notes :: takes place on viltrum after omni-man becomes emporor during that ceremony thing idk wtf to call it
he'll slither up behind you at some fancy event while youre talking to someone, probably another viltrumite, and you dont even realize until you feel a hand slip around the dip of your waist and nails like claws dig into your side, making your voice crack as it jumps and messes your words. you'll try and fail to peel his hand away from you, lessen the feeling of his nails carving imprints into your skin through the slim, silk fabric of the dress you wore picked specifically by him to allow easy accsess, and that only makes him pull you closer—supergluing you to his side even tighter. its impossible to tell hes agitated through that deceptively charming grin he wears like a shield, but you can tell by the way his face scrunches up in the eyebrows, tiny creases that look more like cracks in the facade hes built up all night and eventually youll have to excuse yourself from conversation and allow for him to whisk you away to somewhere more private, nearly tripping over your feet in heels that were despicably hard to walk in as he purposfully strides at a pace that borderlines too fast to keep up with as you cling to his hand.
mark will press you up against the cool surface of the bathroom sink once the door is sealed shut behind the two of you, marble feeling more like a knife in your back as he reaches a hand up your dress, grazing your inner thigh before hastily pulling your panties aside. youre already soaked when he slides a digit through your slit, and he knows you cant help it, but he uses that as leverage as you protest, trying to convince him that the conversation you were having with that stranger was nothing more than mindless small talk. "youre such a fucking slut," he snides. "tryna make me jealous, you think im stupid? i know exactly what the fuck youre doing." his thumb presses hard against your clit, revelling in the way you shutter against him. he makes no effort to support your weight in the process, and your hands eventually find steady ground when you lay your palms against the edge of the restroom sink. he grins when you squeeze your eyes shut, only tut, tut, tutting his tongue against the roof of his mouth and grabbing your chin roughly in between his index and thumb, shaking you enough to force your eyes open. "this is what you want, right? you wanted my attention so bad you just had to flirt it up with some other guy, hm?" he hums out even as you deny, eyes pricked with tears that stream down when his hand collides with your cheek in a stinging blow. "dont play stupid, i know all your little tricks."
and when he finally lets you come, it crashes over you, destructive and unforgiving. leaving you curled against him with your hands squeezing at the fabric of his suit, now unkempt and wrinkled over. when he stands, leaving you in your haze, the movement pushes you back slightly, and its no accident. its a reminder. that youre not better than him, not above him, not anything to him. you're disposable, at best. each click of his shoe against the tile sounds like lightning roaring in your head, orgasm amplifying every feeling and sensation. he takes a deliberately long moment to adjust his tie and hair before speaking again, this time carefully, each word plucked from his mind with the intent of making you sting. "next time you want me to fuck you dumb, just ask."
mark definetly twitches and squirms like hes trying to get away when youre in between his legs sucking him off. he'll have a hand in your hair, fingers spazzing at the roots as he tries (and fails) to restrain himself from tugging you too hard while his eyes roll to the back of his head, eyelashes fluttering in that pretty way that they do when hes so immersed in the feeling of your throat wrapped around his cock that he cant even form a coherent thought; brain so fogged up that the only sounds he can make are pathetic and downright filthy. moans that sound almost gutteral and whispers of your name roll past his lips because all he can think of is the way your tounge feels as it runs over his shaft, all the way up to the head of his cock to lick up the beads of pre that form at his tip, flushed a desperately angry red as he chases his release. the way that heat courses through him like unforgiving waves is overwhelming, and it causes his face to glisten with sweat at his forehead, and his cheeks—the inside of which are being bitten as he makes a futile attempt at holding back the embarassingly needy noises that slip right out of him—tint a rosey pink.
and the way you lift your gaze back up to meet him when you feel his hips stutter underneath you, with your fingertips at his legs to prevent his relentless squirming? eyes wide and twinkling like you dont know exactly what youre doing? god, it makes him want to fill your mouth with his warm, sweet cum and make you swallow his load entirely.
transmasc!mark grayson x bff!reader headcanons
wc :: 1,037 ( 5550 char . )
rating :: sfw
a/n :: IM SO BACK!!!!!!!! cant promise consistency but I've got like.. some other stuff I'm working on that I may or may not post we'll see. also hhmmm I am not trans so this MAY be inaccurate.. so.. y'know.. excuse me if anything is written poorly I tried my best ahem............. enjoy *geyulp*
you were the first person mark came out to. of course you were, you had been his best friend since middle school. through terrible teachers, lunch detentions, as well as an embarrassing era of dark, edgy clothes and puppy love heartbreaks, you were there for it all.
and so of course you were accepting when he told you he was trans. you weren't shocked anyway, you could always kind of tell that there was something under the surface that mark had never confided about with you. could tell that something was just off when he would hesitate on going into stores like victoria's secret or bath and body works. you'd always catch him stealing glances at himself in mirrors at malls, tugging his shirt forward to hide his figure, or concealing his long hair in the hood of a hoodie that was a size too big on him. or even when he would insist on shopping in the boys section at stores because apparently "they just have better clothes."
