#evil invincible

[vinnyvamppp]

Lord almighty save me, my brain has been spiraling ever since I read Viltrumite Mark going into heat. 🩷🩷🩷 Now I’m picturing all the variants having a heat cycle (separately with reader ofc [unless— 👀 reader would break, I fear in the best way though]). Any chance I can request other versions of it, like with No Goggles, MoHawk, Sinister, Omni-Mark or Shiesty? 👀👀👀

I'm not doing this its too much fucking wo—

Bite Me Back Too

A/N: Every main, side, and popular variant is in this bitch. I apologize for the scrolling you’re about to do, I’m low-key over feeding y'all. I said two days, so I delivered.

Warnings: Smut, Knotting, Overstimulation, Breeding Kink, Pheromone Play, Power Dynamics, Sub/Dom Dynamics, Heat Cycles, Rough Sex, Penetrative Sex, Cum-Eating, Anal Sex, and etc.

Synopsis: Each version of Mark Grayson— bratty kings, calculating monsters, broken gods— crave the same thing: your body, your loyalty, your soul. You’re a cure and a weakness they crave to keep. He’s in heat, SO GO GIVE HIM SOME SUGAR!

⭐: Lensless, Sinister, Variant #17, Shiesty/Hooded, Mohawk, Masked, Main Mark, Omni-Mark (Teasers): Gangbang, Thragg, Nolan, Atom Eve, Rex, and Rae. (Viltrum Marks Ver: Here.)

Viltrumite Heat Cycles x Fem!Reader

Word Count: (.... sigh. Buckle up.)

Sinister Mark

Sinister Mark didn’t fall apart. He broke others—physically, mentally, and existentially. The very idea of something breaking him was absurd. The usual cocky demeanor with smiles that spoke false promises had been replaced with an expression of strife.

So when the heat started… he ignored it. Thought he could power through it like a broken rib. Pain meant nothing to him. Weakness didn’t exist in his vocabulary. This couldn’t be happening to him. The Invincible, utterly devoid of humanity, felt his knees go weak.

Then he smelled you.

And suddenly, he was falling.

It hit him in the middle of a mission, screams drowned beneath the crackles of fire, blood coating his knuckles, a ruined building behind him, and eyes amusedly watching survivors scramble to hide. He should have flown home. Instead, he flew to you.

Now you stood in front of him in your apartment, lips parted, wearing that tank top he’d already imagined ripping off in more than one intrusive fantasy. “Mark?” you asked, voice cautious. “You look… flushed.” He didn’t respond at first—just stepped inside, eyes tracking every inch of you like a predator finally locking on prey it had been hunting for weeks.

“I told myself I wouldn’t do this,” he muttered, the door clicking shut behind him. “That I could outlast it.” The red haze behind his eyes had intensified, pupils blown, chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. His jaw clenched, muscles tensing as he fought the last shreds of restraint. He couldn’t seem to explain what was happening, but rather how it felt. The arousal that trumped the blood pumping through his veins.

“But then I thought about you,” he said slowly. “About how you’d feel under me. How you’d sound.”

His smile was humorless. “That’s all it took to lose control.”

He crossed the room in a blink. One hand slammed against the wall beside your head, and the other gripped your waist tight enough to bruise. He inhaled deeply, his nose brushing your neck. You drove him insane in ways other women could only dream of.

“You smell unreal.” Like temptation, like trouble, like a nuisance he’d love to carry. 

“Mark, what is thi—” you whispered, but he cut you off with his mouth.

His lips crashed into yours with desperate precision. There was no hesitation. Just raw hunger and the desire to conquer. Tongue, teeth, bruising kisses that left you gasping, head spinning. Rigged ends of teeth clacking against yours clumsily as he sought to taste every inch. His hands roamed up your sides, under your shirt, gripping tight and possessive like he needed to anchor himself or he'd combust. He expected you to say something sweet, something submissive like you usually would. One thing he loved about you was your ability to manipulate, to bite back until you had your way. Your fingers twist in his hair, yanking just enough to make him groan. Ichor from his blood-stained hands coated your waist. 

“You already know how it ends. I’m not gentle,” he growled, pulling back only long enough to tear the tank top from your body in one swift motion. “And right now? I’m not asking.” 

His mouth was back on your throat, your collarbone, devouring the skin there with heat-fueled fervor. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and he groaned, grinding against your hips, the strength of his body completely caging you against the wall.

“This heat—it’s made me insane for you,” he hissed. “I see you in my dreams. I wake up hard and furious that you’re not next to me.”

You shivered. “Then make it real.”

That’s all it took. He lifted you without effort, his mouth claiming yours again as he carried you toward the bedroom like a man on the edge. You felt the heat radiating from him, burning into your skin, his muscles twitching beneath the spandex of his suit.

Mark wasn’t the type to surrender to anything.

But tonight? He surrendered to you. His lips steal yours like it’s an afterthought—like you are the inevitable conclusion to every version of his day. Slow at first, almost mocking, like he’s daring you to push him away again. But you don’t. You can’t. The kiss deepens with a quiet growl caught in his throat, teeth grazing your bottom lip just enough to sting. His hand curls around your jaw, possessive and guiding, like he already owns every inch of you. His breath ghosts over your face momentarily as you're dropped onto the mattress before diving in like he's starving and you’re the only thing keeping him sane. It’s slow, but not sweet. He peels your clothes off like he’s unwrapping a weapon. There’s amusement in his eyes, even as his hands slide beneath your shirt, brushing your ribs. He wants you aware. Wants your anticipation to build. His hands already roaming your body, tracing the curves that had haunted his dreams. You could feel the sweat glistening on his skin, his body trembling with a mix of lust and desperation. Your palms press against the mattress, knees spread just wide enough to keep your balance, but not wide enough for him. You feel the bed dip behind you, the soft creak of the frame under his weight as Mark settles in—close, looming, warm, and suffocating, like he’s carved from every part of your body that craves domination. His fingers dig into your flesh, leaving marks that would bloom into bruises. You felt his breath against your neck—hot, hungry, almost shaking with restraint. His chest pressed into your back, the heat rolling off him in waves so intense it made your skin prickle. You shivered, not from cold, but from the raw ferocity behind the way his hands gripped you. Not like he wanted your body. Like he needed to devour it. “You’re so wet I could drown in you,” he growled into your ear, his voice curling like smoke. “Maybe I should.” His hand traced a deliberate path down your spine, dragging heat and chills in equal measure, until he reached the curve of your hips. His thumbs tease the waistband of your pants, pulling them just below your hips, letting them cling there for a beat before they fall. He paused there worshipful, possessive—before curling a finger beneath the band of your bottoms. They split at the seams with one vicious tug. He leaves your underwear for last—thumbs dragging over the fabric with a hum before he finally slides them off and lets his eyes drink you in. “So worth the wait,” he murmurs.

He didn’t break eye contact with your reflection in the mirror. His nose twitched, inhaling sharply. “You love this. Don’t lie to me. I can smell you.” Before you could scoff, his teeth sank into your shoulder—hard. A startled cry left you, but it melted fast into a moan as pleasure flared hot in your belly. His hips ground against your ass, his cock pressed thick and heavy between your thighs. His body trembled, the control cracking. His nose twitched as if to pluck the damp scent of arousal that lingered. It was unnecessary but made him feel powerful in a time his body wouldn't obey. “You love this. Don’t lie. I can feel your body begging me to ruin it.” And you pushed back against him—grinding slow, deliberate, a smile tugging at your lips. “Go ahead,” you whispered. “Show me how weak you really are.” His low groan was feral. “Still so mouthy,” he hissed, voice ragged. “Fine.”

There was no warning, no teasing. Just one deep, brutal thrust—his cock stretching you open, hot and unrelenting. A gasp tore from your throat, your hands scrabbling for the bed frame as your back arched into him. He held you there, chest flush to your back, shaking from the effort not to rut like an animal. “Fuck, you feel perfect,” he muttered, voice breaking. “You always do.”

You bit down on his shoulder until he hissed. Dragged your nails down his side until his hips bucked and the bed shuddered beneath you both. He didn’t stop. Couldn’t. His body was on autopilot, driven by instinct and craving, pounding into you until your vision blurred and your body locked up around him.

His heat didn’t just fuel him—it destroyed him. Turned need into worship. Pleasure into something darker. He didn’t want to fuck you. He wanted to imprint himself into your nervous system. His need is ruthless. Its ownership turned poetic. Mark doesn’t just want to fuck you—he wants to infect you. With his scent. His power. His presence. Viltrumite heat strips away his control, and he loves the chaos it leaves behind. You're not a weakness; you're a catalyst. The reader isn't just a partner—you're the reason he's still sane. He wants every gasp of yours to come from him. Every soft whimper to bear his name. He'll fuck you slow and cruel, just to watch how long it takes before you're begging. And afterward? He’ll kiss you sweetly, because that’s the worst part—how completely you undo him. And how much he lives for it. It's a craving so deep it rewires your instincts. Pain feels good. Pleasure feels like war. His eyes rolled into his skull at the sight of your ass bouncing against his pelvis, the sheer force rocking you back into him. “Look at you—pathetic. So easy once I start fucking you right.” The heat was overwhelming, and the sound of his strangled whimpers danced in your ears. “Just squirming for me. So much for that sharp mouth.” The words held no bite as a sudden heave caused him to deflate. He could feel his dick nearly going limp on him, but with every draw of his hips, he was pulled back in like a magnet. But he didn't stop. He couldn't. His body was a machine, driven by a primal need that overrode all else. He pounded into you, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, his body slick with sweat. His orgasm building sends him a flurry of twitches down his spine, hips erratically matching the rattling of his heartbeat. It was deep, his swollen tip catching against your cervix opening. He makes you wait for it. Tongue first—tracing your nape, teasing the curve like he’s memorizing you. When he finally bites, it’s mean. Not just claiming—you feel it throb down your whole body. He wants you marked. Bruised. Maybe even bleeding. You couldn’t tell through the combined haze. You weren’t a weakness. You were a religion. And this? This was how he prayed. And when you came? Screaming his name, body convulsing, your voice cracked and raw? He sobbed. Not loud. Just a quiet, shattered sound against your ear.

Because you’d won. Again. And he secretly wanted it that way. The night was far from over, his balls heavy with another load, and you seemed to notice. Because as he stared up at you, eyes wild watching as you straddled him for yet another round, he murmured. “Please. Please ride me. I’ll shut up. I’ll be so quiet.” The scent of scorched cedar filled your nostrils. It clings to your flesh. Fills your lungs. Makes your head spin. You breathe it in and feel hunted—and weirdly, wanted. It was a thick, stretching, commanding your body to stay open for him as he sinks all the way in and locks into place. You feel it pulse, slow and confident, as he groans through gritted teeth. His head drops to your neck, and his fingers curl under your jaw. He doesn’t panic. He planned this. He pushes you down onto him harder when it starts swelling. “I don’t want fast. I want slow torture. Let me feel every single inch… again.”

Omni Mark

He hadn’t planned to see you tonight.

Omni-Mark had half the galaxy kneeling at his feet, another third begging for mercy, and the rest daring to defy him. That should’ve occupied his attention.

But the heat came early.

Violent. Vicious. Unforgiving. He fought it at first—of course he did. Viltrumites were above their biology. But this wasn’t a subtle ache or dull need. This was a burning, a low snarl in his blood that turned every thought into you. Your voice. Your body. Your scent.

So now, here he stood, in your doorway, fists clenched so hard his gloves tore, sweat beading on his forehead despite the icy chill in the air. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he warned, voice low, reverberating like thunder in a canyon. “I am not like the others.”

You raised an eyebrow, only half-dressed in a sleep shirt. “I never asked for anything. I want you to let go, Mark.”

That made something snap in him.

In an instant, he was on you, hands around your waist, slamming the door shut with the other. His mouth met yours in a passionate but bruising kiss that pulled the air from your lungs. His lips were soft, molding easily with yours as his tongue gently caressed yours. You barely registered the way your feet left the ground, his grip tightening possessively. He pulled away, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck momentarily before—“You’re“ soft… too soft.” His eyelids fluttered as if to snap him from the trance you transfixed him in.

“You think I haven’t dreamed about this?” He growled, lips against your ear. “You think I haven’t imagined burying myself in you while the universe burns around us?”

You clawed at the armor along his arms, gasping as he bit down on your neck—hard, but not enough to break skin. Just enough to tease where he’d be marking you. You felt the growl in his chest, the way his whole body vibrated with restraint.

“You’re my weakness,” he confessed between fevered kisses. “I should’ve destroyed you when I realized what you meant to me.”

“But you didn’t,” you whispered.

“I couldn’t,” he admitted.

He dropped you on the bed like a king offering you to the flames. His armor peeled away in pieces, every inch of exposed skin rippling with tension, with the kind of power that could level continents. You reached for him, but he caught your wrists, pinning them above your head.

“Don’t.” His voice was trembling. “If you touch me right now, I won’t be able to stop.”

“Maybe I want to be ruined,” you whispered, your words like honey as they blessed his ears.

That broke him.

He crashed down on you like a storm, kissing you with reverence and fury all at once. His mouth mapped every inch of you like a man on borrowed time. His lips held a slight tremble as he pressed forward; an unfamiliar greed lingered in his touch. His hands explored, gripped, and claimed—no hesitation, no mercy. 

“You’re mine,” he murmured into your mouth, over and over like a mantra. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.” His voice cracked, that calm and collected demeanor distorted and showing the boy he once was.

Omni-Mark didn’t believe in surrender. But with you under him, gasping his name, begging for more? He didn’t need to. He kisses like a storm given shape—like someone who was never taught softness, only possession. When his mouth meets yours, it’s not tentative. There’s no gentle testing of the waters. It’s formed from hunger and desperation, devouring you in one go like he’s terrified of being pulled apart from your mouth again. His hands cup your jaw too tight. His body cages you in like a wall of muscle and need, heat rolling off him in sweltering droves. 

He watches the way your knees buckle when he pulls away, panting, red-eyed, drunk on the taste of you. “You call that a kiss?” he’ll rasp, lips already slick with yours, pupils blown wide. “Try again. Put your back into it.” You felt the shift instantly. His hand curled around the back of your neck, firm but not rough, holding you there as his tongue pushed deeper into your mouth. The kiss went sloppy, fast, breathless, and messy, his breath catching every time your hips brushed. He walked you backward without breaking the connection, steps deliberate as your thighs met the edge of the bed frame. His hand dragged down your side, palming the curve of your ass like he was checking to make sure you were real.

And when your nails scraped gently up the back of his neck?

He moaned into your mouth—quiet, raw, nearly ashamed of how much it affected him. His cock was already hard, already pressing against the fabric of his pants, grinding into your hip like a need he couldn’t reason with anymore. He unwraps you like you’re a relic unearthed in some war-ravaged city. Something precious and divine buried beneath fabric that offends him for hiding you. His fingers curl around the hem of your shirt—but he doesn’t yank. He peels it. Inches at a time. Eyes locked on the way your breath shudders as your skin is exposed.

When he gets to your underwear, his hand lingers. Not because he’s hesitant. But because he’s reeling. His thumb rubs over it like he’s trying to memorize it before he diligently undresses you. His eyes glazed over like a man about to feast. You're already seated in his lap when it happens—when the snap beneath his skin finally breaks open, and all that restraint dies with it. His scent growing sharp and sticky with the smell of rain on dry earth.

His arms come around you from behind, forearms like iron bars across your stomach as you rock against him. You can feel every inch of him beneath you: his cock, heavy and flushed, already pressed between your slick folds. His head bows low, lips dragging from your shoulder to the shell of your ear. “You’re shaking,” he mutters darkly, voice frayed with strain. “Is it the heat... or me?” You don’t answer. Not with words. Instead, you press your hips back deliberately—grinding into him slowly, cruelly. He shudders and bites back a moan like it’s a betrayal. He’s not ready to slide into you—not yet. He wants to make you feel it first. Wants you gasping from the pressure of him against your entrance. From the way his teeth sink into your nape like he’s starving, his tongue dragging after, soothing the sting only to suck the skin back into his mouth. “This isn’t about power—it’s about you letting me have it all,” he whispers against your neck, every word wet and sick with hunger. He wanted to ruin you both so gently that you’d fall deeper in love. “Tell me to stop. Just say it. Please.” It was his final warning.

But the moment you grind down harder—once, twice, teasing your entrance just enough to let him slip—it’s over. He snarls, the sound inhuman, and thrusts up in one brutal, seamless motion. Your body gives with a lurch, eyes fluttering shut as the air punches out of your lungs. He bottoms out instantly—thick, hot, throbbing deep inside you—and doesn’t move. “No? Then take it,” he whispers. But his voice cracks halfway through. “Take all of it.”

“I warned you.”

He’s gritting his teeth, biting back whines through them. The kind of whine that burns in his throat because he knows better—but it’s too late. His forehead is slick against the back of your neck, lips brushing your skin like a prayer. “I’ll be gentle—then I’ll break you. And you’ll thank me.” Your body pressed flush against his, the cool air in the room doing nothing to temper the heat rolling off his skin. Omni-Mark’s breath was steady at first—controlled, like everything he did. Even now, with you seated in his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, he held himself like a soldier at war. His palms smoothed over your waist, thumbs stroking reverently at the dip of your hips. Almost as if he was trying to memorize how you felt under his hands.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured into your shoulder. “You were supposed to make me stronger. Not… this.”

His thrusts were slow. Intentional. Deep. Every movement pressed you forward just enough for his pelvis to grind against the base of your clit, the friction exquisite in its precision. He wasn’t rutting—he was studying you. Each drag of his cock a deliberate question: Will this make you break first?

But you didn’t. Instead, you sank your hips back a little harder, rolled your spine, and moaned. Like you knew what it did to him. You caught his gaze over your shoulder, lips curved in a smile that wasn’t soft—it was sharp. His fingers flexed against your hips, the illusion of dominance slipping.

“Quiet?” you teased through heavy breaths, glancing back with a tilt of your head. “Is that focus… or fear?” He said nothing. Just growled low in his throat, his hands clenching around your thighs as he pulled you closer, forcing you to sit flush—his cock nudging even deeper. His breathing hitched.

His hand slipped between your thighs, two fingers pressing firmly against your clit, stroking in tight, slow circles that matched the rhythm of his thrusts. Your eye twitched at the sudden stimulation as your hands grasped at his knees. “You speak so boldly,” he said softly, lips grazing your ear. “But I can feel how badly you need me. I can’t go slow anymore. I need to feel you splintering around me.”

