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slutla · 2 days ago

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“A” 4 EFFORT ! | MARK GRAYSON X FEM READER

warnings: 18+. nsfw. nerd ! mark grayson, bimbo! bully! reader. mark is a dork n i love him idc. boob job, blow job. marks a virgin. usage of puppy. spit. indecency in a storage room. whimpering. he cries. college au. no powers. pet names, corny nick names but it’s used in a degrading way. degradation. praise. he’s obvi a lil ooc.

summary: mark, smart, awkward, and far too soft-hearted, made the mistake of doing one too many assignments for you. a bully in heels, unhinged and relentless, you’ve taken a liking to him in the worst way possible. wc: 4.0k-ish

an: minors n ageless blogs dni. i scraped n rewrote this idea like 3 times b4 finally finishing it. whoops.

Mark is hiding—yes, literally hiding—curled up like some sad, oversized hermit crab shoved into the mildew-scented dark of the campus storage closet. Knees pulled to his chest, hoodie bunched over his head, the flickering overhead light doing nothing but throwing sad little shadows across his hunched spine. He’s tucked into himself like if he folds small enough, maybe you won’t find him. Maybe you’ll just assume he’s dead and move on.

He did your assignment again. Like always. Like clockwork. Like the stupid little pet you keep on a leash of guilt and half-smiles and flirty threats. But this time? He tanked it. On purpose. Slipped in the wrong citations, fudged the formatting, “forgot” a conclusion. Got you a solid C-minus. Barely scraped the bottom of passable. And now he’s sitting here marinating in dread, picturing your reaction—the dramatic sigh, the tilt of your head, the sharp, sweet twist of your mouth when you’re disappointed. Or worse, unamused.

He’d tried to convince himself it was a smart move. A soft rebellion. Maybe if you bomb once, you’ll stop throwing your workload into his lap like it’s part of his tuition. Maybe you’ll get the message without him having to look you in the eye and say no.

But now he’s here, heart doing that ugly fluttery thing like it’s trying to crawl up his throat, every footstep outside the door sounding like you in your usual stormcloud mood. Sharp clacking shoes. Soft voice. That sugary venom in your tone when you call his name like you own it. His phone buzzes. A small sound, pathetic even, but it might as well have been a gunshot for the way it ricochets through the cramped silence.

Mark jumps, a sharp, startled twitch of limbs against concrete and metal shelving, knocking into a box of dusty paper towels with a soft thud. His heart nearly claws its way out of his ribcage, frantic and feathered, wings beating uselessly against bone. With a hand that barely feels like his, fingers cold and trembling, he drags the phone out of his pocket. Screen cracked, brightness low. It lights up his face like an omen. One message. From you.

“I will find you.” That’s it. No smiley face, no punctuation. Just four words, typed clean and sharp like a promise. His blood turns into static. Because he knows you. Knows the games you play, the way you turn hide-and-seek into warfare. This isn’t a bluff. You will find him. You’ll crawl through every hallway, knock on every door, whisper his name down every corridor until he’s backed into a corner with no exit and no excuse. He swallows hard, breath caught halfway in his throat.

The knob fumbles. A weak, clumsy twist. Mark freezes, every nerve pulled taut like snapped violin strings and watches it turn in slow, gut-wrenching motion. And then you’re there. Grinning like you already won. Framed in the doorway like sin incarnate, all legs and ruined decency.

Your skirt’s a joke, barely there, riding high enough that he catches soft glimpses of plush skin, the smooth curve of your thighs glowing beneath the low hallway light. Your top’s slouched off one shoulder, bra strap peeking out. Lips glossy. Shameless. Entirely too much. Mark feels his soul leave his body. He should’ve picked somewhere with a lock. A church, maybe. A different continent.

“Well, well,” you laugh real pretty, like this is a game and you’ve already decided the ending. He wants to crawl into the mop bucket.

“Why do you look so scared, Marky?” Your voice is syrupy sweet, sticky with fake concern. A pout on your lips, mock-sincere, but your eyes give you away, glinting, bright, sharp like broken glass.

Mark flinches again, visibly, like the nickname itself has claws. He hates that name. You know he does. He’s told you, multiple times, in that tight, awkward voice like he’s trying not to snap. And still, there you go, dragging it out like gum on the sidewalk.

His skin prickles, goosebumps crawling up his arms like your words live beneath them. “I don’t bite,” you add, stepping forward, one slow click of heel against floor after another. But you do. You bite and chew and leave bruises just from talking, and he’s not sure what’s worse, the way your words twist around his spine or the way his traitorous heart jumps every time you say his name like it belongs to you. He doesn’t answer. Can’t. His mouth’s too dry.

He stands up. God knows where he finds the nerve, maybe somewhere between survival instinct and dumb luck but he pushes off the stack of old textbooks and stands on shaky legs, spine straightening like a man preparing for war.

Too late. You’re already on him. The door clicks shut behind you, soft but final, like the last nail in a coffin. You don’t even give him room to breathe, step right into him, cut off his air, your chest pressed flush against his. He feels everything. The soft weight of your tits against his ribs, the heat of your skin soaking through his hoodie, the sweet, toxic scent of your perfume curling into his lungs.

There’s nowhere to look. Nowhere to run. And God, he wishes he wasn’t so aware of the way his heart’s pounding like it’s trying to punch through his sternum.

“L-look…” His voice cracks halfway through, eyes darting to the dusty shelves, the light fixture, anywhere but you. “I’m really sorry… I didn’t do it on purpose.” A lie. Such a bad, obvious, choking lie. It clings to the back of his throat like smoke, bitter and foul. He can feel your smirk before he even sees it

Your face hovers just inches from his, the space between you nothing but shared breath and tension so thick it could choke. Your plum-glossed lips linger just over his, not quite touching like a threat, like a dare. You’re pretty. Pretty in a way that feels curated, intentional. Glossy and shallow like a magazine ad come to life. It makes his ears burn, dusted pink at the tips. He looks like he wants to disappear into the wall. You look like you’d pin him to it for fun.

“Awe, Marky, you’re being so mean to me, you know that, right?” Your voice dips low, not soft, not gentle, but lush and poisoned, the kind of sweetness that sticks in your teeth and leaves a burn going down.

You pout like you’re heartbroken, big eyes all shiny, lips pushed out in that perfect little curve, and jab a single manicured finger into his chest, firm and unforgiving. He doesn’t move. Can’t. It’s like you’ve nailed him to the floor, body locked up, breath hitched.

Your long nail presses into the fabric of his hoodie, right over the solid thrum of his heartbeat. He’s trembling under you, not visibly, not like a coward, but in that subtle way only you notice. The kind of tremble that starts in the hands and climbs up the neck. The kind that comes from being caught.

“I trusted you,” you add, voice dropping just a little more, breathy and laced with mock hurt. “And you went ‘n sabotaged me? After I've been soo nice to you?”

He gulps. Loud and shaky, Adam’s apple bobbing like it’s trying to make a run for it. Poor thing.

“Sweet puppy’s grown a backbone now, has he?” you coo, tilting your head, voice dipped in amusement that’s just short of cruel. You don’t pull away. Of course you don’t, instead, that impossible closeness tightening like a noose.

His shoulders hit the shelf behind him with a soft thud. He can’t back away any further. Your chest presses against his, soft curves molded against hard muscle, and you feel it—feel everything. The way his breath stutters. The way his hands twitch at his sides like he’s trying not to grab you.

And lower, the real betrayal. He’s half-hard, thick and aching, tenting his pants like a loaded secret he can’t tuck away. You smile, slow and lazy, eyes flicking downward, then back to his face.

“Cute,” you murmur, almost fond. He wants the ground to swallow him whole.

You slide a hand down. Deliberate. Slow. Like you’ve got all the time in the world to ruin him. Fingers trail over the thick line in his pants, heat trapped beneath the fabric, swollen and straining—and you wrap your hand around it through the material, squeezing just enough to make him suck in a breath. His hips twitch. His jaw clenches.

He’s trembling now, a little, but it’s there. A ripple under your palm. You look him right in the eyes, eyes wide and glinting with something unholy. Your thumb strokes once. Soft. Cruel.

“Did me callin’ you a puppy make you hard?” Your voice is low, a velvet drawl, wrapped around mockery like it’s a love song.

“You’re, uhh… too close…” He whispers it. Barely. Like maybe if he says it soft enough, the words won’t count. His whole body is stiff, locked up, trying not to think about your hand wrapped firm around his bulge, the heat of your palm, the way your thumb had moved.

But it’s impossible. You’re too close. Too close. You’re all over him, heat and scent and lips a breath away, voice curling into his ear like silk and fire. And his brain? It’s white noise. He swallows hard, again, like maybe that’ll push the shame back down. Like maybe it’ll kill the way his dick pulses helplessly under your grip. But it doesn’t. Nothing helps.

You can feel it too, the way his body betrays him, twitching under your hand like he’s trying so hard to behave, to not give in. It’s adorable, You think.

You half-smile, head tilted, lip gloss catching the light like temptation bottled up. “Let’s make a deal,” you hum, voice flat and casual, like you’re discussing lunch plans, not unhinged propositions. “I’ll suck your dick, and you do my work properly.”

He chokes. Not metaphorically, he literally chokes, breath catching mid-gasp like his lungs betrayed him. His face flushes immediately, that soft, pale pink crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears.

“W-what… what do you—” His voice breaks, small and high and strangled, as if saying it out loud would summon lightning. You roll your eyes so hard it’s almost theatrical, exasperation oozing off you like perfume. “What’re you actin’ dumb for?” you snap, grip tightening just a little around his cock, enough to make his hips twitch again.

“You’re already hard.” Your words hit him square in the gut, shame blooming behind his eyes, his mouth working silently like he wants to say something, protest, maybe—but all he manages is a sound. A low, broken exhale that sounds suspiciously like surrender.

He’s not pulling away. And he’s not saying no. You notice. And he’s cute, you think so now. In a nerdy, helpless, needy kinda way. The flushed ears. The twitchy hands. The stutter in his voice like he’s not used to being handled. It’s charming. Pathetic. A little funny.

So really, it’s a win-win. He gets to feel the touch of a woman—maybe for the first time, if you had to guess, and you get guaranteed grades for life. Straight A’s and a warm mouthful of praise every time you strut past your professors. Everyone’s happy.

You lean in, your nose brushing his, lips brushing the shell of his ear now, soft enough to be dangerous. “You gonna be good for me, Marky?” you whisper, voice sticky and slow.

“I’m a real good fuck, actually,” you say, so breezy, so matter-of-fact it’s almost cruel. Your smile’s all teeth and glittering pride as your knees bend, thighs spreading just a touch as they kiss the cold linoleum floor. He looks down at you, eyes blown wide and lips parted like he’s watching a dream and a nightmare crawl into his lap at the same time. You tilt your head, all smug satisfaction and sweet venom.

“You got lucky,” you hum, palms sliding up the inside of his thighs now, thumbs hooking the waistband of his pants like a promise. And he knows it. Knows he’s in over his head. Knows you’ve got him right where you want him.

You make a show of it. Fingers slow and precise, unbuttoning him like you’re unwrapping a present you already know you’ll like. The zipper drags down with a lazy hum, and his breath stutters. He clenches the fabric of his hoodie like it might anchor him.

You tug his pants down just far enough, and then the boxers. He twitches when the cold air hits him, body jerking like he wasn’t ready, like he should’ve been, but wasn’t. And yeah. He’s big. Your lashes flutter. A slow, lazy grin curls on your lips like sin itself is stretching out to get comfortable. It’s better than you expected—thick, flushed dark, heavy where it hangs, and already leaking like his body’s ahead of his brain. Small pearls of pre ooze from his slit, leaving a slimy trail all the way down to his heavy balls and a light dusting of hair.

