squ1shygutszz666

Latest Posts by squ1shygutszz666

Invincible x reader Imagine

not proof read

Invincible!Mark taking you out on a surprise date to Tokyo and trying new foods. 

“I’m soooo excited for you to try this!! I made some reservations so I hope you like it!”

Invincible!Mark cuddling you and laying a hand on your tummy while his head is on your chest. He feels a lot safer with you knowing you're alive and the person that loves him. Hearing your heartbeat is something he memorized.

Invincible!Mark whispering in your ear about how much he loves you and he’ll make sure nothing ever happens to you. He loves you so much he memorized your heartbeat, it's a melody that brings happiness and peace to his life. He makes sure to buy you his favorite perfume you wore the first time he met you, oh how he loves that smell on you and you only. 

Invincible!Mark who makes sure to buy you flowers any chance he gets because you deserve them and he just loves you so much. He loves seeing you smile, it makes his heartbeat accelerate. 

Invincible!Mark who loves to hear your voice all the time, he makes sure to tell you that he always listens when you feel like you talk too much. Whenever he stares at you it feels like everything will be okay, the light around you starts to focus on you and the only thing he sees are the sparkle in your eyes and the shine of your smile. 

Let me know if you guys would love a part 2 or make a story or just creat it as i go !! :))

⏦☣︎➢I NEED MARK’S FLAXANDIH

NOTE: You guys aren't giving enough love for my bb Flaxancible :((, I crave him so much that its too much even for me. Getting the hang of Tumblr, semi-proof read.

Paring: Flaxan!Mark Grayson x f!Reader — Female Anatomy and She/They + You Pronouns, Established Relationship?

Sypnosis: Flaxan Mark probably did the right thing — attacking the Pentagon and fucking you before ReAnimen beat his ahh up

Warning: Smut

Arriving a new universe probably wasn’t for the weak. Thanks to Angstrom — or not, he’d promise something for each and every one variant, like Phantom Mark who wanted his mom back, Maskless Mark who missed William and Sinister Mark who just wanted to destroy everything that is in sight. Every Mark variant had something they’d lost or an ambition.

Flaxan Mark on the other hand, he had everything he’d wanted, power, strength, everything, thus he even conquered over the Flaxans that tried to destroy earth, he’s already an emperor. But still, something wasn’t right.

Flaxan Mark flew over the city of this current universe; Arlington, Virginia. As if he’s trying to find a certain place.. or institution?

He hovered above the building of the Global Defense Agency, observing it before dashing into the place, damaging the base, the establishment—a wreck by such a small entrance. Tons of rubble fell, alerting the people and Director of the GDA to find the culprit.

He made his way towards the empty sleek halls, his feet softly padding against the floor that had just been splattered with the blood of his victims, eventually finding himself in a somewhat empty hall. His eyes slightly widened, finding her.

“Mark? Is that you?— we really need your help and—” your rambling came to a halt, realizing that he wasn’t Mark. Oh fuck. “Shit—“ You cursed, trying to dial Cecil’s office but you get cut off when he took it away from you.

You turned to look at the hallway but found it empty, gently pursing your lips together. You shuddered when you felt him breathing and looming over you, you looked back at him with fear. To your surprise, it definitely wasn’t your Mark.

“Stay away— I- I’ll press this button.” You gripped the switch tightly, holding it between you and him. That button was the one that Cecil used on Mark before, a copy from that creature he fought that emitted a wail so powerful enough to stun him as he was making a treaty with Queen Aquaria and with that Cecil gave you a copy, in which you reluctantly accepted at first. Thankfully right now, it’s going to be useful to you.

“You’re just as beautiful as I remember.” He whispered, gently caressing her skin as he lowered her hand that held the remote. This variant looked so much different from Mark. Much more shorter hair, the flaxan attire? Is he a flaxan?

“You look just like her.” He weakly said, his voice trembling in anticipation as he ran his thumb across her features, analyzing her eyes, skin, and lips before slipping it between her mouth, earning a yelp out of protest from her. You bit his thumb that he stuck in your mouth, Flaxan Mark immediately retracted it back, replacing his thumb with his lips.

“You are her.” You melted into the kiss. He kisses just like Mark, he is Mark after all. You fluttered your eyes open gently, slowly reaching out for his wristband. He noticed this small movement, gripping her wrists on the side with his hand, restraining her. He knew this too well.

“Mmh- Mark.” You moan into his lips, back pressed against the wall behind her. Flaxan Mark’s hands dared to touch her, too afraid to hurt her, too scared to lose her, so he made sure he wasn’t bruising her wrists when he restrained her up.

He broke his lips away from her, resting them over her cheek, relishing how she felt once again in his arms. He trailed his lips from her cheek to her jaw, his hands that restrained her wrists shifted to your shoulders, resting there as his fingers flexed against her skin. He made his way to her neck, kissing over the moles, the way he used to do so with her before. His teeth nibbling, refraining himself from leaving marks as he is actually scared to hurt his beloved that he just once again found.

His swallowed, hearing her soft sounds, he knew her too well, too well that in every dimension, she’s the same. He loved the fact that she was like her. His you in his dimension.

One of his hands landed on her figure, gently caressing your skin trough your uniform. “Not enough— time.. To make love with you.” He grunted, looking over their surroundings before hiking your skirt up. He was impatient, a parallel to Mark. He unbuckles his armor, freeing his veiny dih, the tip twitching with anticipation as she watched it brush against her thigh.

He slipped himself with no thought — actually a thought, a thought of fucking and probably breeding her in some way? Imagine losing her in his dimension and finding her in another’s dimension, all unbothered, so he took the risk before losing the chance to ever see her again.

“Gotta breed this fucking pussy before I slaughter them all— shit..” The Flaxan penetrated her, the feeling of his dick was too overwhelming for her, making her mind go numb. She clenched her gummy warmth around him as he thrusted, in and out of her hole. a small sound escaped his lips at the feeling of feeling her around him once again after being separated for so long he couldn’t even imagine. Bros stupid ahh did not slaughter them all.

“Don’t you leave me— don’t you dare fucking leave me.” His hips stuttered against her as she clutched onto the cold wall behind her and clutching onto his Flaxan armor that gleamed. She moaned incoherently, his metal-clad fingers digging on her sides painfully. The frequency button fell out of her hands, landing with a small thud on the floor.

You moaned, holding onto his with dear life as he rutted his hips against hers. He paused, feeling a lump forming on his throat before taking a deep breath and trying to put his desire into words. “Fucking- shit..” He hesitated, looking away for a moment before back up at her. The sudden change of position made her gasp quietly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he lifted her hips up to his level. Her eyes met his as well, her breathing getting a bit heavier as more and more anticipation spread through her.

He held her with one arm while the other went between them both, his fingers brushing against her folds, his thumb gently circled her clitoris. He ran a pad of his fingers across her folds whilst he slowly penetrated her. She felt so warm, so tight around him. It made the poor Flaxans head spin almost.

His hand moved to her hip, his grip firm and possessive. The muscles in his arm flexed as he guided himself forward, his body trembling with coiled tension. As he slowly slid into her, the sensations overcame him. The heat, the wetness, the way she clenched around him sent a shudder of pure pleasure through his entire body.

“Fuck.”

He cursed.

Already cumming between her folds.

Her climax came after his, gushing all over his dick, clamping his appendage, milking him. You fell onto him, body weakening under his resolve, he kept his small pace, drawing their climax to its end.

NOTE: “What was that? 8 seconds?” — Guinevere Beck from the Netflix Series, YOU

(more) Mark Grayson Variants as Husbands

Characters: Cap Mark, Full Mask Mark, Maskless Mark, Shiesty Mark, Sinister Mark, Viltrumite Mark

Cap Mark

The hot husband who gets hit on by everyone. He knows he has a pretty face and has a more detailed skincare routine than you. He is vain and takes great pride in his physical appearance and can be quite the charmer when he needs to be. 

While he likes the attention, he never entertains them. He has eyes only for you after all.

He’s a gossip, too. He knows everything about everyone in the neighborhood, likes to spill the tea while you two are in bed. 

One of the Marks who can cook better than their partner, or at least, without destroying the appliances. He loves feeding you. Gives you snacks almost every two hours. You blame him for your weight gain, but he can’t help it. You’re so cute when you’re eating.

Full Mask Mark

Yearns for a simple, peaceful family life. His biggest dream after marrying you is to give you children, not because that’s “the mission,” but because he genuinely wants to be a good father. 

Because he is (lovingly) a momma’s boy, the two of you spend holidays with Debbie. You don’t mind because hello, it’s Debbie.

He tries so hard to honor his commitments to you, but he is still so soft-hearted, he couldn’t just ignore a little girl crying because her balloon was stuck in a tree or a sweet old lady crossing the road. He is always late to your dates. He always feels guilty, but you reassure him each time, because he was almost never late to the important things.

Almost because he was late once and lost you completely.

Maskless Mark

Total introvert. His friends and teammates don’t worry when he doesn’t look at the messages in their group chats or see him outside of work. He genuinely would rather spend his free time with you, alone, in the house.

Strong cat dad energy. You two adopted a stray momma cat once and he used to sleep on the floor next to her when she was too tired to move.

He wants to learn to cook, but don’t let him. He will set off the fire alarms. One time he tried to make you lasagna and you came home to find fire trucks surrounding the house while your husband hugged a big fat cat and her kittens by the driveway.

Shiesty Mark

A total manchild, but beneath all that roughness, he’s thoughtful and devoted. 

When you express disapproval of certain habits, like leaving the toilet lid up when not in use (gross) or drinking the milk straight out of its carton (again, gross), he will pout but won’t do it ever again.

He is extremely protective, they all are compared to normal, well-adjusted people, but this one will fuck up anyone who looks at you the wrong way. He tends to get angry on your behalf, too, like when you tell him about your abusive boss or annoying co-workers.

He is a touch fiend and always has one hand on you. It doesn’t have to be sexual, sometimes he just likes the feeling of your bare chest and the fat of your thighs between his fingers.

Sinister Mark

Quite the romantic, also super competitive. He laughs at humans who get divorced, because in his eyes, that makes them failures. But that’s not to say that he approves of idiots staying together while they destroy each other. Divorce is funny, but pretending to be in love? That’s downright pathetic.

Love is supposed to be fun, but he also knows that it’s about effort. This man doesn’t believe in letting the flame die. He will bring you flowers everyday after work without fail. He will open doors for you, carry your things even when they’re super light, buy you chocolate, and take you to dinner every week, and it doesn’t have to be fancy, maybe you prefer McDonald’s over a sushi restaurant, that’s cool with him.

Despite his own philosophy, he actually doesn’t expect you to treat him the same way. Just agreeing to spend time with him and accepting his presents are more than enough. All he wants from you is to always have you by his side until the end of time, is that so much to ask?

Viltrumite Mark

Awkward and naive, but always willing to learn. 

Due to his upbringing, he is the typical will fix the problem for you type of guy, which can be annoying when you just want to vent. On the bright side, he is a straightforward fellow. He may not understand why you get mad or frustrated when he offers you solutions, but he will do his best to go against instinct when you tell him your feelings.

He is an attentive husband who quietly helps you around the house. He doesn’t keep track of the chores and just does it when he can, for example, when you leave one used mug in the sink (you swear you’ll deal with it when there are more dishes) he will wash it without saying a word. 

Despite, or perhaps because Viltrum does not share Earth’s marital customs, he was one of the Marks most eager to marry you. He could not picture life without you, and he would sooner bite his tongue off than think of you married to somebody else.

MASTERLIST Husband Headcanons for Emperor Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Omni-Mark, Prisoner Mark

Hello! 💕 Can I request semi-public sex with Mohawk Mark? You make him unhinged like he actually is and I love that. (And I know this is very specific but.. can you include the doggy position? I feel like he’d be very into it, and the reader’s ass in general.)

BENT FOR A KING — mohawk! mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: smut, semi public sex, swearing, slight degrading, getting caught.

It starts with his hand around your throat.