The pressure against your clit sends sparks up your spine. His free hand moved to your breasts, squeezing and kneading them, his thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened. His whole body is trembling, thighs shuddering under you as he ruts up into your soaked cunt like a man possessed. He cuts off with a long, broken groan. His hips stutter. His chest heaves. The moan he lets out next sounds like he’s in pain—as if just the feel of your combined heat wrapped around him is too much. His hands clamped down around your thighs, grinding you back down onto him with force now, pelvis slapping hard against your ass, each thrust angled to bruise. The controlled rhythm devolved into something brutal—still calculated, still precise—but laced with hunger. You gasped again as he spread your legs wider, one hand gripping your inner thigh to keep you open while the other rolled tight, maddening circles on your clit. Your nerves were screaming, pleasure spiraling up through you in electric bursts. You clenched around him, and the breath ripped out of his lungs. That’s when he does it. His breath fans hot over your skin as he exhales as if waiting for centuries for this moment. Someone to mate with, that is. He’s starving for the one thing his body was carved to claim. And when his teeth sink in? It's not sharp—it’s crushing. A deep, anchoring pressure that makes your knees buckle. There’s no fluttery graze. Just the exquisite reality that he’s chosen you—and now you’ll never be clean of him again.

Your blood hums under his tongue. His growl rips through his chest like a man undone, all restraint shredded the moment you gasp. And when he pulls away, your neck is left throbbing as you learn that was his vow to you.

He stilled for a second, like he was bracing himself.

And then—he came. Hard. The muscles of his dick contracted, visibly straining as thick ropes of cum swam inside you.

His hips bucked forward once, twice—body trembling as he emptied inside you with a broken gasp that sounded like your name carved from stone. You could feel the heat flooding your cunt, his breath ragged as he pressed his chest to your back, lips parted against your shoulder. The knot swells suddenly. Sharply. You both gasp. He stays buried to the hilt, arms wrapped around your body like a shield, his forehead pressed to yours as the knot locks in place, thick and full and immovable. But he didn’t slow. He didn’t even pause. “We’re not done,” he murmured against your skin, his voice raw. “I’ve made you cum before. Again. And again. And tonight’s no different.”

Full Masked Mark

He didn’t knock. You found him in your room, standing in the dark, half-shadowed beneath the blue light leaking in from the city. He hadn’t removed the mask—just hovered there, tense, breathing too hard.

“Mark?”

He didn’t respond. You took a step forward, and he flinched—his hand tightening into a fist so hard his knuckles cracked beneath the glove. “I shouldn’t be here,” he said finally, his voice hoarse, cracking like old porcelain. “I—I can’t trust myself.” You stopped moving. “It’s happening, isn’t it?”

He nodded once.

“The heat. I felt it coming for days. Thought I could outrun it.” His head tilted, his voice almost breaking. “I ran here.” You didn’t question it. Not the fact that he trusted you with this—something he clearly didn’t understand, something that made him feel wrong. You stepped close enough for him to see the softness in your eyes.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Mark.” His brows furrowed, his body suddenly becoming tense. But the way his body ached for you, the way his strength spasmed as he imagined fucking you raw with the memory of countless nights fucking his fist in your bed… he couldn’t tell.

His breath hitched audibly behind the mask. “You don’t know that. I’m not like the others. I—I think about you too much. I dream about you. And in those dreams, I—” His voice cut off with a choked gasp.

“I miss her,” he whispered. “She’d know what to do.”

Your heart broke. He was burning up inside, trembling with unspent want, haunted by grief and biology and years of holding himself together with cracked pieces of identity. You stepped closer. “Let me help you,” you whispered, hands gently brushing the hem of his mask. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

He didn’t move as you slid it off.

Underneath, his face was flushed, wet with tears he hadn’t realized he was crying. His jaw was clenched like he was fighting himself from the inside out. And then you touched his face—just a thumb across his cheek—and the dam burst.

He surged forward, mouth on yours in a desperate, needy kiss. There was no dominance, no force—just raw emotion and trembling urgency. His hands gripped your waist like you were the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

“I’ve wanted this,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “Wanted you. But it never felt fair.”

“It’s not about fair, Mark,” you whispered, unzipping his suit slowly. “It’s about what we want.”

His lips found your throat, reverent and shaky, like he was worshipping every inch of you he touched. His fingers trembled against your skin as he helped you undress, his breath stuttering every time you made a sound. When he finally lowered you onto the bed, it was with a gentleness that felt sacred.

“You’re so warm,” he whispered, nuzzling your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “You feel like home.” You pulled him in, let him bury himself in your arms and your body, and let him feel safe while the storm inside him raged and broke.

“Don’t let go,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder. “Even if I fall apart.”

You kissed him back, holding him through the fire. “I won’t.”

And he didn’t fall apart.

He broke open—in the best possible way. And then he kisses you like it's the only thing keeping him from falling apart. It’s wet and trembling, like he’s trying not to let his body take over too fast. His hands shake where they touch you, fingers curling into your shirt as if you might disappear if he lets go. “M-missed you,” he stammers into your mouth, kissing again before you can reply. He chases your lips, nose bumping clumsily against yours, and sighs when your hands pull him closer. “Let me stay... just a little longer.” Like being wrapped in something wet and hot and too much. His scent is thick with desperation. It pulses with each pant from his lips. The longer he holds back, the heavier it becomes—need turned physical. A pheromone so raw it drips off him like sweat. It smells of molten amber and pine sap. The type that fogs up mirrors, clings to your sheets, and fills your mouth. It says, He’s not fucking for pleasure—he’s fucking to survive. And only you can keep him sane. His bones ache, every cell in his body screaming to break his restaurants, but he can’t help but treat you gently. He’s devoted, yours even if you hated him. You could tell his usual gentleness and restraint were bursting at the seams. Almost like he was still deciding if he should even be touching you at all. But then you made a sound—soft, breathy, inviting—and it destroyed whatever hesitation he had left.

The scent of you had soaked between your thighs, a dizzying blend of heat and arousal that made his chest rise with ragged restraint. His jaw clenched. His eyes devoured you, shoulders heaving, hands trembling with the effort of not lunging. The suit remained half on, his skin flushed and damp beneath the edges of his armor. But even while he stayed dressed, he made sure you weren’t.

Because in heat, Mark didn’t want just access to your body—he wanted your vulnerability. All of it. And before you knew it, your back was against the mattress. His cock is thick—not monstrous, but unmistakable—and it fits him perfectly. Hard, flushed, curved slightly upward, the tip already slick with need. It twitches when you look at it, eager, the kind of erection that speaks more of obsession than pride. And when he finally presses himself against you, it’s not just hunger—it’s worship in motion. His body trembled as he positioned himself between your legs, jaw clenched so tight it ached. His skin burned under the mask, damp with sweat, heart pounding out of rhythm like it was trying to crawl from his chest. The heat coiled in his gut like a second heartbeat—violent, possessive, undeniable. His cock throbbed with every shallow breath he took, already leaking against your thigh, twitching with the need to bury itself deep.

He entered you slowly, almost reverently, but it was clear from the start: this wasn’t about control anymore. Not that he had any. Your folds are slick, swollen, already glistening with arousal; he's too far gone to pretend not to notice. His wildest instincts flared against his reddened skin. His breath hitched the moment you tightened around him, the heat inside him flaring like a wildfire fanned by gasoline. “I didn’t know it could feel like this. I didn’t know you would feel like this,” he said, through a lump of saliva stuck in his throat. You two have had sex before, but this was a transcendence of normal sensations. Like an aphrodisiac had poisoned his every being, only craving to have you. Every inch he gave you sent a tremor through his spine. His hands gripped your thighs too hard, fingers digging into the plush of your skin as if anchoring himself to reality—to you. Choked gasps echoed from you as pain mingled with pleasure. 

His hips rocked with shallow, fluid thrusts, but his body betrayed him. Sweat dripped down his temples. His thighs flexed beneath you. The very fat of his lips felt suffocating now, his groans catching behind it, as if he were trying to bite down every sound—but the whines slipped through. Small, needy. Devastated.

When his mouth found your neck, it wasn’t a kiss. It was a branding. His teeth grazed your skin, his tongue darting out to soothe the sting, only to repeat the ritual again and again. You felt the tremor in his chest every time he breathed you in. With every nip, your body jolted against him, clamping down as you curled into him. He was trying to restrain himself, to stay present. To worship you. Your skin curved upward as shaky gasps left your fingers clawing at his shoulder blades before you barely grazed his shoulder with your fangs, and he gasps—a full-body jolt that ends with him moaning your name. “Ah—wha—fuck, do it again—please, I—I like that, I really like that—” His hips buck into yours without rhythm, lost in the sensation.

But his body pulsed with hunger, and your scent had soaked into his bones like poison. He was hard—too hard—the kind of painful pressure that fogged his brain and turned every thought into a raw, burning need to come. He didn’t last long before instinct buckled his knees. Suddenly, he surged forward, hips snapping into yours with more force, more desperation. “Can you feel how deep I am? I need to be deeper.” His body moved on its own—sharp, ragged thrusts as if chasing relief he already knew wouldn’t come easy. He whimpered against your collarbone, low and broken, like it hurt to need you this much. Like, if he came, it wouldn’t be enough. He tried to slow down again, pulling his hips back to regain control, but the second your body clenched around him in reply—he lost it.

He flipped you onto him without thinking, your chest sliding against his sweat-slicked torso. His hands ghosted over your back like you were made of glass, but his eyes? Glazed. Wild. You sank down on him again, and he cried out—not loud, but breathless. Helpless. “It’s okay, Mark… I’ll take it from here.”

You started to ride him, each movement smooth and sensual, and it shattered what little composure he had left. Gooseflesh peppered across your skin as your vision blurred, moving absentmindedly through groans. His hands clawed at your hips, desperate for something to hold. His thighs trembled beneath you, every muscle pulled taut like a man bracing for impact. You were moving too good, too slow, too deep—and the look on your face drove him mad.

“Mark… oh, f—fuck, Mark.” His name on your lips was like a spell. “Say my name again… please, I need to hear it when you touch me.” You leaned down and nipped at his chest, your tongue tracing the contours of his body, and he arched into you so sharply it bordered on pain. The groan that left him was guttural—shameful—his cock twitching so hard inside you it made your stomach flip. He was trying to last. You could see it in how hard his jaw clenched, how his fingers trembled where they held you, and how his entire body was one breath away from breaking.

You rolled your hips faster, and his head fell back against the pillows, mouth parted in a gasp that never fully came. His release hit like a landslide, thighs spasming, chest heaving beneath you. He spilled inside you with a full-body jolt, his fingers digging into your skin like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His hips kept moving—just barely—like his body hadn’t realized it was over. Like it didn’t want it to be.

His hips roughly buck upwards, the dominance within battling with his personality. He swells, his pelvis pressing into you as it forces every obsessive emotion out of him. And even as he lay there, breathless, unraveling beneath you, he didn’t let go. One hand slid up your back. The other held your hip still, his cock still twitching inside you. His body was still burning. Because it wasn’t over. Not even close. It wasn’t his choice; he tried to fight it. He wants to hold back. But when he finally gives in and marks you, the bite is sloppy—messy with saliva and a low, broken whine in your ear. He bites twice. Just to feel it again. His knot slowly forms as he clings to you, speech slurring as he becomes barely coherent. You feel his whole body tense as his teeth graze, then dig in. The second bite is deeper—so sudden you yelp. His grip tightens. “I—I’m sorry, I just—I needed you to know you’re mine.”

Main Mark Grayson

You didn’t expect him to show up at your place at two in the morning—especially not looking like that. Hair wild, eyes glowing faintly gold, his shirt drenched in sweat and clinging to his chest. His hands were shaking and his voice frantic.

“Hey—hi—uh, this might be crazy, but I think I’m, like… dying?”

You blinked. “Mark… what?”

He paced your living room, tugging at his clothes, cheeks flushed. “Yeah, so, um—my dad kind of warned me this might happen one day? Something about Viltrumite biology and… a heat cycle?” Your heart stuttered. Oh. Oh. Suddenly, you were very intrigued. He froze mid-ramble, turning to you, eyes wide and full of panic. “I smelled you, okay? On the way home. I was flying, and then boom—your scent hit me like a truck, and now I’m like—" He gestured down to his very obvious, very painful erection. “THIS.”

You bit your lip, trying to stay calm while your thighs absolutely clenched. “Mark, sit.”

He obeyed immediately, flopping onto your couch like a broken marionette, head falling into his hands. “I swear I’m not a creep. I just—God, you smell so good—”

You crossed the room slowly and sat next to him. He tensed like a live wire.

You touched his knee, and he whimpered. The poor boy almost looked embarrassed before his jaw clenched to bite back another sound. It was subtle, but his head tilted as his nose flexed, inhaling your scent like the sweetest dessert as heat broke his skin into a red flush.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “It hurts. It aches, and all I can think about is you. How soft your skin is. How you taste when I kiss you—God, I’ve imagined it so many times—” You took his face gently in your hands, turning him to look at you. “Mark,” you said softly. “Do you want this? With me?”

He nodded so fast it almost looked painful. “Yes. Yes, I do. I’ve wanted this—but not like this. I didn’t want to scare you. But now I’m losing it, and I need you. Please.”

You kissed him before he could spiral further. He gasped, then melted into it, grabbing your hips like they were the last stable thing in his universe. His mouth was hot, desperate, already starting to shake as the heat flared stronger.

You slid your hands under his shirt, feeling the sweat-slick heat of his skin. He shivered, grinding up against you with a needy groan. “I feel like I’m going to explode,” he whispered against your neck. “Like I could fly through the moon just from touching you.”

You tugged the cloth off, eyes roaming his flushed, muscular form. Within seconds, a familiar musk perspired from his pores. It was warm. An after-battle scent that's adrenaline-laced with sweat-slicked sandalwood and a subtle sweetness of red apple skin. The smell of his cologne clashed as if he had tried grounding himself before arriving. The kind of scent that clings to your sheets and drives you crazy when he’s gone. Suddenly, you felt vertiginous with a mixture of lust and reason clashing within your veins. It was so easy to relinquish control to whatever temptation awaited.

“…Are you mad? Or are you gonna kiss me before I combust?” He said nervously, brows furrowing upwards.

You blinked, surprised—then realized he’d mistaken your stunned silence, the way your breath caught, and your hands hesitated for doubt. Not awe. You straddled his lap, gently guiding his trembling hands to your hips, grounding him now.

“Mark,” you said softly, pulling his mouth back to yours, “I’m not scared. I want this. I want you.”

He groaned into your kiss—relieved, wrecked, like the words unraveled something in him. And when he kissed you back? It was like he was learning it all for the first time—like you’re teaching him with every sigh. But the moment his hips shift against yours, instinct takes over. He groans into your mouth, the kiss going from nervous to needy in seconds. His fingers curl into your thighs, pulling you closer with soft pants between kisses. Again and again, faster, deeper, like he's afraid of what happens if he pulls away. “You make it worse. Being this close—I just—please… let me have this.” And when you nod, he kisses you like it’s a thank you and a promise in one.

He didn’t hold anything back. His hands found your waist, your thighs, your chest, everywhere at once, guided by instinct and passion. His breath caught as you guided his hands, his hips, and his rhythm. Mark Grayson didn’t know what he was doing— —but he learned fast.

You barely got your shirt off before his mouth was on your throat again. Not kissing. Breathing, tasting even. He was fumbling at your clothes like he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to take them off or just fuck you through them. He doesn’t mean to be messy—but his heat is driving him crazy.

Inhaling your scent like it soothed the ache in his chest. His hands trembled at your waist, thumbs brushing bare skin like he was trying to remember how to be gentle, how to be Mark—but the heat was too much.

He's been aching for hours. His cock started reacting before he even knew why—just the sound of your laugh, or the memory of how your hand felt the night before, was enough to make him twitch. Like a magnetic force building pressure in his chest and groin that no amount of willpower can settle. His heart beats faster when you’re close, but not because he’s nervous. But from burying his face in your skin and rutting like an animal. The instinctive, all-consuming need to bury himself deep and never leave—to feel your cunt pulse around him until he doesn’t know where you end and he begins. He wants to merge with you in every way imaginable. Every inch of skin feels like it's starving to the point where sex might not be enough. His nervous system feels alight, all senses searching for yours, like that's their purpose.

His calloused fingers slid your panties down your thighs, soaked through, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. His hips lifted, hand palmed at his soiled erection before yanking down the fabric. Veins ran the length of his cock, the usual pink tip was an irritated red, and heavy as it smacked against his abdomen. He jumped, bucking into the air as cold precum bubbled from his tip.

Too impatient to fully undress, he let you take the reins, legs wrapping around his waist. His breath hitched like you’d struck him. You settled into his cross-legged lap, chests pressed together, skin to skin, cockslick hot between your folds—and he froze. Not from hesitation. But because his entire body short-circuited. He entered you slowly, like he was trying to feel every second of it. Your walls stretched around him, wet and pulsing, and he moaned—deep, wrecked, like he hadn’t even meant to. You clutched around him, and his head dropped to your shoulder, arms wrapping tight around your back as your bodies fully sealed together. Every bulging vein was caressed, arousal threatening to erupt.

He rocked his hips, slow and intense. Grinding into you like it was the only thing keeping him conscious. Then came the whisper. Low. Ragged. Right against your throat. “Mine…” His hips rolled with it. You gasped. “Mine,” again, softer, needier, as his cock dragged in slow circles inside you, the pressure growing unbearable.

He buried his face in your neck like it would keep him grounded, hips moving with desperate rhythm—not pounding, but grinding, searching for friction, pleasure, and closeness. Like your body was his whole world. He shook. A full-body tremor that told you he was losing it. Your legs tightened around him, head tilted towards the ceiling as strobe lights clouded your vision from his thrusting.

Through hitching breaths, you stammered, “That’s it. Just like that. You feel it too, don’t you?” you gulped, his lips tracing over your bobbing throat. “I can’t think, I can’t—God, you feel so good.” He heaved, tongue running over your clavicle as he sought every drop of sweat. “You’re squeezing me so hard—are you trying to kill me?” His tongue tickling you sent shivers down your spine, causing his arms to wrap tighter, feeding off every vibration.

And then he fell forward. Not collapsing—just pressing you back onto the mattress, hips never leaving yours. Still buried inside you, still grinding as he held you like his anchor. His mouth found yours, kissing you hard, hand at your lower back dragging your hips forward, trying to keep you pressed to his cock even as his muscles gave out. “Harder. Please. I can take it,” you gasped, fingers clawing at the couch material. “God, you make me lose control. I can’t stop—not when you sound like that.” A whimper and deep groan rumbled in his chest as he nearly doubled over, his hips pushing forward as your head collided with the armrest.