You glance up, just to watch his expression twist, poor boy, caught somewhere between pride and terror. His mouth parts like he might say something, but nothing comes. You look back down and press a soft kiss to the tip, soft and sweet. The mess sticks to your gloss, shines faintly when you pull back just an inch.

He whispers something—barely, like even his voice is too embarrassed to say it out loud. But your hand’s already moving, slow and deliberate, working him up with lazy strokes that make his legs twitch. You tilt your head, smile playing soft on your lips like you don’t know he’s on the verge of breaking.

“What’dya want, baby?” You purr it, like honey slipping off your tongue, like he has any real say in the matter. A mercy, letting him speak at all. He stutters, Red all the way down his neck now, lip caught between his teeth as his voice cracks.

“Y-your tits…” A breathless pause. “Wanna… feel them.” His hands hover, fingers twitching mid-air like he’s too scared to ask properly, like he’s afraid you’ll laugh.

You blink once, then laugh anyway—not mocking, more amused, indulgent. You lean forward just enough for your chest to brush against him, soft and warm through the thin fabric of your top.

“You wanna feel these?” Your voice drips slow, the words curling at the edges, soft like something wicked in silk. He nods before you’ve even finished the sentence—frantic, desperate, practically drooling like a mutt starved for affection. It’s pathetic. It’s adorable. It’s everything.

You bat your lashes, long and thick, gaze dipped half-lidded as your fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt. You tug it up slow, just to watch the hunger flicker in his eyes, then reach behind your back, a quick flick, and the bra slips off like it was never really meant to stay on.

They bounce free, soft and full, skin warm and glowing under the harsh closet light, and his breath catches so sharp you swear he might choke on it. You cup them lightly, just enough to make them spill between your fingers, teasing him without saying a word. Then, voice dropping lower, sweeter, with a tenderness that makes it sting:

“You wanna feel ’em with your dick… or your hands, puppy?” You watch his brain short-circuit, like he doesn’t know what’ll kill him faster. He doesn’t answer —can’t. His mouth opens like he wants to speak, but no sound comes out. Just a shaky breath and a helpless look, red-faced and wide-eyed, every ounce of his nerve short-circuiting all at once.

So you make the choice for him. You lean in, slow and deliberate, gaze fixed on his like you’re daring him to look away. One hand slips between your tits, the other trailing down with intention, You press your breasts together again, as his leaky ‘n throbbing cock slides in between them.

His knees nearly buckle. His breath comes in short, desperate little bursts, hands twitching at his sides like he doesn’t know where to touch, if he even can.

You tilt your head. “Feels good, huh?” Voice velvet-soft now, syrupy and slow. “Bet you’ve never had anything close to this.” And he hasn’t, And he knows it. Your slick, glistening breasts slide along his throbbing cock, coated in his warm precum. As you glide them up and down, your tongue flicks deliberately at his sensitive tip, teasing with slow, hungry licks. Mark’s body trembles, his muscles clenching with every shuddering breath. He ruts eagerly against your soft, yielding tits, like a dog in heat lost in the overwhelming pleasure. Nothing he’s ever fucked—his hand, a pillow, a toy—comes close to the wet, enveloping warmth of your breasts and mouth.

Your tongue swirls and laps at his pulsing cock, wet slurps and soft gags echoing through the room, mingling with the rhythmic slap of his balls against your slick, heaving tits. Mark’s groans are deep, guttural, his chest rumbling as you gently squeeze his balls, sending a jolt through his trembling frame. “You’re pretty big,” you coo, voice dripping with praise, “such a shame it’s attached to a dork who doesn’t even know how to use it.”

Mark lets out a desperate whine as you guide his throbbing shaft into the tight, wet warmth of your throat, deepthroating the length not already enveloped by the soft, plush fat of your tits. His cock throbs with every bob of your head, slick and warm in your throat. Mark’s in bliss, thinking if he died now, he’d go out happy, his dick devoured by such a pretty girl. Your soft pants, warm puffs of air teasing his sensitive tip, push him closer to the edge. His balls tighten, hips jerking as he feels the surge building, ready to unleash his pent-up load across your face and dripping tits.

“Hah—‘m gonna cum,” Mark chokes out, voice shattered, breathless, like he’s unraveling at the seams, pleasure swallowing him whole. You hum, low and smug, a wicked edge to it, and double down. Your head bobs faster, throat clenching around his pulsing cock, gurgling slurps and wet gags filling the air—loud, obscene, a filthy symphony just for him. Your tits, slick with spit and precum, squeeze his shaft tight, a perfect, plush vise. His dick’s buried in heaven, warm, wet, yours to ruin.

His legs quake, thighs trembling like they might give out. Head thrown back, it thumps against the wall, his only anchor as he falls apart. You catch the way his fingers claw at nothing, fists white-knuckled, and that pathetic, broken whimper slipping from his lips? It’s fucking music. His balls tighten, hips jerking erratic, desperate. He’s a mess, sweat-slick, eyes glassy, whimpering like he’s never been touched before.

“Poor Marky,” you say with a pop, voice dripping with mockery, using your hand to finish him off. “Thought you could handle me. Big cock, no clue how to use it.” Your pace doesn’t falter, lips slick, hand relentless, tits bouncing with every move. “Gonna blow already? Such a shame.”

And with that little remark, that teasing curl of your lips, that tone too smug to be anything but wicked, he falls apart. All messy ‘n sloppy, big fat load creating a warm and wet mess all over your breasts and dirtying your pretty face. A few stray droplets kiss your cheek, cling to your lashes. You blink slow, licking your lips like it’s nothing. Like this happens all the time.

You blink slow, all lazy-lidded and smug, the corners of your mouth twitching like you’re holding back more laughter—the kind that would make him shrink even further if he had anywhere left to run. But he doesn’t. He’s stuck there, looking absolutely devastated by his own body, like his soul left him mid-spill and hasn’t come back yet.

“Tears?” you croon, voice dipped in honey and mockery. “You cryin’ over this? Oh, baby.”

You reach up and swipe your thumb across the corner of his eye, not gently. It’s teasing, purposeful, like you want to see if the contact will shatter him completely. And it nearly does. His breath hitches and his eyes flutter closed like even that’s too much. His lashes are damp. His cheeks hot. He’s blushing so hard it looks painful. Shame clinging to him like a second skin.

“Don’t tell me that was your first time gettin’ off with someone watchin’,” you murmur, tilting your head, lips twitching again. “God, that’s actually so cute. I could eat you alive.”

And he doesn’t answer—just stands there, stiff and red and broken open in the prettiest way. You lean in close, your voice a whisper now. “Bet you’ll do anything I ask now, won’t you?”

He nods, slow and small like he’s ashamed of it — like even that’s a surrender too humiliating to admit out loud. But it’s there. Clear as day. He’s yours now. All soft eyes and trembling hands and a brain melted to mush. You smile, bright and sweet like you didn’t just break him down into dust.

Your fingers trace lazy circles on his bicep—featherlight, affectionate, like you’re rewarding a pet after a trick well done. And your tone? Cheerful. Too cheerful. Like you’ve moved on already.

“Great!” you chirp, lips popping on the G. “You can resubmit that assignment for me.” He stares, chest still rising and falling like he ran a marathon, lips parted like he wants to protest—like he’s got dignity left in some corner of his soul. But he doesn’t speak. Just swallows hard and looks away.

“Don’t look so gloomy, Marky,” you purr, already turning to adjust your skirt, unfazed. “You came, I smiled, we both got something outta it. Now go on. I want that A.”

You wink over your shoulder. He’s still standing there, stunned, pants around his thighs, wondering how the hell he ended up in this situation when he was trying to get out of it the first time.

#mark grayson x reader #mark grayson smut #invincible x reader #invincible smut #invincible #៹ archive !

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ruusawa · 4 days ago

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i saw your dad mark HCs... Now hear em out- Bringing the baby home to Debbie

Probably fluffy

But I ❤️ Debbie and ik she would be an amazing grandma (I haven't read comics so idk I'm just trusting her)

oh my god! yes, yes, yes.

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“I’ve got her,” Mark says softly, moving to take the car seat from your hands. He has the baby bag slung over his shoulder, and his hair is all ruffled. “Are you sure?” you ask softly. “Yes, I’m sure, come on.” Mark leads you up the pathway to his mom’s house. You can’t help but admire him, broad shoulders, muscles visible from the tight t-shirt, baby seat in one arm. Yeah, you love him, really love him. You stand side by side, waiting for Debbie to answer the door. Debbie smiles softly to let you both in, gasping, cupping her hands over her mouth as she lays eyes on your daughter for the first time. “Hey, Mom,” Mark presses a kiss to his mom’s temple, heading into the lounge and placing the baby seat down, kneeling to carefully get the newborn out. Debbie pulls you into a hug, “well done, dear,” she says to you softly. Turning to see Mark cradling your daughter in his arms, you swear you see Debbie’s eyes get wet. “Mom?” Mark asks, his eyes widening at the show of emotion. “You’re all grown up,” Debbie says quietly, wiping at her eyes before clearing her throat. “Now, hand me my grandbaby.”

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debbie would be nana of the year, honestly. i haven't read the comics either but i've just decided that's canon.

girl dad mark and super nan debbie is rotting my brain

thank you anon for this idea i love it

#invincible x you #reader insert #invincible x reader #invincible #mark grayson is a good boyfriend #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible show #invincible x you #invincible drabble #girl dad mark grayson #debbie grayson #invincible fluff #invincible fanfic

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lazy-ahh · 3 days ago

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just biting mark…. wrapping a bow around his bicep and using his other as a pillow. kissing his thighs and groping him tbh i need to feel him 😔 i know he’s all giggly and blushing the whole time

-honey (hehe)

YOUR PERSONAL CHEWTOY

pairing mark grayson x male reader

what started as a silly tiktok trend quickly spirals into something far more intimate when you convince your superhero boyfriend to try the viral "bow challenge." but between mark's effortless strength, his flustered giggles, and the way he melts under your touch, you quickly realize this is about so much more than snapping a piece of silk.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HONEY (heheh)!!! <33 hope you enjoyed this one, and i hope you enjoyed your birthday as well! here's a little mark grayson tiktok for you teehee : https://vt.tiktok.com/ZShJmjdVj/

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

it started as a silly little tiktok trend, something you stumbled upon late at night while curled up in your bed, the glow of your phone screen the only light in the room as you waited for mark to return from yet another mission. the video showed couples wrapping delicate pink bows around their partner’s arms, giggling as they flexed to try and break the silky fabric—and something about the way the image of mark’s muscles tensing under his superhero suit, the way his biceps would strain against the tight material, made your breath hitch.

what if—

you huffed a quiet laugh at yourself, rolling onto your back. really? this is what you’re thinking about at 2 AM? but the idea stuck, playing on a loop in your head—mark’s arm flexing, the silk straining, the way his veins would pop under the pressure. god, that’s so stupid. he’d laugh in your face. but then again… he never really laughed at you. with you, sure, but never like you were ridiculous.

what if he actually did it?

okay, it wasn’t going to be a what if because it would happen. after school, you immediately rushed to the nearest shop, fingers skimming over rolls of ribbon before settling on the softest pink silk you could find. you bought a few, just in case, and then waited for mark in your bedroom like you always did, the ribbons tucked neatly in your drawer. anticipation curled hot in your stomach, and (embarrassingly) you attempted the challenge yourself while you waited for night to fall, twisting the bow around your own arm and flexing. let’s just say it took you a frustratingly long time to get the damn thing to snap—your muscles trembling with effort, cheeks flushing at the thought of how effortlessly mark would do this.

when he finally came knocking on your bedroom window, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your own heartbeat, you nearly tripped over yourself getting to him. the second you pulled the curtains aside, there he was—mark, silhouetted against the moonlight, his suit clinging to every damn ridge and curve of his body like it was painted on. fuck. even rumpled from battle, hair tousled from the wind, he looked like something out of a wet dream. the fabric of his suit strained across his chest, the way his shoulders flexed as he braced himself against the window frame.

you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to act casual as you let him in, like your throat wasn’t suddenly dry, like your fingers didn’t itch to trace the definition of his abs through that stupidly tight material. but the moment his boots hit your floor, his usual cocky grin faltered, replaced by something softer—guilty. "hey," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck, and god, even that simple motion made his biceps bulge, the fabric of his sleeves pulling taut. your mouth watered.

