbow him in the stomach hard reflexively.
He doesn't move, or keel, and he's still biting your face like a fucking animal, but the absurdity of it all stops mattering when he's slowly dragging his hand down your middle, and his thumb teasingly toys with the elastic band of your panties, pulling it back and letting it slap against your stomach. You feel him smile against your cheek when you quiet, and he lazily dips his palm to flatten over your clothed crotch. He rubs you through the thin fabric, steadily letting his pace quicken until the material soaks through, and you're melting in his lap, drool forming at the corner of your lip and hips bucking into his hand.
Before a ringing catches your attention, and you're reeled back from the edge of an orgasm when all the touches pull away. He shoves you off his lap and shoots to his feet, eyes darting between the flashing, chirping device attached to his hip, and you. “Sorry, babe. Duty calls.”
You don't get a word in before he's already down the hall, and you're internally cursing him out, legs clamping shut and hands quickly closing your uniform with equal parts embarrassment and frustration.