When he finally came—deep, groaning, clinging—his thrusts didn’t stop. He just rode through it, fucked through it, face against your chest, body shaking. And when the wave passed? He shifted you both gently, his body still connected to yours, curling behind you like a second skin. You stared wide-eyed; his eyes were glazed over, and he whispered uncharacteristically in your ear. “I’m gonna keep going until your legs won’t close without me between them.” He’s not cruel. He’s possessed. He wants to wreck you because he loves you—and it terrifies him how much he needs it. “ I just need you so bad,” he pants. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Your knees bent as he nudged closer, cock sliding back inside you from behind—spooning now, softer, deeper, but no less desperate. He kissed your shoulder. His hand found your thigh and pulled it up. His cock dragged in slow, aching thrusts that felt like a secret. But the moment your hips shifted—even the slightest grind back against him—he whimpered. His hips rolled forward on reflex, just enough for you to feel how he was still thick, still twitching inside you, still needing.

He started moving. Small thrusts. Like he was trying to be good, to hold back. But every slow drag of his cock inside you made his breath catch, made his arm around your waist tighten. Your body was still so wet, so warm, so welcoming. It pulled the heat right back to the surface—he pummeled into you now, forehead pressed to the back of your shoulder, hips snapping forward in slow, aching rolls that never left you empty. Every inch of him throbbed with restraint. His body buzzed with heat and urgency—but you could feel the emotion under it.

He was fucking you like he meant it. Like your body answered a question he hadn’t realized he was asking. His hand slid over your thigh, palm dragging up your slick skin until he reached your chest. He gripped it—not hard, just possessively. Like if he held you tight enough, he could force the ache in his stomach to ease. Like the way your breath hitched made it bearable.

Your ass rocked back against him now, unconsciously meeting every rut of his hips, and he gasped—quiet, but cracked open with it. His pace faltered, and then—he grinded.

A long, deep press of his cock, slow enough for you to feel every vein, every throb as he pulsed inside you. You clenched. He whimpered again, mouth open against your nape like he couldn’t breathe without you. “Oh, fuck, Mark.” Your voice cut through his thoughts like a knife; a deep groan vibrated in your throat as an impending orgasm washed over you.

He’s trying to be gentle—he swears he is. But the second you cry out his name, the dam breaks. He groans low in his throat, body trembling as he leans over you, breath hot against your skin. “Fuck—I need to…” He presses his lips to the base of your neck first, shaky, reverent—then you feel the slow pressure of his teeth. He bites down harder than he intended, and your back arches. His heat-maddened body needs you claimed. Mark shudders, lips wet as he pulls back just enough to whisper, “Y-you’re mine. Sorry—I couldn’t—I couldn’t stop.” His hand flies over your mouth to quiet the pain and pleasured grunts. He couldn't handle it. Until you bit into the web between his thumb and pointer finger.

He yelps—then moans, breathless, like you just knocked all the air out of him. His face flushes red all the way to his ears, hips stuttering against you. “D-don’t stop doing that,” he begs, voice cracking. You feel him start to swell, and he panics—eyes wide, voice stuttering, body tense. He tries to stop moving, but it only makes the pressure worse, and suddenly he’s knotting inside you with a choked groan.

“Can we do this again? And again? And—fuck, I’m not done.”

And he wasn’t pulling out. Not until you whispered that he was yours. And not even then.

Mohawk Mark

Didn’t move. He was already in your apartment when you walked in—standing dead center in the living room, like he owned the place.

Shoulders squared, jaw tight, fists flexing at his sides like he was trying to decide if he wanted to grab something or break it in half. His nostrils flared as he exhaled slowly through his nose, teeth catching his bottom lip. Not angry. Not quite.

Something worse. Something hungry.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running his tongue over his teeth like he could taste you in the air. “You always leave the door unlocked like that? Or just for me?” He almost sounded flattered. You cocked a brow. “You broke my window last time. I figured this was safer.” That almost made him grin. Almost.

Instead, he tilted his head and stared at you like he was trying to figure out how loud you'd scream if he pinned you to the wall right now. “You smell that?” He mutters, eyes narrowing. “That’s me. Going fucking crazy.”

“This what you wanted?” he asked, voice low and sharp. “Parading around like that, all soft and smug? You get off on teasing me while I’m like this?” You glanced down at yourself—shorts, tank top, nothing special—but his eyes were molten.

“Are you teased, Mark?”

He let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Shit, you’re— mm…” He grimaced to himself.

His hands twitched again, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to cross his arms or slam them on either side of your head. You stepped closer. He didn’t flinch—just watched, jaw ticking, eyes following your every move like a predator holding himself back by a thread.

“I expected more restraint,” you murmured. “Didn’t think you'd lose control this fast.” He’s mentioned these heats before, almost braggadocious in an excessive way. He was a sexual deviant, skilled within his own right, and you knew that very well… but you don't recall him seeming so… lewd during these ruts.

He scoffed. “Restraint’s for people who aren’t boiling inside their own goddamn skin. You ever felt that? Like your bones are gonna split open if you don’t fuck something?” You inhaled slowly, thighs clenching. “Sounds intense.”

“It is.” His eyes flicked to your mouth. “You drive me fucking insane.”

“You sure you don’t like it?”

He finally moved—just a step, but it was heavy, purposeful, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to hold back a war. His voice dropped into a growl. “I like watching you squirm when you pretend you’re not dying for it too.” You smirked. “I’m not pretending.”

His pupils blown, and he heaved as if sick.

Another step.

“You should’ve stayed away tonight,” he said. “You don’t know what I’ll do to you if you let me.” You closed the space, lifting your chin. “Then show me.” The moment cracked like lightning.

He grabbed your waist hard enough to bruise, spinning you, pressing you against the nearest table with his hips grinding into yours. One hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back, the other sliding under your shirt with zero patience. You gasped, nails digging into his arms. “I’ll be gentle when you stop making it fun,” he hissed in your ear. “You want it rough?” His eyes peered into yours with an intensity that made your heart thrum. He could hear it. “Good,” he growled. “Let me ruin that attitude while you still remember your name.”

He doesn’t ask for a kiss. He leans in like he’s about to win something—eyes sharp, mouth already curled in that half-smirk that makes you want to slap it off or bite it. There’s heat in his stare, but it’s not desperate. It’s deliberate. Like he’s letting you know what’s about to happen without saying a word. And when he finally does kiss you? It’s firm, demanding, but not cruel. The kind of kiss that says, “I see you. I respect you. Now shut up and let me in.”

His hand’s usually on your jaw, thumb under your chin, tilting your face just how he likes it. He likes a little resistance—loves when you kiss back with a bite, when your teeth graze his lip just enough to make him growl. Your hands wrap around the width of his shoulders, feet shuffling beneath you as his teeth attack your lips. You 're barely able to reciprocate the usual energy. He laughs into your mouth. A low, cocky rumble, like he’s already planning his next move. He kisses like a dare—like he wants to know how much you can take before you start pulling his hair and grinding back. But there’s tenderness under the heat. A kind of quiet reverence in the way he pulls back just slightly to breathe against your lips before diving in again, slower this time, almost careful. Like he doesn’t say the soft stuff out loud—but he lets you taste it. He’s panting, flushed, pupils blown wide. Smirking like he didn’t just almost lose his mind. His tongue flicks over his lips, the cold metal ball of his piercing just teasing you of what could be. His teeth now bite at your bra strap just enough to make it snap. Your pants come off mid-makeout, fingers fumbling until he just rips them at the seams. “Oops,” he grins, not sorry at all. He doesn’t slow down, his hands linger on your thighs, his mouth hot against your neck. “Shit, you should see how wet you are for me. You feel that?”

He makes a mental note to “kidnap you.” It's about time you lived with him; having to travel so far ticks his gears. You’d assimilate perfectly, having been adorned with a matching mohawk. His thoughts are interrupted the second your nails scratched up his chest, just hard enough to leave a faint trail over the curve of his pecs. He stopped smiling. His jaw flexed. His hands slid down your waist. Then lower.

You hopped back onto the edge of the bed like you’d done it before—and you had. With him. Because with Mark, it was always the same deal: you push, he pushes back harder. You spit fire; he kisses it into your throat.

Your legs were already bending when he grabbed them, hauling your thighs up until your ass slid into his lap and your weight tilted. You dropped forward to the floor, hands planting flat against it as your body stretched into that long, open line. It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t supposed to be. You didn’t need to be told what he wanted. He didn’t need to say it. His cock slid against your ass—thick, hot, already leaking—and your mouth curled into a smirk. You arched purposefully. A little taunt, a little “you can take it, right?” attitude radiating off you, even as your thighs trembled from the stretch. He grunted, lips quirking in response. And then he pressed into the sweet nectar that dripped from your cunt. It was dizzying each time, but today especially. The sight of it alone causes him to pant. His scent is overwhelming. Makes the air taste heavy. It forces submission from the inside out as you feel your stomach twisting. The smell sticks to your sweat, resembling charred sugarcane and gasoline.

You felt the give, the pressure blooming in your gut as his cock breached you, thick and unforgiving. He guided your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft skin just above your knees, using your legs to tilt your body into the angle he liked best—deep. He didn’t thrust. He carved. Mark grunted—low, sharp, shocked by how tight you were. You squeezed him hard, involuntarily, and he twitched so violently his hips nearly stuttered out of rhythm.

His hips pummeled forward, nearly knocking you off balance, your fingertips digging into wooden floors. The rocking presses him against every ridge inside of you. “Fuck, you’re tighter than I thought… knew you’d be trouble.” He was thick, his cock pulsing with heat and slick from his own need, and the sensation of being filled that way had your vision going white around the edges. Every thrust after that was short, deep, grinding. You were being taken. And he was barely holding himself together at the seams. Your pelvic muscles tightened every time he reared back, his hands gripping you with such vigor his hands went numb. His gaze purely focused on your ass, the sight alone nearly busting his balls as he gritted. Peering over your shoulder, you watch as he whispers to himself, hand nudging himself deeper with every stroke. Planting your feet against the sheets, you began to bounce back against him; loud pops echo in the room in tandem with your moans. “You’re gonna ride me like I’m nothing, huh? Fucking do it.” You almost make it look easy, his toes spreading from the pleasure being your encouragement. “I'm gonna fill you til' it leaks out of your nose, babe. You ready for that kind of damage?” His hand against the small of your back, head lulling backwards as unfiltered groans left him. His voice cracking occasionally, fingers ripping at the sheets, the hairs of his mohawk becoming slick to his scalp. One hand against his chest, the other gripping his jaw as his whole body convulsed under you—chest arching, hips jerking up in desperate, erratic thrusts even after he spilled inside you. And even when it was over—when he’d emptied himself with a full-body tremble and a cracked moan—he didn’t stop moving.

His hands slid weakly down your back, nails dragging across sweat-slick skin like he didn’t know how to stop touching. His breath came in short, broken gasps—mouth open, throat dry, eyes glassy with disbelief. “Still hard—how the fuck am I still hard?” His spine curved forward as he continued to bounce you against his cock, his jaw slack. “You feel so good, I’ll die here, I don’t care.”

His body twitched under yours, overwhelmed but addicted—his cock still twitching inside you, trying to stay hard even as overstimulation set in. He whined when you clenched. Actually whined. His thighs trembled, head turned to the side, face flushed and lips parted in a half-smile, half-wrecked expression that made it impossible to take him seriously—except he was so serious. He slipped out of your pussy with a wet, audible drag, the sudden emptiness making you gasp. He was breathing heavily—shakily, even—as he pulled you up like you weighed nothing. His hands framed your thighs, one arm cradling your back as he stood with you wrapped around him.

Your cunt was already dripping from being stretched—slick enough that when he used the arousal to lube your ass, it was an immediate, obscene slide. The angle—chest to chest, your back hitting the wall—meant he could slam up into you, balls smacking your ass with every thrust. The shift from vaginal to anal only made it more intense—your walls fluttered around him from sheer overstimulation, gripping his cock like your body didn’t want to let him go again.

It was instinct and control, primal and practiced, each movement slamming forward with just enough mercy to keep it beautiful. The sound of your skin meeting his hips echoed in the room—wet, filthy, rhythmic.

He reached down and grabbed the back of your neck, not to choke—just to feel your pulse as you took it. You barely had time to turn before he lifted you. One arm behind your back, the other under your thigh. His mouth slammed into yours again—sloppy, hot, teeth and spit and praise held between clenched teeth. He licks into your mouth like he’s chasing something—dominance, control, maybe a bit of sanity he left behind two cities ago.

You clawed at his shoulders. Bit his bottom lip. His cock was slick, messy from the first round, pressing against your slick folds as he walked you toward the wall like a man on a mission.

You clung to him, legs wrapping around his waist, and he fucked you standing—hard, deep, devastating. But still precise. Still so goddamn good it made your knees shake even while they were off the ground. He whispered something against your cheek—nothing coherent, just the sound of someone wrecked and reverent. The stretch? Sharp. Intense. His knot leaves you gasping, trying to squirm, but he holds you down, ramming his knot deeper with each thrust until it pops inside and locks you together. You can feel it throbbing, almost bruising, and he loves the way you twitch around him. He grinds through the swelling, making it worse for both of you—and better. “Too much? That’s the point.” There’s no warning. Just a cocky snarl, his hand locking in your hair and shoving your head to the side. “You ready, sweetheart?” You don’t get the chance to respond—he sinks in hard. Deep enough to bruise. You scream, and he laughs, moaning into the skin. “God, that’s hot. Fuck, keep squirming.” Annoyance floods your veins as you crane your neck. You sink your teeth into his collarbone, and he shouts, hips snapping. “FUCK—oh, that’s what you’re on? You wanna bite now?” He’s panting, pale, flushed, eyes wild. “Bite harder. C’mon, make me bleed, I dare you.” You clench around him, “Yeah, make me your little toy. I’m built for it.”

Lensless Invinicble

He hasn’t said a word for over an hour.

Which, for No Goggles Mark, is basically a war crime.

He’s sprawled out on the couch like he’s been shot, one arm flung over his face, the other dangerously close to palming himself through his sweats—and you know he’s doing it on purpose. That self-sabotaging little shit. He’s so obviously in heat it’s comical. Sweat slicks his collarbone, his jaw clenched tight, his shirt lifted over his abs like a mating call, a flush rising from his chest to the tips of his ears. And still?

Nothing. Not a single word.

So you break first.

“You good?”

His fingers twitch. His mouth moves like he might respond. Then, silence again. Of course.

You walk over, stand above him, arms crossed. “Mark.”

He groans, dragging his arm off his face to reveal bloodshot eyes and a crooked grin. “Dude,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to cave.”

“Cave?” you echo, raising a brow.

He smirks, shifting slightly, letting his hips roll just enough for you to see the outline of him pressing hard against his pants. “Yeah, cave. I mean, I’ve been lying here like a Victorian heroine in heat, and you didn’t even check my temperature.” He bites his lip. “Rude.”

“You’re actually insane.”

“Little bit,” he chirps, breath catching as his thighs tense. “Dude, like, on a scale from 1 to melting down in your lap? I’m somewhere around… please slap me, choke me, tell me to shut the fuck up—and I’ll still get hard.”

Your face twitches, and that’s when he knows he’s got you.

“You like this, huh?” He taunts, grinning through a low, shaky breath. “Me all pathetic and wrecked. Just lying here, trying so hard not to hump the fucking couch. You gonna be a hero and save me, or… just watch me lose my mind?”

You kneel beside him. He twitches.

“God, I love when you do that,” he mutters. “All serious and controlled while I’m three seconds away from grinding myself into a puddle.” You glance down at his flushed neck, already marked up from earlier in the week. Old hickeys, faint bruises—like trophies. Your trophies.

“You are so lucky I have bad taste in men.” You sigh, feigning annoyance as you two share knowing glances. “If I touch you, will you stop talking… or just moan louder?”

“Okay, rude, but also… accurate. Now come here. Get on me,” he says, voice deepening on the last word. His breath hitches again, and for a moment, he shudders—hands fisting in the cushion, thighs shaking.

You lean close, your lips brushing his ear. “You could’ve said something.”

“No fun in that,” he pants, finally reaching for you. “Wanted to see how long I could suffer. I always ruin the fun too fast. Mark me. Scratch me. I’ll wear it like a fucking badge, babe.”

He rolls over, yanking you into his lap, lips ghosting along your jaw. “C’mon. Don’t make me beg.”

“You already are.”

“…Shit. That’s hot.” His heat ruins him. He’s unhinged, usually pacing the walls of your shared home like a caged animal, trying not to wake you, but failing. His brain short-circuits with the memory of your mouth, your voice, and your bite. It's self-inflicted torture—he delays touching you just to feel the high of suffering. And when he finally breaks? It’s like watching a dam explode. You’re not just his girl—you’re his goddess, his favorite kind of punishment. And this need? It’s sacred, in the dirtiest way possible. For a loose cannon with unparalleled brutality, you’ve got him on a leash. His hands hovered at the hem of your shirt, fingers twitching like he was trying not to break apart mid-touch. “Dude, I can’t—I need—fuck, just lemme, please—”

You didn’t even answer. Just raised your arms, and that was all it took. He yanked the shirt over your head, tearing it in the process, and shifted you beneath him with a groan, mouth already dragging over your stomach like he didn’t know where to start. Your bra went next—half-bitten, half-torn—and when your chest spilled free, he just stared. Wide-eyed. That smirk curled at the corner of his mouth, slow and sinful, but his eyes were already glassy—like he was drunk off the tension and starving for your skin. It was a smile like he knew a secret and you were the punchline. All teeth and dark promise.

His tongue found your sternum, teeth grazing as he mouthed down one side, up the other, breath shaking against your skin. “I’m gonna say the worst shit if you let me keep going. Like, really bad. I’m so fucking gone for you.”

Ten minutes passed, and he still hadn’t made it past your ribs—just kissing, licking, groaning, hands dragging up your thighs like a prayer with no end. You knew he was struggling, his sweat pebbling against your thighs. It was sudden, your fingers curling just below his jaw and yanking him upward. The sound he let out was between a groan and a chortle. He looked at you like you were the final scene in a movie he’d watched a thousand times—obsessed, twitchy, reverent… and just a little off. It was unhealthy. He was in love. His smile didn’t match the heat in his eyes; it was crooked, teasing, like he was holding in something far worse than words. His fingers ghosted along your thigh, warm and slow, but there was nothing calm about the way they twitched—like he was barely holding back from sinking them in. It was dangerous. Like if you stopped now, he wouldn’t ask you to stay. He’d make you. And still, you didn’t move. You didn’t flinch. You let him worship you like the pretty little problem you are.