"i’m sorry—" his voice was rough, exhaustion and something apologetic lacing the words as he stepped closer. the heat of his body radiated off him, the faint scent of ozone and his stupidly expensive cologne filling the space between you. "i know i promised we’d go on a date after school, but there was another emergency, and—"

you barely heard the rest. your brain short-circuited as he ran a hand through his hair, the muscles in his arm shifting under the suit, the veins standing out in stark relief. christ, how does anyone expect me to function when he looks like this? his thighs—fuck—his thighs were thick enough to crush you, the material of his pants stretching as he shifted his weight, and you had to physically bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from staring.

get it together. he’s apologizing. say something.

you rolled your eyes, cutting him off with a playful shove—your palm pressing against the firm plane of his chest, the heat of him bleeding through the fabric of his suit. "mark, you big idiot," you laughed, the sound bright and warm in the quiet of your room. "you don’t ever need to apologise for saving people. c’mere."

just like that, the tension melted from his shoulders, his posture softening as he let out a breath—something almost relieved in the way his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough. the two of you collapsed onto your bed in a tangle of limbs, his weight familiar and comforting as he half-draped himself over you, his nose brushing against your temple.

"you’re heavy," you grumbled, even as your hands found their way around his narrow waist, fingers skimming over the damp fabric of his suit clinging to his back.

"m’sorry," he mumbled into your hair, but he didn’t move. just nuzzled closer, his breath warm against your skin.

"you’re also gross. and sweaty. and—oh my god, is this blood?" you squawked, jerking back just enough to glare at him.

mark blinked at you, all wide-eyed and guilty, like a kicked puppy. "it’s—uh. not mine?"

"not mine," you repeated flatly. "wow. that makes it so much better."

he had the audacity to grin at you, crooked and tired and so stupidly fond it made your chest ache. "you still love me though, right? love me so much you'll let me cuddle with you like this since i'm so tired?"

you groaned, shoving at him again—but he didn’t budge, the asshole—before finally relenting with a sigh. "unfortunately, i do. and unfortunately, i love you too much that i'll gladly help you wash up. so get up, you disaster. i’m not letting you stain my sheets with mysterious supervillain blood."

mark let you peel him out of his suit with only minimal whining, though he did yelp when you dabbed at a shallow cut on his shoulder with antiseptic.

"ow—what is that, acid?"

"it’s hydrogen peroxide, you baby," you shot back, but your fingers were gentle as they smoothed over the bandage afterward, thumb brushing the edge of it just to feel him shiver. "there. all better."

he pouted. "kiss it better too?"

you flicked his forehead. "no."

(you totally did. and the way his breath caught, the way his fingers curled around the bathroom sink—god, it was worth it.)

"arms up," you ordered, holding out one of your hoodies—soft, well-worn, yours—and mark obeyed with a quiet chuckle, letting you tug it over his head. his hair stuck up in every direction afterward, wild and sleep-mussed, and you couldn’t resist smoothing it down, your fingers lingering just a little too long.

"you’re staring," he murmured, voice low and teasing.

"you’re obnoxious," you fired back, but your face was warm.

the sweatpants were next, and god, the way he had to shimmy into them—his thighs straining against the fabric, the waistband sitting just a little too low on his hips—was absolutely not doing things to your heart rate.

"these are tight," he complained, plucking at the material.

you threw a pillow at him. "that’s because you’re built like a goddamn tank."

mark grinned, flopping back onto your bed with a sigh. "i'll take it as a compliment."

for a while, you just stayed like that—his warmth seeping into your skin, his heartbeat steady under your ear, a slow and reassuring rhythm that made something in your chest tighten. god, he’s so… you didn’t even have the words for it. the way he always smelled like his cologne, something woodsy and warm, mixed with the faint metallic tang of his suit—like safety, like home. your fingers absently traced the lines of his back, feeling the shift of muscle beneath your touch, and you had to bite back the stupid, giddy smile threatening to take over your face. this idiot. this ridiculous, perfect idiot.

but then—

"hey," you murmured, nudging your nose against his shoulder, your voice honey-soft and coaxing. your heart was doing something traitorous in your chest, pounding hard enough that you were half-afraid he could hear it. calm down. it’s just a dumb trend. except it wasn’t, not really—not when the thought of mark’s biceps flexing, the silk snapping under the sheer strength of him, had been playing on a loop in your head all day. you could already feel your face heating, your stomach twisting with something between excitement and nerves.

he turned to you, eyebrows lifting in that fond, amused way of his, the one that always made your stomach flutter. "can we try something?" you asked, and your voice came out a little too breathless, a little too eager. smooth. real smooth.

"uh, depends," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck with that stupidly endearing half-smile of his—the one that made his nose scrunch just a little. "is this gonna be one of those things where you take a picture and i end up as a meme later?" his voice was warm, a little sheepish, but his eyes were already flickering to your figure as you lifted yourself up, curiosity winning out over his usual flustered hesitation.

you grinned, shifting closer on the bed until your knees brushed against his thigh. the pink ribbon was soft between your fingers as you pulled it from the drawer, the delicate fabric whispering against your skin. "you do wanna make up for cancelling our date, right?" you teased, letting the silk trail over his forearm just to watch the way his breath hitched—subtle, but there.

his laughter was quiet, breathy, filling the space between you as you looped the ribbon around his arm. your fingers lingered a second too long, tracing the curve of his bicep—god, it was thick even relaxed, the muscle firm under your touch, warm from the heat of his skin. you could feel the shift of it as he moved, the faint tension already coiling beneath the surface like he was holding back.

"c’mon," you urged, voice dropping lower, thumb brushing over the inside of his elbow just to feel him shiver. "flex for me, pretty boy."

and then—

mark exhaled, slow, his gaze locking onto yours as his arm tensed. it wasn’t some exaggerated show of strength, just a smooth, effortless flex—his bicep swelling under the ribbon, veins rising like rivers under his skin, the muscle hardening into something sculpted and perfect. the bow strained for half a second, silk biting into his skin before—snap.

it gave way so easily, the sound sharp in the quiet of the room.

your breath caught.

he hadn’t even tried. no dramatic grunt, no over-the-top strain—just a single, controlled flex, like snapping the ribbon was nothing. like his strength was so innate, so easy, that he didn’t even have to think about it. and the worst part? he was smiling at you, that stupid, lopsided grin, his cheeks tinged pink like he was the flustered one—like he hadn’t just short-circuited your brain with a single twitch of his arm.

"that, uh," you managed, voice embarrassingly rough around the edges, "that shouldn't be as hot as it is." your fingers twitched against his arm, still tracing the faint imprint where the ribbon had been.

mark's laugh was startled, bright, his free hand coming up to cover his face as his ears turned pink. "dude." he peeked at you through his fingers, that lopsided smile doing stupid things to your pulse.

you didn't let him recover. with a grin, you reached into your drawer and pulled out another pink bow—softer this time, the silk nearly translucent between your fingers. "one more?" you asked, leaning in until your nose almost brushed his. you could see the exact moment his breath hitched, his pupils blowing wide as your lips ghosted over his cheekbone. "c'mon, for me?"

mark made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, his hands hovering awkwardly at your waist like he couldn't decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. "you're- that's- unfair," he stammered, his usual eloquence (hahah eloquence) completely gone as you trailed the ribbon along his forearm.

"you love it," you murmured, watching the way his throat worked when you pressed closer, your knee brushing between his thighs. the bow slipped easily around his bicep again, your fingers lingering just a second too long as you tied it—tight enough that the silk dug into his skin, highlighting every ridge of muscle when he flexed instinctively under your touch.

and then—something shifted. the air between you went thick, electric, his dark eyes locking onto yours as your fingers lingered on his skin, suddenly too warm, too aware. you could see the rapid flutter of his pulse in his neck, the way his chest rose with each shallow breath, the pink tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips like he was already imagining how you'd taste.

"snap it again," you whispered, your mouth so close to his you could feel the shudder that ran through him.

mark exhaled sharply, his bicep flexing effortlessly beneath the ribbon—and god, the way it strained for just a heartbeat before giving way, the silk tearing with the softest sound that somehow felt louder than anything else in the room. his free hand found your hip, fingers digging in as you both froze, caught in that breathless moment where laughter tipped over into something hotter, heavier. you should not be getting hot and bothered by someone snapping a bow off their bicep. but then again this someone was mark grayson.

one second you were grinning, the next your hands were tangled in his hair, his breath hot against your mouth as he pulled you closer, whispering your name like a prayer between kisses that started sweet and turned desperate fast. his grip tightened on your waist as if he couldn't bear even an inch of space between you, his body rolling over yours until the weight of him pinned you to the mattress, all hard lines and desperate touches.

and then you ended up exactly where you are now—breathless, his body heavy over yours, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue and the torn remains of pink silk scattered across your sheets like some kind of victory flag. but you're not about to let him have all the control, not when he looks this pretty beneath you, all flushed and panting and yours.

with a sudden surge of strength (and mark letting you, always letting you), you flip him onto his back, the mattress dipping under his weight as you straddle his hips. the dim glow of your bedroom lamp spills honey-gold across the sheets, painting mark's flushed skin in warm, flickering light as he squirms beneath you, his laughter spilling out like champagne bubbles—light, effervescent, intoxicating.

"look at you," you murmur, dragging your fingers down his chest, reveling in the way his breath hitches. "so pretty like this, all wrapped up for me." the silky pink bow you'd tied around his bicep (once again) is barely holding on now, the fabric straining against the flex of his muscle as he grips the sheets.

his other arm curls behind your head, fingers tangling absently in your hair, twitching every time your teeth graze his shoulder after you had taken off the hoodie he was wearing—a silent plea for more, even as he gasps your name. "fuck," he breathes, arching up into your touch, his hips canting against yours in a way that makes your head spin. "you're— god, you're gonna be the death of me."

you grin, leaning down to nip at his jaw. "that's the idea, pretty boy." the way his breath stutters at the nickname, the way his fingers tighten in your hair—it's everything. you kiss him slow, deep, swallowing his moans like they're yours to keep, and when you finally pull away, his lips are red and kiss-swollen, his eyes dark with want.

"all mine," you whisper against his mouth, and the way he nods—desperate, eager, like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear you say it—is better than any victory could ever be. you’ve got him exactly where you dreamed of, pinned under your weight, his strong bicep wrapped snugly in a silky pink bow (your doing, because how could you resist? he’s art like this, all mussed hair and parted lips, his chest rising fast with every shaky breath, every hitched inhale when your teeth graze his skin).

you don’t tease him with words. you show him.

your mouth finds the curve of his shoulder first, biting down just hard enough to make him jolt—his gasp is a symphony, his body arching under yours like a bowstring pulled taut. fuck, he’s responsive, every twitch and shiver cataloged under your palms as you map him out: the way his thighs tremble when you squeeze, the way his stomach tenses when you scrape your nails down it, the way his hips stutter up, begging, when you suck a bruise into the soft skin above his hipbone.

he smells like vanilla body wash and the faintest hint of sweat, something so him it makes your chest ache—warm and sweet and alive, and you want to drown in it. when you bite down again, sharper this time, just to hear that pretty, startled yelp, he arches, his hands fisting in the sheets like he’s holding on for dear life.