Not hard. Not yet. Just enough to make you breathe a little differently, feel the weight of who he is. Mohawk Mark—unhinged, dangerous, and untouchable—rules this world with blood-stained hands and a half-smirk that never quite reaches his eyes. You’re lucky he hasn’t crushed you under his boot like the rest of them.

No, he’s chosen you.

And tonight, on the rooftop of a crumbling building overlooking his broken kingdom, you’re reminded exactly what that means.

“Stay quiet,” he murmurs into your ear, voice low and hot. “Or don’t. Either way, I’ll still fuck you like you’re mine.”

His hand slides down the curve of your back, and the moment it reaches the small of your spine, you know exactly what he wants. You always do. He’s a man of habit, of power, and of instinct. His fingers grip the flesh of your hips, tugging you into position, pulling you closer to him as though you’re the only thing that matters in this world—this world he rules with fire and blood.

You can feel his gaze on you even before he speaks, his eyes burning with an intensity that both excites and terrifies you. It’s the way he looks at you—like you’re the most precious thing, but also the most breakable. It’s not just that he wants you—he needs you. The kind of need that consumes everything in its path.

His obsession isn’t just about your body, though that’s a large part of it. He’s consumed by the way you respond to him—how you give in to him, how you arch for him when he demands it, how every inch of your body fits into his hands like it was made just for him. He sees something in you that no one else does—a rawness, a vulnerability, a surrender that he can’t find in anyone else. The power he exudes comes with a deadly confidence, but with you, it’s different. There’s a tenderness hidden beneath that twisted exterior, a need to control, but also to keep you, to protect what’s his.

You drop to your hands and knees, the gravel biting into your skin as you do, the roughness of it grounding you in the reality of your situation. The city sprawls beneath you, its flickering lights barely reaching your high perch, but there’s a strange sense of thrill that makes your heart race. The risk—the fact that someone might look up and see you like this, used, wrecked by him, the king of this crumbled world, it ignites a fire in your chest.

But what feels even more dangerous is how you don’t care. Not even a little bit.

You’re here with him, in the most vulnerable way possible, but it’s an honor. It’s more than just sex, more than just being his favorite. It’s a privilege that you can’t find anywhere else in the world.

There’s no one else who would ever claim you like this—no one else who could. He owns you, yes, but in a way that’s deeper than possession. You are the only one who gets to see the cracks in his armor, the only one who gets to feel the raw, unhinged version of him—the one who could tear down everything for you, or burn it all to the ground if anyone ever tried to touch what’s his. You’re his, and he makes sure everyone knows it.

And there’s a twisted satisfaction in knowing that the world watches him rule with bloodshed and fire, but only you get to experience the darker parts of him—the parts that are soft and broken, the parts that see you not as a trophy, but as the one person who can hold him together when the rest of the world wants to tear him apart.

Being with him isn’t about just giving your body. It’s about surrendering to him completely, trusting that no one else could ever hold the same power over you, the same hold on your heart. When he calls you his, it means something. It means you’re the one person who can shatter him, who can make him feel something real in this warped world. It’s an honor to have that kind of access—to be his addiction, his salvation, and his destruction all in one.

His hands grip you tighter, pulling you toward him, and the thrill of being seen as his breaks through your every thought. You close your eyes for a second, feeling the weight of his presence, the honor of being the one to witness it. You know that, as broken and twisted as he may be, you’re the only one who gets to call him yours.

That’s the honor. And it makes every part of you ache to keep giving more.

Mark pulls your hips back into him, hands rough, greedy. His nails bite into your skin. “Fuck… look at you,” he groans, one hand gripping your ass hard, spreading you open so he can stare. “Made for me.”

You whimper when he slides in—slow just to tease, but you know he doesn’t have patience. Not really. Not when he’s like this.

He slams forward, and your breath escapes in a gasp. His thrusts are brutal, rhythmic, like he’s trying to fuck the shape of his cock into your body, so no one else could ever forget who you belong to.

“Say it,” he growls, fucking into you hard enough that your palms scrape against the gravel. “Say who you’re for.”

“You, Mark—only you,” you gasp out, voice broken and sweet.

He growls like an animal. One hand snakes up to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back so he can lean over your trembling body.

“Damn right. The whole world bows for me. And you—” he punctuates the next thrust with a sharp slap to your ass, making you moan helplessly, “—you bend over for me. Perfect little thing. My perfect fucktoy.”

The way he says it—it doesn’t feel demeaning. Not from him. Not from the man who’s torn empires apart with his bare hands, who’s crushed entire rebellions for daring to even look at you the wrong way.

You know what you are to him. Not just a toy. Not just a body to fuck.

You’re the center of his madness. His favorite obsession. His only softness in a world he rules through fear and fire.

And when he calls you his perfect fucktoy in that low, hungry voice, it doesn’t make you feel small. It makes you feel chosen. Desired so completely that it borders on worship—twisted and dark, but real in a way nothing else in his world is.

He shows it with every punishing snap of his hips. With every brutal thrust that steals your breath and leaves you gasping for more. With the way his hands clutch at you like he’s trying to mold your body to fit him—like no other shape exists but the one you make together.

“You’re mine,” he growls again, more animal than man now. His hips slam into you with a desperate rhythm, frantic and raw. “You don’t breathe without me. You don’t come unless I say.”

Your moans are soft, broken things, muffled by the way your cheek presses against the rooftop, but he hears every single one. Lives for them. You can feel how deep it runs—this need to own you, brand you, bury himself so far inside you that even death wouldn’t tear you apart.

His grip on your waist tightens. One hand drifts back to your ass, squeezing it, spreading you wider like he wants to see the way you swallow him whole. He groans—low, filthy, reverent.

“Look at that,” he murmurs darkly. “Even your body knows you’re mine. Takes me so well.”

You can’t speak. Your voice is lost in the pleasure, in the way his cock keeps hitting that spot over and over, making your toes curl, making your thoughts go white. But you feel it—how much he needs this. Needs you.

And underneath all that violence, all that terrifying strength, there’s something else. A desperation. A fear of losing you.

Because in a world he could destroy in a heartbeat, you’re the only thing that matters enough to keep. And he’s going to fuck that truth into you until it’s carved into your bones

You lose track of time—of everything but the sounds of him. The raw rasp of his breath, deep and grating, almost primal as he fucks you with relentless force. Every exhale he takes is a promise of something darker, something more savage that you need him to give. The rhythm of his hips becomes your only anchor in a world spinning faster and faster, leaving you gasping for something, anything, to hold onto.

The sting of his hands on your skin is electric—each touch searing, a claim. His fingers grip your body like he’s afraid someone might take you from him, like this—this very moment—is something he can’t afford to lose. His nails scrape over your flesh, marking you, and the pain only drives you higher, deepens the hunger coiling inside you. It’s as if your body is made for this, for him, for the way he owns every inch of you with just a touch.

And then there’s the heat building deep in your core, growing impossibly hotter with every thrust, every roll of his hips. It’s frantic, it’s all-consuming, a molten fire flooding through your veins, turning your mind to mush. Your body can’t take it much longer, but you don’t want it to stop. Not now. Not when you feel so alive, so completely his.

Your voice starts to waver, climbing higher and higher, until it’s a desperate cry. It’s not just the pleasure anymore—it’s the way he’s tearing apart everything you’ve ever known about yourself. The way he’s filling you up in every sense of the word. Your voice gets breathless, broken, like you’re drowning in him, in his touch, in the heat he’s flooding you with. And Mark? Mark lives for it.

His grin stretches wider, lips pulling back over clenched teeth. His eyes gleam, almost predatory, like he’s watching you break, like he wants to see you shatter completely under him. It thrills him, that power. That control. And every strained, breathless sound you make only pushes him further, encourages him to go harder, faster. He wants to hear your voice crack, wants to taste every shred of desperation in the air between you.

His hands grip you tighter, pulling you deeper into him as if your body was a tool meant for his pleasure. But you know, deep down, it’s not just about that. He wants you—wants to claim every inch of you, and the dangerous part is that you’re more than willing to let him. Your submission isn’t out of fear, but out of respect. Respect for the man who could crush the world beneath his boot, yet chooses to keep you close, tangled in his every whim.

His voice cuts through the air, dark and rough, just as commanding as his actions. “You like this, don’t you? Knowing that no one else could ever have you the way I do. No one else gets to see you like this. Not like me.” His breath hitches as he thrusts into you, his fingers digging into your hips.

You bite your lip, barely able to suppress the moan that threatens to escape. You can feel the rawness in his voice, the possessiveness, and you can’t help but smile, your body betraying you with its eager response. “Yes, Mark,” you breathe out, voice trembling. “Only you. I’m yours, all yours.”

His growl sends a shiver through your spine. “Damn right you are.” His hand comes down sharply on your ass, the sound of it echoing across the empty rooftop. You gasp, but it’s not from pain—it’s from the satisfaction of knowing that each strike is his mark, his claim.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he mutters, the words nearly lost in the raggedness of his breath. “You arch for me like you were made to. Every part of you… made for me.”

His words are like fire, igniting something deep inside of you. You feel his grip tighten as he begins to push deeper, harder, faster—his rhythm wild, untamed. You can hear his breath grow more frantic, like he’s losing himself in you, like he can’t control the force of his desire.

“You’ve got to be mine, don’t you?” he growls, his voice rough, hungry. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine.”

You arch your back more, meeting his thrusts, every inch of you burning with need. “I’m yours, Mark,” you gasp, your words shaking. “I belong to you. Only you. I’ll always be yours.”

He growls, low and pleased. “Good girl.” The praise is a rare gift from him, and it makes you shiver. His hands move to your hair, tugging it back so he can lean down, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re mine, and no one else gets to have you like I do. Not now, not ever.”

A dark thrill pulses through your veins at the thought. The idea that you’re the only one who gets to feel this—the only one who knows what it’s like to be held by him, controlled by him, taken by him.

His pace doesn’t slow. If anything, it picks up—faster, harder, until the world around you disappears. The only thing that exists is him, the hard press of his body against yours, the raw intensity of his thrusts, the sound of his voice demanding your complete submission.

“Don’t ever forget who you belong to,” he grits out, his hand tightening around your throat again, not enough to choke you, but enough to remind you of his dominance. “I’ll make sure you remember. Every time I fuck you, you’ll remember who owns this body.”

You gasp again, your voice shaking with need. “I’ll always remember, Mark. I belong to you. Only you.”

His lips curl into a dark smile against your skin, and for a moment, his pace falters as if he’s savoring the sound of your words. “That’s right,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re mine. And you’ll never forget it.”

“That’s it,” he murmurs through a wicked grin, his hand clutching your hip, forcing you back against him as he slams into you with unrelenting force. “Let me hear you scream. Let me hear how badly you want me, how fucked up you are for me.”

You can barely form words anymore. You’re so close—so close to the edge, your body trembling with anticipation, but still, there’s something inside you, something twisted and desperate, that wants to drag this moment out. You want him to keep breaking you, keep pushing you, to keep using you until there’s nothing left but his name on your lips and the raw burn of his hands on your skin.

His laugh comes out in short, jagged bursts, almost cruel in its delight as he watches your body tremble, your breath hitching with each deep, punishing thrust. He can feel it, too—that delicious tension, that impending explosion.

“Come on,” he urges, his voice low, almost mocking. “Let go. I’m right here, baby. I’m right fucking here.” And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

The heat inside you bursts wide open. Your body goes rigid, muscles locking as you lose yourself completely in him. The cry that rips from your throat is nothing but a raw, guttural thing—a mix of pleasure and surrender. And Mark, Mark watches you as you fall apart for him, watches as your whole body shakes with the force of it.

And with a final growl, he follows you, burying himself deep, claiming you in every possible way. He finishes with a low, satisfied groan, burying himself deep and holding you there—his hands gripping your hips like he owns every inch of you. And he does.

“Next time,” he whispers, lips brushing your skin, “we’ll do it on the Capitol steps. Let them all see who you belong to.”

And the worst part? You want that too.