And so, with shaking fingers, he shoved his slacks down like they offended him, groaning when his cock sprang free—already flushed, already wet at the tip. The air hit him, and he trembled, panting through his teeth as if just being exposed was enough to short-circuit his control.

Your hand snapped up to his throat—tight, deliberate—and the moan that tore from him was instant, filthy, a cracked whimper that vibrated against your palm. You pressed him back into the cushions, straddling him with one thigh slotted between his twitching legs. His hands found your hips, but they were too unsteady to hold you down—more like he was asking permission with every touch.

You kissed him mid-moan—sloppy, messy, mouths colliding with teeth and spit and breath you didn’t care to control. His lips chased yours like he needed them to stay grounded, like losing contact for even a second would break him. His tongue was desperate. Uncoordinated. He whimpered every time your hips rolled. You reached down between your bodies, guided him to your entrance, and sank down.

He groaned. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a pathetic little sound trapped in the back of his throat as your warmth surrounded him—tight, slick, all-consuming. His head hit the back of the couch, and his mouth hung open in disbelief, fingers digging into your thighs before thrusting upward. A thick, wet sound of arousal coated flesh echoed between walls, his lip catching between his teeth. As you set the pace, his hand clasped the width of your ass as he forced you to swallow him whole. That’s all it took for your fingers to tremble, for your grasp to slip, “You hear that? That slick sound when I push in? That’s what I do to you. That’s mine now. Say it.” Words refused to form, only a disgruntled sigh escaping in its place. “Shaking already?” He taunted. “C’mon, baby, you like when I talk like this. Look at you—gripping me like you want me meaner.” Finally, your gaze snapped towards him as your hand cracked across his face once more. Your body leaned forward as you pressed weight against his windpipe. Head bowing to catch him off guard, biting his shoulder, the muscle jumping beneath your teeth as a stinging pain filled his side. He stops moving. Breath catches. “Dude. Holy shit—okay, okay, that was—fuck.” He’s grinning like he’s about to explode. He was a whore. Your whore, and he loved every second of it. Each roll of your hips dragged a strangled noise from his throat. His hands flew to your waist but didn’t guide—just held. Clung. Like you were the only thing tethering him to earth. His cock twitched inside you every time your walls clenched, and his abdomen jumped with every bounce of your hips. “Oh my god, that’s not fair. That’s—you’re cheating; this isn’t normal. No one’s supposed to feel this good.” His toes curled into the couch foam, unable to tell if he was cumming or unprecedented amounts of precum were coating his cock. You leaned down, lips ghosting his cheek, your chest brushing his as your breath fanned across his ear. And while staring him in the eyes, while he was mid-moan, you spit into his mouth before delivering a final slap. 

And that was it. His grip faltered. His hips jerked. He started to move—just a little—shallow, instinctive thrusts as he gasped beneath you. His eyes widened between delight and surprise. You could feel the sweat pooling at his lower back, the way his thighs flexed beneath you with every slow grind of your core against his pelvis.

Then you pulled off—just to tease, but not before you were flipped around and impaled once more; your ass nuzzled against his pelvis. He made a noise like he’d been stabbed, both hands flying to your hips as you sank back down onto him in reverse cowgirl. Shivers crawled down your skin as heat from an impending orgasm made your vision blotch. You took all of him at once, and his reaction was feral. His head rolled back, a curse strangled in his throat, and his legs shook like he was trying not to thrust up blindly.

Your ass smacked against his abdomen as you rode him—harder now, rougher—and you reached between his legs to cup his balls. They were already tight, already twitching, the heat and overstimulation building to an unbearable edge. You rolled them in your palm, gentle but precise, and he nearly screamed through his teeth, hips jerking up so hard it lifted you both. His hips unrelenting as he fucked up into you, “You ride me like that again and I’m gonna black out. I’m gonna fucking die. Keep going.” “Shut the fuck up, Mark. Just take it. I don’t want soft.” And with that he just lunges, no warning, no restraint, sinking his teeth into the nape of your neck like it’s all that’s keeping him tethered to reality. He moans like biting you is better than cumming. He didn’t speak for a brief pause, and that's when it became sickly. His scent is of bruised plum and metal. It's strongest when he’s holding it in—when he won’t speak, won’t beg, won’t stop. When his heartbeats migrated to his dick. Then he keeps biting. Little ones. Bruising ones. Like he’s chasing the high of your yelps. “Dude, It hurts so good. I don’t even know if I’m still hard or if I’m just that fucked up. Keep going. Keep going.” Your fingertips curl into his calf muscle. 

His entire body convulsed beneath you.

One hand fisted in the couch cushion. The other grabbed your ass like he was trying to ground himself—but failed. You felt his cock pulse inside you, hot and overwhelming, as he came hard, breath leaving him in broken, unbelieving bursts. He twitched beneath you, thighs quivering uncontrollably, soft curses tumbling between panting moans. He’s rutting even though he knows it makes it worse. He’s overstimulated and absolutely getting off on it. You reach back to touch him, and he moans, full-body shaking, begging you to keep going until he breaks again.

So, you don’t stop. Neither does he, because he’s having too much fun. 

“C’mon let's go again. Don’t start whining now—you’re the one who started this.” His knot swells too fast, too hard, and he’s already trembling before it locks in. Hips stuttering as he tries to pull out and realizes—he can’t. And the look on his face? “Oh my god—dude—I’m stuck. I’m literally stuck in you. This is—holy shit—this is the best day of my life.”

Shiesty/Hooded Mark

You found him leaning against the counter in the kitchen like nothing was wrong—like he wasn’t actively in the middle of a full-blown heat spiral. Shirtless, hair matted with blood, bandage hanging off one shoulder like he forgot it existed. His hood was pushed back, and his mask hung low around his neck, revealing a face too calm for someone whose chest was visibly heaving.

“Stop staring,” he muttered without looking up, a crooked smirk playing at his lips. “Unless you’re planning to help.”

“You look like shit,” you deadpanned. He rolled his neck slowly, eyes finally meeting yours. Glowing with that sick, golden hue. Sweaty. Raw. “I look like someone who just took down three versions of myself and came home hard as fuck. Same thing.”

You squinted. “You’re such an asshole.”

“And you love that about me.” He pushed off the counter and stalked toward you, hands flexing at his sides like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pin you or put them through a wall. “You know what this is, don’t you? I can smell your damn skin, and it’s driving me crazy.”

You crossed your arms. “So suffer.”

“Oh, I am,” he breathed. “But not for long.”

He backed you against the fridge, slow and heavy, heat radiating off him like a furnace. His mouth hovered at your neck, not kissing, just breathing in deep like he could swallow you through scent alone.

You shoved him—pointless, really, but instinctual.

He grinned.

“Still so fucking defiant,” he muttered, grabbing your wrists and slamming them up against the cold metal behind you. “God, I missed this mouth. Say something cruel.”

You stared him down. “You whine more than a virgin.”

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, eyes fluttering like you’d praised him. “Do that again. Be mean to me.”

“You’re a freak.”

“And yet you’re the one who’s been riding me for months,” he said through a tight grin. “Guess that makes you my freak.” His voice came out in a rasp. He loved how cold you could be; it made it all the more fun to ruin you, to watch you fuck yourself on his cock until you went limp. Usually by now you’d be bent over before finishing your sentence, yet he couldn't bear to. Not with his body practically vibrating, completely feral for you.

You grit your teeth. “You’re bleeding on me.”

“Guess you shouldn’t have waited so long to come home.” He buried his nose against your pulse. “Didn’t wanna admit I was in heat. You’d gloat.”

“Am gloating.”

He growled low in his throat, hips rutting into yours with zero finesse. “Yeah? Let’s see how smug you are when I’ve got you shaking.” You narrowed your eyes. “Is that a promise or another Mark-level bluff?”

He licked the corner of your jaw—slow and deliberate. “I’m starving and you’re wet. Bite me, babe.”

So you did. Your teeth dig into his throat, and he groans, head tipping back. “Oh, fuck yes, there’s my girl.” He’s panting now, grinning. “Shit. You like hurting me, don’t you?” He grabs your hips hard, pulling you closer. “Do it again. I want bruises.” His adams apple bobbed. Usually he wasn’t a masochist; if anything, he would be overly dominant in bed, but his inhibitions were loosened. Breaking even, as his eyes held a different reality than his words. It was only to taunt, as when your tongue flicked over your lips, preparing for another taste— His lips crashed into yours as if he’s just lost a fight and this is his prize. His mouth drags against yours with a growl in his chest, blood still on his tongue, and the weight of battle clinging to his skin. He’s cocky even here, biting at your lips between each kiss like he’s testing how far he can push before you snap. When your nails dig into his biceps, he laughs against your mouth. You roll your eyes as he smirks against your lips, already dragging his teeth across your bottom one just to be annoying. “Careful,” you murmur, gripping the front of his suit. “Do it,” he mutters, voice low and gleeful. Oh, how he loved when you pretended to be in control. His hand grabs your thigh, lifts, and pins you to the wall without warning—your lips barely parted before he’s back on you, kissing you like he’s got something to prove. You break the kiss just long enough to breathe, panting against his mouth. “You really think this is working?”

“Oh, it’s working. You’re already grinding on my thigh.”

“Because you put me there.”

He kisses you again—deeper this time, slower, like he wants to make you forget what you were about to say. His tongue flicks against yours in a rhythm that’s just a little too practiced. You pull back, eyes narrowed.

“You kiss all your enemies like this?”

“Only the hot ones.” He does it mid-banter, almost annoyed by your clothes. One second you’re snarking back, the next—rip. The seam of your shirt tears in his hands. He chuckles when you glare at him, lips grazing your ear. “Buy you another one,” he breathes, before kissing down your spine. Pants? Gone in a blur. Underwear? Teased off with one finger and a smirk. “You always taste better when you’re pissed at me.” He sat back on the bed with that infuriating grin still tugging at his lips, watching you crawl toward him with that glint in your eye—the one that said you were going to cause problems on purpose.

You slid to his right instead, shoulder brushing his thigh, your eyes locked on his cock as it twitched between his legs. You placed one hand on his knee, lips parted, and then slowly bent forward until your head rested just above his lap. His breath hitched.

And then your mouth wrapped around him.

He groaned, head tipping back, but he didn’t get to stay passive for long. You shifted slightly, lifting your hips, giving him just enough of a view to see how wet you already were. Your legs bent at the knee as your back arched, ass high, ready to be touched—and he got the message.

His hand slid down the curve of your spine, lingering just above your ass like a threat, before diving between your thighs. His fingers met slick heat, and his cock twitched inside your mouth.

Two fingers pushed in slowly—testing—before curling like he already knew exactly what spot made you twitch. You gasped around him, and he moaned in reply, free hand tangling in your hair as your hips rocked into his touch.

Every time he thrust his fingers deeper, you sucked harder, like a trade-off. Every time you moaned? He pressed deeper into you, fingers soaked, knuckles dripping as your body clenched around him like it was begging. Your thighs quivered against his ribs. Your spit dripped onto his lap. His abs tensed every time you swallowed. You were both losing it. His fingers caress every ridge, pads searching for that gummy spot that makes you keen. The strokes are long, ending at the tip of his fingers before plunging in once more, your own cum coating your insides as it glues his fingers together. It took everything in him to not bring his digits to his tongue and swirl your arousal across his tongue. His taste buds ached as his mouth swelled with saliva. He could imagine it now. The faint tang of sweat, sweet like molasses and burnt herbal. Your mouth worked over him like you were daring him to come too fast—lips swollen, throat taking him deeper each time you sank down, tongue dragging slow and purposeful. His cock twitched between your lips, and you felt it—every pulse, every subtle tremble of restraint breaking. “Fuck… that’s it.” He whispered, head spinning.

And he felt you, too. The way your body clenched around his fingers, soaked and twitching as his hand pumped between your thighs with growing intensity. Your hips rocked against his wrist, heels kicking air each time his fingertips curled just right. You choked just slightly, his cock hitting the back of your throat as your body jerked—but he didn’t stop. His palm slapped wetly against your ass, the obscene sound of his fingers fucking into you barely audible over the slurp of your mouth and the low, guttural whimpers pouring from his chest.

His voice was tight. Right on the edge. But your pussy was shaking, your thighs trying to close, your back arching in that telltale way—and he felt it coming. You moaned around his cock. A deep, muffled sound—vibrating against his length—his legs jerking in response.

His fingers slammed deep. Curled sharp. You gasped—mouth full, throat convulsing—and then everything snapped. You squirted all over his hand with a cry you couldn’t hold back, legs shaking, ass twitching in the air. Your arousal spilled down his fingers, soaked his wrist, dripped onto the sheets.

And the second you spasmed like that around him? His hips stuttered, his breath hitched, and a low, fucked-out growl rumbled in his chest as his cock throbbed inside your mouth. You felt the first warm spurt hit the back of your throat, followed by another—and another—as he came hard, one hand yanking your head down to bury himself deep, the other still stuffed inside you, his fingers riding out the pulses of your orgasm.

His thighs flexed. His stomach clenched. His voice cracked with a half-moan, half-laugh that sounded just a little too close to worship. You swallowed it all. Deliberately.

Then let him slip from your lips with a slick pop, breath ragged, sweat cooling on your back as his hand finally slid from between your thighs, fingers shiny and trembling. He looked down at you like you were divine punishment. Still twitching from overstimulation, breathing like he’d fought a war—but grinning like he’d die to do it again.

His chest heaved like he couldn’t get enough air, jaw slack, lips parted around a breathless whine. You could still see the way his muscles jumped—little tremors of pleasure his brain had no control over. Temptation overtook him as his hand shot up—twitchy and instinctual. He couldn't speak. He just leaned forward, lips brushing your fingertips, and licked your arousal clean. Each drag was shaky, mouth hot and eager, licking the mess he'd made like it was sacred. His lashes fluttered as his tongue circled your knuckle, the sound of his breath catching every time your taste hit his tongue. He whimpered—soft, broken—like it hurt to keep going, but he couldn't stop. Every noise he made was involuntary. Every twitch in his hips, every stutter in his breath, every faint jerk of his cock against his thigh—it was pure overstimulation. His body was wrung out, undone, and still begging. And when he pulled your fingers from his mouth, licking the corners of his lips like a man starved? You knew he wasn’t done. To him, heat feels like madness dressed in power. Everything is louder—your heartbeat, your scent, the memory of your lips. He's a god in a cage, and you're the only key. You’re the one thing he doesn’t need to conquer—he wants you willingly, but if you fight? He aches harder. Every roll of your hips, every defiant glare, only sharpens his focus. He’ll fuck you like he’s trying to outrun the heat clawing at his brain—but the truth? He doesn't want it to end. Mating with you isn’t about reproduction. It’s absolution.

“It’s consuming me,” he spits, breathless. “I can feel it in every goddamn nerve.” You touch his shoulder. He grabs your wrist instead, shoving it to his chest. It hits like tension in a dim room—quiet, deliberate, intoxicating. The kind of scent that makes your breath catch before your thoughts do. There’s intimacy in it. One that thickens as your taste is savored on his tongue. The smell is of black tea and a faint rosewood… perhaps ink stained leather. He grabs your chin, drags his tongue along your neck, then bites down slowly. It’s deep. Controlled. Like he’s branding you. His chest rumbled, almost pridefully. He didn’t need to speak—you felt it in the way his hands gripped your hips, steady and possessive. You pushed up onto your hands, spine arched, thighs trembling as your knees left the bed. The tension in your core burned as he slid his hands beneath your pelvis and lifted. Your body tipped forward, thighs locking tight around his waist, ankles crossed at his back as his cock pressed flush against your slick folds—heavy, aching, ready.

He adjusted his grip, one hand under each thigh, supporting the weight of your lower half as your toes dangled uselessly in the air, legs trembling from the position. The angle was unnatural, perfect—your arms still grounded you, your pussy tilted toward him like an open mouth begging to be filled. Your thighs tightened with every breath he took, every twitch of his cock as he positioned himself. And he pushed in all at once. “I can feel your heartbeat around my cock.” His voice had a gritted rasp. Your mouth dropped open in a soundless gasp, your head tilting back, arms shaking beneath you as your cunt clenched around him from the sudden fullness. You could feel every inch of him—every throb, every twitch—so deep it felt like he’d never leave your body again. Your legs locked tighter. Arms strained to keep balance while your body pulsed around him, helpless to anything but the slow, punishing drag of his hips. And he moved. Just a steady, ruthless rhythm—rocking you forward with every thrust, forcing your body to take him in angles that made your stomach tremble. “Don’t pass out yet—I’m not done proving I’m stronger than you.” “Oh, fuck off. You’re disgu-” His heart nearly swelled. Fuck off? He’s influenced you. “Call me disgusting again. Go on. I’ll moan your name while I keep ruining you.” It was sudden; the knot started swelling so fast it pulled a ragged sound out of him—a half-moan, half-growl, teeth clenched like it hurt to feel this good. He's trembling, addicted, and pulsing around the knot that won't let go. He's fighting for his life. You clenched down at his words, heels nudging him deeper as his knee nearly buckled. “You’re mine, mouth and all. So shut the fuck up, or I’ll make it worse. Just tell me I’m your bitch. I’ll wear it like a crown. I can take more. Sit on my face again, like last time—I’ll breathe later. Tie me down and fuck me dumb; make me useless. That’s what you want, right?” It all spilled out in broken fragments like a truth serum. “We’ll see.”

Variant #17 (I wouldn't even keep you as a slave in my Empire!)

You come home to silence.

Which is odd. Because Variant 17 is never quiet. He likes to remind you he’s there—pacing, hovering, teasing, demanding attention even when he doesn’t need it. Especially when he doesn’t need it.

The apartment looks fine. No signs of a fight. But something buzzes under your skin the second you shut the door behind you. That strange, oppressive heat in the air… You round the corner to the bedroom and stop short.

He’s already there.

Sitting on the edge of the bed in just his boxers, elbows on his knees, breathing like he just ran a marathon. His skin’s flushed. His pupils were blown. And the second he sees you—he grins.

“Finally,” he says, voice low, gravelly with strain. “I was wondering how long you’d make me wait.” Your eyes flick to his throat—bitten and bruised from the last time he’d thrown you against the wall. The marks still haven’t faded. Just like yours. “Oh no,” you mutter. “Again?”

His smile sharpens. “You say that like I planned this.”

He stands—slow, almost lazy, despite the twitch in his jaw—and stalks toward you. His suit’s on the floor. His knuckles are bruised. He smells like sweat, ozone, and you. You backpedal, but he doesn’t chase.