"f-fuck—!" he whines, but it’s sugar-sweet, dripping with that breathless laughter that sends sparks skittering down your spine. you savor the way his body opens for you, pliant and wanting, the way his breath comes in ragged little punches when you press open-mouthed kisses along the delicate skin of his inner thigh—just to feel him shiver, just to hear him break.

and god, the way he looks at you—eyes blown black with want, lips swollen from your teeth, his chest heaving like he’s run a marathon. like he’d happily let you ruin him forever. like he’s yours.

"you’re such a tease," he accuses, voice wrecked, but the way his hips jerk when you suck another bruise into his inner thigh betrays him. his free hand fists in the sheets, knuckles white, and you smirk up at him, licking a slow, deliberate stripe over the mark you just left. another wave of heat crashes through you when you finally hear that familiar, soft snap as the pink bow falls onto the mattress, useless now—just like the way his thighs tremble when you pin him down with your free hand, your grip firm over his hipbone.

"you love it," you murmur, and he whimpers, face burning scarlet as you palm over the front of his boxers, relishing the way his breath hitches. his body arches into your touch, desperate and pliant, but you don’t give him what he wants—not yet. instead, you lean down, biting at the sensitive skin just above his waistband, and he gasps, his back bowing off the bed.

"f-fuck—"

"shh," you soothe, dragging your tongue over the sting. "you’re doing so good for me, mark. so pretty like this." your hand slides up his chest, fingers splaying over his pounding heartbeat, and you press down just enough to feel him squirm. "you wanna come?"

he nods frantically, his hips twitching up again, but you tut, squeezing his thigh in warning. "use your words, sweetheart."

"please," he chokes out, and the sound goes straight to your dick.

you hum, pretending to consider it as you trail your fingers back down, tracing the outline of him through the fabric. "i don’t know… you did break my ribbon."

his groan is half frustration, half disbelief, and you laugh, low and dark, before finally—finally—slipping your hand into his boxers. his whole body jerks when you wrap your fingers around him, his breath coming in ragged pants as you stroke him slow, torturously so.

"you—" he tries, but you cut him off with a sharp thrust of your hips against his thigh, grinding down just to watch his mouth fall open.

"me?" you prompt, thumb swiping over the head of his cock just to hear him break.

he doesn’t answer. just moans, loud and wrecked, his fingers scrambling for purchase on your shoulders. and when you lean down to bite at his collarbone, your grip tightening on his waist to hold him still, he shakes, his whole body tensing like a live wire.

"that's it," you murmur, lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hands slide down his sides, savoring the way his breath hitches when your thumbs dip into the delicate hollows of his hips. "so good for me, baby. just let me take care of you." your voice comes out rougher than you mean it to, all warm honey and devotion, and you feel the shiver it pulls from him more than hear it.

mark's laugh is breathless, shaky at the edges as he squirms under your touch. "y'know," he starts, voice wobbly in that way it gets when he's trying (and failing) to play it cool, "if i knew this was how you'd—oh—how you'd act after a year together," your teeth graze his nipple and he squeaks, "i would've—ah—would've dated you way sooner, holy shit—"

you can't help the grin that splits your face, nuzzling into the heated skin of his neck as your hands map the familiar planes of his chest. "shut up," you mumble, but it's soaked in so much fondness it barely counts as teasing. your mouth finds his pulse point, then the dip between his pecs, then the soft swell of his stomach—kissing every inch of him you can reach like you're trying to memorize him all over again. "like you weren't just as gone for me from day one. remember when you tripped over your own feet trying to impress me at the arcade?"

"hey!" mark whines, but it dissolves into giggles when you bite playfully at his hip, his whole body curling toward you instinctively. "that was—nngh—sabotage. you're distracting. look at you." his hands find your hair, tangling in the strands as he tugs just enough to make you look up at him—and god, he's radiant like this, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted around uneven breaths, eyes so stupidly soft it makes your chest ache. "my pretty boy," he sighs, like it's a secret, like he can't believe he gets to have this.

and mark—mark just melts under your touch, pliant and giggly and so fucking sweet, his laughter bubbling up between little punched-out gasps every time your mouth finds a new spot to worship. he arches into your hands like a sunflower chasing daylight, all clumsy affection and whispered praise, and you think—not for the first time—that you'd happily spend forever unraveling him like this, tender and slow, until he's nothing but a blissed-out, blushing mess in your arms.

3.8k words!! yippee! and i know we had a talk in the comments about smut and stuff but uhhh-

#lazy-ahh #invincible #mark grayson #male reader #invincible x male reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson x male reader #mark grayson x reader #HAPPY BIRTHDAY HONEY (heheh)#NEED THAT INVINCIDIH #are you sure?

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angelicbloom · 1 day ago

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Another one of tonight’s fic

OVERSTIMULATING YOUR ALIEN BOYFRIEND !

pairing — mark grayson x gn!reader.

synopsis — what the title says 👅 stumbled upon this on twt and immediately thought of mark grayson. [ the link is porn btw so yeah fair warning ]

warnings — uhh porn with no plot :p

a/n — first post really nervous, i don't really write nsfw a lot so yeah mb if this is bad :( i just really had to get it out there LMFAO. i need him so bad it's actually insane. mark grayson get out my head challenge : impossible!

thinking about mark grayson being a good boy for you <3

jerking him off after a particularly stressful mission, his small moans turning into full blown whimpers and whines as he tries not to blow his load right then and there because he's a good boy, he knows better.

"baby please, please"

please just let him cum already! why are you being so mean to him, he's your sweet boy isn't he? :(

and when you give him the permission he'd been aching for, begging for, he blabbers small thank you's over and over in his whiny voice as he reaches that sweet relief, painting your hand in his sticky hot release.

he breathes heavily, eyes fluttering shut, practically panting as he tries to calm down from that intense orgasm- wait wait no, don't touch him there he's still all sensitive!

he groans, his eyes snapping open when he feels the familiar rhythm of your hand stroking his pretty cock :( he lets out embarrassingly loud noises, he can't do this again! but god it feels so good he can't help himself from bucking his hips up into your ruthless hand, wanting more.

"i can't, oh god i- i can't!" he whimpers, his body seemingly moving on it's own to chase that release again despite his words.

praise him, coo at him and he's all putty in your hands in an instant, willing to give you whatever you want, even if it renders him to an overstimulated pathetic mess, anything for his sweetheart.

his back arches off the bed, leaning into your touch, eyes all glossy as he loses himself in the pleasure you give him. another loud groan of your name rips from the back of his throat as he cums again.

he nearly cries when you don't stop jerking him off, are you trying to milk him dry? mindless babbles and sounds leave his pretty mouth as you use his previous load as lube, gently kissing his tears like you aren't the one overstimulating him.

he squirms and twitches under your touch, giving up on controlling his noises. the pleasure he feels bordering on painful but it only adds to the bliss, it feels so good he swears he sees stars, the only thing on his mind is you.

and when you pinch his nipples and tease them with your tongue, he knows he's done for.

his tears don't stop and neither do his moans of your name, just like your hand against his cock. he makes an effort to not scream your name when he cums for the third time in the span of such a short time by biting down on his bottom lip, he bites down so hard it draws blood. the muscles on his abdomen clenching and unclenching and you swear you've never seen a sight so beautiful.

your boyfriend looks so good like this, it's actually downright unfair how pretty he looks all blissed out like this.

the strongest man on the planet all pliant and needy under you is sure an ego boost.

and absolutely none of that helps with your own growing arousal.

his body writhes harder when you kiss him, everything feels so intense, even the kiss. with his brain turned almost all to mush he tries to sloppily kiss you back, all tongue and teeth accompanied by his soft whimpers which make you giggle.

and normally he'd laugh with you too if he wasn't all flushed and sweaty and acting like a dog in heat. his eyes still glossy as his chest heaves with the uneven breaths he takes.

and to no one's surprise he's still somewhat hard, viltrumite genes do wonders to your libido it seems.

"can you give me another one mark?" my god are you fucking crazy?! let him breathe!

but how can he deny his baby? especially when you look at him like that, but he's not even sure he can cum anymore and-

"please?" you bat your eyelashes at him.

and yeah, he's a goner.

it's gonna be a long night.

#ㅤㅤ✶ㅤ digitald0rk's library !#give him to me neoowwww #invincible x you #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #invincible smut #mark grayson smut #invincible #mark grayson #femcel

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markssugarbaby · 2 days ago

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MARK GRAYSON ┆ i could eat.. ꩜

WARNINGS .ᐟ … fluff, probs ooc 🤷🏽‍♀️ uh its based off a tiktok video i saw so if it seems familiar thats probs why

RIRI’S NOTES .ᐟ … english is not my first language so any grammar mistakes i am sorry for😔 this might suck i am learning how to write fan fics so bare with me please

your scrolling through tiktok, absolutely bored when you see a video of a girl telling her boyfriend “im so hungry i could eat” random person’s name and that sparked a idea in your mind.

letting out a soft giggle as you press record on you phone, pointing the camera at mark “dude im so hungry.. like im so hungry i could eat a whole cecil stedman.” you say dragging out the words making mark turn his head to look at you.

“my boss..?” mark asks as a look of confusion graces his face, “dude like yeah im so hungry i really could eat a whole cecil stedman.” you say inbetween giggles barely getting the words out.

“you dont even know who that is?” he laughs the noise sounding more awkward than an actual laugh, “yeah i could eat a whole-“ you laughter cuts you off “how do you even know who that is?!?” mark sounds like he’s getting even more confused by the second.

“yeah but like im that hungry i could eat an entire cecil stedman.” you say trying to keep a straight face “hes old he wouldn’t taste very good!” and his words just completely break you, dropping your phone on the couch as you break out into laughter all while mark sits there still confused!

oh yeah you’ll have to explain this too him later.

#mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible #invincible mark grayson #invincible x reader

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stareiiez · 1 day ago

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you think mark grayson grinds against the bed when he eats you out because he’s that pathetic.

do you think he cums in his boxers and makes the shittiest fleshlights that try to simulate how exactly you feel because he’s planets away from you and he misses you so god damn much . alien life doesn’t have microwaved oranges that he can cut a hole into , but fuck it , he makes do.

nolan forgets to ask him why the fuck his cape is crusted over and on the floor afterwards .