You collapse forward, trembling, skin slick with sweat, knees sore from the gravel, but it doesn’t matter. None of it does. Not when he’s still inside you, so deep it feels like he’s fused to your spine. Not when you’re dizzy from the aftershocks, from the way he took you—like he needed it, like he’d fall apart without it.

You feel him exhale behind you, breath ragged, chest heaving against your back as he leans over you. His hands are still on your hips, thumbs rubbing absent, possessive circles into your skin, grounding himself in the feel of you.

“…fuck,” he breathes, more to himself than to you.

There’s something wild in the way he touches you now—softer, almost reverent. His fingers trail along the bruises blooming on your thighs, the prints he left behind, the heat radiating off your skin. He doesn’t apologize. He never would. But there’s a tenderness in the way he shifts, lowering you gently onto your side like you’re something breakable. Something precious.

“You okay?” he asks, voice quieter now but still rough, still his. His mohawk flutters in the wind as he hovers above you, studying your face like he’s looking for cracks, for signs you might slip through his fingers.

You nod, breathless. “I’m yours, remember?”

That gets a smirk out of him—crooked and dark, but it’s the closest thing to peace you’ve ever seen in him. “Damn right you are.”

He lies beside you on the rooftop, pulling you into his chest like a dragon curling around its treasure. The stars blink above the ruined skyline, and for a second, the world is still. He tucks your hair behind your ear, fingers rough and calloused but shockingly gentle.

“I hate this world,” he mutters. “Filthy. Weak. Useless.”

You hum against his chest. “But you like me.”

He pauses. The kind of pause that means he’s battling something inside—something he never lets anyone else see. Then he answers, low and deadly serious:

“I don’t like you. I need you. You keep me from turning this whole fucking planet to ash.”

His fingers trail down your spine, resting low over your ass—his favorite place, the one he claims over and over like it belongs on an altar. “If I lost you… there wouldn’t be a world left.”

You believe him.

You shift closer, tilting your head up. “You’ll never lose me.”

He kisses you then. Not soft. Not sweet. Just real. Teeth and heat and need. The kind of kiss that says: You’re mine. Forever. Even if I have to tear through every universe to keep you.

And you kiss him back, silently telling him what he already knows. You’d let him.

You’re still on the rooftop, curled in his jacket, legs weak and heart slowly returning to a steady rhythm when you hear it— the crunch of boots on gravel below.

You freeze.

Mark doesn’t even flinch. His eyes snap open from where he was lazily nuzzling your shoulder, his body already tense, ready. On edge. “…Hello?” a voice calls from down below. “Is someone—shit. Hello?”

You move toward the edge of the rooftop, careful but curious, peering over with Mark’s massive jacket barely covering your thighs. Below, a young man—probably a patroller or worker—stands in the alley, looking up. His eyes land on you, wide, startled—

And then his gaze lingers. He gasps. “Oh—uh—I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—!” His face goes red as he stammers and immediately looks away, hands raised in apology. “I thought the place was empty!”

You blink at him, unsure whether to laugh or cover yourself more tightly. “It’s okay. Just… don’t look.”

He nods furiously. “Right, yes, of course, I didn’t—I wasn’t—!”

But that was enough. Behind you, you feel it: the air shifts. The weight of fury. The silence before the storm. And then, in a blur of motion, Mark is gone. CRACK—the impact below echoes up like thunder.

You rush to the edge again just in time to see the man slammed into the alley wall, feet off the ground, Mark’s hand tight around his throat. His naked body gleams in the moonlight, but modesty is the last thing on his mind—his rage is all-consuming.

“You looked,” Mark snarls, voice low and lethal. “You looked at her.”

The man chokes, hands clawing at Mark’s wrist. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“She spoke to you. You spoke to her.” Mark’s grip tightens. “That alone’s worth breaking your spine.”

“Mark!” you shout, grabbing the edge of the rooftop. “Stop!”

He doesn’t. “I should fucking kill you,” Mark growls, eyes glowing like a warning. “You think you get to see her? Get to hear her voice?” You leap down, landing hard and stumbling, Mark’s jacket still clutched around you. “Mark, please. Stop.”

He growls, muscles trembling with restraint as he glares at the man, who’s turning pale under his grip. You move in front of him, pressing a hand to his chest. “He didn’t touch me. He didn’t even try anything. He’s just a dumb kid who looked up at the wrong time.”

His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle ticking. You cup his face, forcing him to look at you instead of his prey. “Please, Mark. For me.” He breathes through his nose. Once. Twice. Then he rolls his eyes with a grunt and drops the man, who crumples to the ground, gasping for air.

“You should be dead,” Mark growls at him. “You even dream about her, and I’ll rip out your tongue and force you to swallow it.”

The man whimpers and crawls backward, disappearing into the shadows without another word. Silence returns. You look up at Mark. “You didn’t kill him.” He tilts his head. “Don’t act like that wasn’t impressive restraint.”

You laugh softly, stepping closer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I am,” he says, dragging you flush against him, voice dark and low. “And you love it.”

His hands settle low on your hips—palming the curve of your ass again, possessive and unrepentant. “Let someone try that again. Next time, I won’t ask for permission.”

You kiss him, rough and quick. “Next time, don’t make a scene while I’m still half-naked.” He grins, wicked and wild. “That’s your fault. Walking around looking like sin in my jacket.”

And before you can argue, he lifts you into his arms like nothing in the world matters but you and takes off into the sky.

at the insane stage of character obsession where i start getting the urge to post pngs of them every five seconds like im showing ppl a picture of my stupid ass boyfriend that nobody likes but me

feel it …. ! ₊ཾִ ᖫྀ ⁣⁣.

headcap!mark, viltrumite!mark, lenseless!mark, & shiesty!mark & chubby/curvy!reader╲ they’re superheros, do you really think a little (or even a lot) of chub bothers them??

𖥔 ࣪˖ tags⠀⎯ reader is depicted as having a chubby / curvy body type. if that is an issue please don’t read. i also intended to write this in a non “chubby chaser” way however if you catch those vibes i personally apologize as that isn’t my intention. | separate hcs & blurbs | pet names | ooc characters (??) | spreading the mark loves chubby woman agenda | face sitting | rough sex | breath play | foul mouthed shiesty mark | being held up while being fucked | etc..

𖥔 ࣪˖ author’s notes⠀⎯ mark loves woman of all sizes like it’s the truth, and i’m plenty sure his variants feel the same or at least a little similar (and if they don’t?? who cares! 😚) as always please excuse any typos and grammar mistakes

HEADCAP!MARK.

( you can’t run. )

headcap! mark doesn’t go easy on anyone, not a little purple kid and especially not you. he enjoys pushing limits in your relationship, especially in the bedroom.

each thrust is rough, each rut is deep; stirring you up and leaving you to do nothing but take every single strike. and the man’s behavior is only exemplified the moment he realizes you simply can not escape him. granted, if you were any smaller you wouldn’t be able to either, but; with how tightly headcap!mark is gripping you, you can’t run.

and that fact will always rile him up.

the man hadn’t even fully slipped out of his suit before pursuing you; previously carelessly tearing at his pants and tossing them to the side. hands were all over your body, securing around your hips, waist, thighs, everywhere he could reach as his hips rutted against you.

your body shook with each powerful thrust, pleasure thundering through your body as he fucked you with no mercy. you couldn’t get accustomed to anything, it was far too much, tears streaming down your face as you rocked against your mattress. your fingers clawed against the plush blankets, sweet muffled moans escaping into the damp fabric.

headcap!mark was so deep, deeper then you sure was humanly possible; pressing up against your cervix, rubbing against that little spot that had you throbbing. and when you felt his hand switch around your body to spread your folds just a bit more— easily finding that little bud nestled between them, you couldn’t help but whine, pitching into a little shriek when he rubbed fierce circles upon the bud.

desperately you tried to crawl away, surely scratching up your blanket from how tightly you were holding. you got an inch, only an inch before headcap!mark’s free arm was slithering around your waist, pulling your ass flush against him.

“ah, ah..” the man tutted, lips curled into the shittiest little grin as he stared down at your withering body. “keep trying to run and you might hurt yourself..” the words meaning only seemed to amplify the moment his hand rose, quickly taking both of your wrists and pressing them right against the bed— all while leaning over to lay over you completely, trapping you.

you weeped softly, feeling your combined juices trickle down your thighs as pathetic little begs escaped your bruised lips. with the closeness you could hear the way he chuckled so deeply, feel his chest fall and rise with each release.

“m—mark.. fuck, please, please—!”

“shh.. let me show you how much i missed you.”

VILTRUMITE!MARK.

( you don’t trust how strong he is? how rude, he’ll just have to show you. )

it’s common knowledge strength is the most important value to the viltrum empire. every moment of their life is a battle, and if you fail to come out on top it’s death. plain and simple.

only this wasn’t a fight viltrumite! mark was used to. falling for you, learning how little you valued your body. he didn’t care to understand it really, but it did tick him off when you were always so.. scared.

the restraint in your body; getting tense when getting undressed, resisting being picked up, the whole nine yards. it’s to the point the man is genuinely offended.

half-viltrumite or not he was strong, strong enough to lead and defend his empire. you were nothing compared to half the things he’s fought.

and he has no problem showing you.

you couldn’t help but whine feeling his fingers dig into your skin as he lifted you. how odd was it that you could practically feel the power coursing through the digits, rising you without a single sweat. your legs wrapped around the man’s waist, his hips never stopping despite the new angle.

“baby, pl..please— have to put me down!” your body betrayed your words, entire being rocking and throbbing as viltrumite!mark fucked up into you. his tip nudged against that spongy spot, stretching you so perfectly without a single care. your arms wrapped around his neck, nails dragging across his skin to steady you.

“mm… too heavy!”

viltrumite!mark sucks his teeth at your declaration immediately, a tight glare in place of his usual neutral expression. that glare did wonders, your pussy throbbing around his length, devouring the expression with a blurred gaze.

“i’m sick of you going on about that.” the man practically spat, tone low and expressing his frustration with each pointed thrust. a groan thrummed from his throat, enjoying the way your gummy walls clamped around him far too much. “do you truly think i’m incapable of holding you however i want? does it look like i’m struggling?”

you whimpered at his words, shaking your head rapidly, keening the moment you felt a hand shift between the two of you; pinching your little bud. you caught on quickly, a swift— “no!” escaping in a jumbled speech.

satisfied with your answer viltrumite!mark tugged you even closer, hands sliding to your ass, kneading the flesh as blunt nails dug in.

“good. and i’ll continue to drill that fact into your head— no matter how many times it takes.”

LENSELESS!MARK.

( come on, too much? all he sees is more to love! )

lenseless!mark, the sadistic little freak who could only grin while fighting immortal. who thrives and lives off receiving and dealing out pain. affection nor love wasn’t a primary objective of his, but he didn’t mind finding you— perfect little you.

your size wasn’t much of a concern, sure he noticed it but he truly didn’t care…

until he realizes something.

you didn’t expect to end your afternoon like this, seated upon your lover’s face while he devoured on you like some full course meal. his arms, strong and large were wrapped tightly around your legs; refusing to let you move, keeping you secured against him with no escape. your hands clenched the headboard, forehead resting against the cool wood as sweet sobs escaped. lenseless!mark has been toying with you for what it seemed like hours, sucking your folds and little bud raw.

see, lenseless!mark realized something about himself rather quickly. he enjoyed tipping the line during sex, especially when it came to air. he couldn’t count on a single hand how many times he’s had you wrap your pretty little hands around his throat to squeeze. so when the man actually used his head for once, realizing how thrilling it would be having you sit right on his face— he was practically begging for it.

and oh, did he love every single second of it. the weight of you, the sweet taste; each breath came out as some weak little shudder, your thighs pressing against his ears to the point he could only hear his own swift heartbeat. lenseless!mark wondered if he could pass out like this, maybe even drown right in your juices.

fortunately he didn’t care, not one bit. there was nothing like sucking your little clit just to feel you wither, clench, and trickle more juices.

this was heaven on earth.. or more specifically, heaven on his face.