his behavior was enough to make you raise an eyebrow, but you never questioned it. just thought he was a tomboy for the longest time, which in hindsight was definitely a stupid assumption. so when he told you, all the puzzle pieces clicked into place and it was like putting on glasses for the first time and seeing things clearly for once. duh he was trans, how did you not notice before? all those birthday parties and formal events where debbie tried to make him wear a nice dress and mark would always fight tooth and nail against her. the dress was always ruined within an hour, muddied from playing rough outside and debbie would cave in and let him wear a tshirt and jeans with a sigh and a roll of her eyes.
another instance crosses your mind, the time he got into a bad arguement with nolan. a screaming match that shook the house. you weren't there when it happened, but you think you remember him giving you a short explanation that the fight was related to his powers and the fact he didn't have them yet. nevertheless, whatever that fight was about resulted in mark storming up to his room and locking the door behind him. he came to school the next day with tear streaked cheeks and choppy hair that looked like it had lost a nasty fight with a pair of kitchen scissors.
now that you're looking back on it, mark had to have lied to you about the cause of that fight.
when mark first started dressing in exclusively boys clothes, his style was that of a ten year old who had his outfits handpicked by his mother every day. marks wardrobe was practically overflowing with graphic tees of his favorite action figures, corny phrases, and at least three different seance dog shirts. thank god for you, though, because you teased him out of that phase real quick. helped him clear out his closet the summer before freshman year with grins and a stifled snicker when you found the shirt he had that read "I paused my game to be here." really? how old is he, five? safe to say you took him shopping that day and bought him a whole collection of clothes that actually fit his age range and most of his new style is accredited to you now.
when you bought him his first binder for his sixteenth birthday that year, he was ecstatic. practically bouncing off the walls, you thought he was going to somehow activate his powers with the sheer amount of excitement that was radiating off of him that day. he could officially say goodbye to the questioning glances he got from wearing hoodies in the ninety degree summers of chicago and feel at least a bit more comfortable wearing clothes that were a little more fitted on him.
he DID go a little bit overboard with wearing it, though. he'd keep the constricting thing on him for days on end, wearing it out to the point of breathing complications. and then he would still wear it because "i'm a viltrumite, who cares? i'll be fine." his words exactly. yeah, it got to the point where he would only ever take it off if he absolutely had to. he'd dodge cleaning it for weeks simply because he didn't want to risk debbie finding it in the wash while she was folding his clothes. thankfully, this was a phase he got over within a month or so and he finally started taking care of it when he realized that he actually had to breathe to live, and that just being a viltrumite wasn't going to get him out of all the back pain and breath shortness that came with wearing his binder. you still do have to remind him to take it off occasionally, but you don't mind since it makes you glad to know he's appreciative of the gift.
haircuts are another story entirely. debbie usually took him to get his hair done at a barber shop owned by a friend of a friend, and usually it was just small trims at the bottom to clear out any split ends. but that wasn't going to fly with mark, not after he started to transition; but he couldn't just go up to his mom and say "hey, can I cut my hair super short? like, boy short?" because what would she think? there's no way debbie would allow that. but maybe that fight with his dad was a good thing after all, because ever since he chopped all his hair off out of spite, he started to rely on you to keep it in shape. and lets not lie to ourselves here, you certainly aren't the best barber in the world. the first few times you went at marks hair with scissors was... well, let's just say it could've been better. it was choppy, messy, with strands of hair that were visibly longer than others. and after some trial and error, as well as clogging the drain of your bathroom sink with hair for the umpteenth time, you eventually got the hang of it.
puppy love | yandere!mark grayson x afab!reader | MULTI-CHAP: 1
cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!!! reader is neurodivergent, ableism, growing up is messy & adults suck, angst, niceguy™/slight incel mark, childhood friend/bully!mark, mark gets his powers sooner, teeny tiny implications of pseudo incest (blink and you'll miss it), violent rape, threats of violence, & canon typical violence, stalking, implied murder, gender & body dysphoria, mentions/implications of disordered eating, mark teases reader about their body once, overall asshole mark, implied grooming (mark handles it but he's a lil bitch about it later), so, victim blaming, misogyny, the inexplicable horrors of being afab, objectification, sexualization
about; snapshots of you and mark growing up together.
neither of you make it to the other end of the spectrum - budding adulthood - unscathed
. . . but at least you have each other.
what is it they say?