#ch: invincible #skeleton's bones rattles #fem reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #midnight thoughts with me #pathetic mark grayson agenda again

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batsovergotham · 4 days ago

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🦇 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗼 𝗪𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗚𝗿𝗮𝘆𝘀𝗼𝗻 | A DETAILED GUIDE

regarding the project: whether or not you have read the comics, this is a straightforward tutorial for anyone wishing to write mark grayson more precisely. brief notes. genuine emotional breakdowns. no lecturing. no gatekeeping. just a straightforward, honest look at what really shapes him and how to use the source material to portray him accurately.

a/n: i posted the poll about making a how to write mark grayson guide today, but honestly... i’ve been working on this for a while, ever since i posted some fics. it started because a few people mentioned that some of my mark breakdowns helped them with their fics, and i thought it might be nice to have something more detailed all in one place. so even though the poll went up today, this guide’s been in the works for a bit hehe i really hope it helps anyone who wants to write mark more true to the comics! thanks for reading!

in the invincible comics, if there’s one thing about mark grayson, it’s that he’s stubborn as hell when it comes to his ideals. like, painfully stubborn. there are so many times where he just flat-out refuses to back down from what he believes is right, even when everyone around him is telling him he’s being naive or that it’s gonna blow up in his face. and since the show hasn’t gotten to a lot of these moments yet, let’s talk about some comic only examples that really show just how stubborn (and sometimes reckless) mark’s idealism can be.

okay, so first off: the whole fight between mark and cecil stedman (the government guy who runs the GDA)? it's turning point of mark's view of the GDA and what it truly means to be a hero. it also begins to shed him of his naivety.

basically, mark finds out cecil’s been doing all this shady stuff behind the scenes like building an army of zombie cyborg supersoldiers (the reanimen), working with literal evil clones, just... real villain behavior. cecil’s whole mindset is like, “yeah it’s awful, but it’s for the greater good.” and mark? hates it. the second he finds out, he’s ready to fight.

and cecil’s response? he doesn’t even try to explain himself anymore. he just sends a whole damn army of reanimen after mark to try and beat him into submission. it’s brutal. mark gets swarmed, blasted with this crazy sonic device they rigged up, he’s getting absolutely trashed, and he still refuses to back down. he barely escapes, pulls some of the guardians together, and marches right back to finish what he started.

they trash the reanimen, it’s a mess, and at the end, cecil’s standing there like, “i did what had to be done.” and mark, bleeding and furious, basically tells him to shove it. he straight-up quits. no backup, no government support, nothing just him deciding he’d rather be completely alone than be part of something he thinks is wrong. like... that’s mark grayson. stubborn to the end.

Universa Arc.

so, universa’s this alien warrior who shows up on earth basically trying to steal the planet’s energy to save her dying world. mark and eve fight her, they win, she gets thrown in prison. standard superhero stuff, right? most heroes would’ve been like “cool, problem solved” and moved on. but not mark. mark can’t let it go.

he actually goes out of his way to visit her in jail. just to talk. and when he finds out she was only doing all of this because her people were desperate not because she was evil or power-hungry or anything he immediately goes into “let’s fix this” mode. like, no hesitation.

and he doesn't just feel bad about it and leave, no, mark convinces the warden to let her go, helps her find a way to safely get the energy she needs without hurting anyone, and sends her back home to save her people. universa is so stunned she literally promises to repay him someday.

it’s honestly one of the purest things he ever does. he refuses to just see her as “the bad guy.” he sees the person underneath. he believes that people, even enemies, can do the right thing if you give them a real chance.

was it a little naive? yeah, kinda. but it worked because mark’s the kind of guy who means it. like, really means it. and people can tell. that’s why his idealism hits so hard. he never gives up on the idea that there’s a better way.

Oliver and Allen VS Mark

okay, so one of the most heartbreaking examples of mark’s idealism clashing with the people he loves is the whole scourge virus situation.

basically, allen the alien and mark’s half-brother oliver come up with this plan to release a modified version of the scourge virua, the same virus that almost wiped out the viltrumites, to finish the job for good.

and mark? mark is horrified.

he’s not just worried about the viltrumites (even though yeah, some of them deserve it). he’s thinking about the humans. he’s thinking about the risk. he’s thinking about how unleashing something that dangerous ever is just crossing a moral line you can’t uncross.

so he tries to stop them. and it turns into a full-on fight. it’s messy, it’s emotional, and somewhere in the middle of it all, oliver, desperate and panicking, accidentally infects mark with the virus. mark almost dies.

and even after all that, after being betrayed and almost killed by his own brother, mark doesn’t blow up in rage. he’s just heartbroken. because for mark, the real tragedy isn’t what happened to him. it’s that people he loves were willing to risk something so horrific, to cross a line he’s spent his whole life refusing to cross.

like... he would literally rather fight his own family, risk dying, than give up on his ideals. he genuinely believes that the ends don’t justify the means, even if it costs him everything.

The Final Battle with Thragg and Mark's Monologue

by the end of the comic, we really get the full picture of who mark grayson has become. all that stubborn idealism, independence, and moral conviction he’s built up over the years? it all comes to a head during his final battle with thragg.

and the thing is...mark’s not just throwing punches. he’s saying everything he’s believed, everything that’s come to define him. he straight-up rejects thragg’s whole worldview, the viltrumite mindset of "strength over everything." and while they’re fighting, mark gives this monologue (mid-fight, because of course he does) that honestly just hits you right in the chest:

“you see us as people living only for conquest, measured only by the size of our empire. no room for peace. no room for compassion. no room for love… the truth is you were holding us back… we can be a force for good. we can spread peace throughout the galaxy. we can love and be loved. we can be happy.”

like... that’s so mark. even after everything he’s been through, even while he's locked in a life or death fight, he still believes people, even viltrumites, can be better.

and it’s not just talk either. this is what mark actually wants. he’s trying to turn an empire built on war into something good. it’s insanely idealistic, yeah, but it’s 100% real. and what’s really cool is that he’s doing it his way. not the way any viltrumite leader before him would’ve done it. this is mark’s independence on full blast, he's building something new, completely breaking away from the old viltrumite pride and brutality.

thragg, of course, can’t even wrap his head around it. and mark beats him, physically and symbolically. it’s basically proving that compassion and strength aren’t opposites. mark’s showing that being a good person doesn’t mean being weak, and being cruel doesn’t mean you’re strong.

if you’re writing fanfiction that covers late-series or post-series mark, this moment is a huge thing to keep in mind. by now, he’s not the uncertain teenager anymore. he knows who he is and what he stands for. but he hasn’t lost that earnestness, that moral fire he had as a kid, if anything, it’s gotten stronger and sharper.

mark taking down thragg with conviction shows the kind of leader he’s grown into. he’s not just reacting to problems anymore; he’s actively trying to shape a better future. people look up to him, even people who used to be enemies, because of the integrity he shows. not because they’re scared of him, but because they respect him.

another super important thing: even after all that, mark doesn’t turn into some dictator. like, it would’ve been so easy for him to say, “i’m the strongest, i’m in charge now.” but he doesn’t. he stays focused on making things better. he pushes for the viltrumites to actually protect earth, to integrate, to live differently. he keeps that humility.

even at the height of his power, he’s worrying about being a good husband, a good dad (the finale shows his future family life), and living up to his ideals. he never stops checking himself because deep down, he’s terrified of turning into what his dad was.

so if you’re writing a future!mark or an alt ending where he’s leading the viltrumites or running with huge responsibilities, always keep that in mind: no matter how powerful he is, he’s still that same kid who’s scared of losing his humanity and who’ll do anything to protect it.

Now that we understand the Idealism surrounding his character, let's discuss how to actually write him.

okay so if you’re writing mark grayson in fanfics, one of the biggest things you have to remember is that he is not a soft boy. he is not a “yes man.” he is not some passive sunshine character who just agrees with whatever the hell his friends or love interest says because he’s so sweet and loyal. that’s just not who he is.

mark is kind. he’s empathetic. he loves deeply. but he is stubborn as hell when it comes to his beliefs. like painfully, frustratingly stubborn.

he doesn’t just roll over when someone he loves disagrees with him. he doesn’t abandon his moral compass to avoid conflict. if anything, he’ll fight even harder against the people he cares about because he believes so strongly in what he thinks is right.

this is the guy who:

tells cecil (the literal head of the GDA, who helped him post omni-man) to fuck off to his face because cecil’s methods are too corrupt.

tries to rehabilitate a literal eco-terrorist (dinosaurus) because he genuinely thinks they could do good together, even when everyone else calls him insane.

punches his own little brother and one of his best friends (oliver and allen) in the face when they want to use the scourge virus to wipe out the viltrumites, because he refuses to believe genocide is ever the answer even when it would save billions of lives.

goes into exile on an alien planet with his family instead of accepting a “peaceful” dictatorship run by robot, because he would rather lose everything than live under tyranny. then, he eventually comes back and kills robot himself.

like... mark is kind, yes. but he’s not compliant. he’s not someone you can easily sway just because you’re close to him. he doesn’t make decisions based on what’s easiest or what’ll hurt the fewest feelings. he makes decisions based on what he believes is right, even if it blows up his relationships. even if it hurts people he loves. even if it isolates him.

so when you’re writing him:

let him argue. let him push back when something doesn’t sit right with him.

let him get angry when his beliefs are challenged. he’s emotional. he’s reactive.

let him stand his ground even when it costs him.

let him care so deeply it hurts him sometimes.

don’t be afraid to show that he’s wrong, too because sometimes his stubbornness backfires horribly (like trusting dinosaurus). but even when he’s wrong, he’s never malicious. he’s never apathetic. he’s trying.

he’s not cold. he’s not cruel. but he’s also not a people-pleaser. he’s willing to lose friends, mentors, allies, and even his home if it means doing what he feels is right.

common mischaracterizations you should avoid:

making him a soft, easily manipulated boyfriend who never questions anything.

making him prioritize romance over his core values without struggle. (like, if you have him abandoning his morals instantly for love, it feels wrong. he might bend, but it would mess him up inside and cause conflict.) DO NOT CONFLATE HIS MORALS WITH WHAT THE GDA BELIEVES!!

making him unrealistically calm and detached. mark feels everything with his whole chest. when he’s hurt or angry, it shows. he doesn't bottle it up perfectly.

writing him like he's just “along for the ride” emotionally. mark makes decisions. he moves the plot. even when he’s wrong, he’s active, not passive.

writing mark grayson right means letting him be a mess sometimes. it means letting him get bloodied up in fights he probably can’t win. it means letting him make terrible mistakes because he believed too hard in someone. it means letting him love people and lose people and still keep standing, still keep hoping. still keep fighting for the better world he dreams of.

because that's what makes him invincible. not the powers. not the strength. it’s the fact that even when everything in him is broken, his body, his mind, etc, he keeps fighting for what he believes in.

bad vs good characterization examples for mark

example 1

bad: "are you sure about this?" he asked, voice trembling. "i mean... if you think it's right, i'll go along with it. i trust you." (he says nothing else. he just follows along. no hesitation, no conflict, just blind loyalty.)

why it's wrong: this makes him sound like a passive puppy who just goes wherever the story/author pushes him. mark is loyal, yeah, but he’s not a yes man. if something feels wrong to him, he’s going to say something even if it starts a fight.

good: "i don’t know if i can go with you on this," mark said, frowning. "i get why you want to do it... i do. but it doesn’t sit right with me. it’s not who i want to be." his hands flexed at his sides, restless. "i’m not trying to fight you. i’m trying to make you understand." (there’s tension. there’s conflict. but the love is still there. he’s standing his ground because he cares.)

example 2

bad: mark nodded immediately. "you're right. i didn’t even think about it that way. i’ll change everything i'm doing for you." (he has no independent thought. he never questions anything. he changes core beliefs instantly.)

why it's wrong: mark can compromise sometimes, but it’s never instant. if he changes his mind, it comes from hard conversations, real consequences, or deep emotional shifts. he doesn’t just flip a switch because someone asked him nicely.

good: "maybe you’re right," mark muttered after a long beat, his jaw locked. "but you can’t expect me to throw away everything i believe just because it's easier." he exhaled, frustrated, running a hand through his ebony hair. "i need to think. i can't just... pretend this doesn't matter."

key reminders when writing mark:

he’s stubborn. like cartoonishly stubborn. even when it’s inconvenient. even when it costs him everything.

he’s idealistic. he genuinely believes doing the right thing matters, even if nobody else believes it anymore.

he’s emotional. he feels everything with his whole chest. anger, sadness, guilt, hope, it’s never muted or put down for the sake of plot purposes.

he’s reactive. mark doesn’t always think things through. if he sees something he doesn't like or someone he loves in danger, he moves first, thinks later.

he’s not a people pleaser. even if he loves you, if you’re doing something he thinks is wrong, he’s gonna call you out. loudly.

he fights with people he loves. not because he loves them less but because he loves them too much to let them destroy themselves or cause harm to other people that causes conflict in what he believes in.

he’s not a soft boy. he’s kind. he’s empathetic. but he’s also willing to bloody his fists and risk his life for what he believes in.

he’s not passive. mark makes choices. even when they’re bad ones. he’s an active character who moves the plot forward.

he’s wrong sometimes. his idealism blinds him. he trusts the wrong people. he fucks up. and he owns it (eventually).

he doesn't believe violence is the first answer (especially at the end of the series). but when it’s necessary, he doesn’t hold back. if he’s in a fight, he’s there to win.

he can’t be guilt tripped into giving up his morals. you can hurt him. you can betray him. but you can’t make him become someone he’s not.

he keeps hoping. even after all the betrayal, death, loss, heartbreak he's gone through, he never fully lets go of hope.