SHIESTY!MARK

( give him a second, his favorite show is on starring you; and the ripples of your body. )

we’ve gotten to the point it’s clear no mark in any universe gives a damn about his lover’s size. and even if there was one, it certainly wasn’t shiesty!mark. foul-mouthed and all, do you truly think he would love you any different any other size? really, it’s like you don’t know him at all.

granted, it is pretty obvious how much he loves your body. the stretch marks etched into your skin, the way a shirt cupped those pretty tits— shiesty!mark especially loved the way your body jiggled. rippled, shook— whatever word; he loved it. far too much..

there was just something so hypnotizing about how your body moved whenever he drilled into you.

“fuck, baby..” the words are whispered in a low drawl, pure amazement tugging every single letter. like some leering pervert shiesty!mark’s gaze was settled onto your body, struggling to pick between your back and ass to watch. every inch was simply amazing, adding to the absolutely wonderful feeling of your walls sucking him in greedily.

soft plaps echo throughout the room as his hips slammed against you, the perfect pitch to the melodic moans that escaped your wet lips. you hadn’t a clue what had gotten into him. one moment you’re jumping into some jeans the next they’re on the floor— forgotten completely.

your cheek pressed against the blankets, turning and glancing at the man with blurred vision. you couldn’t place it, but he seemed to be in a trance— under some type of spell only you could muster. shiesty!mark’s lips were parted, quick breaths and even quicker swears escaping as he thrusted into you.

“look at that..” he’s muttering to himself again, a hand sliding from your waist to grab an ass cheek. the flesh fills his palm easily, spreading you to watch his cock disappear within you before coming out even slicker then before. “shit, so fucking good. shaking like a damn leaf.” the moment shiesty!mark notices your eyes on him he’s grinning, gripping your flesh as his thrusts become just a little more pointed.

pretty moans fall off your tongue, eyes pinching close as your entire body shook with the movement. his name emitted from you in broken sobs, legs shaking as you could do nothing but take each thrust.

all while shiesty!mark smiles, throughly enjoying it all.

“maybe i should record next time.. then you’ll be able to see how good you look like this for yourself.”

hi. i really need youngbin possessive boyfriend. jealousy. whatever kinks u want. pls.

I'm gonna do bullet points for this! (Mainly cuz you didn't mention if you wanted a scenario 💀)

Warnings: 18+ and written for female anatomy. The regular ones really. Choking, spanking, daddy/sir kink, possessive duh, marking, dirty talk 😙, edging, overstimulation. Lmk if I need to add more.

Jealous Possessive Youngbin will include:

Oh man you know you've fucked up big time when he gets jealous cause he's quite calm bout almost everything

Legit the moment you enter your room or any secluded room, you're pushed up against the nearest wall or bent over a clean surface

He will grip your ass with as much strength as he has omg

Bruises bruises BRUISES FOR DAYS

Definitely manhandles you, not too much tho don't worry 😉

Now it might go in two ways from here

Situation 1

He will pull down just your pants and underwear or rip them

Basically exposes your heat and removes his pants too and just goes to town

Very rough 🤤

Spanks you so much you ass is red almost purple

Grips your hair hard enough to make you cry

merCILESS

Ends up overstimulating you while chasing his own high

Makes you beg him to stop

Moderately low chances of choking you

Dirty talks so much

" You are mine. Just mine. All mine." as he's literally pounding into you

" You think they could fuck you better? Make you cum as many times as I can?"

His daddy kink comes into play 🤭 only if you're into it

Okay but he'll drive his dick into you at such a fast pace you're moving away from him cause it's too much

But you can't move away cause there's no space so you end up squirming so much it makes him smirk his evil smirk

Vampire bites your neck

When you cum for the final time he's made sure that you physically can't stand on your legs anymore

Super caring after tho 🥺

Situation 2

Comes up close to you, presses his body to yours so you cam feel his hard cock on your ass

One hand moving your hair to one side while the other applies pressure to your throat

Licks your ear before talking to you

Makes his voice super deep and lustful 🤐

" I didn't really like the stunt you pulled today. Maybe I should teach you a lesson babygirl. "

Brings you to the bedroom, ties your wrists together so you can't touch him :(

Fucks your face for sure

Bends you over his knees, asks you to counts the number of spanks 😶

Suddenly slips like 3 fingers into your aching wet hole, no warnings what so ever as his thumb will find your clit

Teases you while interrogating you

Better respond with 'Sir' or you won't get to cum tonight or a week

" Aren't you my good girl? Why were you acting like that? Have I not trained you enough by now? " With such a calm voice that it seems like an Innocent question

Edges you so many times. Like 7 or 8 times 😳

Finally gives in and fucks you like you two are the only people who need to repopulate the earth

Chokes you as he leaves so many hickies on your neck and oh Lord you won't know how to cover them no matter how much you try

Makes you cum till your legs shake or you squirt

Rough grips every part of you

Delicate aftercare cause it's just as important

This was fun.

Men humping the bed as they eat you out — 😖😖

Feels very Mark Grayson coded

bro ik mark whines and whimpers so pretty. i mean, he’s got to be sensitive. like an achilles heel kinda. i mean, he’s practically <title card>, obviously he’s gonna have a spot that’s super sensitive. it’s a mandatory character flaw for characters like that and for the sake of this i’m gonna say that his dick is the weak spot. so obviously he cries so pretty. how could he not, with your hand wrapped around his cock, slowly tracing the veins that run up and down his shaft, giving him a slow pump every once in a while. and he whines so prettily, muscled tummy caving in as he curls in on himself, his hips bucking shallowly, chasing more friction. he lets out the sweetest whine and you just coo and swipe your thumb over his slit, watching as his whole body twitches slightly and he lets out a cute little whimper. and when he finally cums? he’s absolutely gorgeous. head thrown back as he lays back on the bed, his back arched as he squeezes his eyes shut and parts his lips. cum spurts from his flushed pink cock, his hips rocking slightly with each spurt that covers his tummy, and he whines so prettily as he tries to hide his face in the pillows, hands grabbing gently at your wrist and your hips and anywhere he can reach, honestly. and then he’s slumping back fully on the bed again, pretty brown eyes opening to peer up at you as he thanks you for giving him pleasure like that

‘WHATCHU NEED ?

ft. sinister! mark, mark grayson, mohawk! mark

- what are their favorite kinks?

warnings: 18+, nsfw, afab! reader, hand job, praise kink, toxicity, dacryphillia, crying, humiliation, degradation, misogyny if u squint, usage of bitch, slut, whore, etc. spitting. i can’t think of anything else but lmk if i missed anything.

an: minors dni the basic’s. you can very clearly tell who my fav is. i’ll prolly make a p2 with the rest of the variants if this is well loved

SINISTER ! MARK: DACRYPHILLIA

Mark fucks like he fights; brutal, relentless, without apology. There’s no hesitation in him, no softness when he’s like this. Just raw force and the thrill of taking, of claiming. He watches you beneath him, shaking, gasping, breaking apart with every thrust. And he loves it. Loves the way your body trembles trying to keep up. The way your voice cracks on every moan, every whimper. The tears slipping from your lashes like they belong to him. He drinks in the sight, your wrecked face, your parted lips, your eyes wide and dazed, sparkling with the last flickers of resistance he’s hell-bent on snuffing out. It makes something in him throb, deep, satisfied. Not just because he’s fucking you hard enough to leave bruises, but because you’re taking it. Letting him use you, ruin you, wreck you in the image of his own hunger. And that? That’s what gets him off. You’re a mess beneath him, slick, stretched, sobbing. And he thinks you’re beautiful like this. Shattered and helpless. His. Every thrust is a statement. Every groan he pulls from you is a victory. He’s not gentle, he never learned how to be—but his hands still cradle your face when he drives into you like he’s trying to fuck the stars from your soul. There’s something almost reverent in the way he watches you come undone. You fall apart for him, and he watches like a man starved. Every sound, every twitch, every tear feeds something deep in him. He makes you cry, and he smiles. Not out of cruelty, but because in those tears, in that surrender, he sees something honest. Something real. He’d ruin you a thousand times just to see you crawl back into his arms, tears drying on your cheeks, whispering his name like it still means something.

MARK GRAYSON: PRAISE

All the blood, the broken ribs, the ringing in his ears after every fight, Mark takes it. He always takes it. The weight of the world shoved onto his spine like it’s his birthright. Cities crumble and rebuild around him, and he just keeps moving. Keeps saving. Keeps bleeding. And Cecil? Cecil never stops. Always calling, always reminding him of the bigger picture while ignoring the boy who’s still barely holding himself together inside the man. He’s tired. Not just in his body, but in that deep, heavy way that presses on the soul. But then there’s you. You don’t beg him to save the world. Don’t want anything but him, raw, bruised, and starving for something soft. With you, he’s just Mark. Not a hero, not Nolan’s shadow, just a man who’s been torn apart and is desperate to feel whole. Your hands on him—slow, soft and possessive—piece him back together, stroke by stroke. Your voice, low and sultry, “You’re so fucking good for me, baby,” and those words hit harder than any punch he’s ever taken. Your fingers curl around his cock, thick and throbbing, already slick with pre-cum that betrays how much he needs this. You stroke him with a tenderness he’s not used to, but it’s deliberate, filthy in its care—like you’re not just jerking him off but claiming every fractured part of him. Your lips graze his jaw, his throat, and he’s lost in it—the heat of your breath, the scent of your skin, the way you consume him. His balls are heavy, drawn tight, aching with a desperation he’d never show in the daylight. He’s trembling, not just from lust but from how you see him. Not as a weapon. Not as a savior. Just as Mark—aching, loving, breaking. You don’t rush him. You unravel him slow, your hand gliding over his length, slick and relentless, while you whisper filthy praise in his ear. “Look at you, so hard for me, so needy.” The world takes and takes, but you give—your hands, your mouth, your words wrapping around him like a lifeline. He clings to you, hips bucking, moans spilling from his throat, raw and unfiltered. When you drag your tongue along the sensitive spot just below his ear, he’s fucking done for. His cock pulses in your grip, leaking more, and you hum in approval, like you’re savoring every second of his surrender. When he comes—spilling hot and messy over your hand, hips jerking, eyes screwed shut—it’s not just release. It’s a surrender to the safety you offer, to the way you hold him together when the world tears him apart. He gasps your name, voice wrecked, and for once, he feels like he’s enough.

MOHAWK ! MARK: DEGRADATION

He calls you his nasty slut like it’s a prayer and a curse in one breath. Voice low, ragged, reverent. The way your cunt grips him, tight and greedy, sends his brain sputtering; thoughts wiped clean, all instinct, all need. You make him dumb, and he loves it. He spits on your lips, your chest, between your thighs, inside you—wherever he can leave a mark. He wants it messy. Filthy, even. The kind of dirty that sticks to skin and lingers in the air. He’s obsessed with the way your face contorts when his calloused hand cracks across your cheek, or lower, where your thighs are slick and trembling, soaked to the bone with your own dripping need. The wet slap, the sharp sting, the way you choke out a whimper—it sets his blood on fire, his cock pulsing, leaking precum. He fucks you like he’s trying to break you, merciless, pounding your legs up so high they’re pinned to your shoulders, splitting you open to plunge into your womb. He wants to carve himself into you, to fuck so deep you feel him in your cervix, until there’s no line between his flesh and yours. Every broken moan you spill gets you a new name, “Needy bitch” growled through gritted teeth, his voice raw with hunger. And fuck, he loves it ‘n the way it makes your eyes roll back. Your cunt’s a sopping mess, gushing around his cock, drenching him in thick, slippery heat that drips down his balls. He loves the obscene squelch, the way your pussy clutches him like it’s starving, milking him for every drop. You take him so fucking well, every brutal thrust, every inch rammed home, like you were made for his cock alone. He’s addicted to the way you unravel, to the slick, messy proof of your surrender, to the way you let him ruin you.

hmmm... thinking about someone forcibly taking care of you. bathing you by hand, brushing your hair for you, dressing you and grooming you, brushing your teeth for you, hand feeding you etc etc. not just as a form of affection but also to assert control over your every breathing moment...

one thing ☝️ we know for SURE about Mark

his face card?

