I want to thank you for writing male reader!! It’s so, so hard finding them in this fandom, so it really makes me happy to read yours. 🥺🥺🥺🥺 can I make a request? Male reader x Shiesty Mark with reader who gets severely injured and tries to hide it.
TIS' BUT A SCRATCH
pairing shiesty! mark grayson x male reader
you’re bleeding out. you’re definitely bleeding out. but hey—if you play it cool, maybe mark won’t notice?
(keyword: maybe.)
turns out, hiding a gaping wound from your superpowered, hyper-observant boyfriend isn’t exactly your best idea. especially when said boyfriend is the kind of guy who swears like a sailor, fights like a berserker, and somehow still manages to be the most overprotective idiot alive.
you hiss through your teeth, fingers pressing hard against your side—warm, wet blood seeps through the torn fabric of your suit, sticking to your skin. every breath is a sharp, stinging drag, like fire licking at your ribs from the inside. you can’t let him see this. not now, not when he’s already pissed off, still buzzing with leftover adrenaline from the fight, his muscles coiled tight under that damn suit of his.
speaking of.
you glance up, and fuck, even hurt and half-delirious, you can’t help but notice the way the setting sun hits him—golden light catching on the sweat-slick curve of his shoulders, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, the way his thighs tense as he hovers effortlessly above you. his mask tilts, that ragged veil shifting just enough for you to catch the sharp line of his jaw, the faintest hint of his scowl.
"the hell’s takin’ you so long?" mark calls down, voice rough with impatience. his arms are crossed, biceps flexing under the tight yellow and blue fabric, and you can practically feel the heat rolling off him even from here. "we gotta get movin’ before more of those freaks show up."
"i’m coming, i’m coming," you mutter, forcing your legs to move despite the way your vision blurs at the edges. you bite back another groan, swallowing the metallic taste in your mouth. shit. this is worse than you thought. your head spins, but you can’t stop staring—the way his suit clings to every dip and ridge of his abs, the way his hips taper just right, the way his thighs could probably crush you in seconds and you’d thank him for it.
god, you’re so fucked. in every sense of the word.
"hah, that's what she said."
you roll your eyes at the dumb joke, a witty remark of your own about to leave your lips when your knees buckle slightly, and you catch yourself just in time, but not before mark’s sharp eyes zero in on the stumble. his posture shifts instantly, shoulders squaring, that protective edge creeping into his stance. you know that look. it’s the same one he gets right before he tears someone apart for looking at you wrong.
and fuck if that doesn’t do things to you.
he drops down beside you with a soft thud, boots kicking up a small cloud of dust. his arms are crossed, shoulders tense, but his head tilts just slightly as he studies you. "you good? you’re walkin’ like a damn zombie." his voice is rough, but there’s an edge of concern under the sarcasm.
you swallow hard, forcing your steps to steady even as your side throbs. "just tired," you lie, waving him off with a weak flick of your wrist. your fingers tremble, but you curl them into a fist before he can notice. "those things were annoying as hell."
mark snorts, rolling his eyes before nudging you with his elbow—too hard, like always, and the sudden jolt sends a sharp spike of pain through your ribs. you sway, barely catching yourself before your knees give out. "yeah, well," he says, not noticing your stumble at first, "next time, maybe don’t try to play hero when you ain’t bulletproof, dumbass."
you force a laugh, but it comes out weak, more of a breathless exhale than anything. your free hand presses against your side, hidden by the torn fabric of your suit. "since when do you care?"
"since always, dumbass." he rolls his eyes again, but the usual bite in his tone is missing, replaced by something softer, something almost fond. then his gaze drops, catching on the dark stain seeping through your fingers. his body goes rigid. the air between you shifts, tension snapping tight like a wire. "...you’re bleedin'."
your stomach drops like a stone. "what? no, i’m not," you say, voice pitching higher than intended. you take a half-step back, but your legs wobble, betraying you.
"the fuck you mean 'no, i’m not'?" his hand snaps out, fingers skimming your side—just a brush, but it’s enough. when he pulls back, his gloves are streaked crimson. his breath hitches, just for a second, before his voice drops into something rough and furious. "you’re fucking hurt."
you force a grin, even as your pulse kicks into overdrive. "tis’ but a scratch," you jest, throwing in a terrible british accent for good measure. your fingers twitch at your side, sticky with blood. "just a flesh wound, really. very knight’s tale of me. very—ow, fuck—" you hiss as your own movement jostles the injury.
"a scratch?" his hand clamps around your wrist before you can retreat, fingers tight but careful as he lifts your arm. the second he sees the mess underneath—torn suit, dark blood, the ugly gash that’s definitely not surface-level—his whole body locks up. the air around him practically crackles. "this ain’t a scratch. this is a goddamn hole."
you swallow hard, but the bravado doesn’t fade. "i’ve had worse."
"not with me around, you haven’t." his grip tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough that you feel the barely-leashed tension in his fingers. his other hand hovers near your side like he’s afraid to touch. when he speaks again, his voice is low, almost too calm. "why the fuck didn’t you say anything?"
your throat clicks as you swallow, the coppery tang of blood thick on your tongue. "didn't wanna slow you down," you mumble, avoiding his gaze by studying a very interesting crack in the pavement near your boot.
"slow me—?" his voice does this thing where it jumps an octave before he chokes it back into a growl, gloved fingers dragging down his mask like he's physically restraining himself from shaking you. the fabric wrinkles under his grip. "christ. you're such a dumbass. you know that, right? like, clinically. should be studied."