NOTABLE MOMENTS TO HELP CHARACTERIZE HIM IN YOUR FIC

“DON’T EVER THREATEN MY FAMILY!!” – Issue #33.

this is mark at his absolute breaking point just pure protective rage, screaming at angstrom who just hurt his mom. it’s a simple line, but it hits because you can feel everything behind it. the second someone he loves is in danger, mark doesn’t hold back. he doesn’t care about looking heroic or calm, he just loses it. and that’s something to keep in mind if you’re writing him, when mark’s temper explodes, it’s not about his pride or getting even. it’s about protecting the people he loves. period. he’s like a lion protecting his cubs its all instinct, no hesitation. so if you’re ever writing a scene where a villain’s threatening someone close to him, picture mark practically shaking, shouting until his voice breaks, just burning with that raw, desperate anger. it’s not polished or composed, it’s messy, it’s emotional, and it’s all love underneath it.

“THIS IS BEING A SUPER-HERO? I'M JUST STOPPING CRAP FROM HAPPENING AT ANY GIVEN MOMENT. I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING REALLY WORTHWHILE… …AND WHEN I FAIL… MY GOD, I FAIL BIG. WE HAVE THE POWER TO CHANGE THE WORLD, EVE… …BUT INSTEAD THINGS JUST KEEP GETTING WORSE.” – Issue #81.

it’s not just some random thought he brushes off. you can tell it hits him. like... what if everything he’s been doing hasn’t actually changed anything? what if he’s just patching holes in something that’s already falling apart? it’s honestly a gut-punch moment because mark is usually so stubbornly hopeful. but even he isn’t immune to wondering if any of it’s enough. and it’s such an important part of who he is, he doesn’t just blindly believe everything’s fine. he feels it when it isn’t. he questions himself. he struggles with it. if you’re writing fanfic and you want to show a more introspective or vulnerable side of him, especially after something rough happens, this is the kind of feeling you want to tap into. not him giving up, but that raw, exhausted moment where he’s like, what’s the point if nothing ever really changes? it makes him feel real. because even with all the optimism and fight he’s got, sometimes the weight of it still catches up to him.

HOW TO WRITE HIS HUMOR/MORE LIGHT-HEARTED SIDE

mark isn’t all heavy drama and serious fights, he actually has a ton of light, funny moments, especially early on. like when he first starts getting his powers and his coworker asks him about his future, he just says

“finish high school, I guess.”

which is funny because he already knows he’s about to step into something way bigger.

there are little moments like that all over, times when he’s play fighting with william, or throwing out corny jokes, especially about stuff like science dog (his favorite comic, seance dog in the show). even though a lot of this guide focuses on the heavy, emotional stuff, it’s important not to forget these slice of life stuff

if you’re writing fanfics with him, adding in those little jokes or funny lines can really help keep mark in character. think about it like how spider-man cracks jokes during fights except mark’s version is a little less snarky and more dorky he jokes the most when he’s around people he’s comfortable with, and it’s not because he’s not taking things seriously it’s because that humor is just a part of who he is.

DISCLAIMER!

one of the biggest differences between comic mark and show mark is that comic mark is definitely rougher around the edges, especially early on. he’s not the super polished, always perfect hero type. in the early issues, mark can actually be kind of crude, he uses slurs (like the r-word) and makes some offhanded gay jokes, usually when he’s goofing around with william. it’s definitely surprising when you read it now, but it’s also important to understand that it’s part of his growth. it’s not written to make him look good, it’s showing that he’s a dumb teenage boy who hasn’t figured everything out yet. he says thoughtless, insensitive stuff because he’s young, immature, and still has a lot of learning to do.

and the comics let him grow.

later on, when william comes out to him, mark doesn’t just brush it off or make another dumb joke, he’s genuinely supportive. he accepts william without hesitation. and from that point on, you can see a clear shift, mark stops using slurs, stops making those kinds of jokes. it’s not a huge dramatic “lesson learned” moment, but the change is there. he matures. he gets it.

the show sort of skips over this whole messy, realistic part of his character arc. animated mark is a lot more careful and a little more "clean" from the start, he doesn’t really say anything offensive, and he’s framed as a lot more socially aware right out of the gate. which makes sense for a modern audience and a tv format, but it does smooth out some of the rough growth we see in comic mark.

comic mark’s early immaturity makes his later kindness and emotional intelligence feel earned. it’s not that he’s perfect, it’s that he chooses to grow, to be better, to really care about people in a way that goes beyond surface-level acceptance. that’s a huge part of what makes comic mark feel so real. he screws up, he says dumb stuff, but he listens, he learns, and he changes.

CONCLUSION AND FINAL NOTE!

at the end of the day, mark grayson isn’t about being perfect. he’s about trying. he’s stubborn as hell, emotional, sometimes reckless, and way more human than people give him credit for.

he holds onto what he believes even when everyone’s telling him to give up. he fights for the people he loves even when it costs him everything. he messes up (a lot), but he always, always tries to be better. that’s what makes him mark.

when you’re writing him, don’t be afraid to show all of it, the anger, the humor, the doubt, the stubborn hope that somehow refuses to die even when everything’s falling apart. he’s not supposed to be perfect or untouchable. he’s supposed to feel real.

sometimes he gets it wrong. sometimes he crashes and burns. but the point is, he keeps going. he cares even when it’s easier not to. and that’s why people love him.

i hope breaking all this down helps if you’re trying to write him, understand him better, or just see where he’s coming from. because when you really look at it, mark’s whole story isn’t about being the strongest guy in the room it’s about being the one who refuses to give up on people, even when it would be easier to stop caring.

thanks for reading! and honestly, if you ever feel stuck writing him, just go back to that core idea > he never stops trying. that’s who he is.

#invincible #invincible x reader #invincible fanfic #mark grayson x reader #invincible season 3 #invincible angst #invincible x you #invincible smut #reader insert #mark grayson #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x y/n #invincible x y/n #mark grayson character analysis is very much needed in this fandom #hope this could help some of you

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nympheagain · 3 days ago

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Perv!Mark Pt.2

Summary: Perv!Mark sees you with your zipper open and has a whole ordeal

Lol got this idea when I realized my pants zipper was open all day 😔😔

Perv!Mark who’s never seen a vagina, not IRL at least. So he’s almost foaming at the mouth when he can see your lacy panties through your open zipper as you sit with your legs spread.

You were probably tired, poor you, so tired you couldn’t even wear your clothes properly! Perv!Mark would never let you get that exhausted. He’d take care of you, real good.

Perv!Mark who was so glad that you both took the subway home. You got off a few stops after him, but he always pretended to get off after you, just to watch you longer, it wasn’t a problem anyway, since he could just fly home.

Perv!Mark who can see the colour of your cunt from the mesh fabric of your panties, who’s already letting his imagination run wild, thinking about how easy it would be for him to just rip them off you.

He’d keep them as a souvenir of course, pocket them when you weren’t looking and sniff them deep as he tugged his hard leaking cock.

Perv!Mark who was so pathetic, so desperate for you that he doesn’t even need to imagine much more other than the sliver of your panties peeking out from your trousers, you wouldn’t even have to take them off, he’s thinking, maybe he could just slip his dick right through?

Then he’s imagining fucking you right there on the subway, just bent over in one of the carriages, fully clothed as he fucked you senseless. It wouldn’t be very hygienic, he knows, but he’d hold you by the throat and keep you close to him, keep you nice and snug and safe.

As for everyone else, well, he supposed they could just watch.

Perv!Mark who’s so engrossed in his fantasy that he almost doesn’t realise when you’re getting off at your stop, smiling sweetly at him and whispering a “Bye, Mark.” Like you knew the effect you had on him.

Perv!Mark who’s looking down at the large tent he’s sporting in his pants, realising, oops, you just might.

#nympheagain #invincible x you #invincible smut #invincible x reader #mark grayson smut #mark grayson x you #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader

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wordsofwhimsy · 6 days ago

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lemme whisper this in y’all’s ear real quick

every version of mark is desperate for love, praise, & affection. he’s putty in your hands, head resting on your chest as you slowly stroke his trembling dick. you did so good today, you coo in his ear, free hand gently scratching his scalp. you make me so proud.

their reactions all vary

main!mark whimpers and sighs, pushing for more affirmation and proof that you’re telling the truth. do you mean it?

lensless!mark groans, burying his face deeper into your chest while he inhales your scent like it’s an intoxicant

omni!mark is so so tense, trying to keep his stoic disposition despite the way his hands are trembling

viltrumite!mark is eerily quiet and still, hanging on every word you say. he leans more into the praise than your touch (though he’d definitely have something to say if you stopped your ministrations)

sinister!mark grits his teeth through it, eyes pinched tightly as he growls shut the fuck up but then squeezes your thigh tighter, his body giving clear directive that says otherwise

mohawk!mark groans and spurs you on, eager in his need to agree. so good for you aren’t I? he’ll breath, wrapping his hand around yours and joining you in stroking his cock. so proud of your man aren’t you?

but the one common thread amongst them all? after every hard day they come crawling back to you, head heavy and ready to drop in your lap, ears perked & ready for your sweet nothings

#invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson fanfic #invincible smut #mark grayson smut

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0bticeo · 2 days ago

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!! imagine kissing mark for the first time after months of pining and him getting so giddy he finally got to kiss you that he starts floating dreamily.

#obticeo speaks #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible x reader #invincible

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erindrinkstea · 3 days ago

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Again and Again

Main! Mark "Invincible" Grayson x F! Reader x Variants! Mark "Invincible" Grayson

TW: Violence, Blood, Death, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Angst.

Description, Part 1

Main Masterlist | Invincible Masterlist

Note: Mark and Amber broke up in good terms here. Amber also isn't aware of Invincible's identity.

"I thought…"

"You thought…?"

You faced a smug-faced Mark, unashamed and filled with pride for his actions. He floated above you, looking down with no regret for what he’d done. This was the 87th time Mark Grayson abandoned you. The 87th time Invincible crushed your hopes.

"I just thought you’d be different. You hadn’t lost anything. You have what may be the definition of a perfect life. I…"

I thought I saved you.

The words stayed unsaid.

You stared blankly as Mark laughed at your little statement. You used to adore his laughter—back when you were kids, cheeks flushing at the way you could bring a smile to his face. Now, you knelt before him, horrified by the same laughter that sounded the same, yet felt so different.

87 variations of Mark Grayson. 87 failures.

"Funny, sweetheart," he mocked, calming down from his fit. "You always know how to make me laugh, don’t you?" He floated closer, stopping right in front of you. "Maybe I’ll keep you."

"No thanks."

In another variation, you let him. You let him treat you like a pet. Let him ruin you. Then, like a bored child, he abandoned you. You were surprised how long you lasted without food or water. A year.

The only thing keeping you alive was the abnormal energy—the one that let you jump dimensions upon death. But even that had limits. Eventually, you succumbed to starvation and dehydration.

So this time, without waiting for another word from Invincible, you wrapped your hands around your neck and pulled—

SNAP.

Invincible’s feet dropped to the ground, your body falling into his arms, neck twisted unnaturally.

"Sweetheart?"

──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────

"Hey, genius. Mind if you let me borrow your notes?"

You were done with Mark Grayson. You wanted nothing to do with Invincible. That’s what you told yourself when you landed in the 88th dimension. Growing up, you kept your distance from the raven-haired boy—ignoring the clumsy kid that clung to your side.

You held no expectations. You didn’t want to be disappointed again. Betrayed again.

But as the years passed, as that same idiot never left your side, your walls began to crumble—slowly but surely.

Because that’s always the case with him, isn’t it? You can never hate him. You can never abandon him. You never had, and you never will.

So here you were, in class, while he bugged you for calculus notes.

"It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention, Grayson." You huffed, but handed over your notes anyway.

He smiled brightly and leaned over, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek.

"Gross." You swatted at him. He ran off, waving the notes and yelling his thanks.

You told yourself not to hope this time—but you couldn’t help it.

This Mark Grayson felt different.

He got his powers much later than the others. Debbie’s influence was stronger than Nolan’s.

"You cave in so easily. It’s sad," Amber commented from behind, unamused by the whole interaction.

"Shut up. Don’t act like you weren’t the same when you two were dating," you shot back.

"I only said yes to a couple of things. You say yes to everything he asks."

"I don’t."

"You totally do."

──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────

#Erindrinkstea #Invincible #Mark Grayson #Invincible x Reader #Mark Grayson x Reader

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rongloa · 2 days ago

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𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 (𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞) — m. grayson drabble

𝐰𝐜. 630

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. doormat behaviour (not really you love him), fluff but it’s barely there, a tiny bit of angst but that’s because i can never be happy

𝐚/𝐧. i think if i knew mark, i would know. and i know it’s not acceptable to let someone walk over you and not tell them why you’re doing it, but he’s going (and been) through a lot. amen my children

You could never tell him that you know.

You act surprised when he runs off mid-conversation, mouth half-open like the girl who doesn’t understand why her newly dubbed boyfriend just vanished behind a fast food joint. You’ve practiced that look in the mirror, just in case. Ran yourself through how a girlfriend that didn’t know would react, even picked your friend’s minds. “How would you react if your boyfriend disappeared on a date?”

Their answers weren’t all that bad, mostly a mix of disgust and frustration— there was a random calm one that had you worried about how she was doing with her boyfriend.

But what would you say, really?

“Hey baby, I’ve known you’re Invincible for months now. I saw the blood on your shirt before you had time to change. I recognized your voice when you saved those people downtown. You leave handprint shaped bruises on my hips and back when you’re exhausted from superhero-ing.”

He’s not good at hiding things. Not from you anyways. Not when you know the way his voice cracks when he’s lying. Not when you’ve memorized the shape of every bruise he forgets to cover.

But still—you let him think he is. If not for your own sanity, then his.

Some days, you almost tell him. You think—this is the moment—when he crawls through your bedroom window because he’s too tired to go home. His hair is windswept, cheeks and nose a flushed red from the biting winter breeze, and because you quite literally watched him fight with his supersuit beside your flowerbed of lillies.

But then he says the thing that makes your heart soften into mush and your resolve to do the big reveal slips through your fingers like air. “I just needed to see you,” he mumbles it into the bare skin of your shoulder, teeth catching the smallest bit on your collarbone. Still trying to smile for you.

You wrap your arms around him like you’re trying to hold in all his jagged pieces. Kiss the side of his head, even though his hair’s sweaty. Feel the way he leans into you, like you’re gravity and he’s tired of orbiting alone. Drag your fingertips along the dips and bumps of his spine like you can stitch him back together.

“I’m right here,” you whisper. I always am.

You always are.

Sometimes, you think he knows. That he’s just waiting for you to say it. Like you’re both holding guns at your sides, fingers resting on triggers you’re too afraid to pull. It’s funny, in a way that makes you sick, how he can take punches from gods and aliens, bleed in space, crash through concrete walls—and yet he flinches at the thought of one human truth, one from a girl who bakes him cookies and kisses his bruises like they’ll fade faster if she means it hard enough.

You’ve seen what this life does to people. You’ve seen blood drip onto your doorstep and gotten calls at 2:00 a.m. that make your heart stop. And still—still—you stay. You pretend to be normal. You laugh when he makes dumb jokes, you hold his hand when his lip is split, and you say you’re okay when he forgets your birthday because he was off-planet. You stay because someone has to, because you don’t think anyone else would. You don’t do it out of pity, out of selfish love.

You are in love with a boy made of breaking points. A boy who holds the sky in his hands and still doesn’t know how to hold you without trembling.

And yet—you don’t break.

One night, he falls asleep with his head in your lap. He’s heavy. Warm. So real, it makes your ribs ache. Those long dark lashes are shadows against his bruised cheekbone, and he sighs in his sleep like he’s letting go of something he doesn’t even know he’s carrying. Like even being a Viltrumite isn’t enough to guarantee forever.

You run your fingers through his hair. Soft, gentle strokes, like turning the pages of a book you’ve read a hundred times but still love. A soft coo, a name that you roll over your tongue like the sweetest brown sugar, “Mark?”

He stirs, lashes fluttering even though his eyes can barely stay open. He hums, gravel-soft.

You nod, even though his eyes are already fluttering closed again. “I love you, baby.”

He smiles, and it’s so soft you feel it in your bones, feel it crack something hidden deep behind your sternum. Then he settles back into the plush of your thighs, trusting you with himself—his love, his secrets, even if he doesn’t know you already carry them all like a second heart.

You don’t need to tell him.

Not yet. Not for a long time yet.

Not when he already does these things that make you feel like you’re the only thing holding him down.

#mark grayson x reader #invincible fanfic #invincible mark grayson #invincible #invincible x you #invincible x reader #mark c’mere :(

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bonsubear · 3 days ago

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Reader loves Invincible but hates Mark┃Mark/Invincible x Fangirl! Reader┃#3

totally hasn't been a month since I updated this series guys... :p

#1, #2, #3, #?

CW: ooc, cringe prob

WC: 3.5k

Mark wasn’t expecting taking pictures to be so… hard? The idea of taking pictures of himself seemed relatively easy but actually putting it in practice was surprisingly hard.

He took punches from his dad during training that hurt like hell, was thrown around like a rag doll and slammed to the ground that left him sore for weeks against everyday villains and been painted black and blue with bruises that stained his body like he was some sort of volunteer for a body painting class.

No matter what was thrown at him, literally or figuratively, he came back standing tall and strong. Yet, Mark was being bested by a phone camera that could not—no matter how many times he embarrassingly posed in the air—take a good picture of him.

To cut himself some slack, it's tricky to try and take shots when flying in the air by yourself while making it seem like someone else took it.

He tried to set down his phone and put it on a three, five, or ten second timer and make it seem like Invincible was taken off guard by a photo around the city—but it was like there was a curse placed upon him that made every single one of them appear blurry, unappealing, and unattractive.

Mark groaned, laying down on top of a random building, his phone beside him. He dug his hands in his hair, pushing his black locks back as he had been out here taking pictures for hours and still didn't have anything presentable for you.

It's been three days since he got your number, and he hasn't been able to start any conversation with you through text. Mark had hoped to start the perfect conversation with Invincible photos, but that plan seemed to be going up in flames with how he had zero presentable pictures.

Tomorrow is a Monday, and he didn't want to see you without having proved he was an Invincible fan to gain some favorability.

He felt really nervous, anxious, and embarrassed. Mark wanted to present to you what he promised with a silver platter, hearing you light up and praise him with blooming happiness.

It felt so stupid, so dumb but—ugh. He wanted to hear you sing praises towards him, just like how you sing praises to his superhero counterpart all the time.

He would never get riled up or upset about the fact that you would constantly insult and verbally abuse his character every chance you got, but for some reason, he easily gets worked up when his mind would track back to your admiration towards Invincible.

He had this jealousy towards Invincible that he had a hard time coming to terms with. For Pete's sake, Mark was Invincible but every time he imagined you practically drooling over his superhero counterpart in spandex, he wanted to beat himself up.

It was ridiculous. Mark knows he's him, but you don't.

Mark wants to hear you say something nice about him. A praise, a compliment—anything that Mark earned fair and square without the mask. Even a simple "hey, good job I guess!" would suffice.

As long as it comes from you, the most beautiful and gorgeous girl he has ever laid eyes on, he'll be set.

... What.

His body tensed as he immediately sat up from the floor, his face burning with a pink flush as he had taken in the thought that crept inside his mind.

Sure, he wasn't going to deny the fact that you were beautiful—you are! You take care of yourself like crazy with the products you buy and use every time he saw you at school so it's perfectly natural to think you're a very pretty individual—well, even without those he knows that you'll still look amazing!

Mark would be crazy to think you’re not! Hell, if you gave him the chance, he'll kiss the ground you walk on just because of how attractive you are to him!

... What.

His cheeks flushed a deeper pink, edging close to red as his hands flung to hold his face. What was that?! Mark internally screamed as steam was practically emitting from his face because of his embarrassing thoughts.

He felt sick, his stomach doing backflips as a sudden whirl of images of you appeared in his head.

Mark stared and observed you long enough that all angles of you were burned into his memory. Those long moments he looked at you during class was now biting him in the ass, leaving him a redden mess as he tried to calm himself.

That—is definitely not a creepy way to think about a potential new friend, right?

It's nothing weird, he thinks—or more so he tries to convince himself.

He's simply stating the obvious to no one but himself! Perfectly normal thing to do! Mark just really wants to be friends with you because you’re awesome, you’re into nerdy stuff like him and you'll make a perfect potential new candidate for friendship!

Perfectly normal to stare at your number and jot down potential first messages in his notes app to find the perfect one to send to you!

Perfectly normal to rehearse how to talk to you in the mirror for the past three days so that you'll start to see him as a cool guy rather than the guy you hate with a burning passion!

Perfectly normal to search up what other stuff he can buy for you and start putting some money on the side reserved just for you if an opportunity like that ever happens again!

Perfectly... normal... yeah. Normal friend stuff.

"So, this is where you ran off to?" A familiar deep voice snapped him out of his thoughts, causing Mark to jolt. Before standing up, he scrambled to get his phone and put it behind him. "Imagine my surprise when your mom woke me up asking where you were."

"D-Dad! Hheeyy." Mark cringed; his cheeks were still dusted a light pink. "What, uh, what are you doing here?" He squeaked out.

"What are you doing here? Your mom's been looking for you." Nolan raised a brow, looking at his son with curiosity. He was wearing his Invincible suit and was obviously hiding something behind his back.

"N-Nothing! Nothing. I just went out flying for a bit, heh." Mark shrugged his shoulders, trying to remain casual to hide the fact that he had been out here taking pictures of himself for you.

How much time had passed that his dad went out looking for him? It's been a couple of hours sure—but not that long, right?

"Uh-huh." Nolan nodded his head slowly, not convinced at all by the reasoning. With Mark's entire arm hidden by his back, it was clear that his son was hiding something. "I take it that whatever is behind your back is a part of," he paused, raising his hands to do air quotations, "flying?"

"Yup! Exactly!" Mark nodded quickly, toeing around his dad while still shielding his phone behind him like it was some sort of ancient relic. It would be embarrassing if his dad found out what he was actually doing—he would never live it down.

"I'm, uh, going to do some more flying! —so just tell mom I'll be back in a jiff!"

"Have fun with your 'flying'—and whatever your hiding behind there." Nolan let out a dry laugh, watching his son's cheeks flush into a deep shade of red as he stuttered out a reply.

"Behind my—whaaat? I don't know what you’re talking about dad," He raised his free hand to do a circle motion to his head, "I think old age is getting to you—uh, anyway, bye! Gotta go take—I mean, fly! See you at home!" Mark yelped, leaping off the building and taking flight.

Nolan watched the blue and yellow silhouette of his son disappear, zooming past a building with so much speed that he had never seen him have before.

He paused before letting out a deep laugh, shaking his head.

Mark sat at the dinner table. He was helping his mom by folding pieces of square paper into origami swans. It was for leaving a nice touch to the houses that his mom was selling—or something like that.

He didn't really know the whole reason why, listening to his mom absentmindedly as he was busy tapping his foot as his hands mindlessly moved on their own, thinking about you and the photos that he took today.

The recent ones he took before coming home were surprisingly better, but not anything crazy good. They looked so immature, like a baby with wobbly hands took them.

"-rk? Mark?" His mom's voice called out to him, and Mark snapped out of his thoughts. He accidentally ripped the paper origami that he was halfway into making, startled at suddenly hearing his mom’s voice.

"Uh, yeah?” He laughed awkwardly as he stared at the blue paper he just ripped, sheepishly pushing it aside. “Whoops.”

"What are you thinking about? I've been calling your name for five minutes," Debbie laughed, shaking her head as she grabbed the swan origamis that Mark had mindlessly folded. "Thinking about something important?”

He shook his head, his leg jumping up and down.

“Okay. How about someone important?—"

"No!" Mark straightened his back at the mention of 'someone,' an image of you flashing in his mind. His anxious leg stopped bouncing, coming to a halt as he blinked at his mom.

Debbie raised a curious brow at his reaction, his reply to what she had innocently asked being a bit too fast.

Her son cleared his throat, trying to act casually and brush off his odd behavior. "Ha, I mean, no. Nothing important, really."

"Hm." Debbie let out an amused hum, wiggling her eyebrows at her son's contorting face. It was funny, but almost sad how clear his emotions were written on his face. Even though a part of her wanted to find out what was going on with him, she sighed as she decided against it. “Whatever you say, Mark.” She chuckled.

A small silence passed between them, before Mark broke it. "You know, actually, mom I do have sort of a question to ask you."

"Yes?"

"Hypothetically," Mark cleared his throat, gesturing with his hands. "would there be a reason why someone would randomly just hate another person?" He shrugged his shoulders, trying to seem disinterested at the possible answer.

"Hate? That's a strong word. Are you sure hate is the right word in this 'hypothetical' question?"

"Yeah! Like, really hate. Hate to the point," Mark didn't notice the small smile that crept on the corner of his lips, but Debbie certainly did, "where she—they insult you every day and call you a creep and stuff."

Debbie was taken aback at this, blinking before responding. It was obvious that this situation was about him and some other person, specifically a girl with how he fumbled on his words. “Can I have more info about this—“

“Hypothetical—“

“—hypothetical situation?”

Mark squinted, blowing raspberries before speaking again. “Like, this girl, just really hates this guy for some reason even though the guy didn’t really do anything. Or at least, not that he remembers.” He sheepishly elaborated, grabbing another square sheet of paper to continue folding.

“Oh, he must’ve done something alright. No one just hates someone for no reason.”

“But he doesn’t remember doing anything bad!”

“It doesn’t have to be something drastic—it can be something so small that really impacted her.” Debbie explained. “We’ve all disliked a person for the pettiest of reasons that doesn’t really make sense. Something that was so unmemorable to you was so memorable to her, it happens.” She shrugged.

“Yeah, okay, but—wait me? This, this isn’t about me, mom.” He caught her words, his cheeks warming. “It’s a hypothetical question for someone I know at school. Not, pfft, not for me.”

“Sure.” Debbie nodded, a sly smile on her lips. “Not for you.”

“Mhm. Anyway, what do you think the guy should do to get the girl to not, y’know, hate him?” He brought a hand to rub the back of his neck, scratching his nape awkwardly as he inquired.

“Spend a lot of time with her. Even if you have to force some situations.”

“Spend... time with her?” Mark deadpanned; the solution she provided sounded too simple to work.

Debbie nodded, already seeing the gears turning in his head as he ingested her words. “Just find ways to be constantly around her. Show her you aren’t as bad as a guy that she thought you were from whatever mistake you did.”

Mark hesitated for a moment before speaking, thinking long and hard about the simple wisdom his mom had bestowed on him.

Suddenly, he stood up, knocking his chair backwards as he ran over to the staircase. “Thanks mom! That really, really helps actually!” He smiled, stepping on the stairs. He halted, popping his head around the corner. “But again, the hypothetical situation wasn’t for me—it’s for someone I know from school.”

"Sure it is, I'll believe that when pigs fly!" Debbie sang, wiggling her brows at her son that had a deep flush spread through his face.

"Nice talk, mom!" Mark waved a dismissive hand, running up the stairs to his room.

Argh, it isn’t hard! … Just send it… Send it!

Mark internally screamed at himself; his eyes glued on his phone that was laid flat on its back on the comfort of his bed.

He had been going on a cycle of pacing around the room and staring intently at his phone screen trying to convince himself that sending a message to you wasn’t going to be the end of the world.

But honestly—it might. What if you decide to block him because his first message was weird? Sure, he worked hard on it, but he worked hard on a lot of things yet still screwed it up!

He dug his fingers in his scalp, kneeling in front of the open phone screen that had a chatroom open. The profile picture of the letter of your first name was taunting him, Mark imagining it was sticking its tongue out with how stupid he looked for the past forty-five minutes.

The Vasian had already typed out the message he wanted to send, picking the best one from his notes app. Now, if only he had the strength to just—push the send button!

Mark thought to consult William about this, but he would never live it down. His best friend didn’t need a reason to actually believe that he was into “getting off” at mean girls.

Not that he would ever get off to you in a million years! That would be disrespectful—and indecent! You didn’t deserve to be only used as some sort of finishing material!

Mark Grayson groaned, “Aaahh, what am I thinking?!” He jumped on his best, his phone bouncing. His thoughts suddenly shifted to masturbation rather than sending a text message to kick start his plan—those two didn’t correlate at all!

From his mom’s simple words of wisdom, he realized that she was right.

If he were to force you two to hang out with each other so frequently, you would start not hating him because of how you’ll realize he was a perfect friend for you!

You wouldn’t hate him anymore! Whatever he did to make you hate him so much just—poof! Gone!

… But how is he supposed to make that happen when he can’t even pass the first step of his plan?!

Mark bit his lip, staring up at his ceiling as he fished for his phone that he jumped next to. His fingers grazed over the open screen, accidentally hitting some letters on the keyboard as he tried to grasp for his electronic.

Ping!

His heart froze, the familiar sound of a message sending sounding next to him.

He scrambled to sit up, making his neatly folded bed a mess as he accidentally knocked down one of his pillows to the floor.

He shakily brought his phone to his eyesight, trembling as he saw what he had just done.

Mark Grayson Hey👋🏻 It’s Mark Grayson. You gave me your phone number at the mall 3 days ago. I have the photos of Invincible if you want to take a look 😄 I’ve been busy so forgot to show you😅 z zsl ᴰᵉˡᶦᵛᵉʳᵉᵈ

“Z-Z-S-L?” He read his mistype out loud when his fingers accidentally brushed up against his keyboard. “Who sends Z-Z-S-L?! That wasn’t supposed to be there!” He shouted, embarrassment overriding his entire nervous system.

Should I delete it? No, it’ll only delete on my end—not hers! Fuck, fuck, fuck—

Mark Grayson Hey👋🏻 It’s Mark Grayson. You gave me your phone number at the mall 3 days ago. I have the photos of Invincible if you wanna take a look 😄 I’ve been busy, so forgot to show you😅 z zsl ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

(Y/N) (L/N) oh

(Y/N) (L/N) thats ok ig

(Y/N) (L/N) lemme see

Mark's phone had immediately buzzed three times in only one second after he sent that message, his eyes in shock that you replied so fast. He had expected to wait for a few hours for hours to receive a response, but that seemed to be not the case.

He swallowed thickly, nervous but happy that he got your attention.

Mark Grayson Okay👍🏻 Sending them now🙃 ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

Mark Grayson [5 photo attachments] ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

Mark had only sent you a third of the pictures he had taken today, making sure to choose the best ones.

His back was up against the wall as he had his phone only centimeters away from his face, not blinking so that he would read your reaction the millisecond it seconds.

He subconsciously held his breath, the minutes ticking by so slowly. If he wasn't half viltrumite, he would've probably passed out with how long he was holding his breath for.

(Y/N) (L/N) jsjdjsskk

(Y/N) (L/N) my brain short circuited wtf

(Y/N) (L/N) im legit creaming my pants

(Y/N) (L/N) n u took those ?? thank GOD ur smooth brain didnt mess up those glorious pics

(Y/N) (L/N) hes so fineeeeeeee

Relief crashed over him, his tense muscles relaxing as he let out a giddy laugh. He rolled to his side, his smile reaching his ears as he took a moment to reread your text messages.

Even through text, you were endearing, and it seemed like you were more softer. While you still called him stupid, it was definitely less explosive if you were physically in front of him.

God, he was so happy you liked them.

Mark Grayson Do you believe me that I'm also an Invincible fan now?😁 ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

(Y/N) (L/N) idk wouldnt u like to know weather boy

Mark Grayson ? ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

(Y/N) (L/N) but actually good job n the pics, theyre so up close n personal

(Y/N) (L/N) thx

Mark let out an unimaginable squeal. It sounded inhuman—had he always been able to make a noise like that!? Was it possible to feel this happy and overjoyed over just a few pixels?

He hurriedly replied with a thank you, trying to come off like your small praise towards him wasn't a big deal to him. Which it totally was, but you didn't need to know that.

Mark Grayson Do you want to hangout after school? 🤔 ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

(Y/N) (L/N) tf hell no

(Y/N) (L/N) why would i willingly choose to be seen in public with u

(Y/N) (L/N) i already gave to charity n that was 3 days ago

Mark Grayson Not even if I have more Invincible stuff to show you? 😄 ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

(Y/N) (L/N)keys

Mark Grayson raised his brow. "Keys?" He whispered, tilting his head in confusion.

(Y/N) (L/N) fine wtv, but ur getting in my car so i can swerve in a nearby tree if i have to

(Y/N) (L/N) i know u dont get bitches so its a new experience but

(Y/N) (L/N) dont drool in my car ok creep

(Y/N) (L/N) i'll bill u the cleaning fee if u do

Mark Grayson I won't do that I promise ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

Mark Grayson I'll see you at school tomorrow then! 😊 ᴰᵉˡᶦᵛᵉʳᵉᵈ

Mark Grayson Where do you want to go after school? ᴰᵉˡᶦᵛᵉʳᵉᵈ

The read receipts suddenly turned into delivered, and he pursued his lips in disappointment. Though, his spirits lifted as he reminded himself that he got to successfully get you to hang out with him after school!

While the details of where you guys would be going will be fuzzy since you didn't reply, Mark still took it as a victory!

... Now, he just needs to figure out what Invincible stuff to you show you since he promised it. It couldn't be just more pictures; it had to be something more than that.

Mark sighed—at least he had 24 hours to figure it out.

keys = kill yourself

How I feel updating this fic after a month has passed:

Tag List for All Works: @calicocat-ina-tuxedo

#mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible show #invincible #fanfic #fic #small fic #female reader #reader insert #x reader #also posted on ao3 #totally hasnt been a month #romcom #does not fit canon plotline #and im not trying to make it fit #silly

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