Just says, “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You scoff. “Because you’ve been humping the couch like a damn dog in heat—”

“��Because I am,” he snaps. “And you left me here. Suffering.”

You try to shove him. He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. “Still so stubborn,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. “Fine. I’ll fuck the resistance out of you.”

He doesn’t kiss your mouth. Not yet. Just watches you. That cool, calculated expression is gone now, burned out by the haze of his heat. He’s not just attempting to be dominant—he’s deranged with it. Shaking slightly as he presses himself harder into you.

“You’re lucky,” he mutters, voice strained. “Before you, I had an ex that resisted too. You know what I did?” His eyes narrow. “I fucked her until she cried and then begged me to make her a queen.”

“You’re disgusting.”

He just smirks. “You say that now.”

He knows you don’t mean it, and if you did, you're now stained by his very presence, defiled by his wants. The desperation takes over. His hips rut against yours shamelessly, teeth dragging across your jaw, fingers digging into your thighs as he hoists you higher. You gasp, grabbing his shoulders for balance, but it only makes him hungrier.

“I was gonna be patient. Was gonna convince you.”

You can feel how hard he is. How wet the spot between you is becoming. “But this—this is your fault,” he growls. “You made me wait. You let me suffer. And now you think I’m gonna stop before you’re begging me to stay?” The slick from his precum, smearing against your bottoms. He was feral, utterly 

He doesn’t give you the opportunity to chide, “How many orgasms does it take to turn a little rebel into a queen?” His authority is being questioned with every action. He walks like he owns you—talks like he’s already won. His words are sharp, cocky, laced with superiority and amusement, like he’s just entertaining you until you break. But his body? His body tells the truth. He kisses you like every second your lips aren't on his is a personal insult. The moment your mouths meet, his hands slide into your hair, tilting your head back with a quiet, commanding growl. It's slow at first—controlling. But when your hands fist in his shirt, tugging, he loses it. He bites your lip and moans into the kiss. His hips rock into you, and he groans like he hates how good you feel. He pants, licking into your mouth again like he's ready to devour the last of your resistance.

His fingers twitch at his sides when you don’t move fast enough towards the bed. The way he breathes through his nose to keep it even—calm, cold—while his pupils are already blown wide from scenting your skin. The clench in his jaw when you lean in close, and he doesn’t flinch, but he stops blinking. He says he’s in control. He says he’s patient. But his hands shake when they finally touch you. Every article of clothing is gone. There’s no grace—just hunger. He strips you like you’re the only cure, moaning when your thighs press together. You’re left as his equal, in lust and in the nude as his damp cock presses against you within the confines of his boxers. The second the fabric left your skin, he changed.

What started as cocky hands pulling your underwear aside—slow, smug, practiced—turned frantic. The moment your bodies were bare, he hesitated. Just for a second. Like the sight of you finally being exposed knocked the breath clean out of his chest.

His cock twitched, and his jaw clenched. He groaned—low, guttural, like his body betrayed him by reacting before he had the chance to mock you for it. He didn't speak. Otherwise, the words would've come out shaken, and his pride couldn’t handle that. 

Instead, he flipped you onto your back, hooked his arms under your knees, and folded you in half—knees tucked high to your chest, back arched off the mattress. Your hands instinctively gripped behind your thighs, holding them there, perfectly presented.

Then he moved over you. Toes digging into the sheets, body hovering just enough to control the angle—forty degrees of domination, cock aligned with brutal precision as he pressed forward with an unsteady breath. The slide-in was deep. His composure crumbled almost immediately as he realized you held the very power he attempted to steal. Completely open and vulnerable to him, and yet his nerves felt alight. You watched his expression twist—eyebrows pinched, mouth parted, pupils blown—as the sensation rocked through him. He moved hard from the first thrust—hips slamming into yours with rhythmic force, his abs tightening with every movement. But for all his aggression, it wasn’t anger—it was panic masquerading as power. He was unraveling too fast. Your walls fluttered around him, and he twitched, thrusts faltering.

He tried to hold it together. Tried to go faster, deeper, rougher—tried to dominate. But his face gave him away. “You’re not as untouchable as you pretend to be, Mark.” You mused, although through choked sobs. The air leaving your lungs came in short bursts, unable to breathe as he pummeled into you, your body curling into itself. You open your mouth to taunt, only for his face to close in, breath fanning your face. “Say it. Say you’re not mine. I dare you.”

His brows knit tighter. His mouth hung open. A trembling gasp escaped when your body clenched just right. His hands—once firm on your thighs—now gripped like he was afraid of being pushed out. And when your legs shook in his hands, when your slick dripped down to his balls with every brutal thrust? He lost it. “I’m supposed to be building an empire, and instead I’m here—drenched in you, shaking, because my body thinks I’ll die if I don’t fuck you.”

You felt him stutter—hips stalling, jaw slack, his body shaking from the effort to keep control. His cock throbbed deep inside you, his breath turned ragged, and still, he fucked into you like you were the only anchor he had left. Then suddenly… he remembered who the fuck he was. Sure, he could be a brat, even doing this for the sake of vengeance. He persevered regardless. He pulled out in one slow, wet slide—watching the way your body clenched and twitched at the loss. His back arched inwards, and he looked down at you—ruined, smug, triumphant—and for a moment? He just stared. His hands were everywhere now—pushing your legs apart wider, guiding your hips into the perfect angle, dragging your ass back into place. You tried to shift. He didn’t let you. His grip was unyielding, fingers sinking into your flesh with possessive finality.

It was different, one fluid jerk. Buried to the hilt, grinding slowly, deliberately—just to feel your walls flutter. His body rolled against yours like a machine built for precision destruction. Each thrust carried weight. Rhythm. A punishment laced with adoration. He felt it. Felt your legs twitch, your walls tighten, your breath catch. And instead of slowing, he slammed forward, chasing your peak like it was his right to feel you come around him again—and again—until your moans weren't pretty anymore. “You live with me. You sleep in my bed. And you still act like you’re not mine?” He was falling apart. And you never said a word. He could throw a fit if he wanted to, but your defiance is what drove him mad. Because this was his undoing�� Not the position. Not the pleasure, but you. The way you let him think he was in charge… until he wasn't. And when your body clenched around him, slow and deliberate? He moaned—not cocky. Not cruel. Just ruined. His knee momentarily bent into the plush mattress as his thighs shook. It was like you’d stolen something from him. And he was grateful. His hips continued to piston as if to punish you. But every word is backed by panic. Just this involuntary drive to make you stay. To make you need him back. Because underneath all that power, Variant 17 is terrified that if he lets up—just once—you’ll walk away. And that thought derails him. So he fucks you like he’s proving something. And every time you moan his name, every time you whimper, or beg, or tease him? His heart races. He’s more addicted to you than he’ll ever admit. And that’s why he dominates. Because if he doesn’t stay on top, he’ll fall apart. “You’re lucky I even let you touch me like this. You’d be a wreck if I left right now.” Your cunt squeezed, causing him to slam deeper, earning a yelp to crawl from your throat. His ego and god complex nearly shattered upon hearing. His dick was twitching, muscles jumping beneath his skin as he grimaced in pleasure. Burned sugar, sandalwood, scorched velvet, and ash. That’s his scent. It’s infuriatingly addictive. Sweet in a toxic way, like cotton candy laced with smoke. It doesn’t feel like comfort—it feels like compulsion. You hate how much you like it. It clings to the back of your tongue, gets stuck in your hair, and when he’s inside you? It’s everywhere. He leans down, nose nuzzling into your scalp as he inhales it like a drug fix. He reeks of dominance slipping into madness. Dipping his head slightly, he bites into your clavicle with no mercy. A sound between a snarl and moan leaps from his throat. The unrelenting pounding of his hips caused his teeth to grind slightly. If he doesn't claim you now, he’d lose himself. Not like you two had a choice, as he came without warning, a strangled groan being the only indication as your insides spasmed around him. He murmured into your collarbone, “Tell me I’m yours. Say it. Even if you don’t mean it, lie to me.” You obliged, the words barely coherent but enough to make his ears ring. A pained and pleasured whine left you; no amount of tensing his abdomen withheld the flood he released, dick bulging side of you as the knot formed. Your insides practically latching onto him. With bated breath, he leaned back, staring proudly at his work before he sighed, frustrated. “I was winning, and then you made that noise—fuck.” A quiet whine echoed in his voice. “All that attitude and you still came first. Typical.” Your eyes finally focused, narrowing on his gaze. “Don’t… don’t fucking look at me like that. I meant to last longer.” His eyes scanned over the marking, almost like his name was carved into it. Suddenly leaning up, you clamp down on his chest with your teeth, and he freezes mid-thrust, then growls. “Ohhh, so that’s how you want it?” His breath is ragged now. “You little fucking traitor. You think biting me’s gonna save you?” But his hips rut harder. “Do it again. Prove you’re mine too. You’re coming into my empire anyway.”

Truthfully, you didn’t mind. But he had finally earned you. TEASERSSSS (Part 3, if requested. Congratulations, reader!!) MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.

@ploiigee

[celestialcreativity]

Finally the sequel to “I miss my wife William!” Now with COLOR!! :D🌈✨

Honestly this one was SUCH a blast to make! 🤣 And I hope y’all enjoy this one as much I did! 🤗❤️

[pinkluv29]

So how do we all feel?

[xjulixred45x]

Can I request a like one shot of yandere evil invincible with gn younger sibling reader

YEEEEES THANKS ANON

Yandere! Evil! Mark Grayson/Invincible x Little Sibiling! Reader

Genre: Headcanons

Reader: gender neutral

Warnings: PLATONIC YANDERE, GENERAL YANDERE BEHAVIOR, OBSESIVE BEHAVIOR, OVERPROTECTION, MASS MURDER, MANIPULATION, SPOILERS FROM THE SERIES AND FROM THE ARC "INVINCIBLE WAR"!!

OKEY, Taking as a reference what we saw of the majority of evil Marks in the Invincible War arc, it is most likely that sibiling reader does not have much age difference with Mark.

maybe 5 years or 6 at most.

If we go for a more similar evil Mark to the normal/Mohak Mark, then probably the relationship between these two wouldn't be so bad...at first.

let me explain myself.

It is left to be understood that for the alternate Marks to become evil they must have had a more unstable childhood than the main Mark had. which made them more perverse.

that would probably also affect his relationship with his little sibiling.

Let's say the Evil Mark we use in this situation is the Sinister Mark.

He not only grew up with an Omni Man who did not care for humanity, but also murdered his and sibiling reader mother.

causing quite severe trauma on him and to sibiling reader. It's just that they brought it out in different ways.

Sinister Mark probably even if he was considerably more evil than his other counterparts, this trauma was probably what generated his protective instinct towards his younger sibiling, being in a way his only source of sincere affection(whatever if he wants to admit it or not).

and we could say that he justified these thoughts with the fact that since they were both Viltrumites, his sibiling was the only one who deserved his protection, his love.

and at the same time he has a certain sense of entitlement to his sibiling's love, because after all he only wants "the best for them" when conquering the earth, the fact that they doesn't understand it is something else.

Sinister Mark learned to see his Sibiling as a small, weak being who doesn't know what they doing and needs his guidance. so to speak.

And so they both grew, they are the trauma that made one crazy and the other could have been turned into someone considerably more reserved.

since of course, sibiling reader was smaller, weaker, easier to defeat when fighting against their father.

Although I think that sibiling reader definitely awakened their powers before Mark, to the astonishment and even displeasure of the aforementioned.

Yes, it has its positive side. Now that they has powers so young they could be stronger and they could even be on the same level, they could rule the earth together without problems.

but it would also mean that sibiling reader wouldn't be as dependent on Mark as he would have been before he had his powers. Before that, reader would ask Mark for help with various things, whether it be giving them a ride, lifting something heavy, getting rid of someone, etc.

or even they will no longer need his protections, his angle rock in their relationship.

Now Sibiling reader has a new independence that Mark doesn't like.

but at the same time he can use the situation to his advantage so that brother reader has the same way of thinking as him.

We could say that it is from here that the obsession begins.

Of course, Sinister Mark is a horrible person from the beginning, but as I said, he and the reader had, as far as possible, a "good" relationship where although there was a HUGE power imbalance, Mark acted as their "protector" when he felt that It was his "duty"

as if it were an imitation of a normal relationship between siblings.

but most importantly, we could say that before the reader got their powers, Mark let them have more independence (somehow).

since the reader really couldn't do anything against Mark or his father at that moment after all.

but with reader having powers, it changes everything.

Sinister Mark, despite everything, is willing to teach the reader the bases of their powers, but he also never misses the opportunity to scare them with all the enemies they will have to face if they decides to use them.

I don't think this Mark is above orchestrating incidents in which the reader ends up in a bad situation (get the shit kicked out of them) and he comes to the "rescue."

It's like something similar to Mother Gothel but without magical hair, just obsession.

Also this Mark is great at making reader think that they are less capable than they really are, just because he has the advantage of being stronger and older.

If the reader wants to go somewhere on their own, Mark will be frantically telling them about all the villains in that area, about how they have no training, about how naive they are, that the world will beat them up and spit them out alive, etc.

He infantilizes/idiotizes them, basically.

This way it makes 1- reader see him in a positive light (no, he's not a good influence honey, stay away from him--) and 2- reader becomes afraid of going out or interacting with the outside world.

In that case Mark showers them with love and can even be nice, it's like being normal human sibilings to a certain point when he's not, well, conquering the earth.

Probably he and the reader have the same taste for comics, so he lends them his to entertain themself. Not to mention the ancestral custom of siblings giving them his old toys.

He's also VERY prankster, the kind of prankster who appears out of nowhere to scare you and then laugh in your face. That's Sinister Mark.

It makes him more funny if the reader throws something at him or even hits him. He says it's like hitting him with a pillow.

but it's definitely not a good idea to make him angry. in the least.

This is a completely deranged Mark, so if the reader tries, for example, to go with the other side (e.g. Anstrong), Mark would not only go after the people the reader ran away with, but reader would also have repercussions.

Using the above as a reference, if Mark found the reader with Anstrong and his son, he would kill them both in front of the reader, forcing them to watch, letting them know that THEY caused this.

I think he could also physically incapacitate the reader so that he does not escape if he is not cooperative, either by chaining them, putting a crawler on them (although he has probably already done this), or even breaking an arm or a leg, at least he has the decency to take care of them, but it will definitely be rough if they act rudely.

He becomes a bully, in a nutshell.

I think that the only way in which the reader can have all kinds of freedoms is if they wanted to be Invincible's sidekick, that changes the game a lot.

since of course! They would do it because 1- they have a similar ideology and 2- they would spend a lot of time with Mark

Mark would take it as a compliment, a bust to his ego, so he would happily accept his little sibilings as his sidekick.

I think that in this case the reader would be more similar to The Collector from TOH, that is, a super powerful child who would not really understand the concept of mortality since they are super invulmerable.

Maybe even if this reader doesn't really kill as much as their brother, they does like to keep humans under their "command" as servants or to do their things.

even "playmates" that if they break, they'll simply replace them.

This reader would definitely be a spoiled child, not only because he is practically a Mark 2.0, but because even if he is sadistic and brutal, he still acts like a little child.

You can bribe them with comics or food.

calls you silly names when they doesn't like you.

plays with toys.

They hides behind their older brother when things scare them or get out of control.

but all in a corrupted and dark version.

and Mark couldn't be happier in this case, his little sibiling came to their senses! They finally understand their purpose and duty to Viltrum, Mark would be overjoyed.

is probably the biggest cause of this reader's spoiled personality, precisely because by already having the mentality that this Mark wanted, he gives him everything they wants, and it really doesn't bother him that the reader is rude or homicidal to others, it amuses him. .

It makes his Yandere tendencies go unnoticed most of the time, if Mark finds out that someone from the empire is plotting against him using his sibiling, it's an insta kill (this in all cases).

We could even say that his yandere side is considerably reduced in this scenario, after all his little sibiling can kill anyone who gets into their relationship or if he asks them to.

They end up having a similar dynamic to Android 17 and Android 18, but with the ages reversed, Mark is the much more chaotic and homicidal older brother and Reader is the more calculating brother who worries about more superficial things.

and they would love to create bonds by destroying entire cities :)

They could even be at the same power level, which would give Mark a bittersweet feeling because on the one hand his sibiling is super happy to be able to be around him (which is even cute) but he misses the old days of when they was the little one-weakling who expected him to take care of them.

They still have some codependency.

God forbid the reader dies or successfully escapes, Mark would go CRAZY with sadness and rage for allowing this to happen.

Perhaps even, during the events of Invincible War, he was willing to take the reader from another dimension, some other Evil Mark, or the good Mark himself, just to replace the original he lost.

Either way, he's screwed without a reader.

Overall, I would say that depending on the scenario you choose and the advantages you have, having this type of brother and YANDERE can be a bloody walk in the park or your worst nightmare. you choose.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Publishing slowly, but in My way!

The Evil Marks are SUPER interesting, maybe i will do a Drabble about one of the Invincible War.

[luna-bimborina]

Little sketches of Invincible, the truth although if I lower the quality in animation a little bit I still love the series and the comic, I love the direction this is going 💙🩷

I'm going to miss Rex I was starting to like him a lot 💔

And fuck his mother Immortal.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

(Something that probably happened in another timeline.)

Evil!invincible variant: Any last words?

Rexsplode: I’m gonna be thinking about Rae when I do this

Evil!invincible: Do what?

Rexplode: Blow my load all over you (charges his skeleton)

Evil!invincible: You are such a d…

(Gets blown up)

[hattafan2593]

Missing Scene From Invincible Season 3, Episode 7

Powerplex: MONSTER!! YOU KILLED MY FAMILY!!!

Evil! Invincible: Yeah, let's talk about your family. I'm guessing your wife and kid died in this dimension, too? Well, guess what, Scotty? They didn't have to be there.

Powerplex: What did you say...?

Evil! Invincible: You could've just let them stay at home. But no, you had to drag them into your fight. You put them in the line of fire. You got them killed.

Powerplex: SHUT UP!!! DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT THEM!! BECKY WAS TRYING TO HELP ME!!!

Evil! Invincible: Yeah, she did. And she and your son paid the price. Now, I've done a lot of heinous things, and I own nearly all of it. But those two? That was your fault.

(Powerplex bursts into tears, and runs at Evil! Invincible, screaming.)