Sandbox love never dies.
a/n: alt title [vignettes of a life: growing pains]. here's something to make you wish you were never born xx. this came out wayy longer than i expected & i figured the only way to properly digest it was by breaking it up into chapters. this one’s pretty intense so please heed the warnings. they'll be included in every chapter forward. enjoy! ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
1 .
you still remember the fog of childhood innocence.
the fluffy pajamas that were both comfy and scratchy all at once. the stickers on your bedroom wall, on your wooden headboard. plastic restaurant playground mazes, fishing out toys from greasy boxes. the feeling of chalk staining your fingers and gravel digging into your soft knees: chubby legs soon to be scarred.
and amidst the fog, you remember mark. the sporty, hyperactive kid who’d run across the school yard with a sweater wrapped around his neck like a cape, arms spread wide pretending he could fly.
you remember him.
vibrant, loving, quick witted.
it was glaringly obvious all the kids in your grade wanted to be friends with mark grayson. he had a posse: his very own group of 'superheroes', as the teachers used to call it. and before you learned to multiply, something inside you brewed like a poison. you wanted to be like him but you weren't, and so, your stubborn, little kid mind decided you didn't like him.
you hated him, actually. you hated the way he knew all the right answers in class. you hated his laugh. you hated how he was the fastest during sports. you hated how he was fun and smart and good at everything you weren't.
but dislike or not, that didn't stop your fixation. you continued to watch him from afar. and in your journals - to the best of your ability - you drew yourself striding across the playground with a sweater tied around your neck.
you kept to yourself. painfully shy and practically non-verbal: despite your daydreams of someday being a 'normal' kid like mark. your teachers held conferences with your parents about your struggles. despite the fog that blanketed the memories of your childhood: the feeling of dread settling deep in your tummy during the meetings is something that makes you wince to this day.
while you traced patterns into the table in front of you, they'd talk about you as if you weren't in the same room. your teacher did most of the talking. . and, like most of the time, your brain blocked out the sound of her droning voice. instead, your parent's voice was who you heard. and despite struggling to keep up with the onslaught of information, too, all your parent offered was a hushed, “I don't know what's wrong with them.”
you couldn't pay attention. you didn't talk to the other kids. you clung onto your teacher while in class. . and onto your parent during drop-off.
you were different.
intelligent.
but different.
the former a more pressing concern than the latter.
after countless tedious meetings, you soon associated being different with being singled out. being different meant spending an hour sitting in a boring office, listening to teachers repeat the same information - over and over and over again.
a mention about a doctor your parent(s) always refused.
regardless of the calming - sympathetic? - smile of your teacher, it always felt like you were in trouble. even if you couldn't quite put your finger on what you were doing wrong.
on the way home, your parent(s) would eye you through the rearview mirror. you pulled at the loose strings from your sweater and pretended not to notice.
the front door of your childhood home would creak open. your parent(s) would sit at the dinner table, silent, immobile, and - quiet as always - you'd go to your room until you were certain they were asleep to sneak either dinner or a midnight snack.
you were in trouble.
you just didn't know how to stop getting into it.
your teachers grew evermore desperate.
when suggestions of socializing would cause you to clam up: they decided to bite the bullet and break you in by force, hoping your behavior was caused by childhood timidity. one you’d soon outgrow instead of. . something else.
they’d grouped you with myriad of students in hopes you'd socialize or at least participate in something that wasn't independent school work. soon, your tears of frustration when you couldn't communicate correctly no longer held it's child-like charm. your teary, red eyed protests were ignored.
or met with indignation.
until finally - as a last ditch effort you assume - they sat you next to mark grayson.
you protested. not because he made you nervous - which he did - but because you wanted to dislike him. because being in the proximity of everything you wanted to be would be too much to bare. because mark would only make you look even weirder in comparison. but none of it mattered because as soon as the two of you met everything just. . fell into place.
much to your pleasure, he did most of the talking and didn't seem weirded out by your social skills - or lack thereof.
you found your tummy didn't hurt when he spoke to you and he didn't ask you something along the lines of why are you this way? why aren't you like the rest of us?
for the first time while in school, you were comfortable. the overwhelming pressure of having to perform was nonexistent in mark's company.
he'd ask you about your favorite cartoons and movies, and books, and “oh! do you read any comics?!”, and ranted on how unfair it was that the two of you would soon be forced to read books without pictures in them.
his excitement barely let you get a word in. his energy was contagious, all consuming, and the attention he gave you felt like the praise you'd hardly ever receive. you forgot all about your dumb vendetta, wondering why you had one in the first place. and you morphed into a mini version of him.
the two of you were attached by the hip by the end of the week. much to the dismay of your teachers, who you were sure began to rethink their decision when the two of you wouldn't behave in class.
and, perhaps, it was a mistake. they wouldn't want you to potentially stunt mark’s growth - what if it was contagious?
unbeknownst to you, your teachers did think about separating the two of you. but the risk of you reverting to your old ways and the possibility of invoking debbie grayson’s wrath must've been far too high for their liking.
ultimately, a unanimous decision was made to grit their teeth and bare it.
in the meantime, his posse reluctantly welcomed you in. mark even gave you your very own superhero name! and you tried your hardest to keep up with him. for his sake. for your own.
god knows you tried.
but you were never good at performing.
you weren't as fast or as agile as him. you couldn't jump high enough and your sound effects were nowhere near as good. and in an attempt to overcompensate, you overestimated yourself, took a leap you knew you couldn't make, and scraped your knee.
and like a true hero, mark was the first to come to your aid. he'd sat you down on the plastic playset of the playground while you sniveled - part due to embarrassment instead of the stinging, throbbing pain of a scraped knee. he'd dabbed at your injury with crumbled tissue and placed a colorful seance dog band-aid over your cut.
when you finished rubbing your eye with your tiny fist, you didn't see beading blood and irritated flesh, instead, you were met with big, dark brown eyes that glimmered as they stared into yours.
he was close enough to count his eyelashes.