"yeah, yeah," you wave him off, attempting a casual shrug that immediately backfires. white-hot pain erupts from your side, forcing a punched-out gasp between your teeth. your fingers spasm against the wound, coming away slick. "fuck—okay, new rule: no more cool guy poses when i'm busy leaking everywhere. noted."
mark goes statue-still. for one terrifying heartbeat, you're certain he's about to scream loud enough to shatter windows. then—with zero warning—he ducks down, one arm sliding behind your knees while the other braces against your back, lifting you like some kind of disgruntled fairytale protagonist. your stomach lurches as the ground disappears. "what the hell—?!" you squawk, scrambling to fist your hands in his suit fabric like a startled cat clinging to a curtain.
"shut up," he grumbles, but his arms tighten just enough to press you closer to his chest. you can feel his heartbeat hammering through the layers of fabric—fast and furious. "if you're gonna pull this self-sacrificing bullshit, i'm gonna haul your dumbass home like groceries. consider it your fucking consequence."
you gasp, free hand fluttering to your forehead in your best damsel impression. "consequence? this feels suspiciously like premium boyfriend treatment. very five-star service. do you do this for all the dumbasses, or am i special? this feels awfully sweet and gentle for a punishment."
"title of your fucking sextape," he deadpans immediately, voice so flat you'd think he was reading a grocery list.
you choke on a laugh that quickly morphs into a pained wheeze. "oh my god—was that—did you just brooklyn nine-nine me while i'm actively—"
"don't." his boots leave the ground with a quiet crunch of asphalt. "just. don't fucking finish that sentence. i don't even fucking know why i said that." the wind kicks up around you both, ruffling his stupid perfect dark locks.
you mean to fire back something clever, but the second you're airborne, the adrenaline finally sputters out. your head lolls against his shoulder without permission, eyelids suddenly heavy. the steady thrum of his flight vibrations feels weirdly soothing against your aching ribs.
"...you better not pass out on me," he mutters, but his voice has gone all rough around the edges. his grip shifts, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head like he's afraid you'll slip away. "seriously. i'll drop your ass."
"wouldn't dream of it," you slur, nosing unconsciously into the warm space between his collarbone and jaw. his stupid veil tickles your forehead.
he huffs, but you feel the way his throat works against your temple. "next time you pull this shit, i'm grounding you for a month. no flights. no rooftop hangs. just you, your busted ass, and public fuckin' transportation."
your lips curl despite everything. "worth it."
"fuck you."
“love you too, drama queen,” you sigh, your voice already slurring a little as exhaustion drags at you. before he can snipe back, you tug at the edge of his veil—just enough to sneak your fingers under it—and press a quick, smirking kiss to his lips. then, because you’re extra and bleeding and maybe a little delirious, you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, breathing him in: sweat, the sharp ozone-tang of spent energy, that stupid cologne he insists he doesn’t wear but definitely does. your nose brushes his pulse point, and for a second, you let yourself pretend this is the last time. (it never is. it won’t be. not if he has anything to say about it.)
he doesn’t answer. but his arms tighten around you, just a fraction, and his thumb starts tracing slow, absent circles against your thigh—gentle, reverent, like you’re something fragile. like you’re something his. and yeah. that’s answer enough.
1.6k words full of shiesty mark and his ADORABLE ASS AHHHHHHHH i never really like, thought of him as often as my top three favourite invincible variants BUT HE IS SLOWLY CRAWLING UP THERE BECAUSE OF SOMEONE'S HEADCANONS OF SHIESTY MARK AND I JUST LOVE HIM I JUST LOVE HIM NOW LIKE AHHBOFAUBWOUDSHAWOUSHOU
That impassive, icy exterior tells you nothing, except that he is an unrepentant asshole war criminal with a tendency to lurk where he's unwanted.
He's not your Mark Grayson.
But Omni-Mark- what a stupid name- is trying so hard to atone. A quiet, self-effacing hero cast upon the backdrop of your GDA-life...
Why is he here? Why does he keep trying? No amount of good deeds can wash the blood from his hands.
And why does this stupid, pathetic shadow of a man hang on your every word?
Hate is so easy, but love is much harder.
"Please. Please say yes." He looks up at you, his deep, soulful brown eyes haunted. Pain digs furrows into his boyish face, ages him beyond the trials of the wars he's fought. His fingers wrap around your thighs, bracing himself against the pillar of your humanity, praying for your mercy, for your surrender. "Please… I'd do anything."
"Mark," you hiss. "Not here. Not now."
Especially not now.
You hear the cries of fussing children, mothers and fathers calming their charges in quiet, fearful tones, hidden further inside the caves. Earth's last bastion of fortified defence has been reduced to a network of caves on the European continent.
"I'll give you anything- anything at all. Just name it!" His voice is breathy with desperation. "Please. Just say yes."
Your attention snaps to him, eyes burning with an anger so potent it threatens to consume you whole. It's been a little over two years since you chose to stand by his side. You watched him face the worst a world could offer, saw him teeter on the brink of boyhood and fall into being a man.
Or maybe he'd always been one. Maybe he'd never been a boy at all, and the passing days had only made him wearier, sadder and more lost in himself. When was the last time you saw him smile?
You cup his face as gently as you can muster, but you still feel the agony in your heart, coursing through your body like a thick, viscous poison. "How can you give me anything? You've already given the Earth away. To them. You've got nothing left."