[ask-the-sock-ler]

Really had to jump on this art trend! XD

With all the different universes out there, there has to be one where Mark keeps Omni man as a pet. XD 

[possumgutzzz]

Sinister Mark my beloved

[elnenis12]

Dibujo: Sinister Invincible Regalame un ❤️ y Sugiereme ideas, Thanks

[gatorbites-imagines]

Heyyyyy gator, idk if you're an invincible show only but if you know anything about him I'd love some Sinister Mark x reader HCs he's my favorite freak (iykyk)

Sinister Mark Grayson x male reader 

Headcanons 

I love sinister Mark, hes a fuckass weirdo. I wanna keep him in my pocket in a jar so i can shake him. Cannibalism as a metaphor for love? No. Actual cannibalism as a symbol of love. All the alt Marks matter so much to me, I wanna love them all... 

TW for blood, mentions of cannibalism, sinister Mark stuff.

I honestly do not think you could have anything like a healthy relationship with Sinister Mark. Either, you are his pet that he tortures and owns, not loves. Or you are just as strong as him, or stronger, and you are both monsters. 

That, or its one of those situations where you are stronger than him, chill, and keep him in check like someone with a muzzled dog. All “he don't bite” after Mark just ripped someone in half. 

I think this version of Mark would struggle to outright love somebody. Being so morbid also means you have some disconnect with your emotions, especially healthy ones. 

It might just start out as possession and obsession. He would see you and decide you are interesting, his property. Or you are someone strong enough to be his rival, or to pose a challenge, so he wouldn't leave you alone. 

Maybe, it can evolve into love, but it would still be a very twisted and uncomfortable version of love.  

Sinister Mark is the type of guy who would hurt you, sometimes on accident, sometimes not. If things don't go his way, it wouldn't be beyond him to harm you, or try. 

If you are someone stronger than him, then he would still try, since trying to overpower you is something that intrigues him.  

I couldn't see sinister Mark being soft and caring the same way normal Mark is. He might have his moments where he just wants to be held or would even kiss you and pet your hair. But they are rare and far between. Especially after the whole stranded situation. 

If he survives the whole invincible war arc, and comes back to you in some way, then he would be even more cracked than you are used too. 

I don't really think a guy like him can go to therapy, so the closest he can get is you, and major part of him doesn't want to appear weak in front of you, which results in him being even more unpredictable. 

If you are stronger then him, or just as strong as him anyways, you might need to actually beat some sense into him. You can't get him to be like normal Mark, never, but you can at least get him to calm down a little and listen. 

This is also just a headcanon I have for all versions of Mark, but I think one of the greatest ways to calm him is to pull him against your chest so he can listen to your heartbeat. 

I don't believe that Viltrumites purr like I do kryptonians. And I don't think the heart has any special meaning amongst their people. I just think Mark likes to know you are alive and has memorized how your heart sounds. 

Did you guys know some people have a kink for heart beats? Yeah. I think this Mark has that, and not just yours. I can see him being a lil freak, ripping peoples beating hearts out because it gets him hot and bothered. 

Sinister mark would use murder and cannibalism as foreplay. If you eat people too, then he's panting and running (flying?) in circles like an excited puppy. He would try to lick your mouth and face, to lap up all the blood and gore mixed with your spit. 

Lord have mercy if you have a healing factor that can keep up with him. I think Mark would go crazy, dopey wild and feral smile on his face as he almost starts salivating. 

If it hurts too much, then he's sure there's some kinda drugs that will keep you comfortable so he can take chunks out of you, but keep you aware through it. 

If you have neither of these, I still think this Marks treats your blood and other bodily fluids like ambrosia. Imagine just cutting your finger so he can lick and suck at it when he's behaved himself.  

It just ends up pavloving him to be extra sensitive to the smell of your blood. Like, he would end up able to pick your blood out of hundreds of samples because he's just printed it onto his brain. 

Hes a freak, and I love him. Dating him would be miserable unless you match his freak, or you keep him as a pet. 

[vinnyvamppp]

To Be Desired

⭐: No Goggles Mark, Mohawk Mark, #17 Mark/Sinister Mark, Mentions of Invincible (requested!).

Synopsis: Variants of your childhood best friend spawn across the globe, and you find yourself in the crossfire of their previous lovers. What happens when you experience the parallel pleasure they offer?

Warnings: Power Struggles, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Morally Grey, Nipple Play, Fingering, Pussy Eating, Overstimulation, Public Sex, Squirting, Rough Sex, Switch!Reader, Switch!Invincible Variants, Plot changes for convenience, Matching Freaks, Position Changes, Porn w a Plot, etc.

Invincible Variants x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,239 (PART TWO HERE)

“You won’t believe what just happened, oh man!” Mark exclaimed with glee; an unfamiliar look of pride swam within his irises. It was the night he received his powers; a deep crater buried itself into your driveway from his failed landing. “What?” You questioned, prying your front door open as he entered. There were scuff marks littered across his naked upper body, battered and bruised from his knightly adventure. “It was incredible. I—I flew.” He explained, his hand gesturing excitedly. This was a dream of his; he would craft makeshift suits and detailed desired escapades to save the world. However, for it to come true was another story. 

“No way! This… this is a funny joke.” You sputtered, One doesn’t usually acquire powers at random, but in this dimension, who knows? “No, really. I took a huge leap off my roof, not really expecting anything,” he interrupted to soften the already ridiculous landing of his story. “You know, and I just took off.” The topic was so exhilarating; the thought of questioning him hadn’t dawned upon you. He leaned against the back of your couch, crossing his arms as you two reminisced. 

“Wait—why were you jumping from the roof anyway? What if nothing happened and you fell?” You questioned with a raised brow. “I know, I know, it’s stupid. But I was curious and decided to give it a try.” He rationalized quietly, fingers nervously scratching his nape. “Aw… I want powers now.” You feigned sadness as you sulked. It was your attempt at being amusing, but truthfully, you felt left behind. Was it envy? Was it the need to feel important? Was it the fear of him leaving you behind to begin his journey as a hero? You didn’t know at the time. His expression became tinged slightly with guilt. “Hey, don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get powers soon.” He reassured you, but it was too humorous to be sincere. “Yeah… soon. Real, funny, wasn’t it?” You said to yourself as your body perched against a rooftop. It was the second day of the Mark variants ravaging Earth like their playground. The once-majestic towers now stand as skeletal frames, their glass windows shattered. Debris litters the streets, a tragic mix of shattered concrete and twisted metal, and the air hangs heavy with the scent of smoke and ash. Heroes formed makeshift shelters and sifted through rubble for survivors. 

The Mark you once knew was head over heels for Atom Eve. It was no secret; he was a lost puppy whose ears would perk at the sound of his name on her tongue. Utterly devoted. You were the very last to discern his truth. The two were written in stone, but it left a bitter taste in your mouth that you had long since gotten over. Until now. You were late to the news of the world's destruction. A strangely familiar face appeared on the news, a version of Mark that made your chest tighten. Within your family, a strange ability was acquired—a power bred through evolution to ensure survival in a world full of the unknown. Once in a lifetime, through a series of visions, you would discover a pivotal moment in time to peer through. That moment was now. 18 variants were loose internationally, each with their own tragic story and love interests. Six had dated or lost their Atom Eve, five had slain their worlds' Amber, and six had been devoted to you. 

Helping where you could, you began assisting in fighting off the weaklings who figured now was the best time to attack Earth. Micro tears riddled your uniform as you tore through them mercilessly, all through a look of pity. There were days you'd resent this “job” you'd granted yourself, the little recognition and appreciation you'd receive from the public. How selfish of them and you. You wanted an excuse to have this world fair alone without a need to rebel when no one would notice. As luck would have it, a voice suddenly dawned behind you, his body floating midair and adorned with the appearance of your dearest friend.

Mohawk Mark

“Oh, shit… I know you.” He rasped, his expression twisted into a cocky grin. His stature and pose were that of confidence and a man who caused insurmountable damage to those he met. “You look just like her,” he continued, his feet finding purchase on the ground as his stride increased. “Sorry, you've got the wrong one; try finding her—” Just as you spoke, static buzzes in your skull, a low crackling hum that drowns out the edges of the memory before it fully forms. It's there—just beyond reach—shrouded in white noise. The harder you focus, the more the static swells, but for a moment, the interference clears. A voice, the ghost of a feeling—and just as quickly, it’s swallowed again. You understood the gist; he was indeed one you would find yourself tangled with. “Looks like you’ve been through some tough shit; mind if I join you?” Without waiting for a response, he lunges forward, grappling with you in a powerful embrace. His intent wasn't one of danger but instead of safekeeping despite his demeanor. Reflexes took over as you slammed against his cranium with the strength you could muster, effectively knocking him back.

"Fuck, you're a feisty one," Mohawk Mark growls, his breath hot against your ear. "I like that shit. Let's see how you handle this." His chuckle was condescending, yet a thrill shot through you. “‘Won't be handling shit,” You quipped before biting into his neck, just rigid enough to draw blood. He groaned, his flight knocking you two back into an alleyway. Similarly to your Mark, he seemed attracted to strength, his veins pumping with lust rather than adrenaline. Holding a firm grasp of your jaw, his lips collided with yours in a searing and blood-stained kiss. The muscle of his tongue forcefully parted your lips as he sought to taste you against his own. Finding yourself against the wall, your legs wrapped around the width of his waist, your ass snugly hovering over his pelvis. 

He pulled away every few seconds to watch your expression succumb to your selfish wants. Sex with the enemy was enticing, and you weren’t letting him escape any time soon. “You planned this?” You murmured between the saliva-ridden kisses, “That would be telling. You know enough if you’re agreeing to this.” His voice grew to tease as he licked his lips, mirroring his satisfaction before peppering kisses down your exposed neck. His version of sex was rough, with small increments of romance, only reserved for the best prize. With muffled groans, his teeth harshly nipped their way lower, his fingers tearing through the fabric of your suit. As he continued down your now-exposed cleavage, his tongue ran along the scantily-clad lace of your bra. Staring up at you, he let out a mischievous snicker before his teeth snagged the cup and tore it from your chest, leaving it discarded on the ground. 

“Shit… was fucking not enough? Had to ruin my clothes too.” You complained, as your hips bucked against his pointedly. This earns a guttural grunt from the flesh of your breasts, as he heaves out a response. “You’ll forget about them anyway.” He dismissed it as he continued until your panties were the last to be removed. The cool air dusted your wet cunt; its arousal seeped through your folds like honey. Its chill made you shiver, and like bees to nectar, his tongue feasted before his eyes. Hoisting you up, your thighs rested against his shoulders as he knelt; the angle allowed his tongue to slip inside your already spasming pussy. An unusual pink hue dusted his cheek as he stared up at you in utter bliss. Your fingers dug into his forearms, your puffy folds pressed against his lips as he devoured you. With your head resting against the wall, your hips ground themselves relentlessly against his tongue.

"Mmm, shit, already soaking wet for me," He taunts, pumping his tongue in and out of your tight cunt. His tongue, rough and textured, lashes out to lap at your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His groans send mild vibrations through you as his fingers reach up to paw at your tits, nipples stiffened in the cold air. You can't help but moan as he eats you out with relentless intensity, his tongue plunging deep into your folds. His calloused hands roam your exposed flesh, pinching and kneading your breasts, twisting your sensitive nipples until they grow numb. His hands couldn't stop their exploration; they explored what he had lost many years ago. Sparks flew as his tongue circled against your clit, flickering the bundle of nerves with a speed inexperienced before. Every time you would near the precipice of your orgasm, his tongue would flatten as he sucked your clit, ruining the rhythm. You tugged his hair with a frustrated groan, and his eyes rolled into his skull with an amused moan. 

Finally, pulling away, he stood to his feet. His lips parted to speak when suddenly, “Hurry the fuck up.” You said curtly with exasperated gasps. With lidded eyes, a Cheshire grin settled across his features. “Yes, ma’am.” Prying his suit off, he palmed his dampening erection. For once he fell silent as anticipation ate away at you both. As he freed his cock from the confinement of his boxers, it slapped against his lower abdomen. It stood with a veiny girth; the tip kissed a rosy red like his many mistress’ lipsticks. With a pleased hiss, he stroked himself briefly, eyes just barely losing focus from the buildup before he plunged himself into you. Your pussy hugged him with a familiarity that felt like home; the painful stretch soon became one of bliss. His hips began to quicken, wanting to see your fucked-out expression like never before. 

However, his greed overwhelmed him as the stimulation grew difficult to ignore. His usual grunts and growls were diluting to groans and profanities. The alleyway echoed with the cacophony of moans that mingled in the air. Inharmonious, yet emotion-filled as a flame flickered within your core. “I’ve waited so fucking long for this.” He grunted, a grin etched into his lips. “N-None of them, no ssslut compares to this. Only pussy I need, only woman I want.” A groan interrupted his sentence as your cunt contracted around him, swallowing him at the base. That’s right, every harem formed and woman fucked was so he could ruin the image of you that plagued his mind in its grief. The vulnerability of it all made your toes curl, even if it wasn't much.

The fingers pawing at your breasts began kneading them like stress balls until they were red. Truthfully, he missed every inch of you, not that he would admit that, especially since you weren’t exactly his. A high-pitched moan ripped from your throat as he continued to bounce you on his dick. Pre-cum coated your insides as the sounds of arousal grew louder, his balls tightening. With every thrust, he could see the air physically leave you, the scuff marks from brick marking your skin. He could barely tell where to focus his eyes, on your tits or face? Both were gorgeous, but fuck, he should just kidnap you and take you home with him, right? “Fuuuuck, Mark… I’m g-go—.” You groaned as your fingernails indented into his skin; a pain and pleasure-filled gasp crawled from his throat. “Fuck, yeah…” He said, his raspy voice cracking with the slightest whine. “Take it… s-shit, take it…!” It was a growl as his eyes fluttered shut to hide his eyes practically rolling around his skull. With a clenched jaw, his dick began to milk itself. The pleasure mounted as your impending orgasm washed your body in a sweat-breaking heat. Just as he came, your cunt spasmed once he pulled out, something within snapped as an aroused gush squirted from you.

His groin was now coated in your scent, taste, and the result of your rough fucking. The pleasure racked your brain as tears threatened to spill over. Noticing this and pleased with his efforts, he let out a short chortle, a hand coming up to swipe your folds and have a final taste. His expression turned into a feigned sob as he silently teased. His tip running a line between your folds and ass, resisting the temptation to fill your ass hole with his seed. Once you two were settled from your high, he spoke up. “Had fun, babe.” Your eyebrow lifted at the newly coined pet name. Suddenly, a muffled voice in his ear caught his attention. “Shit…” He muttered with an annoyed grimace at Angstrom ruining his amusement. “Go on,” you beckoned, “Not yours anyway, so no need to stick around.” It was a light jab, one he received with a satisfied smirk before taking flight. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll be back.” He replied curtly before disappearing into the horizon.

You stood there, naked, processing what just happened. "Shit, I need a new suit from my apartment.”

Variant #17 Mark (I wouldn't even keep you as a slave in my Empire!) Or Sinister Mark (personalities are similar in the comics, so imagine what you will.)

"You thought you could hide from me?" he said, peering down at you with a friendly grin for someone so domineering. Staring down at the man’s shadow, his cape billowed in the wind. Unlike the other Marks you’ve caught a glimpse of, this one barely had a bruise on him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He finished before he landed softly on the ground. As he approached, you remained still, eyebrows creasing into a frown. “I’m not—.” You were abruptly cut off by a low voice as his head tilted to stare into your eyes. “Don’t play stupid. My version of you had the same power… but she resisted our cause.” His voice was tinged with pity as he frowned; he decided to take another route in his approach.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll leave… if you come with me.” He offered with an outstretched palm. You vehemently shook your head in disagreement. “I’m not going; it'll disrupt the timeline.”

“Why does that matter?” He asked. 

“What makes you think I won't resist either…?” You retorted, causing his eyebrows to raise slightly in thought. “I’ll change your mind and give you what you missed out on in my world.” It was such a matter-of-fact opinion. One that was rooted in a determination to outclass any obstacle to deter him. Curiosity bested you the moment you turned to face the chaos erupting in the streets as a strong gust of wind obscured the debris. He was behind you. His fingers draped over your waist as he took flight and to… your apartment? “I’ve been watching you for a while now… I know all about your preferences. Let’s have some fun, shall we?” His lips just barely grazed your ear. Amongst the hands that roamed your body, a sense of longing lingered in every squeeze and grope. While being one of the strongest, and surely the most vile, his personality could be charming like your dimensions, Mark. Even if feigned for manipulation. He spins you around to face him, that polite smile etched into his face again as his body betrays innocence. The erection forming within his costume became difficult to ignore, but he found a distraction. A touch, a handhold, and finally—a kiss. 

“Let me show you what it's truly like to be satisfied.” His words were reassuring, yet they felt more directed towards his version of you rather than now. His tongue swept into your mouth, tangling itself in a wet heat as he sucked the air from your lungs. The warmth of his fingers spread across your cheek as his tongue attempted to delve impossibly deep. The taste was better than you imagined, not that you expected any less. If anything, finding him in a forgiving mood proved to be favorable. His fingers shifted from your face to the back of your costume; in his attempt to be gentle, he tore the cloth from your body like tissue paper. In an instant his costume was discarded in the corner, leaving him in snug boxers that hugged his dick. Before you knew it, you were pinned against the bed, a hand flush against your throat as he shrugged slightly. “Didn’t mean for that to happen.” He said, an amused huff exiting his nose as you exchanged knowing glances. 

The remaining hand gently pried the panties from around your hips and down the length of your legs. His eyes fell upon the wet patch that seeped through the thin fabric as the semblance of a pleased grin stretched across his lips. Focusing his attention once more, his fingers slowly parted your folds, watching as your velvety walls peeked through the slit. Its warm flesh was inviting, something he had yet to try since you retaliated so often against him at home. Just why couldn’t you be this welcoming? So willing to be corrupted? So… morally gray at the least. Pressing two digits inside your warmth, he watched it conform to the size of his fingers. An obvious shiver ran through him with each moan that vibrated from your throat, as he imagined you hugging him and wrapped around his cock in plea. The sensations set your skin alight with gooseflesh, and each time you attempted to scurry away from his gift, the hold around your neck tightened ever so slightly. He was such a brat. 

Your hips ground into his hand, clit colliding with his palm in gentle waves. As his fingers slowly retracted, his cock shyly peeked from the pocket of his boxers. His patience was running thin as he adjusted himself at your entrance as he slowly pushed through. A loud sigh escaped his lips as he bottomed out, his head falling backward as he quietly cursed under his breath. Mirroring his restlessness, your foot hooked around his lower back and pressed him deeper. A drawn-out moan echoed from your throat; he was barely holding on as he gnawed at his lip to contain himself. Reflexively, his hips stuttered before setting a relentless pace, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes that hit all the right spots. 