NEVER declines

nerd!gojo always holds his hand over yours when you jerk him off. he guides your fist up and down on his cock like he's doing it himself and the whole point of your hand being there is null and void. he might as well be masturbating.

you get upset about it one day, sitting back on your heels and giving his cock a gentle squeeze so he slows down. he looks at you with wide, hazed eyes, glossy with lust and need and everything else that makes him so fucking pretty! "why'd you stop?"

"you could do this yourself," you nod down to where his larger hand wraps around your smaller one, still closed around his weeping cock. "you're doing all the work, toru."

you try to loosen your grip and pull back, maybe suggest some other way of getting him off together, when he tightens his grip and forces your hand to still on his cock. he's a little red in the cheeks, long lashes fluttering under his glasses as he musters up the words he needs.

"i like holding your hand, is all."

ᴄᴜᴛ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ, ᴋɪꜱꜱ ʜᴀʀᴅ ʚ♡ɞ

Pairing: Lenless [No Goggles]!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: Fucking fiiiilth, smut bitches!!!

Tags: Threats of violence including self harm, absolutely toxic behavior, reader matching his freak in the worst way

Word Count: 2,814

Inspiration: “None of Ur Friends Business” – Ginuwine

Synopsis: Your dangerously unhinged not-boyfriend threatens to “take care” of the friends of yours that keep trying to pull you away from him, and you are having none of it. literally a crazy stand-off

a/n: you know i had to jump on it after this anon message!! god he’s such a damn psychopath, need that 🤪

His hands are warm—too warm—palming your waist like he owns it. The soft press of his mouth against yours is hungry but practiced, like he’s done this in his head a thousand times and tonight he’s just filling in the details.

You’re trying to stay focused. Trying not to melt into him completely. But his knee is nudged between your thighs and your hands are fisted in his shirt and—God—he smells like the night. Wind and sweat and danger.

And he feels it. The shift.

Mark pulls back just barely, his breath brushing against your lips. “What?”

You blink up at him, chest rising and falling too fast. “I… I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

He laughs—low, sharp, a little breathless. “You say that with your hands still on me.”

You pull back further, guilt blooming under your skin. “It’s not me. My friends… they don’t think I should be around you.”

Mark’s eyes flicker, and something inside them cracks. Not anger. Not surprise. Something worse. That slow, dangerous amusement he gets when he’s too far gone to care.

“Ohhh,” he says, sitting back on his heels, still straddling your legs. “Them.”

You shift, tugging the hem of your shirt down, suddenly too aware of how vulnerable you are underneath him.

“They think you’re… I don’t know, unstable,” you murmur. “That I’m not thinking straight when I’m with you.”

He tilts his head, watching you like you’re some kind of puzzle he’s already solved. “And are they wrong?” You hesitate. His grin widens. “Didn’t think so.”

“Mark…”

He leans down again, slower this time, arms caging you in as his voice drops to a whisper. “You think they know what this is? What we are?”

Your heart stutters. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your jaw. “They don’t get a say.”

“You can’t just—”

“Yes, I can.” His eyes meet yours. Calm. Controlled. Unsettling. “Because I don’t care what they think. And you don’t either, not really.”

You shake your head, but it’s weak. Your resistance is paper-thin and he knows it.

“They don’t know what it’s like when you look at me like that,” Mark mutters, voice velvet-dark, “like you want me and hate yourself for it.” You swallow hard, trying to find your footing in a conversation that’s already sinking fast.

“They’re just looking out for me,” you say, weaker than you mean to.

Mark hums, dragging his fingers up your thigh like he’s barely paying attention—which only makes it worse.

“Yeah? Then maybe they should spend less time worrying about you and more time fixing their own messes.” His tone is too casual. Too cutting.

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He looks at you like it’s obvious. Like he’s been holding back and is just now getting bored of pretending.

“Let’s start with Lauren,” he says, like he’s choosing a weapon. “She’s real concerned about your well-being for someone who’s still sleeping with her ex behind her current boyfriend’s back.”

You freeze.

“And Maya?” He laughs under his breath. “She’s got a lot to say about how ‘toxic’ I am for a girl who gets blackout drunk just to forget she texts her therapist at 3am.”

“Mark—”

He leans in, grinning, like he’s telling you a secret. “They don’t care about you. They just don’t want you to have something they don’t have.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off, voice dropping low and dangerous.

“Especially your girl Sadie.” His eyes are locked on yours now, completely still. “The way she looks at me?”

Your breath catches.

Mark's lips curve into something that’s almost a smirk, but there's something sharp underneath. “So obvious. Like she wants me to look at her the way I look at you. Like she’d lose her mind if I touched her the way I touch you.”

Your skin prickles. “You’re imagining things.”

He chuckles, and the sound is mean. “You really think I don’t notice? She doesn’t even breathe when I walk into a room. Like she’s hoping I’ll slip and touch her by accident.”

His fingers trail up your arm, slow and lazy. “But I won’t. You know why?”

You’re quiet.

He leans in, mouth just brushing your ear. “Because she’s not you.”

You shove at his chest—not hard, but sharp enough to get the message across. “You’re such an asshole.”

Mark barely moves. Just blinks, lazy and slow, like a cat watching its prey squirm.

“Yeah,” he says. “And?”

You sit up, untangling yourself from under him, heart pounding. “You don’t get to talk about them like that. They’re my friends, Mark.”

He watches you now, eyes darkening. The grin slips, just slightly.

“They’re hypocrites,” he says coolly. “They don’t like me because I don’t kiss ass and pretend I’m something I’m not. And you—” He leans in before you can react, voice low and dangerous. “—you like that about me.”

You flinch back. “You don’t know what I like.”

He scoffs. “Don’t I?”

His hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist—not hard, not painful, but firm. Controlled. You freeze.

“That little act you pull?” he says, head tilting. “Like you’re just so confused, like you don’t know if this is right?” His thumb brushes your pulse. “It’s bullshit. You keep coming back. You let me touch you. You want me here.”

Your stomach flips, anger warring with the way your skin burns under his touch.

“I want you gone,” you whisper. He laughs again, and this time it’s ugly. Sharp and disbelieving.

“No, you don’t.” He shifts closer, crowding into your space again. “You’re mad because I said what you’re too scared to admit. That your friends aren’t saints. That Sadie wants me. That deep down, you love the fact that she can’t have me.”

“Mark—”

“You want me all to yourself. And you hate that you do.”

You yank your arm back. “You’re insane.”

He smiles. There’s no denial. No apology.

“You knew that when you let me in your bed.”

You stare at him, heart pounding, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.

“You’re sick,” you whisper, voice shaking. “You think this is normal?”

Mark doesn’t even blink.

“No,” he says easily. “But I think it’s honest.”

You push at him again, harder this time. He lets you—for now. You scramble off the bed, putting distance between you like that could somehow make this safer. Make him safer.

“I’m done,” you say, trying to sound stronger than you feel. “This was a mistake.” He tilts his head, eyes tracking your every move like he’s amused by the performance.

“I really don’t like how much they distract you,” he says, tone casual—too casual. “Your friends.” You go still. Mark’s gaze sharpens. “Always in your ear. Telling you what to think. What to feel. Pulling you away from me.”

“Don’t,” you say, voice rising. “Don’t go there—”

“I’m just saying,” he cuts in, standing now, slow and unbothered. “Maybe it’d be easier if they were gone.”

Your blood turns to ice.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Mark shrugs. “Just a thought. Clean slate. No distractions. Just you and me.”

Your mouth opens—no sound comes out. You swallow, steady yourself, and find your voice. “You don’t mean that,” you whisper. “You’re just trying to scare me.”

His smile is all teeth. “Why would I want to scare you?” He starts to cross the room toward you and you instinctively step back. “I like you,” he says softly. “I don’t want to scare you. I want to protect you. And if that means getting rid of people who are bad for you…”

He trails off, as if he’s genuinely thinking it over. “…then maybe it’s not that crazy.”

“If you touch a single hair on their heads,” you hiss, “I swear to God, you will never get to touch me again.”

Mark goes still for a second, like he’s processing that, weighing it. Then he scoffs. Loud. Dismissive. Cruel. “You think you can stop me?” he says, stepping forward with that wolfish grin. “If I want you—” His voice drops an octave, sickly sweet, almost a purr. “—I’ll just take you.”

And in one motion, without flinching, without breaking eye contact, your hand shoots out to your desk. The cold metal of the scissors hits your palm.

Mark’s smile falters as you lift them up, pressing the tip against your own throat. Just hard enough to leave a mark. Just long enough to make your point.

“I will literally end it right here,” you hiss, voice shaking with fury—not fear. “Do not fuck with me.”

Silence.

Heavy. Dense.

Mark stares at you like he doesn’t even recognize you. Like you just flipped some internal switch he didn’t know existed.

His chest rises, then falls—slow. Controlled.

“…Whoa,” he breathes.

You press the blade in just slightly deeper, enough to make his jaw clench.

“I’m not your little toy,” you snap. “You don’t own me. You don’t get to hurt the people I care about just because you’re obsessed with me.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” you spit. “You are absolutely obsessed. And I’ve let you get away with it because you’re hot and you kiss like you invented sin, but I swear to God, Mark—”

You jab the scissors toward him now, and he flinches. The grin is gone. He’s listening.

“You pull one more psycho stunt, and I’m gone. Not just gone—I will erase myself from your life so fast, it’ll make that little broken brain of yours crack in half.”

He blinks. Then runs a hand through his hair, pacing a little like he doesn’t know whether to be angry, aroused, or in awe.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

You lower the scissors, your voice cool and even.

“Takes one to know one.”

Mark just stares at you. Breathing hard. Jaw clenched. That frayed little thread of control he was holding onto? It’s gone. Burned up in the fire between you.

And you—you’re still gripping the scissors. Chest rising and falling like you just ran a marathon straight through hell.

“You are,” he says finally, voice low, wrecked. “So out of your fucking mind.”

You toss the scissors onto the desk with a loud clatter.

“Guess you finally met your match.”

He takes one slow, deliberate step toward you. Then another. Eyes locked on yours like he’s looking at the only thing in the world that makes sense anymore.

“You’d really do it,” he mutters, half-laughing. “You’d die just to spite me.”

You blink once. “And you’d kill for me.”

He stops right in front of you now, inches away. His smile is wild. Reverent.

“I’d kill for you,” he echoes, voice rough and quiet, “and you’d die just to spite me.”

A beat passes. Then another.

And it snaps.

He grabs your face with both hands like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, crashing his mouth into yours with zero hesitation—hungry, desperate, possessive. Like he’s been waiting forever to kiss you like this and now he’s afraid someone might take it away.

You kiss him back just as hard.

There’s no hesitation left. No doubts. Just teeth and hands and ragged breath, both of you pulling like you’ll tear the other apart. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, fisting in your shirt like he’s anchoring himself.

You gasp into his mouth, tugging at his hair, and he groans like it’s killing him.

“I need this,” he pants against your lips. “Right now.”

You nod, forehead against his, eyes burning.

“Then take it.”

That’s all he needs.

Mark doesn’t hesitate—his mouth crashes back onto yours like gravity just stopped working and you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. One hand fists in your hair while the other slides down, grabs the back of your thigh and lifts, walking you backward like he owns the floor you’re stepping on.

You’re on the bed in seconds. Breathless. Legs parting before you can think, just to feel him there, all heat and muscle and sharp, chaotic want.

“You drive me insane,” he growls, dragging his mouth down your throat. “You threaten me with scissors and then tell me to fuck you—what the hell is wrong with you?”

Your hands claw at his shirt, yanking it up over his head.

“I learned it from you, asshole.”

He laughs—dark and low, mouth brushing your collarbone. “Guess I’m a good influence after all.”

And then he’s everywhere.

His hands are rough, impatient, sliding under your shirt, dragging it up like he can’t get to your skin fast enough. Lips on your chest, your stomach, leaving bruises he wants you to see later. Mark is marking you—no pun intended—like it’s instinct, like he needs people to know whose you are the second they see you.

Your touching him back, his skin is hot under your hands—like he’s burning from the inside out, like if you peeled him open you’d find wildfire and want. His mouth doesn’t just kiss—it consumes, dragging over your skin like he’s trying to eat the memory of your friends, your doubts, your resistance. Like he wants to own every piece of you you’ve ever tried to keep from him.

You feel his smirk when you gasp, when your legs wrap tighter around his waist, dragging him closer. You’re not even sure who started it anymore. You can’t remember who kissed who first. Just that it was inevitable.

“You like this,” he growls against your throat, lips brushing just under your jaw as his fingers trail lower, dragging over your ribs like he’s memorizing them.

You try to sound strong. You try to bite it back.

But the sound you make when his hand slides between your legs? It’s not strong. It’s needy.

Mark fucking shudders.

“Jesus,” he whispers. “You’re soaked.”

“Shut up,” you snap, flushed and breathless. He laughs, and the sound vibrates through you.

His mouth ghosts over your nipple, tongue flicking, teasing. He pulls your underwear down slow, smirking when you arch into him.

His teeth sink into your thigh, just enough to leave a mark, and he groans like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear you say that. And when he finally slides into you, it’s with a low, rough growl—like it takes everything in him not to lose it then and there.

You’re so full, so tight, so perfectly wrong for each other it makes your eyes roll back.

His hips grind deep, hard, like he’s trying to bury himself somewhere beneath your skin. He’s panting in your ear, messy and raw, fingers tangled in your hair while yours scratch down his spine hard enough to leave tracks.

He likes it. You can feel it in the way his pace stutters, the way he moans—raw and low and real.

“I could ruin you,” he gasps against your lips. “You know that?”

“You already did,” you breathe.

And that’s it. That’s when he snaps.

He grabs your thigh, hikes it higher, and slams into you with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. The headboard cracks against the wall, but neither of you care. The room is nothing. The world is nothing.

Just this.

Just him.

Just you.

Your moans turn to sobs, his name ripped from your throat like a confession. “Harder,” you whisper against his neck.

He doesn’t hold back.

Your bodies move like war and worship—teeth clashing, breath tangling, sweat slicking your skin. Every thrust is a promise and a threat.

You moan his name and he mutters, “Say it again.”

“Mark—”

“Louder.”

“Mark—”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “You’re mine.”

You don’t disagree.

He’s everywhere.

He’s everything.

And when you cum—shaking, gasping, half-crying—he watches you like he’s witnessing something holy. Like he’s the one being touched by God.

“Mine,” he pants, grinding deeper, chasing his own release. “You’re mine, you’re fucking mine—”

And when he finishes, it’s with a broken, desperate groan, spilling into you like he’s giving you a piece of his soul and doesn’t care what you do with it.

Breathless silence.

Only the sound of your heaving chests, sweaty limbs tangled, skin burning.

Mark buries his face in your neck. His voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. “…You scare the shit out of me.”

You grin weakly, fingers threading through his hair. “Good.”

-------------

Part Two - Brunch Edition!

━ HC aftercare beats it all (18+)

( main!mark grayson x girl!human!reader )

HEADCANON: rough!mark grayson + his aftercare AUTHOR'S NOTE: hello this was based off this lovely request so kisses to whoever submitted that! my inbox is always open if any of you have ideas for main!mark hehe. all that i say warning-wise is that while it isn't non-con, the reader does get so uncomfortable that she has to use the safeword. aside from that, enjoy xoxo MDNI PUHLEASEEE

( the scene )

Lemme get something straight first and say that you using the safeword HAS NEVERRRR HAPPENED. Mark is excellent when it comes to using his superpowers for an advantage in bed, never for abuse.

He loves how he can manhandle you so easily or keep you in place exactly where he needs you to be. And he ALWAYS makes sure he's being careful with you- making sure he's not crushing you, making sure your expression in your face shows everything of pleasure and nothing of pain.

But...there was this one particular night that he'd fucked up.

It was after a shitty, rough mission. What should have been a simple in-and-out job turned into something torturous: hundreds of aliens plaguing the city with their psychic abilities- using mind control and hallucinations to turn one person on another. And the Guardians of the Globe weren't shy from these powers either. One of the aliens had sent Mark into an endless mind loop, showing images of the death of his loved ones and...you. By the time Mark had snapped out of it, he'd killed the alien in a blind-rage.

So, when he finally came home- your bedroom, he was all raw, shaken and barely holding it together. He was so desperate to ground himself in you, eager to let go of the headspace he was now put in.

Mark opened your window with trembling fingers, and when you eyed him up and down, his body told you everything that it was a rough fight.

Split lip, messy hair, blood on his jaw and that wild look in his eyes...

"Oh, Mark," You whisper, sympathy furrowing your brows as you grabbed his hand with tenderness and softness- a simple reminder that you were here and safe, "Why don't I run you a bath? And then we can eat ice-cream?" He was motionless. You frowned, "Or we can just cuddle?"

But, your words served no purpose in this moment because he was already releasing your hand off him and, with efficiency, he unshed his suit. With every inch of bruised and cut skin exposed to your orbs, he lowered and lowered more until...

Oh.

"Oh."

He was hard.

It's not the first time Mark's needed to fuck you after a fight or mission. In fact, it's probably the best sex you get- with all the pent-up frustration and adrenaline still pumping through his veins, he's gotta release it somewhere…

You could say it's the perks that come with having a superhero boyfriend

So, with no further questions, you let him take you as he pleases.

But this time it's...it doesn't feel right. Sure, he kissed you passionately as he backed you until you were sitting on the edge of your bed, and his hands were roaming every inch of your precious, delicate skin like he needed to make sure all parts of you were intact.

But, it just...it felt rushed and rough- there was not an ounce of praise slipping off his lips as it so easily does and if there were any words, it was-

"-Need you- fuck," He grumbled against your neck- your skin already trailed with deep, maroon-kissed hickeys. He had already pulled your pyjamas off, and you couldn't help but whine when you heard the tear of your favourite undies as he so effortlessly ripped them in half. Of course, they weren't anything expensive, but comfort beats labels- does it not? "Need you now, baby."

You'd hope that rubbing your arms up and down his biceps that pulsated with raging muscles and veins would have encouraged Mark to slow him down, "Mark, can you just- Mark!" You were cut off with a gasp at the harsh bite of his teeth on your skin- your soft, smooth, delicate fucking skin.

He. Fucking. Bit. You.

Mark never bit you. And sure, it didn't hurt enough for you to stop him, but God, were you gonna have a word with him.

So you had let it go, only to then choke again when Mark suddenly flipped you over so your stomach was resting on your bed. His calloused, large hands that usually reminded you of a flower's petals, or the bridge of a baby's nose now felt rough, harsh...unfamiliar.

You tried to push the feeling of discomfort that was arising away to the back of your brain, and better yet, bringing forward the phantom breathy moans of Mark's voice telling you how pretty you are and how you're doing so, so well for him amongst your racing mind.

But it wasn't until Mark brought your ass closer to him and he pushed your head down into the bed roughly and you actually couldn't move against his force did your heart begin to race, though not out of the usual excitement and arousal.

No, this was...this was panic- discomfort.

His cock was just grazing the entrance to your hole when you realised that he wasn't even going to stretch you, to prepare your walls for him, to...to even fucking please you.

So with a sharp inhale, you said it.

"Red!"

Once the word left your lips, Mark had stopped everything.

Let's just say that you using the safeword was the slap back to reality he didn’t know he needed.

He froze.

"Wait- what?" And when he flickered his eyes down to your face, screaming of seriousness and panic, he immediately took his hands off of you, "Baby- fuck," And he watched as you silently - definitely from the shock, not to ignore him - manoeuvred yourself so you could stand up and away from the bed.

And as he observed your figure with worried eyes while you walked around the room and picked up your pyjamas, he couldn't help but feel like his stomach just got punched worse than any villain ever could.

His voice changed immediately- from that deep, breathless edge to a broken concern, "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

( the aftermath )

The aftermath was hard at first because aftercare was Mark's favourite part of sex, but clearly you weren't in a good headspace for that.

While he wanted nothing more than to curl his body around you, cuddling you until you fell asleep as he whispered his sorries, it's more important that you collected your feelings first.

So, the first thing he did was let you have your space.

You made him have a shower so you could sit in your bedroom by yourself- the one room that was your safe space now felt...ugh, it felt dull. And you hated that because all you wanted to do was shake whatever negative thoughts you had out of your brain, but you couldn't do that when your eyes wouldn't stop staring at your teared underwear on the floor.

You're not mad, nor upset at him- just frazzled at how uncomfortable and weird it was for you. It didn't feel like your boyfriend, your Mark.

Mark had the quickest shower he's ever had. Ignoring the aches his cuts winced against the hot water and soap, and his muscles whining with how efficiently he cleaned his dirty body- Mark was in and fucking out, not wasting any more of a second being away from you.

But, even after Mark got out of the shower and he frantically stumbled into your room with only a towel wrapped around his hips, you didn't look up at him- didn't want to.

And fuck, did it break his heart.

His baby, his sweet girl was like this because of him.

But, after you walked past him and began showering yourself, you did come eventually around. And thankfully, Mark was right there for you.

( the aftercare )

Cue Mark's aftercare!!

You just finished having your shower. And as you walked back into your room with wet hair and new pyjamas, you immediately noticed the difference in atmosphere in your bedroom; it didn't feel so sickeningly odd anymore, instead, it was oozing back into that familiar sense of safety and comfortability.

Your bedsheets were neatly fixed, and your bedroom lights had been flicked off, only the individual-lit candles circulating your room with warmth were the only lights provided for your eyes. There's a couple of sweets and snacks on your bedside table, along with a freshly filled water bottle (yes, it's got lots of ice too).

And Mark, now in sweats and a shirt he usually left at your place for emergencies like this, was just standing there...nervously.

"Is…is this okay?" He asked, immediately scratching the back of his neck, and if you really looked close enough you probably would've noticed the rosy-kissed blush spreading just below his jawline.

You tilted your head a little, examining the room just one last time before you attached your gaze back onto his. And, with a little smile, you nodded, "This is a start."

Mark sighed in relief.

Good. That's all that he needed so far.

Mark knew your weakness. He knew one of the many things that made you melt, made you feel at peace...

Warm blankets that were just fresh out of the dryer.

So as Mark wrapped said blanket around your body, he then sat on your bed with his chest against the headboard- and pulled you into his lap gently. It's so reverent, so incredibly warm as you rested your cheek against his covered chest, while one of his hands cradled your head and the other stroked your back.

With your ear pressed up against his chest, your heart was able to beat to the same rhythm as Mark's, only helping to relax you more to the natural white noise provided just for you.

Then, the questions came.

Mark's the type of guy to do that- don't tell me otherwise.

He just was so nervous- and with anxiety comes the constant need to be reassured.

So, he asked them one at a time with a frequency so gentle yet so eagerly that you could feel the faint vibrations of his voice pulsating through his body.

"Do you need anything else right now?"

"What size are you in underwear?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

...

"Should I leave? Do you want me to leave?"

You sighed heavily, "Just stay with me," You ushered in a delicate whisper. And with that, Mark let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. He clutched you tighter- though still careful.

You spent the new few hours like this, with your favourite show playing low on your laptop in the background and the occasional shift to your positions.

But, one thing never faltered during it all- Mark never let you go.

He's reassuring- maybe too reassuring. "I'm not gonna stop checking in now, okay? I don't care if we've done it a million times- I'm still gonna ask. I'd rather annoy you than hurt you again."

DID I MENTION HE'S SO WARM AND BIG AND UGH.

And he won't slide it under the rug either. He explained thoroughly to you what those aliens did, but even when your head started to feel heavy with sympathy as you listened to him, Mark hushed you. "No, what happened to me from those aliens should never have been your body's responsibility to snap me out of it. I should've had more self-control to just...get over it, rather than putting it all on you."

And even days later, he still was on about it.

Mark would keep reminding you how much he valued your trust, even when you forgave him and softly reminded him that: "Hey, that's what safewords are for, right?"

Mark kept his promise about constantly checking in on you, because now when you have sex, he is fucking relentless with how much he asks if you're okay.

He's also slower, more communicative, and soooo so gentle the first few times you're intimate again.

Everytime you encouraged him to be a little more rougher, Mark would double...triple check to make sure you were okay about it.

"Are you sure you want me to be rougher?"

"Yes, baby,"

"No but- are you...sure sure?"

You sighed, your knees and arms wearing thin with exhaustion in your current doggy position because Mark was not shutting up- even with his cock buried inside you. So, you turned your head, and directed his right hand that was on your waist down a little lower so it rested on your ass cheek. "Mark. Please slap my ass."

"Shit- fuck, okay-"

ily mark

Flaxan Mark Smut??

Swapping DNA

Synopsis: Flaxan Mark is a man on a mission, but that mission comes to a halt when he finds you again, desperate for you.

Warnings: Smut, aphrodesiac, nipple play. Shower sex.MDNI

Sorry this is quite the short fic, I don’t know too much about Flaxan mark but I hope to write more and learn more, im currently reading the issue with Thragg’s war😭 Happy sunday🩷

The invincible attacks didn’t bother you as a super yourself. You weren’t incredibly strong, you were more of a defense player in this world. It only bothered you that these variants were smearing Mark’s character. The world would stand against this, still trusting invincible after the fact which was a blessing in disguise. You helped take down what you all had thought were the last of the variants. Cecil and Donald thanked you for your work, and you went off to finally rest at home. The shower was steaming hot. The last three days were challenging and the stress was washing away. Your powers had a small setback, anytime you felt relief of any kind, your body would emit a powerful scent of wet roses or anything you could imagine that would set the tone of relaxation and release. Your body had it. It was hard for you to work with the others and stay after fighting, even your sweat had the potential to be a little dangerous. You dried your face and body, finally wrapping the towel around you and pulling the curtain back. To your utter shock, it wasn’t your world’s mark, but instead, the Flaxan variant. You just stood in shock as you gripped your towel.

“Don’t speak— I just.. I needed to see you before I leave. I was sent here to destroy this world but I know your smell from universes away.” He whined.

He was affected horribly by your aphrodisiacal smells.

This Mark couldn’t resist the urge anymore, he removed his armor and turned the hot water back on. He had a wristband on, you hadn’t seen one of those since the flaxans attacked.. he was part Flaxan?

“Get back in.” He demanded. You threw your towel off, obeying his command.

The hot water steamed the bathroom back up, Mark’s naked body collided with your own as he pulled you into a kiss, he was desperate, all due to you. He wanted more of you, more of the sensation of being with you and the only sensation that could beat that is coming inside you. He felt your breasts as both of your wet body parts reached for eachother. He knelt down catching one of your nipples in his mouth as the other was being played with by his hand. Your moans filled the bathroom, the scent getting stronger and Flaxan mark gettigg by more aroused. He was so hard it hurt. He needed the sweet release of your gummy walls now.

He turned you around and held your waist as he wasted no time kissing your entrance with his tip. He kept going until your entrance opened up for him, swallowing him whole.

“Mmmmm..” he groaned.

“Ah- right there.” You moaned.

He was gripping you tighter the harder he pounded, your wall as sucking him in and clenching around him so intensely.

“I-mmmm -I’m not gonna last any longer l— please.” He groaned.

It was your time to shine, pushing yourself back harder on his shaft as you heard the squish and squelch of both of you connecting. He held you still as he got closer and closer.

“That’s it, just like that— ohh god I’m gonna—“

And just like that, Flaxan mark released into you, continuing to thrust until he was all out of cum. He was all tired out and you ? You were ready for round two…

I will get him pregnant, and leave him a single father

“I truly love all your imperfections…”

headcap!invincible and how he loves to make you cry.

choking you too hard when he's throwing your backout from how hard he fucks you? yes please. You, crying and begging for absolute mercy and for god to save you when he makes you cum too many times, and you're so overstimulated it actually hurts than feels good. 𝘏𝗘𝗟𝗟 𝝪𝗘𝗦. Manhandling you way too hard to the point you think your bones will break because he's got your wrists in both of his hands, and he's using them as leverage to fuck himself deeper into your cunt from behind? thats his SHIT.

All the while while you cry like a stupid bitch, he smiles that creepy fucking smile that pulls too hard at his lips and his eyes are glazed over and lifeless behind his goggles while he watches your body bounce against his thrusts. You don't even know if he's even feeling good, he doesn't moan or grunt. He's way too quiet, he just prefers to watch how your body contorts illogically sharp from his demanding hands.

You only know he's even getting his rocks off, and loving this shit when one corner of his mouth twitches and air hisses out from between flashing teeth. He fills you to the brim, before grabbing you by the roots of your hair and slamming you in a new position to fuck you all over again just so he can see how hard you can cry for him now.

Honesty (Daemon Targaryen × Reader)

Summary: In which Prince Daemon seduces his unwilling Lady Wife.

Warnings: Smut. Dub Con/ Non Con. Oral sex (F receiving), P in V sex. Stark reader. Convenience Marriage. No use of Y/N.

A/N: First time writing for Daemon. Reader is the oldest sister of Cregan Stark and acts as his regent. Might write the full story one day. High valyrian from an online translator, not explaining it because I wanted the reader to not know the meaning.

The shift was white, silky, and oh so tiny. You stared at it with contempt. It had cost you a pretty penny, as had the cosmetics Lady Manderly had so eagerly pushed into your hands. Red tint, she had said, to paint your lips and enhance your natural attributes in other areas. The woman had even had the nerve to point at your breasts!

It was ridiculous, this whole thing. Had you been born a man, there would be no need for this nonsense. Had you not been born a Stark, it would still be happening, but perhaps in not such a brutal way. Or had you not been tempered by the cold, made so brazen to insult and oppose Otto Hightower, perhaps your punishment wouldn’t be marital rape.

Still. It was your duty, and you intended to perform it. It was the only way to keep Cregan, Rickon and Sara safe. And you would do it. Prince Daemon, your lord husband, as he insisted you called him, could surely get the deed done faster with the proper incentives.

You took off your gown, having been previously unlaced by your trusty maid. You put on the dreaded, lacy shift. The latest fashion in Dorne, you had been told. For how expensive it was, it certainly was made of little fabric. You glared at your reflection, watching how the long sleeves had a vertical cut that made them useless. Your skin broke out in goosebumps, as you wished you could add more wood to the fire.

Some rustling could be heard outside your room and you panicked. You were running out of time. The tint! Made of some berries, you hoped didn’t poison you. You quickly rubbed it on your lips and cheeks, trying to seem less like the terrified girl you were and more like an appealing sight. You sat down, primly, on the foot of the bed just in time for Daemon to enter the room.

“Wife.” He rumbled, coming to stand in front of you. Daemon had docked his furs and armor, his sword no longer rested at his side, just as your agreement dictated. He had come to you unarmed and barefooted, yet it didn’t make him cut a less intimidating figure in the least. His purple eyes looked at the tint with curiosity, and plucked it from your hands. “Getting ready for me? I’m touched.”

You glared at him, trying to hide how much nerves pooled in your stomach, how you were cold from fear, skin clammy and pale.

“If I must…” You shifted to your hands and knees, and lifted your shift, exposing your naked folds and arse. It was quite the vulnerable position, and heat started to spread almost immediately to your cheeks and neck. You hated the humiliation it brought you.

Daemon’s breath hitched. Clearly affected by the sight of your prone, soft body, on the bed. “What are you doing, zoklītsos?” His hand went to your exposed folds, finding you as dry as the sands of the dornish deserts. You nearly jolted at the touch, and only his hand on your hips kept you in place. It was not a good omen, you had gathered, from nights spent exploring your body before the cold and worries had turned you into the frigid ice queen the lords in the South accused you of being.

“Go ahead. Do it.” You closed your eyes, keeping them tightly shut, and braced yourself for the pain. Daemon tsked, his warm palm caressing your bottom.

“Hells, you have been deprived.” He pulled your shift down, covering you.

“I do not understand.” You frowned, looking at him over your shoulder, still on your hands and knees. “This is right, I know. I have seen animals do it.” Your tone was of absolute confidence, petulant, even. To you, it was one of the facts of life. The sky was blue, the sun rose in the west, and fucking was done on one’s hands and knees, with the man behind you. It cracked Daemon out. He snorted, hands still busy fixing your shift. It soon turned into a full-blown belly laugh, at your icy glare.

“Poor little wife, your previous lovers have done you wrong.” He palmed at your ass. You hated how the warmth of his palms made you shiver. Good gods, how was he so warm, barefoot as he was and in only a linen shirt? You wanted to kick at him, at the offense of your virtue, perhaps make an icy comment, but you were frozen in shame. “Unless…” Daemon’s hands moved to your stomach, urging you to get up on your knees. He pressed a kiss to your exposed nape when you did, as if rewarding you. Stubbornly, you tried to escape his grip, but he only hugged you tighter. “Oh, what a treat you are… The gift that keeps on giving, zoklītsos.”

“Shut up and get it over with.”

“Don’t be like that, little wife.” He kissed your jaw, tenderly, and when you moved your face away from him, Daemon adapted and started kissing a path down your exposed neck. “You wouldn’t like that, sweet innocent virgin you are. I would tear you apart, and that's no fun.”

“Oh, by the…” You muttered, exasperated. You tried telling yourself that the red of your cheeks was out of rage and not embarrassment. Used as you were at being the smartest one in the room, you deeply disliked how out of your depth you were here. It was not your fault, being uneducated on these matters. Orphaned when you were a lady just flowered, there had been no time for anything else but caring for your siblings. “Why must every woman you meet burn for you?”

“Because I am the blood of the dragon. Heat is in my veins.” He mouthed at your shoulder, this time. His kisses felt like a trail of fire down your body. It was… Waking feelings you didn’t wish to have. Nipples pebbling, hairs standing up, pleasant shivers and all. You breathed in and out, trying to control yourself. Daemon pushed the sleeve of your shift down. “My proper little wife. My ice queen. You will melt, in the end.” He kissed back up and towards your ear, whispering, cruelly. “They all do.”

Your breath hitched. A slip. The first of the night. You could feel Daemon’s smirk against your skin.

“Do you really want to find out how the fire in your veins meets the ice in mine?” You remarked, coldly. It was an attempt at projecting a bravery you did not feel. Bravado. Nothing more. And Daemon could tell.

“Fire can melt ice.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss on your throat. With the way he held you, curling and uncurling around you, Daemon reminded you more of a snake than a dragon. You felt as if you were in the grip of a boa, constricting around you, robbing you from your air, leaving you breathless. It was wrong, being so excited at being the sole focus of such a predator. But heat was pooling between your legs, you were getting embarrassingly slick.

“Ice can put out a fire.” You warned, one of your hands going to his silver locks and tugging. You got exactly the opposite reaction of what you wanted. Daemon’s eyes closed, expression turning into a delightful mix of pleasure and pain.

“Only a fool would meet your ice head on.” He kissed your sternum. You remained as still as a sculpture. He tugged at the sleeves, until they gave. There went the dornish shift, ruined forever. You felt a distant rage at having wasted so much gold on it for him to rip it apart. Daemon drank the sight of your exposed chest eagerly, seemingly entranced. You tried covering yourself, but he grabbed at your wrists.

“I think not, Lady Wife.” Then, very tenderly, he pressed kisses to the top of your breasts. You whined, low in your throat. It felt good, and he had no right, no right at all, to get your body to betray you like this. “You see… A tiny flame, if constant, can begin…” Daemon kissed lower, encircling your areola, purple eyes gleaming with mischief. “To melt your ice.” And with that, he took your nipple into his mouth, making you let out a little scream. You squirmed, feeling more wetness gather between your thighs. If you wanted to keep your dignity, you had to get away from him. But Daemon’s grip wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard you tried.

“No… I… Husband… Please. Please.” You begged, shame so deep you were nearly in tears. How it was that easy for him to take you apart, you didn’t know. Despite your pleas, his tongue circled your nipple, his lips making nearly a vacuum around it. His hand came up to pinch at your other nipple, warning. “I don’t want this, please. Just… Just…” But whatever you were saying got lost into your moans, until you were unable to know if you were asking him to stop the sweet torture or give you more of it.

When your tears started to fall in earnest, Daemon let go of your breast with a nearly obscene slurp.

“What is it, zoklītsos? You don’t want the attention of your Prince?” You nodded, and he gave you a mocking little coo. It almost made you think he would stop. Almost. If not for his hands, bunching up your shift until you were exposed once again. Under the candlelight, your cunt glistened with how much wetness you had produced. You tried to close your legs, but he kneeled, forcefully keeping them apart with his torso.

“No. I doubt that's the problem.” Daemon rubbed a finger against your entrance, not putting it in, but just pressing. “I think my little ice queen is melting. A big puddle, she is turning into.”

“You think…” You got cut off by a moan. Daemon had found your pearl, and it seemed he knew exactly what to do with it. “Yourself so smart. Smug…” He pushed a finger inside you, making you yelp, and effectively unable to finish your sentence.

“If you still have coherent thoughts…” He pulled away from you, taking his shirt off. Your eyes immediately were pulled, as if by magnet, to his chest. He had a warrior’s body, muscles all functional. Deliciously broad shoulders, toned stomach with the slightest hint of definition, yet still slender in the way most Targaryens were. Closer to gods, indeed. He bent down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, making you squirm.

“Lord Husband…” You warned, noticing how his kisses started to approach your privates.

“Lady Wife.” Daemon repeated, with a mocking tone. Then, he curiously pressed a finger against your button. This time, your hips bucked, and you were unable to quiet the moan that slipped from your parted lips. “Such a pretty cunt you have.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Oh, but where is the fun in that, zoklītsos?” He spread you apart, as if opening up the petals of a flower, gentle but so casual. “If I wanted a quick fuck, I would have taken one of your servants, or found myself a whore.” Daemon leaned down and licked a strip over your cunt. In your haste to muffle a scream, you brought one of your hands to your mouth and bit down on your palm until you tasted blood. It was the oddest feeling, a line of scorching hot electricity on your exposed sex. “I intend to enjoy you. As often as I can. That’s why I accepted marrying you.”

“I don’t… I….” You muttered, but you weren’t really opposing him anymore. It was impossible to think about anything apart from what he was doing, of how his heat and wanton ways were starting to warm your blood too. Daemon kept licking at you, making your hips twitch. He was entirely ignoring your pleas, apparently finding great pleasure in the way he took you apart.

You felt like you were burning up, as if something that had been long asleep in you had started to be awakened. Long hidden and forgotten desires that were making themselves known. You found yourself looking down, mesmerized by the sight of the blond shock of hair between your parted thighs and how it bobbed up and down with each eager lick he took. Your hand reached down, tangling in Daemon’s hair, and it was then, you got pulled over the edge.

Daemon would later say it had been the way he had groaned against your pearl, what had made your thighs quiver and tummy tense, an impossible amount of wetness dripping down your thighs. You would say, if asked, it had been the way his purple eyes met yours, mouth still busy at devouring your cunt and face twisted into the most smug and deviant expression you had ever seen. Whatever it was, it pleased him greatly.

“I knew you had it in you. You weren’t cold.” Daemon whispered against your skin, kissing a path towards your mouth. He was unhurried, dedicating lavish kisses to your hipbone, moving to mouth along your belly button, gnawing hungrily at your ribs. Under him, your body went lax and pliant, spent with the first climax you had experienced under his careful touches. “You just needed a dragon to warm you up.” He licked at the sweat collecting in the hollow of your throat, before finally pressing a kiss to your lips.

This time, you answered. You took his lower lip between yours, playfully. You could taste and smell yourself on him, and it was more alluring than what you had ever thought.

“Good.” He said, pulling back. He started to undo his breeches, and you felt panic grip at you some more. This was it. You had to fulfill your end of the deal with him, let him take you. As if he could feel your nerves, Daemon rubbed your thigh, affectionate. “Do not fret, zoklītsos. You will enjoy this, too.”

“It is meant to hurt.” You answered him, pouting. He tapped at your lower lip, gently.

“Put that away, before I have to bite it.” Daemon took out his cock and rubbed it up and down your folds, gathering the wetness. Despite your fears, a wave of desire overtook you. His fingers had felt good, so had his tongue. You wondered if this, too, could be pleasurable. Otherwise, there wouldn't be so many bastards being born in Westeros, right? But you were supposed to bleed. Bleeding was not pleasant, ever.

“I…” You grabbed at one of his hands, holding on for dear life. He may not have been your choice of husband, but he had vowed to protect you under his gods, standing in the sand and mixing your blood with him. Daemon took his valyrian vows seriously. You were desperate for any scraps of reassurance he was willing to give, even if in normal circumstances you would have rather died than be helped by him.

“It won’t hurt.” Daemon said, kissing your forehead. You looked up at him, eyes wide in fear. He squeezed your hand and lined himself up. You felt the tip of his cock nudge at your entrance, and wondered what it looked like. It felt blunt, and it was very warm. “I will do it on one thrust, like ripping a bandage off. You probably don’t have your maidenhead, with how fond you are of riding. And if you do, you are more than wet enough.”

“Lady Manderly said it hurt her, the first time.” You pouted again, and this time, he did good on his promise. He leaned down and kissed you, biting at your lower lip playfully.

“She has a fool for a husband.” Daemon muttered, kissing your ear. You shivered, nearly mewling. You weren’t aware of how sensitive you were there. “Trust me on this. I know more about it.”

“Taken many maidenheads?” You remarked, with a hint of a teasing smile on your lips.

“Jealous, ice queen?” Daemon licked a strip down the base of your neck towards your jaw. “You will have to admit you know little of the topic.”

“I would say I know plenty.” You answered, glowering, just as he thrust inside of you, seemingly tired of the conversation. At the sudden feeling of fullness, you yelped. But there was no pain, as he had promised. Only an odd feeling of being stretched and filled to the brim, and a slight discomfort. “Rude.”

Daemon smirked. He stayed still, letting you time to adjust. You took a deep breath, and shifted to rest your weight on your elbows, to take a curious look at where you were joined. To your disappointment, you could only see a cloud of light hair, mixing with yours, hips impossibly close.

“Did it hurt?” Daemon flicked at your pearl, absent-mindedly. He groaned when that made your walls tighten around him.

You glared.

“No.”

“You silly girl.” He laughed, starting to thrust. The friction felt good immediately, and you moaned, grabbing at his shoulders. “And you thought fucking could only be done on your hands and knees.”

You didn’t answer, choosing instead to cling to him, mouth falling open in moans you were unable to keep quiet anymore.

“Fucking is a pleasure.” Daemon insisted, pinching at one of your nipples, You whined. He could be telling you the secrets of the realm, and you wouldn’t care. “And I will teach you all about it.” He grunted in your ear.

You were too gone to care about his smugness. Your heels dug into his back, pulling him closer and closer. You met him thrust by thrust, scratching at his back until your nails were bloody. Daemon kissed you and tugged at your hair, desperate to claim you. You could hear his silent laughter, feel his mocking smile against your skin. He had finally gotten what he wanted, a reaction out of you. It could not be faked, this pure, raw emotion. Soon, his fingers found their way to your button, making you whine and squirm. It was too much for your poor, abused body. You screamed his name as you reached your second peak of the night.

Daemon thrust several more times, practically vibrating with smugness. He grabbed at your body, fingers digging in the flesh, surely bruising your hips. His mouth was slightly parted, and something stirred in you at seeing him so raw. Daemon had been right, you realized. Many moons before, he had said bodies spoke and were honest in ways their owners were not. And so, you let yours speak, tugging at his hair, sucking bruises in his pale neck. Perhaps there was something there, in the way he held you closer, shuddering and spilling himself with a muffled cry. Something that mere lust couldn't explain.

You both laid there, panting. Daemon looked down at you, and brushed your sweaty hair out of your face.

“I think, Lady Wife, that the coldness of the North might just be bearable.”

THEM

Nevermind the massacre, the gore, the bones snapping, even that cliffhanger-

I’m beyond happy that the iconic lesbians and the mysoginistic ghost got more screen time

Firefighter!Nanami so hot he could START fires.

I ain't playing "hear me out" game, Imma need yall to sit down and listen

finally someone notices what else hes capable of

Being a hot dilf automatically leads you to be right I don't make the rules

oh this actually hurts like on a physical level

[ for 呪術廻戦 ] ❪ SUPERNOVA ❫ ──────── california love .

🍓 ◦　DAPHNE ❜ 21. she/her. medical student.

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🌀 latest release ──────── my strategy (multi jjk, mdni)

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⌁ 「 turn up the volume because this is a funeral for the living ! 」

Unyielding

You’re usually at his mercy.

Omni Mark

It was hard to believe that there was once a time where Mark would unwillingly flush when just your shirt would ride up, especially now when he has you reduced to a trembling, overstimulated mess, every thrust slamming the bed post into the wall. You at least appreciate his restraint, knowing he could have ruined another bed frame.

With your brain feeling like mush, the only thing you could do was push yourself up by the elbows and attempt to crawl away from his unrelenting pace, only for him to press his hand between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned as your moist cheeks rub against the covers.

You let out a noise of protest, Mark audibly scoffing in return above you.

He doesn’t falter, simply pressing down harder when you squirm, “Don’t back down now, you asked for this, after all.”

“It’s,” you gasp, burying your face into the sheets again when a particularly sharp roll of his hips has you blanking out, “too much! Mark—“

He hushes you, hand reaching out to brush against your forehead before moving down to grip your chin, fingers digging in your cheek as he lifts your face up to prevent you from suffocating yourself, “Breathe. We’re not done until I say we are.”

You whine pitifully, the ever present storm in your body growing, slack body tensing up.

“You still have more to give. You can cry and complain, but we both know that you want this; to be used by me until I’ve taken everything—“ his voices becomes more strained, cutting off into a shaky exhale when you tighten around him, “there she is…”

You jerk when his other hand slides down and draws taut circles on your clit, “I-I’m going to…die!”

He laughs, something you’d savour under any other circumstance, before pressing a kiss to the back of your head, “Then die.”

No Goggles Mark

If he wasn’t so unfairly good at sex, you’d have kicked the freak out ages ago.

Even after what felt like hours of him hammering his dick into you until you could feel him in your cervix, his eyes were still wide open, glued to your face, watching you pant and moan pathetically, legs straining and shaking from having them tossed over his shoulders.

“I’d fucking kill someone before I let myself be pulled away from you,” he grins, and if your mouth wasn’t already agape, you’d have groaned at the fact he was still saying crazy shit even while fucking you. “Are you into that? Feel proud you have a pussy that could start wars? Like Helen of Troy, but hotter—“

“Please,” you pant slapping a hand over his mouth, feeling him smile against your palm, “shut up.”

He only grabs your wrist, and presses his face against your hand harder, groaning into it with a satisfied look in his manic eyes. You try to glare at him, but his hand reaching down to press against your stomach as you writhing. Why does his dick have to be big enough to cause a tummy bulge? His ego is already insufferable enough.

He pins your trapped wrist to the mattress, stupid grin now fully revealed again, “After I’m done with you, you won’t even think about fucking anyone else because I’m not stopping until my cock leaves an imprint—“

He can’t even finish his rant before he succumbs to his urge to attack your mouth with his, licking and sucking until you’re even more lightheaded.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he whispers excitedly against your neck. Weirdo.

Omni mark…vote Omni mark the in the poll

Why are my top posts all for invincible, this was a dc blog😭

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