“see?” he patted a chubby hand against your knee gently. “all better!”
and, yeah - heat spread across your cheeks with newfound emotion - it was all better. all evidence of injury, the throbbing pain and blood, was long gone save for the aid he’d given you.
he’d patched you up. he'd made you better. in more ways than one. and what remained was a fuzzy feeling inside your chest.
markcil shippers should write mark and cecil w the same dynamic that homelander and stillwell had where she was kinda afraid of him but they had this weird relationship going on and there was still a bunch of tension despite the fact that she was scared of homelander.... cause cecil literally is afraid of mark to an extent and also i like the boys and I want two of my favorite shows to be combined
don't be surprised if I just abandon this account for a while and then come back with an entirely new fixation because that's what happens with me.... I have a few things in my drafts that I'm like procrastinating finishing but I am LOW KEY burnt out from writing invincible stuff.....😅😅😅
Heyy i love ur fics! I want to request main mark grayson x fem reader with a spiderman-black cat/ batman-cateonam dynamic. F!reader is a supervillain and her and mark have been enemies that flirt for awhile now and she asks him to stay at his place for some time because she got into trouble and messed with the wrong people and now needs a place to stay and someone to protect her. Mark agrees and after she goes to his place she… *returns* the favor
— cat and mouse ༊*·
mark grayson x you
wc :: 3,260 ( 17,709 char . )
rating :: nsfw (handjob, blowjob, teasing, possible tw for dubious consent? if u squint? idk???)
a/n :: uggghdhd this took me WAY TOO LONG cause I keep procrastinating on stuff💔💔💔 but anyway THANK U im glad to hear u like my fics:))) I'm not rlly the biggest fan of Spiderman or batman SOOo I tried to make this as accurate as possible😅
You're pinned to the wall in an instant, trapped between Mark and the wall. Before you can even blink he's looking down at you with those crazed eyes he gets when his blood runs so hot in his veins that it starts to simmer. But honestly it was probably a bad play to slip through his window in the late hours of the night.
Still, your choices are narrowed down to one of two options: this, climbing through marks window (The one place you could think of going after all the other people you thought you could trust to fall back on had turned you away.) in a last ditch effort for some semblance of protection, or alternatively you could roam the streets for as long as you can before inevitably the people you pissed off find you and have your head on a spike. You chose the latter.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Mark demands, wearing a grimace on his face that makes the corners of his mouth crinkle in what looks like disgust or aversion or something similar to hate. He's careful to not be too loud with his words, not wanting to alert his mom or Oliver who rest asleep in their rooms.
"Relax, handsome." The name takes him by surprise, and you grin slyly when you notice his eyes briefly widen at the title. He hasn't heard you call him that in a long time. Not since you started working for the Order, an underground network run by supervillains and crime bosses. "I wouldn't be here without good reason, trust me."
He backs off enough to give you some space when he realizes that you don't have any weapons immedeitly accessible to you, but his guard is still up, obvious by the way Mark's hands flex into loose fists at his sides until he reminds himself to relax them. "Yeah, for some reason, I don't believe you." He says between a scoff, eyes fixed on you intently as if you'll suddenly pounce.
"Listen to me," Your tone takes on a serious note as you start, now leaning against his dresser with your arms folded over your chest. He tilts his head back to you immediately. "I got into some trouble with the order. It's a lot to explain so I'll spare you the details, but I—" You pause, hesitant to explain the rest to him.
You watch when Mark brushes through the small knots in his hair with his fingertips, looking like he's bracing himself for your next words. You pause for a moment before continuing with your statement, noting how his eyes never leave yours as you lean against his dresser. "The city isn't a safe place for me right now."
He doesn't even look surprised in the slightest. Oh, really? The city isn't a safe place for you? He has to bite back a laugh when you say that. You work for the Order, that isn't exactly the safest of career choices. one wrong move, get under someone's skin, piss off the wrong person at the wrong time, and Machine Head or mister Liu, someone or other, will have your head in an instant. Of course you're not safe. How could you be, in a position like that?
"And, what? you think you're just going to walk into my house unannounced at two in the morning after months of no contact?" He questions rhetorically, astonished by your audacity to pull something like this. "God, I thought you were— I could have seriously hurt you." Mark rants, both hands meeting at the nape of his neck as he begins to pace slowly in his room.
"Hurt me? Maybe it has been a long time." You almost laugh, voice laced with a drop of humor in it before you speak up again and it's gone, swallowed up by the heaviness in your tone. "I'm not made of glass, Mark." You squint, stepping to the side and leaning against his dresser drawer, folding your arms over your chest defensively.
He doesnt care. Doesnt even acknowledge youre statement. "You can't stay here, if that's what you're getting at." He tells you, reluctant to even believe you at all. I mean, how could he? You were someone he used to fight with almost every day. practically his arch nemesis. And now you just expected him to toss all that aside only because you were in need of help? No way. What if this was some ploy to get at his family?
You roll your eyes at his words. "I thought you were a hero? What changed?" There's a hint of disappointment in your tone that makes him want to believe you're being truthful, but he's still reluctant.
"I am a hero. just, not for—" You cut him off, placing your hands on the edge of his dresser and pushing off of it until you stand in front of him. He regards you closely as if ready to apprehend you were you to attack him.
Draping your hands over his shoulders, they meet at the back of his neck and he flinches at the movement, the sudden proximity. He'd forgotten what it was like to be this close to you, and it was like whiplash when the memories come flooding back to him.
"So then let me stay, hero."
"Where are you supposed to stay? You can't stay in my room, that's for sure." He argues, but it doesn't seem like he's really trying to keep you at a distance.
"Says who?"
"Well, I– what if you were followed?" He poses the question, leaning to the side and looking off somewhere in the distance behind you, out his window.
"What do you take me for? I wasnt followed." You insist simply, finger prodding at his chest as you walk forward, effectively forcing Mark to step back and he hesitates for a moment before the back of his knees collide with his mattress, and he falls against it with the hitching of his breath in his throat, leaning back on his elbows to support himself.
You draw ever closer, crawling on top of him, so close to his face that your noses almost touch and you can feel when his breaths ghost over your skin, short and quick puffs.
"Now, how about you just relax? Let me stay, and I can properly thank you. show you how.. grateful i am." Your fingertip drags over his shirt, tracing his skin over the fabric all the way down to the waistband of his pants where you twirl the string of his sweats around your index.
His adams apple bobs in his throat when he swallows, and he tries to ignore the feeling of his face heating up in response to your actions. How had he folded so easily? How had he gotten here so fast? Was he really going to go along with this? And as if to add insult to injury, the next thing he feels is his cock as it strains in his pants beneath his boxers.
"Is this what you're here for? Was this all just some.. ploy to get into my pants? Just wanted to fuck, that it?" He accuses through the slight quiver in his voice.
"I'm here for protection, Mark. And who better to get that from than the strongest hero on Earth, hm?" The strongest superhero on the planet and somehow he still couldn't resist you. It's ironic, really.
He groans when you stuff your hands down his pants, palming his dick through his boxers and massaging over the wet spot from his already leaking cock. It's sudden and unexpected, taking him by surprise. "You could get real protection—" His breath hitches. Keep this up, and he'll make an embarrassing mess out of his boxers. "—in prison." He huffs out.
Theres no real threat behind his words and that makes you laugh and the sound is cruel as it sends hot shivers through him that pool in his gut and make him shiver. "Maybe, but we both know you won't take me there. Not right now, at least." Not like this, he couldn't. Not with his dick so hard in his pants that it almost hurts. Even if he did try, you'd just get away from him like you always managed to. "Just think of this as.. payment for your services." He doesn't say anything, doesn't seem to reject the offer. This isn't sex, no, this was repayment. Something being exchanged.
And with that, with his silence, you're hooking your fingertips underneath the waistband and taking off his boxers just enough to be freeing his length from the confines of his pants, watching intently when his cock hits his lower abdomen with an almost silent slap. Mark whimpers at the feeling, and when you look back up at him, those brown eyes blown wide with need, he nods hesitantly for you to continue. Perhaps he had figured that you were too far in to back out now.
You look up at him, head tilted and examining each twitch and micro-change in his expression when you begin to stroke with a slow, lazy pace up and down the hardness of his erection. mouth slightly agape just enough for him to suck in air through his teeth. his jaw is set, eyes fixed back at you while his eyes look glazed over just slightly.
You two used to fight all the time. Like a game of cat and mouse with no end in sight, he'd chase you endlessly around the city cleaning up after the messes you made. And every time he got close to catching you, somehow you always managed to slip from his grasp. And now here you were, in his room, with your hand enveloped around the base of his cock and he still couldn't catch you. Couldn't come to his senses and bring you into prison where you belong. But then again, maybe he didn't want to. Maybe a part of him enjoyed this game you two played with eachother.
His breath snags in his throat, gasping through his teeth in a way that almost makes it sound like a sharp hiss when you dip your head down and flit your tongue out against the tip of his cock, small kitten licks over where the head of his length beads with precum. You think for a moment that it tastes dewy and sweet and all too Mark. But you don't sit with the thought for long, because in a beat your mouth is fully around him, quickly replacing the way your hands had been sliding with ease along the length of his cock with a sensation that you can he finds ten times more satisfying in the way his thighs tighten around you.
The strangled out the sound that falls from Marks mouth involuntarily when you slide smoothly over him only serves to embarass the boy further. Words failing him completely as his right hand comes to find its way to your hair, tangling his fingers in the color of it. He's not pushing or pulling, but keeping you there. Or maybe the touch is more to keep himself there instead. Grounded, a weak attempt at remaining in the present moment and preventing the way that his thoughts get away from his already scrambled brain.
He wants to be mad at you right now, he really does. Wants to be mad that you've essentially broken into his house, snaked your way into his pants with that sly, seductive tone of yours that you know hes never able to resist. This wasn't his idea of repayment at all, but he can't argue with the fact that he was enjoying it. Enjoying the way your mouth warms his cock enough to make it twitch in your mouth as you work on him, enjoying the obscene and downright lewd sounds coming from your mouth as you sucked and licked and slid your tongue all the way down the base of his near painfully hard cock.
His other hand clings to the bedsheets as if they're his only lifeline, and the warmth of your mouth working on him seems to take him to another realm entirely. his eyes flutter back when you look up at him and he moans through his bitten lips. You're quick to notice the small beads of sweat that drip from the sharp line of his jaw as it remains set in place.
And when you suddenly stop, he chokes back a noise that dies on his tongue just before it had the chance to escape. You still hear it though. How could you not? You were always so attuned to him, it was shocking. The sound is a pathetic thing, only revealing how reliant he was on you in this moment, and Mark seems almost embarrassed by it even when he refrains from clamping his hand over his mouth.
"Come on, you're impossible." He whines, bringing his hand up to your hair and tugging on it slightly, but not enough to be painful or really accomplish anything at all, in hopes that you'll stop being such a tease and resume your ministrations.
He's strong enough to take you and guide your mouth himself if he wanted to, but he doesn't—probably because he's afraid of hurting you with his own strength. Or maybe he justs wants you to suck him off him out of your on volition. You don't. Instead, you get this almost evil sort of look in your eye, the one that makes his heart drop and breathing become shallow, if it hadnt been already. "You really want to come?" You replace your mouth with your hand once again, and when your hand hovering just above the tip of his length like this, he can feel the warmth of your skin radiating onto his. When he takes his bottom lip from between his teeth and nods, you continue with your sentence. "Then fuck into my hand."
He pinches his eyebrows together, a small crease forming in between them. "Why would I do that? You're supposed to be doing this in exchange for my protection. You don't get to tell me what to do."
"Who made up that rule?"
"It's not a rule, it's common sense." Mark states blankly. "You just like to—" A gasp is ripped from his lips when you quickly offer him a stroke down to the base of his cock and back up, the feeling zapping through him and giving another quick taste of the previous ecstacy that had been building when your pace was more consistent. It's tantalzing and fleeting from his senses, but it works. And his attention snaps back to you like lightning.
"Work with me here. Just let me have my fun." You quip with a grin, and its a cruel, sadistic one. One that shows that you know just how much he's enjoying this, despite his continued complaints. And so now here he was, uselessly rutting his cock into the palm of your hand when you refuse to move it yourself, desperate for any kind of friction, any sensation to relieve the throbbing ache he feels, the pit in his stomach that pools with a heat that would drive him mad, were it not so intoxicating. He almost hated how well you knew him. Knew exactly what buttons to press to get him thinking with his cock, and how you took advantage of that in all the right ways. If it didn't make him feel so good, he'd be alot more reluctant right now.
"There you go, see? Doesn't that feel good?" You question, but it comes out sounding more condescending than anything, and he doesn't answer for a moment.
"It'd feel a lot better if you—" His voice is strained with some semblance of focus that he tries to cling onto. "If you just used your hand, instead." He finally gets out.
You roll your eyes briefly, but he doesn't seem to notice—And if he does, he doesn't care enough to address it directly. You were always a tease, especially in bed. He should know this. Letting you know that you're getting under his skin only adds fuel to the fire. Whether it be stopping you in the middle of robbing a bank, trying to steal some important museum painting, or any other petty crime you may have gotten up to...Did he always have to ruin your fun early?
"Fine," You mutter begrudgingly. "But not because you told me to." He lets out a short, breathless laugh at that. But it doesn't even really sound like a laugh, more like a sigh of relief laced with a tinge of worry.
And Mark twitches, involuntarily letting out a moan that's all too pornographic and loud for two in the morning. He muffles it with his hand, face flushing a cherry red in an instant. Raising your free hand, you take him by the wrist and pull his hand away from where it rests over his clamped shut mouth before returning it to his side on the sheets. "At least let me hear you."
"What? No, that's too risky, what if—" But when you quicken your pace and he's cut off by another gasping noise that clogs the way of his words, he doesn't seem to care as much anymore. All worries thrown out the window the second his head becomes clouded and fuzzy and his body becomes all too reactant to everything you do to him.
"You're always so worried. Just let me take care of you." You drawl out like each word had been carefully chosen to get I side his head and mess with him in a way he didn't even realize you were doing.
"Yeah, I— Yeah," He responds this time, eyes flitting up to the ceiling as he lets your hand work on his cock, feeling the way his blood rushes to his length and his tip flushes an embarassingly bright pink. Could you really blame him for being worried, though? Imagine trying to explain what he was doing with a wanted criminal in his room at two in the morning. If anyone were to walk in right now, there was no way he'd be able to talk his way out of that.
But when Mark feels his desire pool in his stomach, warm and building and impossible to ignore as it pulses through him, his entire body runs hot with the incessant need to come that crashes down on him. His mind blanks, empty with only the almost primal, nagging desire to finish—It seems like he's had a change of heart, because now he's not worrying so much about getting caught right now.
His climax hits him suddenly and unexpectedly when his hips jump, stuttering against the warmth of your palm. And suddenly he's finishing in thick white ropes that drip from the head of his length. the evidence of his excitement pools over your hand, hard at work as you continue to stroke your wrist around him, coaxing him through his climax with each time your hand rises and falls back down again, dragging out every last drop you can, deriving a sense of twisted joy when his body jolts and shivers beneath you. he almost looks lifeless like this, if it weren't for the way his chest rises and falls in quick huffs as he catches his breath.
Looks like you'll be getting that protection that you wanted so badly after all. Once you clean up the mess you made, that is.
I saw your fic with the mark grayson and how he accidentally steals readers first kiss and I loved it sooo much you’re writing is so peak, but what would invincible variants do if they stole your first kiss?
hc — variants stealing your first kiss
⚛ mark variants x you
wc :: 1,519 ( 8,591 char . )
rating :: sfw
a/n :: gggggghhhhhh this took me way too long and is kinda short???? maybe? idk.. but THANK U!!! I had a really fun time writing that one so I'm glad to hear u think it's peak😁 wrote for sinister, mohawk, omni, and viltrumite mark (not in that order)
mohawk mark ::
when mark draws back from the kiss and sees the way your eyes widen, mouth still hanging open just a crack enough to see the whiteness of your top teeth, he's quick to become defensive. he's reluctant to think that maybe he had done something wrong, so he jumps the gun and accuses you instead, tone biting. "what? what's wrong with your face?" there's no way you didn't enjoy that, it's not like mark is a bad kisser—he thinks. he's never really thought to ask.
you notice the tension in his shoulders as it immediately dissipates just as quick as he had become defensive, almost irritated. you explain, telling him that it was your first kiss, hence your reaction. his mouth lifts immediately into a grin. all boyish and cocky and sharp, almost-but-not-quite fangs flashing as a tidal wave of confidence hits him.
"really? I'm your first?" He leans in when he asks the question, quick and eager and impatient for your response. when you confirm again, his ego visibly inflates like a party balloon, and it pops as his laugh fills the air and he's on you in an instant, not physically, but bombarding you with questions.
"was it good? did you like it? that was really your first kiss?" it's like an interrogation the way he poses his questions one after the other, barely even giving you the time to mutter a one word response. he's surprised, clearly. and once you confirm, once he fully believes you, his lips are on you once again, fervently like he's determined to make your second kiss even better as he slowly takes his mouth lower.
viltrumite mark ::
mark doesn't understand your reaction at first. mistakes your shock for disgust or maybe some other negative emotion that he can't place. "is something wrong? you... don't reciprocate my feelings, is that it?" he hasn't been on earth long, so he isn't exactly good with anything outside of the base emotions—happiness, sadness, anger...
it's confusing, the way your eyes blow wide with... a mix of fear, he thinks, but he could be wrong. probably is. and something unfamiliar. but when you explain, he still doesn't understand. still remains dumbfounded and with even more questions than he had before.
things like this were trivial to mark. earthly concepts like 'first kisses' didn't exist on viltrum. not like any viltrumite had the time to explore anything intimate outside of mating, but even then, intimate would be an incorrect descriptor. it was more clinical, only engaged upon when it was absolutely necessary, in order to produce offspring.
"your first kiss?" He echoes, taking you in with a quizzical expression. "but am I correct in assuming that you enjoyed it?" mark had heard of things like this, of course. he familiarized himself with romance movies, books, witnessed couples showing eachother affection during his time observing earth before he officially met you. but this was nothing like the movies he watched or the books he studied. this was real and raw in a way that made his stomach coil tight enough to make him nauseous—he was worried. what if you didn't like it? he was rather inexperienced, so it wouldn't be shocking news if you told him you didn't.
you confirm, and this time it's you who has to reel him back in, pull him away from the doubtful thoughts and uneasy worries that plague his mind. you do so by meeting your lips against his and he snaps out of it immedietly, brought back to reality like something out of a fairytale and your kiss was the one that awoke him.
omni-mark ::
he knows what he's doing. or at least, mark likes to think he does. he's had a few partners before you, enough to give him the time to learn the basics, so when he felt it appropriate to steal your lips in a kiss, he's confused—maybe slightly embarrassed, when you sit silent and surprised next to him. you two were so close he could feel the heat of your skin radiating from you, his hand placed gently, absent-mindedly on your thigh. every piece felt like it had fallen into place, but maybe he was looking at the puzzle all the wrong way.
"was that...alright?" He asks, voice remaining steady, yet he could still feel the way his heart quivered in his chest, something uncontrollable that filled him with a sense of unease he couldn't snuff out as he waited in limbo for your answer.
he's surprised when you tell him this was your first kiss, but his face remains still and the emotion only shows on his face in the way his eyebrows twitch upwards slightly. he hadn't expected someone so beautiful to have never kissed anyone before. he thought guys were practically drooling, tripping over their own feet for you. when you reveal that they in fact aren't, and it's quite the opposite, he's almost taken aback.
but when he thinks about it, he finds that it does make somewhat sense. you were always so quick to bead with sweat at the palm of your hands when he held them in his, nervous when the air in his room got heavy and hot with whatever slow, butterfly-inducing words mark had whispered in your ear.
"well, you aren't recoiling in disgust, so.. is it safe to assume that you liked it?" his head tilts, a barely noticeable twitch in the change of his position. when you confirm, he hums and leans in with a small, half smirk that tugs gently at the corner of his expression. and when he kisses you again, it's soft and slow, sure and careful all at the same time as he eases back into you, hands curling around your waist, an action that he carries out with steadiness. an action that serves to reassure him more than it does you.
sinister mark ::
he knows it's your first kiss. thats why he keeps it quick and laughs airily when your breath falters. the sound is low and rough while also being anything but demeaning or mocking, although it let's you know that he finds your reaction amusing. which would have made your face flush slightly with embarrassment if it hadn't already from the sudden contact.
"okay?" with the monotone, straight-forward tone he adorns, the word sounds like a statement, but it's not. instead, it's a question. because he cares about you enough to at least ask if it was alright that he made a move on you like that.
usually mark is so brash, assertive, the type to take what he wants, when he wants, without any regard for the consequences or the way others might feel. but with you, he wears an entirely different personality. he's still a little rough around the edges, sure, i mean this was mark you were dating. what did you expect? but he's considerate enough. the initial kiss is short and almost sweet—at least, as sweet as the ruler of an alien species bred for the sole purpose of conquering can get. it's something entirely out of character for him. you can tell he has to reel it in, restrain himself at first. but when you tell him you actually enjoyed it, showing all the signs of someone who wanted more from this... he gets this look about him. it's hard to tell exactly what he's thinking, his eyes are lidded and too dark brown to see through. but you can tell that whatever he's feeling right now is made of pure, carnal desire.
this time, when your lips brush over his for another kiss, it's possessive and a hair's breadth away from all-consuming, leaving you with little room to breathe. it's a statement of ownership despite the wordlessness accompanied by the action. it's almost overwhelming but not quite there, only because he at least has the decency to hold back from devouring you completely, pulling back occasionally to stare with lidded eyes into yours—allowing you to catch your breath and see the fire that burns in his eyes, lit entirely by you, for you.
trans mark grayson trans mark grayson trans mark grayson trans mark grayson trans mark grayson trans mark grayson trans mark grayson trans mark grayson
thinking about mark grayson trying sooo hard to be gentle with u since ur powerless and essentially reduced to nothing but a pretty ragdoll underneath him. telling himself to mind his strength, control inevitably slipping with each moan you release, each time you press yourself against his cock—god, fuck, do you even realize what you're doing to him?
he'll have you contorted in positions you didn't even know you could achieve, bending your body in any way he needs it with a practiced ease until he settles on fucking you balls deep from behind, his grip at your sides so posessive and rough that his fingertips dig into your skin enough to bruise and he takes your whimpers as encouragement to keep going.
low, ragged and husky through gritted teeth, he'll mutter praises like "you can take it, baby, I know you can." when he trails a hand down the perfect curve of your back, arched—he pulls your hair back once his fingertips settle around a strand, reminding himself to be gentle even though he shakes with a restraint that falls with each sporadic thrust of his hips into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin is taunting, inviting, nearly enough to push him over the edge.
his eyes greedily taking all of you in, leaving nothing to go unseen. the way your cunt drips with your slick wetness is irresistibly tempting, beautifully filthy in all the right ways and he can't stifle down the urge to swipe over your clit with the pad of his thumb, letting out a low hum of satisfaction from deep in his throat when your body jerks at the sudden contact like you'd been zapped, and then again when he traces steady slow circles into your clit.
he loves the way you're so pliant, like puddy beneath his weight. it's thrilling, in a way, knowing he could snap you in half with little force or resistance from you at all. adds risk. reminds him he needs to be careful, and it only makes him more attentive to every one of your movements and reactions, even the ones you don't realize you're giving him. it brings mark to your wavelength, forces him to notice each time you twitch, each time shake or quiver or arch into him. he hears when your breath catches, when you moan even half a decible louder, it let's him know what he's doing right. and he's quick to take note of it, keeping it up until your orgasm crashes over you mercilessly, leaving you a mess on the mattress for him to clean up with that same delicate care that he had lost in the moment before.