“Already so wet for me… pathetic. Fucking slut.” His words struck a nerve within, as you repulsively tightened around him, earning a whine. Your moans echo through the room, mingling with the slap of skin against skin and Mark's grunts of pleasure. He hammers into you like a man possessed, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he drives you towards climax. 

The long thrusts stimulated every inch of his dick; the veins were kissed with every grip of your cunt. “Did your version of me not do it for you?” You teased before taking a sharp breath at his relentless pace. “Y-You really don’t know when to be quiet.” He gritted, “But n-no… not like this, you're much better. I would take you to be a part of my empire.” He replied, his jaw tightening as his hips drilled into you with renewed conviction at the thought. A second you, not the one he’s attempting to keep as a slave for disobeying, but one he can trust to blindly follow his power. His grin grows wolfish as his other hand overlaps your throat, his gaze shifting between your bouncing tits and pleasured face. The slight closure of your windpipe doesn’t allow for much noise, but no matter, Mark began to sing like you’d never imagine. It was strange; the sound was much louder due to your silence as you clawed at his skin. His voice began to crack as his tightened jaw began to slack, "F—fucking incredible," he murmurs, his voice rough with satisfaction. "I knew… you'd be worth every s-second of c-...chasing you down." He sputtered as his length began to twitch inside you.

Seeing someone as strong as him unravel before you was a greater sense of accomplishment than becoming a hero itself. With a closed-lip groan, he began overstimulating himself with the effort to get you off. “Haaa… I’m c-close. Ugh…!” You muttered through strangled gasps as the deprivation of air made you lightheaded and sensitive. Every nerve ending inside your cunt doubled as you went taut beneath him. “C’mon, fucking cum for me.” He heaved. His thrusts became sloppy as he came inside without warning, doubling over as a consequence. An unfamiliar sensation painted your insides. You both saw stars as silence pierced the room, the slick produced coated his cock in a glaze. Through bated breaths, his fingers finally released their grip around you as you coughed out a response. “I have to admit… you’re hard to deny.” You said, momentarily spent as you lay before him. “Swee—” He was cut off by a voice in his ear. 

It was Angstrom demanding his presence over the city; “What a nuisance.” were the final words you caught as he muttered under his breath. Every version of Angstrom was a hindrance to this Mark; nonetheless, he suited up to leave. “I’ll return, and you will join me.” He said confidently, as if there was no argument to be made. You nodded absentmindedly and sighed. Just what had you done?

No Goggles Mark

“Dude…! You’re so cool; what is that? I’ve never seen any powers like that in my world.” He says with an amused expression as he snickers at your agony. You stared up at him, your heartbeat suddenly quickening when meeting his gaze. A look of recognition flickered within his eyes. “Hey, I know you.” He says, his feet touching base on the ground as he approaches you with a widening grin. “I’m not sure you know me exactly…” You replied, backing away as your eyes searched for a route to escape; his friendliness had truly taken you aback.

“Who do you work for?” He asked, words flying from his mouth without a care as he approached closer. “You're way stronger than the Guardians of The Globe dudes I fought.” He fought who?! A sense of dread filled you as a new series of questions plagued your mind. If this one could ruin the team to filth, then just how strong was he, and what exactly did he want? “I don't want to fight you, man.” You somewhat pleaded; he frowned with disapproval. “Fight? No man… but it seems like you’re in trouble, dude.” The topic switched again, his gaze now behind you as a flurry of aliens attempting their takeover waltzed through a portal. You didn’t have the heart to tell them it was a failed crusade before it began.

Taking a stride forward, a strong arm suddenly wrapped around your waist as you two were propelled to a lone-standing structure where steel beams and concrete floors remained. “Put me down.” You bruised him as you backhanded him into the metal beam. While he had a smile on his face, momentary irritation settled across his features. The painful sting ran to his cock. “Aw, what's the matter?” He asked, standing to his feet as you both came face to face once more. “It would be hot, but I don't want to fight, dude. I’ve missed you. I promise I’ll be gentle… at first.” The delivery was more seductive, dropping an octave as he approached you, hands outstretched and finding purchase against your hips. One thing other variants wouldn’t admit is the supple touch of the right woman could caress their soul.

“I’m not the me you want.” You replied, “You can just be the one I have anyway.” He was indeed serious, and while less terrifying than the other Marks you’d encountered, his strength was menacing nonetheless. “Then let’s see what other talents you’ve got.” Your response made his expression brighten with a new goal in mind. At that, the grin on his face widens as he leans down and captures your lips in a fierce, dominant kiss.

His tongue forces its way into your mouth, battling yours for dominance as he grinds his hips against yours. You two stumble around the enclosure, footsteps echoing in the empty building. Mark’s hands cup your ass, squeezing them roughly as he whispers crude compliments into your ear. "Nice ass," he growls appreciatively, his fingers caressing the soft flesh. He couldn’t articulate it well, but you were truly beautiful in every universe, and he couldn’t wait to have his share. 

Your fingers traveled up his muscled back as body heat pooled across your fingertips. Eagerness unlike any other began to rise as you longed to touch every inch of him. Hero costumes are peeled from one another, and you find his groping becoming progressively obsessive. His hardened cock stood awaiting stimulation as he bit back his urges, sacrificing the time to feel you once more. Guiding him to the floor, you seat yourself against his lap, your legs hooked over his forearms. He was always too quick to finish battles, and that even applied to sex. Just the tip. That's what you two agreed upon. Sinking onto his cock, its girth fills you deliciously. The wet sound of arousal followed by his restrained groans fills you with delight; it's amusing to see a Viltrumite struggle to contain himself.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… and 6! On every sixth shallow thrust, you would contract your muscles, gripping his dick like a vice as every vein received a kiss from the gods inside your cunt. It had him crazed, wanting more of your warmth than you were willing to give. “F— Fuck, babe, you’re killin’ me.” He hissed with an unforeseen weariness shaking his voice. “Can I?” He started, “No.” His expression hardened at your words, “You’re ruining the—.” Before he could finish, he inhaled sharply as his head fell back. “Am I…?” You asked with feigned curiosity. It was undulating in a rhythm that drove him wild. He groans beneath you, his hands digging into his palms as he fights his urges to misbehave. The sound of your ass slapping against this pelvis fills the air, mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. Anything would be worth trading; he could watch his dick disappear within your cunt nonstop. His impending release redoubles his efforts, pounding into you with a ferocity that sends you hurtling over the edge. 

The excitement overwhelms him as he sheaths half his cock inside, the spreading warmth and moisture making his thighs quiver beneath you. His balls tightened, painfully so, that alone ripped a pornograohic moan from him. If he could fuck you as desired, he wouldn’t be nearly as needy. Your combined moans echoed through the infrastructure, and you were certain that with the windows gone, someone could hear, but the thought was out of sight and out of mind. Pre-cum beaded down his length as it was smeared each time he entered your warmth. “M-Mark…” You muttered; he nodded fervently behind you as his jaw locked. “Y-You ready for it, babe?" He asked with a faltering grin as sweat tickled his brows. Leaning your full body weight against him, you feel your orgasm building quickly. The pleasure reaches new heights as you both milk each other dry for the sake of proving a point. Your body instinctively begins to lurch forward as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. The tip of his cock was bedecked with a foam ring of cum. Mark would’ve begun convulsing had it not been for him carrying you; instead, his body stiffened as he let out a tight-lipped groan. You could’ve sworn you saw his toes curl too, but who knows? His pale skin was flushed a hue of red as his body thrummed with an aftershock.

Once you’ve come down from your high, a satisfied grin beams at you. "Dude, that was incredible," he murmurs, a satisfied grin on his face. "We should do this again sometime." He said as if this was some casual fling, not that you would mind. Before you could respond, a message in his ear interrupted the conversation. “Ugh… this always happens; I have fun, and then—dude…” He sounds exasperated as he hurriedly redresses, reluctantly wishing you a botched farewell. “I like you. You’re coming with me.”

Feel free to request more lmao

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[celestialcreativity]

“I miss my wife Tails” but it’s with the Evil Invincible variants instead XD

I wanted to show y’all this when it gets fully colored but got too impatient and excited so I’m showing it now XD

[digitald0rk]

TEAR YOU APART

pairing : sinister! mark grayson x afab! florist reader.

synopsis : in which mark discovers your dirty little secret and decides to help you recreate it in real time.

(18+) warnings : kidnapping. nasty petty perv mark. allusions to cannibalism. mention of kinda gory violence. hair pulling. biting. mean name calling duh. giving each other head. p in v unprotected sex. creampies. marathon sex as in multiple orgasms. squirting. overstimulation . . . ++ just really nasty smut lol [ all consentual though! you two are freaks like in capital FREAKS ]

w.c : 5.5k.

notes : erm. yeah idk what possessed me to write this but lemme know what you think ! it's my first time writing smut this long and detailed [ my search history is crazy rn lol ]. let's just say this takes place in sinister mark's universe before he starts acting like a murder machine and all, so yeah :] again interactions are always appreciated, also do let me know if you think there's any warning i should add!

taglist : @vm4879bb-blog [ for the others, i wasn't sure if you guys would be okay being tagged in a fic like this so i didn't, let me know if you wanna be added tho :p ]

now on ao3 too!

he's going to kill something, or someone.

“oh yeah this? my boyfriend got it for me!”

he hears you talk about him, your lover, everyday and it annoys him deeply, the subtle furrow of his eyebrows barely noticeable but definitely there — sometimes a twitch of his eye, clear cracks in his carefully constructed facade give away his irritation if you choose to look closely.

“that reminds me, this one time he-”

he loves that pretty voice of yours — dare he say, he's grown fond of it, but he wants to shut you up forever whenever your boyfriend's name leaves your lips.

mark wants his name to be on your tongue — to be said with the same love and fondness that accompanies the name of your lover.

he tried, he really did, to give you signs — a squeeze of your hand there, a stare that can practically undress you on its own. but it seems you're oblivious to it all, or you're playing hard to get, either way his patience is running thin.

he'll get what he wants. just you wait.

every time he visits your little shop, it smells like flowers mixed with your perfume, that sweet and sugary scent with just a hint of citrus — he had asked you about the perfume you wore during his third visit, bought it the same day so he could finally get off because his imagination wasn't enough at this point, that kept him somewhat satisfied for a bit, but it wasn't nearly enough.

so when he stopped by next time, not even buying flowers to play along with whatever this is, he asked you, “where do you buy your clothes?”

you blink a couple times, clearly taken aback back by the sudden question but nonetheless, answer him — although you're not quite sure what to make of his disheveled hair and blown out pupils.

here he is, acting like a feral dog in heat, buying anything and everything that he can at the shops you frequent that resembles your clothes. and when he's back at home, he's spraying them with the perfume you always wear, rutting like a madman into the mattress as he mouths at a pink shirt — the same one you own and the one you were wearing when he first saw you, his drool leaking and staining the shirt as he holds it close to his mouth and closing his eyes, your scent surrounding him as he suckles on the chest area of the shirt, imagining it's your chest instead which has him groaning and cumming in his pants. that keeps him going for another week or so.

next thing he knows, he's acting on pure instinct and his desires — snapping photos of your panties underneath your little skirts like a fucking pervert, looking them up online so he could order them and make a mess of them. and he does, he stains each and everyone of those panties with his hot, thick cum and sometimes his spit when he imagines eating your pretty pussy out. his desires however continue to only grow.

he visits your little shop, like he always does, mentally preparing himself to not grab your throat and shove you down to make you shut up if he hears about your stupid boyfriend again.

he's being nice, can't you see? you should be thankful.

mark sees a new ring on your finger, the small silver zircon on it shining underneath the sunlight, he wonders if it's another gift from your boyfriend.

the thought leaves a bitter taste behind, regardless, he maintains his usual aloof facade, waiting for you to finish wrapping up his bouquet that he's going to end up tossing away the next day — just like the other flowers he's bought from you, they don't compare to you or your beauty, he wants you, a flower that won't rot away once he's done playing with it.

surprisingly, you don't mention the name of a certain man who he wants dead and buried six feet deep but he doesn't comment on it, in fact, a small barely imperceptible smile tugs at his lips.

he's just about to leave your little flower heaven when he hears something that makes his heart, uncharacteristically skip a beat.

“yeah i heard, i’m so sorry,” a voice, which he recognizes as your friend speaks softly, sympathetically.

“yeah, i don't know what i was thinking,” you start, “the signs were there, i just never thought he'd cheat like that,” you blink away the forming tears, “i trusted him.”

he stops dead in his tracks. that bastard cheated on you? he'll make him pay for being the reason you cry, although your tears do make his cock twitch in his pants. he'll lick them off of your face if you let him, god he really wants to.

should he simply keep your boyfriend to torture? he's sure he could lure you in with it, after all you are way too sweet for your own good.

he'll slowly tear each of his limbs apart, making sure the man hears his bones cracking and skin ripping, he'll make that fucker bleed to death. hell, he'd even record those painful, agonizing sounds that your ex would cry out, he's sure you'd cry more if he lets you hear them, maybe he just wants to see you cry — though he's sure you'll do that when you choke on his cock.

he snaps out of his little fantasy when the bell rings, indicating the opening of the door — another customer in, he sighs. he's losing it, he's not sure how much he can withstand not having you with him. but he's trying, for you.

for the sweetest girl who he can't wait to devour.

with his restraint hanging on by a thread, he steps out of your shop, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists by his sides. he needs to have you.

and that restraint finally snaps the next day when he discovers that his favorite florist is a fucking freak.

as you're tending to customers — clearly overwhelmed by their number as valentine’s day is approaching and flowers are definitely a safe option for your partner, his eyes stay locked on your laptop's screen that you had put on one of the small tables, lid only half closed, his eyes frantically scan over some of the words as he fully opens the screen, trying to stay out of your vision.

he quickly decides to go somewhere where there aren't so many people so he could take a look inside his sweet girl's sick mind. and with that he skillfully slips outside — he feels awfully excited, sneaking into the small bathroom of some shop.

and with each click of the cursor and another tab opening, he learns your most depraved, disgusting fantasies — the kind of porn you're into, your kinks and fetishes, the smut you read, all of it.

he even stumbles upon a small blog you run, oh now we're talking. each lewd image or post you've reblogged, followed by some words of “wish that was me rn”, has him hard. and these date back before your break up, meaning your boyfriend was definitely not keeping you satisfied and that has him grinning like a maniac.

oh he'll give you what you want.

he shamelessly palms himself when he finds your dairy entry with his name, rambling about how you feel guilty fantasizing about him ruining you. he would've cum right then and there if it weren't for the knocking on the door, “hey man, you mind hurrying it up?”

oh right he's still in a bathroom and not in you, like he should be.

he manages to sneak your laptop back in, thanking the absurd amount of customers mentally which helped him go in and out without raising suspicion.

he can't take it anymore, it's only been a couple hours since he's discovered your filthy secret and also saw you tearing up earlier because of that asshole who broke your heart.

he knows he's a hypocrite — he doesn't care for your dumb feelings and your big heart, okay well maybe that's a lie.

it is a lie.

and there are definitely these feelings that he refuses to acknowledge but still, the only reason why you should be crying is because of him fucking your brains out.

and so he waits, like a predator waiting to pounce — he holds his breath, watching as the sun sets and you lock up your shop, ready to go home and get some sleep but your plans are interrupted as a hand sneaks up behind you with some sort of cloth, muffling your panicked noises and before you know it you're knocked out.

it takes you hours to gain your consciousness back, eyes all heavy and mind disoriented you blink, once. then twice, your eyes widen and your mouth suddenly feels too dry. you're all tied up to a cold hard metal chair, you're only in your bra and panties, the rope is too tight, it's constricting and will definitely leave behind angry marks on your skin.

standing before you is one of your regular customers, mark. you stare at him, dumbfounded — eyes darting around to look for an escape okay to see a single door, desk and some chairs, panic settles in your bones, the coldness of the room does nothing to soothe your nerves.

you mindlessly try to shift around, a desperate attempt that leaves you wincing in pain — the friction of the thick black rope burning against your skin.

you try to speak, but nothing comes out, only a small choked sob — looking at him with those wide eyes which are brimming with tears that are oh so close to spilling and staining your cheeks, you look utterly helpless. the sight alone makes him excited.

he takes a deep breath, he wants to take his time with you, savor you. but goddamnit, if you keep looking at him like that he's sure he'll end up doing the opposite of that.

“open your mouth,” he commands, leaving no room for argument and you hate the way it sends a shiver down your spine and a throb to your core. 

you hesitantly open your mouth, with his back turned to you — doing god knows what, you try screaming for help, it is a weak attempt that makes him chuckle, “no one's going to hear you sweetheart,” he coos mockingly, “i suggest you play along if you wish to live.”

he's not joking, his voice makes it clear. 

so you reluctantly keep your mouth opened, hot tears falling down — lucky for you, he's being nice, at least for now because he brings a glass of water, holding your jaw and pouring the water in your mouth, some of it spills, the coldness of it on your bare skin making you shiver — but you swallow all he gives hastily, hoping it really is just water.

you sputter a bit of the water out onto him in surprise when he licks a stream of you tears away, his tongue hot against your skin and his spit leaving a shiny trail on your cheek. scared, that he'll hurt you because of what you've just done, you close your eyes shut as if the mere action would actually rewind back time and do something for you.

he laughs, loudly.

god, you're adorable. he could just eat you up.

“are you scared of me?” he asks, knowing damn well it's a pointless question but the genuine fear in your eyes has him reeling with joy and a desire only you, his sweetheart, can fulfill.

he puts the now empty glass of water back on a small table, “you know, you look real pretty like this,” he starts, dragging a chair to sit across you, “but i bet you'd look real pretty without anything on.”

you don't answer, you don't know how to. your eyes are still looking around the big room for any exits, any openings — he smiles at your desperation, it's cute really.

“or maybe you'd look even prettier with some blood on you hm?” his tone although amused is firm enough to leave you unsure if he's being serious or not, he drags a finger across your belly, “what if i make a cut right here?”

you immediately shake your head, trying to speak but he shuts you up by pinching one of your hard nipples through your bra, your protests die down into a small whimper — the sound has him grinning from ear to ear.

his eyes glint with something sinister that has you both scared and turned on. “i know you want this slut,” he holds your jaw harshly.

shame settles in your bones as you realize he's right.

“don't play coy sweet girl i saw all of it,” when you give him a confused look, he continues, “that little blog of yours, that disgusting shit you're into.”

oh fuck.

he sees the look of absolute horror mixed with embarrassment on your face and he tuts like he's disappointed, “dirty girl,�� like he isn't the one who literally kidnapped you here.

“i don't know what you're talking about,” you both know you're lying, but sure he'll play along if that's what you want — he's feeling good today.

he reaches for your bag and rips it open — a clear display of who's still in charge here and how he definitely could kill you in an instant.

mark opens your laptop and asks you the password. you don't tell him at first as if that would change anything.

“i asked you a simple question,” he walks closer to you, grips your shoulder hard enough to make you regret your words, “or do i need to rip something else for you to answer me hm?” his grip tightens and you know he's not playing around, your voice shakes as you give him the four number pin, breathing heavily when he lets go of his hard bruising grip on your shoulder.

“good girl,” fuck him, he's doing this on purpose now! and the smug look on his face only confirms your suspicions.

he shows you the deepest, filthiest fantasies of yours that you keep tucked in your laptop, away from the world.

“what's wrong? don't pretend you're not dripping wet right now.”

again, he's not wrong.

“why are you doing this?” you ask him, still struggling a bit against the ropes that bind you.

“i wanna give you what you want,” he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. he also wants to make you forget about your ex boyfriend, but he's not admitting that, jealousy is a weakness. and one that he suffers from immensely.

“you what-”

“drop the act,” he huffs, irritation visible in the way his eyebrows furrow. “just admit it already. you're a sick disgusting pervert who goes prancing around like she's not thinking of having her holes filled,” he tugs at your hair to keep your head up, his eyes dark with lust boring right into yours.

“are you crazy? you fucking kidnapped-”

he cuts you off again, “so you don't want this?”

silence.

“i’ll untie you right now and let you leave, just tell me you want to leave.”

silence, again.

you're not fooling anybody.

“yeah that's what i thought,” he let's go of your hair, “the safe word is-” he mutters your ex’s name and before you can even comment on the sheer absurdity of it all, he's ripping your panties away from your throbbing pussy, groaning at the sight of your glistening wet folds, all needy just for him.

he quickly pockets the ripped panties. pervert.

“look at this needy cunt, all for me hm?” he muses aloud, spreading your legs apart and breaking apart the ropes that tried to interfere with his ministrations. he shakily inhales when he sees your arousal slowly spill out — you're so fucking wet. his heated gaze leaving goosebumps on your skin.

he presses a chaste kiss to your folds, practically salivating as he breathes you in — he's gonna end up cumming in his pants, he's dreamt of this exact moment for so long.

he gathers a considerable amount of saliva in his mouth before spitting it onto your neglected cunt which twitches at the action, the sight is downright filthy and it makes you moan.

he wastes no time — getting on his knees, licking a strip up your slit before devouring your pussy like a man starved for days, shamelessly rutting into the chair you're sitting on at your taste. you taste so good, he wants to drown in it.

he's messy and loud, your hands are still tied behind your back so you can't push his head away and grip his hair when he attacks your clit with his tongue, sucking on it relentlessly. your hips lift up and buck into his face, your noises only getting louder as he fucks his tongue into your warm wet hole. he moans at the feeling of your thighs squeezing around his head and nearly suffocating him — your walls clenching around his tongue as you cry out his name in utter pleasure.

he shoves two of his thick fingers in without any warning — a surprised small squeal leaving your lips, while his tongue works in torturous circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves and eagerly licking between your folds. your pretty whimpers are music to his ears.

clearly overwhelmed with pleasure, you make a pathetic attempt to squirm away from his touch, which earns you a harsh smack to your thigh followed by a bite — his teeth dig into your flesh, leaving behind bruising marks that will sting for days, the line between pain and pleasure blurring.

a familiar feeling settles in your belly, it only builds up as he continues to go down on you. “mark! mark! i'm i’m-” you try warning him, but his fingers only speed up, he sucks harshly on your clit, holding your hips down when you cum — your body shaking, crying out his name oh so sweetly, he wants to hear it again and again, until the only word you know is his name.

he doesn't pull away from your cunt though, drinking up every bit of your release and arousal that you offer — holding you down and forcing you to submit to the relentless pleasure he's giving you, moaning into your pussy like he's having the best meal of his life.

he doesn't let you rest, inserting another finger in — easily massaging that sweet spot that you can't reach as easily as he does.

“oh fuck!” you whine out loud, when he keeps overstimulating your poor pussy, the squelching wet noises only increasing as he eats you out. he loves the way your brain is turning to mush, mindlessly babbling his name along with your sweet noises.

and when you cum again, he still doesn't stop. 

you've lost count of how many orgasms you've had at this point, body too sensitive and shaking almost like a leaf.

with eyes brimming with seemingly never ending tears, vision practically blurry from the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body, it doesn't take him long to bring you to the edge again — except this time you end up squirting all over his pretty face, a surprised noise leaves your mouth as your body jolts hardly.

he finally pulls away. a small moan leaves your lips as you take in the sight in front of you.

mark grayson, on his knees, face all wet and drenched in your juices and his spit, breathing heavily — looking at you like he's going to eat you alive.

he's breathing really heavily, your dazed state makes it hard for you to comprehend things but you can clearly see the big wet spot on his pants. he came — from just eating you out.

“messy fucking slut,” he spanks your already oversensitive pussy making you hiss and cry out, body still quivering and twitching from that intense release.

he pushes your legs apart again, spreading your pussy open for him to see, he mutters a curse under his breath as he sees remnants of your release clinging onto the sensitive skin. he needs to get up before he ends up eating you out — as much as he would love to do that, he can't wait much longer, he needs to be buried inside that sweet cunt of yours and make you see stars.

he gets up from his knees. grabbing your hair, mark makes you lick his face clean, you taste yourself on his face and feel yourself getting worked up again. “good fucking girl, gonna put that mouth to better use, just you wait,” his hand reaches down to pinch your clit, laughing when you let out a small pained noise.

he hastily tears away your bra, the fabric discarded somewhere on the cold floor. he pinches and lightly grazes his nails against the perked up sensitive buds, making you squirm and let out small whimpers — it stings, but it also gets you insanely wet.

“look at that, pretty pussy’s practically begging to be fucked,” he bites down on your shoulder, a pained groan escapes your mouth and he bites harder, pulling away to admire the mark his teeth left.

you barely have time to look at the new addition of marks he's left on your body so far, before he's untying your hands behind your back, taking your wrists into his and pulling you down. you stumble a bit at the harsh tug — legs practically jelly from all those orgasms.

he draws you closer by your arms, manhandling you easily so you're sitting in between his open legs — the cold floor against your warm body.

“take it off,” he commands, gesturing to his pants. you hesitantly take them off, his ruined boxers coming into vision.

he's an impatient man, he always gets what he wants.

mark grabs a fistful of your hair and forces your head down onto his clothed — aching cock, making his impatience very clear.

“dumb bitch, can't do anything herself,” his tone demeaning, shutting up your protests by shoving his thumb in your mouth. he lifts his hips up to finally free himself of his boxers, his cock standing up — bobbing and leaking with pre. you gulp, eyes flitting back over to his face.

he lets out a small moan as you gather some of your saliva to spit on his hard cock, licking teasingly up his length over one of his prominent veins.

“don't be a fucking tease,” he takes ahold of your jaw harshly, tugging your tongue out before you can close your mouth — that he can't wait to be in and spits on your tongue, making you swallow it, before shoving you back a bit.

he pushes your hair out of your face so he could watch you better, the gesture so sweet and gentle — it makes you almost forget how mean he's been.

you slowly start pushing his length into your mouth, “thaaat's right, take it like the good slut you are,” his words die down into a groan as he feels your tongue swirl around his sensitive tip.

he's being nice for once, letting you take your time, your head bobs up and down as you suck him off while your hands jerk the rest of his cock that you can't fit in your mouth, tongue working against his sensitive spots.

but your mouth feels so good, so warm, so wet — his hips jerk up involuntarily, making you gag and tear up at the burn you feel at the back of your throat.

you look so pretty like this, those pretty lips wrapped around his cock, eyes glassy — don't blame him for wanting to ruin you when you look like that.

he pulls himself out of your mouth slightly — just to make sure he doesn't end up cumming too soon, before shoving himself back in, moaning in pleasure at the sensations he feels. you keep sucking, forcing all of him in your mouth, almost choking on his cock, some drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth, but it's worth it — worth those small whimpers and grunts he lets out, ones he can't hold back because of how good he feels right now, all because of you.

and when your hand reaches down to lightly toy with his balls, cupping them, he shivers and lets out a low moan of your name, without a proper warning his cock twitches in your mouth and he cums, hard — flooding your mouth with his thick salty release.

you try to swallow as much as you can but it's too much, however, mark being the fucking asshole he is, forces your head back down on his twitching cock and pinches your nose shut making it hard to breathe.

he breaks into a full blown laugh. oh how he loves the way your eyes water up — that panicked expression on your face as you struggle to breathe, some of his cum leaking out your pretty mouth, squirming and still trying to push him away. it only turns him on more, “it's rude to talk with your mouthful,” he quips, holding your gaze.

he lets you go finally and you pull him out of your mouth quickly, throat already feeling sore — you cough, wiping away his cum and your spit from your face with the back of your hand.

“you should've seen the look on your face,” he chuckles darkly — clearly pleased with himself, shifting closer to you to pin you down, wasting no time shoving his tongue in your mouth, messily kissing you. he lets you pull off his shirt, his hips buck a little when you start feeling him up.

he can taste himself on your tongue and god that only adds to his growing arousal.

he pulls away a little so he can start biting and sucking down your neck, his other hand sneaking down to tease your pussy — tracing circles onto your clit, he grinds against you, “gonna fucking ruin you for everyone else,” he bites your earlobe, tugging on it, his fingers moving to tease your other hole, “gonna make sure this fucking pussy is always full of me,” he slaps your pussy, making you cry out his name.

he quickly aligns himself with your wet entrance, taking a deep breath before nudging his tip in — shoving it all in one go, making you tremble in both pain and pleasure that'll build over time, “come on i know you can take it, isn't this what you wanted?” he coos mockingly, pressing sloppy wet kisses to your face, licking your face like some fucking dog, leaving your face covered in his spit.

as soon as your muscles relax the tiniest bit he's thrusting in and out of you like a madman — you yelp loudly, holding onto him for dear life, nails digging into his back.

“fuck- oh my god!”

the only sounds in the room are the fast wet sounds of him thrusting into you, your pussy squelching loudly at the action and your combined moans and whines.

your gummy walls clench around him harder with each thrust, his cock hitting that sweet spot so well it has you seeing stars, all you can think about is him.

“oh fuck,” he grunts into your ear when he feels you tighten around him, gripping him like a vice, “think she needs to be filled all nice and warm with my cum, don't you agree baby?” he accentuates each word with a harsh thrust, relishing the way your body writhes under him.

you nod mindlessly, desperate for that sweet release more than anything.

“aww what's wrong?” he leans down to suck on one of your nipples, pinching and toying with the other one — a choked out sob leaves your lips, you feel tears pooling in your eyes, you clench around him even harder, desperate to milk him for all he's worth. he lets out a whine when he sees the outline of his cock in your belly going in and out, fuck he's going to cum.

the movement his hips falter at the feeling of your pussy gripping him tightly, “oh fuck,” he breathes heavily, muscles tensing up a bit. he pulls out, moving you on your stomach, giving your ass an appreciative spank when you arch your back for him.

“guess she answered for you hm?”, he muses — pumping himself a few times before settling back into your warm needy cunt, “fucked too dumb to answer but can still arch your back like a needy whore? you're so fucking pathetic,” he licks over the opening of your little hole, an arm coming around to hold you in a headlock that has your vision blurry — in the best way possible. getting impatient, you try to fuck yourself back onto his length but he doesn't let you.

“nasty girl, i can feel you clenching around me” spank “you like it when i’m being mean hm?” spank “oh right you can't answer,” spank “not a thought behind those pretty eyes hm?” spank “don't worry, you don't have to think at all, you wouldn't have to, when i’m done with you.”

he starts rutting into you again, his filthy mouth doesn't stop as he dicks you down like his life depends on it. his arm around your neck — squeezing, leaving you dizzy as he pounds into you from behind like he's in heat, you've given up on trying to control your noises. he sneaks a hand down to pinch and toy with your clit — making your walls clench and toes curl and you cum for the nth time with almost a scream of his name, your body shakes vigorously as a result of your intense orgasm.

it doesn't take long for him to cum as well, especially with you screaming his name like that. with a few more sloppy thrusts he fills you up with his warm sticky white release, head thrown back as a soft whimper of your name is uttered out of his mouth.

breathing heavily, he makes sure to not waste a single drop — once again buries himself as deep as he can, admiring all the various marks that he has littered your skin with.

he pulls out after awhile, keeping your thighs apart with his rough calloused hands so he can see the sight of his cum mixed with yours leak out of your hole, shit, he's getting hard again.

he's honestly not sure if you can keep up — he doesn't want to end up hurting you- well you're his toy, nothing more than that he doesn't care if he hurts you, he really doesn't.

he wants to break you, ruin you. yeah, that's it.

his eyes definitely do not soften the slightest bit as he takes in your disheveled state, back still arched prettily for him, your ass red from all his spanking, skin battered with various marks, a proof of the intense passionate sex you two had.

but when you crane your head back, looking at him, “I can take it,” you're still trying to catch your breath, wincing a bit as you shift your body around, “give it to me mark,” you sound so sweet — swaying your hips side to side to make him give in and fill you up again.

you want him to break you.

and he does just that.

again and again, until he's sure your cunt remembers each vein and curve of his cock, stuffing your hole full to the brim each time.

so when your body finally gives out — almost passing out after another orgasm that he pulls out from you, lying on top of the only desk in the room as he drills into your cunt, he stops. pulling out and painting your tits with his release with a loud groan, his hair is sticking up in all different directions from the way you've kept pulling on it, body coated in a sheen layer of sweat — shaking as his chest heaves unevenly with each breath he takes just like yours.

he watches as your eyes close shut and you drift into a light slumber after a few minutes. his heart beating weirdly in an erratic manner, he chalks it up to the sex, although he has to admit he finds your sleepy face quite adorable, he may or may not want to hear that giggle again — the one you let out when he ended up cumming a little too fast when you praised him.

but he'll think about that when his face is not buried between your thighs, tongue sinking back into your folds — he can't get enough of you.

and with the way you whimper loudly, tugging on his hair oh so eagerly.

it seems like you can't get enough of him either.

so he'll indulge you to your heart’s content — maybe he'll save that video of him torturing your ex boyfriend and leaving him to die in a ditch for some other day.

© digitald0rk 2025. do not steal, repost or translate any of my work. want more? click here ★

[xjulixred45x]

Hello :3 can I request a story or one shot about an evil invincible(prefer sinister makr) try to kidnap reader from the mainstream dimension, bc the reader of their dimensions dead :3 (platonic yandere ofc)

Sorry if this long, I just have this scenario in my head for days and I need someone to write it 😭🙏🙏

Take your time, and your work is amazing 💟💟💟

Hun, the Requests are Closed, but honestly? I can do this just bc My obsesión with Invincible isn't over yet(and will LAST) and honestly i NEED to write something (just the nex time wait until the Requests are Open again thank You very much)

This would be more a Drabble, aaaand i decide to use Mohawk Mark(1- i already have a work of Yandere Sinister Mark with a Sibiling and GOD i wanted to use this idea for so long 😭)

Platonic Yandere Mohawk Mark Grayson/Invincible x Sibiling Reader: You..

Mark had to take a second look as he passed by them.

Being surrounded by chaos, hurt people, buildings burning and falling down, he could only focus on them.

that was reader.

Mark knew that they were not His reader, not only because of the clear physical differences (his reader would have to be bigger, less soft and not even that small) but because he knew that in his universe there was no longer a reader who would wait for him back.

He had taken care of that himself.

It was when he began to question everything, when he accepted that he was part of the Viltrumite empire, that he realized that he could not bring his Sibiling with him. They were too weak for the empire, Nolan said.

Mark didn't want to see how they conquered the only being that made him feel genuinely happy, genuinely understood, he didn't want reader to live to be afraid of him, to hate him.

so he took the only measure that he thought would be the most merciful.

It was easy to put sedatives in Reader's food, they trusted him so easily, even after everything that was happening at that moment, what he had already done, Reader felt safe with him. Mark loved them so much.

which made what he had to do next even more painful.

reader fell asleep in a matter of minutes, leaning on him while they watched something, he doesn't remember what. Mark moved to rest their head where they were, mentally preparing himself for what he was going to do.

And he did.

a quick turn of their head and reader was gone.

quickly, while they slept, without pain. without knowing it was him. it was perfect.

Except it wasn't.

When they were making preparations for a funeral for his sibiling (they were one of the children of the new Viltrumite emperor after all), a quick analysis determined that Reader, like Mark, was just a late bloomer.

reader was about to awaken their powers. of being a complete viltrumite. they were not human, they could have been saved from seeing the horrors of the planet.

and Mark killed them.

and the feeling that remained in him was the only thing he felt since then. pure, agonizing and desperate Guilt.

Mark couldn't bring himself to try to replace the void Reader left like he had done with Eve, he just couldn't even think about it. It felt like tarnishing their memory, taking away the weight of what he had done.

It was as if the image of his sibiling now resonated both to give him comfort and to reproach him for all the horrible acts he committed.

So seeing that face that tormented him again, that face that in a way kept him alive, was creepy, but he needed more.

Mark caught up with them very quickly, as he got closer, he saw the similarities that this reader had with his own. someone young, inexperienced, fearful, weak...

But he was not prepared for what happened when he approached them. God, after so many years without them, with the guilt of what he did to them, Mark just wanted to hug them and ask for their forgiveness, he had the opportunity.

But the closer he got to the reader, the more they retreated, and then he realized that, indeed, one of his greatest insecurities had been fulfilled, even in another universe.

reader was afraid of him.

But I could tell I didn't hate him. His gestures, his blood pressure, the way he spoke to him so as not to have to fight, everything indicated a certain familiarity despite the tension in the atmosphere. This reader was like a blank slate from its original version.

a second chance. He could do things right with this reader, protect him properly, give him the opportunity he deserved within the empire, have his sibiling back...

but it would be very difficult to do that with this good-natured Mark on his heels every time he was around reader. Mark saw RED every time reader showed the closeness he had with said alternative version of him (which to make matters worse, it seemed like they were from the same universe).

Well, if this Mark is so good and heroic, he wouldn't mind handing over his sibiling willingly, right?

Even if not, Mohawk doesn't mind going over him to get to the reader, even if he scares then, even if they hates him, he won't lose sight of them anymore, he won't lose them again.

They're going home together, whether they like it or not.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[d-a-n-n-y-y]

How every different Y/N’s getting ready to be featured in fanfiction across different fandoms rn: