#rex splode fanfic

[toxicrelief]

Crawling Back to You

Chapter six

Synopsis: You still cannot believe what happened yesterday, and the guilt is starting to eat you up. Asshole or not, Rex did not deserve that. Probably… It’s time to apologize, but you’re not sure he even wants to see you, let alone listen.

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Chapter: 6/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: Alcohol, Descriptions of Wounds

Note: I really liked writing this chapter, I hope you guys like it too :3 I think dialogue is sometimes a weak point of mine, but I really tried for some good banter

“What?”

“It’s nothing, I am glad you were able to figure it out.”

“Figure it out? Cecil, you sent me into the Guardians Headquarters never having fought a fuckin’ fly and winning. You don’t think that will raise suspicions?” You could feel the anger rising in you, maybe it was not directly at Cecil, but he was not helping. You could still feel the sting on your pride of Rex refusing your help. Even worse you could see the hurt in his eyes as he backed away from you. Just when you thought you were making progress. “You’re the one who is asking me to keep all these secrets and telling me it’s to their benefit! Where is the proof of that Cecil?”

“Look, kid, calm down. I promise it was good for you-”

“I am sorry I messed up Cecil, I should not have said those things to them the other night, but why would this be your go-to punishment?” You exclaimed, holding a few fingers to your temple.

“Kid. This wasn’t a punishment.” His face was extremely serious at this. “I wanted to make sure you could work well with the Guardians before putting you on the field with them. I noticed Rex was giving you the most trouble, and I figured if you could make it work, then I would know.”

“Putting me on the field?” You ran a hand through your hair, you were in too deep. “Cecil I hardly know how to fight, I hardly have more strength than the average person-”

“Approximately 6.7 times the strength of the average person-”

“That’s nothing compared to these other heroes who are twenty or one hundred times stronger-” You quickly turned to look at the new voice. “Donald, why are you even here?”

“God.” Cecil ran a hand over his face, then continued once you turned back to him. “You have to learn how to utilize your powers when you are in the field.”

“But you said-”

“Not to let the others know, I know what I said. You can be discrete about it Killdeer. You just punched Rex and left a fuckin’ crater in his chest. I want to see you do more like that.” He nods at Donald, who leaves the room. “Lights.”

The white room around you dissipates and you’re in your study area. The ReAnimen is still on the gurney at the back wall, and the blood bag filled with Viltrumite blood remains near it.

“I want you to practice what you learned on this guy.” Cecil stepped towards it, holding out some sort of device that with a click of a button caused it to sit up on its own volition. It slid off the edge in a clunky fashion that made your skin crawl. If it had nerve endings that would have felt quite painful. It stood at the other wall adjacent to the gurney, swaying in an unnatural way. You looked at it with a furrowed brow before stepping forward to look at the blood bag closer again. It could not be good to leave this out at room temperature. Did Cecil have it taken out every time you left the room, and returned every time you came back?

“Do I ever get to meet Invincible- Mark Grayson?” The question was sudden and uncalled for, a direct contrast to the conversation you were having. It was something you had been stewing on for a bit, and looking at his blood bag brought it back to the surface. You knew he worked closely with the Guardians and Cecil at several points, so it was bound to happen. But you would be lying if you said you weren’t feeling a little impatient.

“Mark?” Cecil slowly turned back to you; his head cocked ever so slightly.

“Well, I just was thinking about it. I have met all the Guardians, and I have been able to keep fairly good connections there-” Rex flashed in your mind, and you winced at the wound you had left him with “Well… mostly.” You looked at the ReAnimen and ran a hand over the blood bag. “And…I think” You paused again, debating on if you wanted to tell Cecil this new discovery. “Well, I noticed when I was training with Rex that the longer I spend in combat with him the more of a grip I got on his life source.” You tried to put it lightly. “It almost became difficult not to use my abilities on Rex, I wonder if it’s a defense mechanism of some sort.” You looked back at Cecil “But I wonder if being around Mark would help me get that mental connection with his blood.”

“His blood,” Cecil repeated, walking towards you and looking at the blood bag. His eyes quietly ran over it as you removed your hand. Maybe he didn’t know you knew whose blood it was? He knew you had access to the files though, why is he so hesitant? “If what you are saying is true, why would being around him help you? Rex was fighting you, ideally Invincible will not be.”

“I figure if I concentrate on it then maybe it still would be better? Cecil, not that long ago I was struggling to make ripples in blood bags, and yesterday I just caused one of the most severe hematomas I have ever seen. You said it yourself.” Shaking the recurring image of Rex from your mind, you put a hand on your hip straightening up to look him fully in the eye. “I am able to learn better from live subjects.” You gestured to the ReAnimen. “There might be blood in that, but it’s not flowing, it not…alive. Merely biological matter, I do not have that strong of a connection to it-”

“Invincible is a lot different than the Guardians, there are a lot higher stakes-”

“I know!” You said with mild frustration but took a breath as Cecil narrowed his eyes at you. “I know.” You repeated. “But as far as Viltrumite blood goes, I am making zero progress sitting here with the bag. Maybe once I can feel the live thing I can come back and connect to this.” You gesture vaguely to the blood bag. “And…”

You pause for a moment debating whether to ask. You had drastically better results on Rex than you did on the ReAnimen, you should be practicing with live people. But the ethics on that gets very muddy, very quickly. Sure, Cecil had his own agenda for you, one he was not letting you in on, but now you wanted to get better. You were motivated by it. When Cecil found you there was no doubt in your mind that you knew exactly what you wanted and who you wanted to be. You considered becoming a nurse originally, helping one patient at a time. That turned out well.

After your training with Rex, you fully started to grasp the world that you might be able to enter now. You did not have to be some kind of mutant among humans. You could work in alliance with a team. You weren’t stupid though. Cecil saw you as an asset, and it was not because of your personality. When you thought about it, you wondered if Cecil had bad intentions, but after working with him so long you genuinely believed he wanted what was best for the people. The question was, as you grow your abilities, how long until he sees you as not what is best for the people?

You saw Mark Grayson as the epitome of what a hero should try to be, fighting his own father for the safety of the planet. And now that that was done you were here. And Cecil obviously was hoping you could be backup if Mark changed his mind and decided he agreed with his father’s past sentiment. Did he have a backup for you? Had he thought that far ahead? This is Cecil, of course he had.

You closed your mouth rewording what you were going to say. “Next time the Guardians go out I want to be told. I want to go. Not sometime off in the future.”

“Out of the question, I want you to be combat-ready, you’ve made good progress kid, but don’t let it go to your head.”

“What do you want me to do Cecil? You just said you wanted me out with the Guardians on the field. Now I am agreeing with you what changed?”

“Nothing changed, you will be combat-ready, and you will be discrete. But you simply are not ready yet.”

“Every time they answer one of your calls and I am not at the scene to meet them it must be more and more suspicious. How long until the Guardians call this bullshit? I am happy to be somewhat in the dark Cecil-” happy was a bit too enthusiastic of a word for it “because I trust you, but that’s because I know I am doing good. Do the Guardians trust you that much? Does Rudy?” You pause pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead, then slowly look back up at Cecil. “Does Rex?”

Cecil stops for a breath, his eyes drilling holes into you.

“Next small infraction I’ll send you. But you alone. If you want to practice then practice, we’ll watch from here. Make sure you make it.”

Sweet!

…

Make sure you make it?

“Okay, that’s- that’ll work.” You nod quickly, a little surprised. You were half expecting that Cecil would just say no and leave.

Cecil goes back to leave again and hesitates, “Try not to lose your brains this time hm?” He gestures to the ReAnimen still waiting for you to initiate practice.

“Sorry-” You gave an awkward smile, rubbing your neck, but before you could finish what must have been your millionth apology to Cecil in the past week he was gone. Guess he was not trying to reduce his teleportation uses. The blue static remained in the air after his passing for a moment.

This was good, you were going to be able to engage in real practice. Not just play in the kiddy pool. You ran your hand over your scalp, fingers tangling in your hair. Well, you had real practice yesterday… and look how that turned out. You sighed quietly, feeling yourself fall into the position Rex had shown you, as you took your first swing you knew that you were going to have to apologize. But how do you make someone who already hated you forgive you for giving them such a blow?

__

The answer was alcohol. At least you hoped.

You twisted the cheap plastic bow on the neck of the bottle nervously in your hand as you waited for the elevator to take you up to the dormitory section of Headquarters. It crinkled obnoxiously to the point you considered ripping it off. Your head ached. But you didn’t go so far you were admitted to the hospital again, so that was a win in your mind.

Rae was the first to see you when you walked in, which you were very glad for. She was the friendliest and most helpful face to you in headquarters. Bulletproof and Shapesmith did not seem bad, but they were less inclined to naturally want to help you. Or in the case of Shapesmith, they did not seem to know they were breathing.

After a very quick conversation with Rae, she told you Rex had been held up in his room, he had not come down for training or any meals. She shrugged it off though, saying this was not uncommon. With which you tried to make yourself feel better. And it did not seem like Rae knew why you were looking for him. Which hopefully meant he was not spreading around your mistake. But it might also just be because he did not want to come across as weak, sporting that big of a bruise after your first training session.

An uncomfortable pit started to develop in your stomach. It was not the usual one when you knew you had to interact with him, usually dread fed by annoyance.

No, you were nervous. It was not backed by anger or even your knowledge that Rex on some level probably deserved this a little bit. You were nervous he would turn you away, refuse to look at you.

Would it really be that bad for Rex Splode to decide to ignore you? A little awkward maybe, especially if Cecil pulled a stunt like that again. But it definitely would not be the end of the world, right? You couldn’t stand the guy.

You could not stand him.

You straightened your back, looking at the door in front of you, it had a very handy plaque that let you know you were at the right room. You held your hand out, fist clenched, ready to knock, and you…hesitated.

You rolled your neck, frustration rising, this really was not that hard. Just knock. Just knock on the damn door come on-

“Hello?”

Your gaze snapped to the sound of the voice. It was feminine and unfamiliar. You quickly realized why. It was Duplikate, a member you had only talked to once so far with your slow integration into the team.

Suddenly you were holding the bottle down behind your leg, which as soon as you did this her eyes trailed down to follow it. Why did you just do that? Way to make yourself look as suspicious as possible.

“I’m just here to see Rex.” You say dryly. WHY DOES THIS FEEL SO WEIRD?

It’s because you do not want anyone looking into Rex further, knowing more about the extent of your powers. Cecil was getting into your head, goddamn it.

But what if that wasn’t the only reason you didn’t like being caught outside his door?

“Quick house call?” She said, her eyes narrowing slightly. Okay actually, why does she care? You were starting to get annoyed, maybe because you had already hit the peak of how awkward you could feel today, and your head was still killing you from practice earlier.

“Something like that.”

“In his room?”

Hello?

You shifted a little uncomfortably. “He hasn’t been down yet, Rae told me he was up here.”

Kate stood there several moments too long staring you down, and for a moment you considered just leaving. Maybe that would be better than whatever this pathetic attempt at forgiveness was.

Finally, she not-so-subtly rolled her eyes and passed you to the elevator. You watched as the light above the elevators frame lit up to indicate it was going down and finally turned your attention back to the door. You deciding to knock before you got in your head about it again.

There was no response.

You waited a few moments then knocked again to which you heard an annoyed groan, “One day off dickhead!”

Well at least he doesn’t sound like he’s dying.

With that confirmation, you slowly open the door. It is dim inside the room; he had probably been lounging in bed. It was surprisingly not as messy as you thought it would be. There were some drink remnants on a desk and random magazines around with houses on the front. The kind you see elderly people read at bus stops. Rex was sitting on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

“I said-! Oh shit.” His gaze immediately landed on you once he lifted his head slightly off his hands, and then it trailed down to your attempt at peace that you held tightly in your hands. He did not say anything, but he did straighten up a little as it seemed to fully dawn on him that you were standing in the doorway.

“Hi.” That’s it? All that freaking out and intense grappling with guilt and that’s all you start with.

“Hi.” Promising. That’s not a ‘get out dickhead, I helped you and you did that to me, GET OUT’ so you’ll take it. His expression was surprisingly soft, was he already drinking?

“I feel really bad about yesterday and I don’t want it to be a whole thing, you know?” Oh, very sympathetic. You winced at your accidental nonchalant tone.

“A whole thing?” He raised an eyebrow at you, straightening all the way up, his hands landing on the mattress to lean on. He still was wearing that grey tank top, and in the dim light, you could see the bruise that was very prevalent over the collar of it. It looked worse than yesterday.

“That’s not what I meant.” You close the door behind you and immediately Rex perks up. You hold out the bottle to him, hoping it portrays your intentions better than your words are.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” He gives you a snarky smile and just like that your anxiety dries up a little. He seems less pathetic now, so you don’t feel the need to tip-toe around his feelings.

“I’m saying sorry.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I know.”

“Multiple times.”

“I know.”

“I said to leave it be.”

“I know.”

“Yet here you are, alone in my room, offering me a drink?” Ah. Kate’s reaction was feeling a lot more valid now.

“Don’t let it go to your head, it’s cheap.” You nudge it towards him again, and he takes it with a sigh, probably directed at you not taking part in his banter.

“Nice bow.” He said dryly, his fingers brushing over the twisted plastic you had forgotten about during your interaction outside his door.

“Thanks, it cost extra.” You decided to look around his room a bit, even though you knew he probably did not want you to.

There were a few pictures on the wall, some of Teen Team, and a few just of him. Which you thought screamed how huge his ego was. Narcissism must run strong with him. Your eyes paused on a picture of him and a redhead, she was the one taking it, and his arm was over her shoulder. You definitely recognized her; she had been in the files, but you could not place her. She was in several of the photographs, wearing a pink suit in the one of the Teen Team.

“So, was there anything else you wanted?” Rex’s low voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned around to look at him again.

He had just been drinking straight out of the bottle. Now his was hand clenched loosely around it as it hung just a few inches above the floor. You debated for a moment reiterating your offer from yesterday.

“I-”

Rex winced slightly, his free hand immediately reaching up to his chest. It would have been missable if you were still looking at the wall.

“I want to fix that.” You said shortly, folding your arms over your chest.

“No.”

“Why?”

“How do I know you’re not going to make it worse? You did that fuckin’ thing in the first place.”

You rolled your eyes walking up to him. “Rex, be serious for five seconds, I was brought on as a healer. Why not let me do my one purpose huh?”

“One purpose my balls.”

“Very mature.”

“Look, I just don’t want it okay? Back off.”

“It obviously hurts; you’ve been in your room all day-”

“No I haven’t, who said that?”

“Rae.”

“Ugh.”

You’re losing your patience, and he is acting like a child. You step towards him, and he has to strain his neck back slightly to look up at you.

“Let me help you and I’ll leave, you won’t have to hear from me until the next time Cecil makes me come to Headquarters. Don’t let me help you and I’ll be back every day, and I’m taking that with me.” You gesture to the liquor in his hand.

He sighs. “Every day?”

You nod, and he looks to the side, obviously debating.

“Will it hurt?”

“A little.”

“Are you lying?”

“A little.”

He grumbles but finally gives a small nod. You grab the chair from his desk and pull it in front of him.

“Woah, can’t you just heal it from over there or some shit?” He has his hand on the front of the chair and is pushing it away.

“No.”

“No, you can’t or no you won’t?” God this guy never shuts up.

“I have to have direct contact with the skin to heal.”

“Are you just trying to get me to take my shirt off?” He gives you a cheesy smile which you respond to with an exceedingly unimpressed look. “Fine. Jeez.” He lets go of the chair and you sit down. He puts down the bottle and moves gingerly to take off the tank top. A slight groan left him at the movement.

It looks a lot worse today, the edges are yellowing, and you can still see the blood pooling under his skin. It is honestly a little grotesque to look at.

You scoot the chair closer, sitting directly between his legs. He doesn’t say anything, but he leaned back slightly as you got closer. You look at him, silently telling him you are going to start. Your dominant hand cautiously reached out and your fingertips made tender contact with his skin. He was practically radiating heat. His body was desperately trying to heal this, and quickly.

After closing your eyes you felt the connection click, the healing process beginning.

“The fuck?” Rex tensed, closing his eyes tightly.

“I warned you.”

“Hardly!”

“You should feel what it’s like with a broken bone, it’s so much weirder.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Why are you assuming I’m trying to make you feel better?”

Rex doesn’t respond. He is sitting quietly now, it’s almost too quiet. You can hear his breathing, the slight hitches as the pain ebbs and flows. You could feel the pace of his heart under your hand. Elevated. Pain will do that.

You could feel something else now, his eyes on your face. He was watching you. It almost made you dig your fingers in. Determined to make him look away. Instead, you pretended you could not feel his gaze and returned your focus to your job.

All of this bullshit just for him to give in at the chance of you taking back cheap liquor. You almost rolled your eyes. He was so aggravating. But even you knew that you didn’t like the idea of him hating you. Sure, he could dislike you, he had no problem making that clear. But why did he have to vehemently hate you? It would be easier if you thought he was no one of consequence. But he was one of the good guys. You knew his file, the kind of work he did, especially after Omniman and Invincible’s big fight.

Maybe it just bothered you that an ass could still do good things. That was it. You were jealous even. You couldn’t imagine being carefree enough to just be rude to whoever.

That’s not entirely true, you did not find it particularly hard to be mostly nice, but still. It was really getting under your skin.

Suddenly you’re vocalizing it.

“Why do you hate me?” You asked softly, you could still feel his gaze watching you. Your hand gently pressed against the brunt of the wound. You could feel it mending but you had to move slowly, especially with how close you came with the ReAnimen earlier.

“Who said I hated you, Joy?”

“You have been rude to me since the day we met. You don’t even call me my real name.” You shifted your gaze up to his for a moment, his eyes were half-lidded, staring into yours.

After a moment he looked away and took a swig of the drink. “You don’t deserve to be on the Guardians.” Stale, old, overused.

“And that’s it? Something completely out of my control and you use that to hate me?”

“You could tell Cecil you don’t want to be a part of it.”

You gritted your teeth and focused on his chest again, the bruise was shrinking in diameter, a minute or so and he’d be good as new. It was back to the tense silence, but now there was a buzz of irritation. Maybe it was coming from both of you, but it was definitely coming from you.

One minute and you could just leave, or maybe you could just leave it partially healed, it’s not like he deserves much more than that. Pompous, arrogant-

“I don’t hate you.”

You didn’t respond. The remaining time moved extremely slow. With every second that passed you could almost swear you could feel the rhythmic thumping of his heart more.

And then you were done. The ugly purple and yellow coloring was gone and with it the pain. You absent-mindedly trailed your fingers over his skin, making sure you were done. He stiffened slightly and you pulled your hand back. Rex lets out a slow, shaky, exhale. And you’re putting the chair back at the desk.

“I don’t hate you.” He repeats as you are pulling his door open to leave.

Your eyes linger on his face, he’s giving a sad excuse of a slight smile. It almost irks you.

“You have a funny way of showing it.” You retort, leaving him behind you and closing the door.

Author's Note: I am trying out using a fic specific tag at the request of @kittymeowmrow but I am really new to Tumblr so let me know if I am doing it wrong?

divider credit: @/ saradika

[digitald0rk]

rex thoughts i just had to get out of my head. gn! reader. kinda suggestive.

rex sloan who's awfully romantic.

rex sloan who can't keep his hands off of you — his hands are calloused yet his touch is gentle but firm, slipping underneath your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin, his lips against yours are insatiable.

biting down on your bottom lip, he breathes heavily at the small sound you let out at the action, his grip on your waist tightening as he lays you down on the bed, his hold on you not faltering in the slightest — his lip don't leave yours, as if the mere action of pulling away is going to hurt him.

and when he slips his tongue in your mouth, you're done for. you can taste the wine you two had shared earlier, that he had so proudly announced to you — he had stolen from immortal.

he presses his body against yours, his hands roaming up and down your body, not leaving a single inch untouched.

rex sloan who slowly trails kisses down your neck, he takes his time. each kiss leaving you burning up with a desire only he can fulfill.

your head is fuzzy and you barely register him tenderly brushing your hair away from your covered eye, tucking the strands behind your ear after pressing a kiss to them, the action almost reverent.

you send him a slightly surprised look, the difference between his earlier desperate, needy actions and this sweet tender gesture is definitely not good for your heart.

"what?" he tries to sound cocky and confident like his usual self but you don't miss the slight quiver in his voice.

rex sloan who gently cups your jaw in his warm hand, eyes sparkling with something you've never seen before, the intensity of his gaze burns your skin and leaves behind a flush, matching his own.

"wanna see both your eyes, pretty." he whispers, looking right into your eyes.

he flashes you his signature charming grin, although you can't help but notice how his eyes are filled with a certain fondness — a sincerity that makes your chest tighten.

rex sloan who, for the first time in his life, is ready to strip away all the walls he built to protect himself and is ready to bare his heart and soul to you.

rex sloan who's scared shitless, he's never been this open — he's never done this before, but he trusts you.

rex sloan who decides to give you his heart because you trust him — trust he's changed, that he's trying his best.

rex sloan who will never forgive himself if he disappoints you.

© digitald0rk 2025. do not steal any of my works. thank you for reading, interactions are always appreciated and welcome! want more? click here ★

[sqgeism]

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 | rex sloan 'splode' x gender neutral reader

love mail — general + romantic headcanons (at the end..) for rex sloan as promised ! if u can catch on to the little notes that hint at in this fic, you get a bandaid bc i'm sorry for writing that (〃_ _)σ. no layout bc im on my phone, will fix l8r :3

now... dating rex at the beginning is.. tough. you had to admit, there were quite the number of ocassions you considered breaking up with him. he was just so.. reckless, and sometimes he was just an absolute jerk! it was like he had no regard for your feelings, and you were getting sick of him struggling to even do the bare minimum.

there was a point, he remembers it well. mark and eve had invited you and rex to a double date, it wasn't at all with bad intentions, even considering rex's history with eve. just a good opportunity for friends to bond, and you happily agreed while rex just gave a relunctant huff.

and it wasn't intentional, but.. something about rex changed that night. you were so — happy — around mark and eve. making quips, playing games, easily talking to them — he had never seen you smile like that in so long. but while he was (unknowingly) admiring that expression of yours, rex sees the way it ever so slightly falters at the sight of mark and eve bring each other in for a kiss.. a longing look in your eyes for that kind of love. but you're quick to brush it off when they turn their attention back to you, like it never happened, like your heart wasn't dying inside.

rex didn't want that, he didn't want to see you sad like that ever again. and so, he wanted to be better.

that morning, waking up again to an empty bed — no surprise — but what did surprise you was the fresh plate of breakfast on your nightstand, and a note that just had r.s, rex's initials. it's all your favorites, from choice of main course, to sides, and fruits or vegetables. you wonder what prompted such.. an oddly romantic gesture, but you don't question it.

after finishing the delightful breakfast, you make your way to the bathroom, only to grumble in realization that you had just finished the last of your skincare products — but again, like the world expected you to complain, newly bought restocks right where you usually kept each product. now this was just suspicious, especially the dumb stickynote with (an admittedly poor rendition of) rex's proud face on it. "what is up with him today?" you muttered, being a little unsettled with all the kind things he's been doing today. and it's only been two, kind of speaks volumes the kind of relationship you two had before he changed.

with a freshly washed face (that harbored a confused expression), you make your way to the kitchen — following the sound of dishes being washed and the hums of your boyfriend. "rex?" his head turns to the sound of your voice, and there he was. hair up, as per usual, shirtless — as per usual — and looking like he actually liked doing dishes. which, no, the rex you've been dating would rather get into a dumb argument with who should wash.

"what have you done with my boyfriend." you say, genuinely a little threatened. if a rex clone came to try and assassinate you through pretending to be your lover, they were doing a horrible impression of him. "babe.." rex sighed, turning the sink off and brushed his hands dry against a nearby towel, not missing the skeptical look you gave him.

"i know.. that i haven't been the best." he began, walking towards you. you felt even more skeptical, where is this coming from? "i saw it, last night, at the party."

he's standing infront of you now, those pretty eyes of his that always catch your attention are piercing into him, it's a little intimidating — really. "i know i'vw been a jerkwad, hell, much worse than that." rex's hand slowly trails up to your cheek, brushing strands of hair away as he sees the face of the person he fell inlove with. his heart aches at the affection he's giving you, to think you were so.. starved of it. he was a horrible man, and to think he promised to care for you. "and i'm so, so sorry, honey. please, i.. i wish i could fix it all overnight, but i'll try."

his other hand takes yours, bringing it up to his lips and presses feather light kisses on your palm, a promise. a promise you would never expect rex to be making. "i'll try to be good. i want to make up for all the times i treated you like shit, like you weren't the person that deserved the whole world and more. and if.." rex stutters, his tongue dying at the words. "if.. you don't want to forgive me, and you want to leave, i'll help you pack your bags and— mmh"

you place your hand that he was kissing over his lips, shutting him up. "stop being so sappy, idiot. i forgive you."

from that day onwards, rex tries his best to be better. taking you out on dates based on places you've mentioned, and your personal favorite was when he brought you (as a surprise) to a themepark you frequented in your childhood. seeing that glint of child-like excitement in your eyes, he wouldn't trade your happiness for the world. he'd let it all burn to see you smile.

he's been trying to be more honest, but also to be a good listener. he wants to be there to soothe you, the same way he's present for when you're happy. for every bad and good moment, he wants nothing more but to share it with you. he's spent so long shutting people out, rex has come to terms that he should treasure the person who fought to keep themselves in.

and may immortal keep him sane, when he sees you with a baby. evem worse, a baby girl. god, he wants a baby girl so bad — biological or adopted, he doesn't care. he just wants to have a family with you. his future, it's all you. he gets better as a person, as a hero, and eventually retire with you by his side. his full, undying, loving attention on you till your last breath.

rex loves you with his whole heart. and he hopes that he can make you believe that.

[icanmeltanigloo]

im bored is there an audience for invincible x wonder woman! reader with part smau ive lowk been fucking w/ smaus recently and LOVE 😻😻😻 wonder woman!!

[real-hot-grl-shi]

hey so please kill me

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤMY CRAZY BOYFRIENDㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Teen Team Guys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : When They Act Crazy But Think It's Normal.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Mark Grayson, Rex Sloan, Rudolph 'Rudy' Conners, Male Eve Wilkins.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— MARK GRAYSON ⋆

You sigh, rubbing your eyes as you slide open your closet door, fully prepared to grab a sweater and move on with your night. Instead, you’re greeted by the sight of Mark, squatting in the corner like some feral raccoon, clutching one of your hoodies to his chest.

He blinks up at you, wide-eyed.

“…Hey.”

You don’t even react. You just shut the door again.

“Wait—babe! Come back! This isn’t what it looks like!” His muffled voice seeps through the wood.

“Oh, it’s exactly what it looks like.” You rub your temples. “Mark, why the fuck are you in my closet?”

There’s a long silence, then a hesitant, “…To be close to you?”

You groan.

“Okay—wait—before you get mad,” he tries, “I technically haven’t left. Like, all day. So, technically, I haven’t been following you, I’ve just… always been here.”

“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE!!!”

He bursts out like a guilty child, tripping over your shoes in the process. “I just like your smell, okay?! It’s comforting!”

You’re pretty sure he’s stolen half your wardrobe at this point.

Then you grab your coat and walk out of your room. You can’t deal with this. "I'm sleeping at a friend's house."

"Okay!" he calls after you. "I'll be right here when you get back!"

— REX SLOAN ⋆

You're at a restaurant, minding your business, when the waiter places a drink in front of you.

"Here's your drink, ma'am," the poor guy says.

Rex lunges across the table, knocking everything over in his path. "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, BUD?!"

The entire restaurant turns to stare as Rex grabs the waiter by the collar.

"Sir, I—"

"DO YOU THINK SHE WANTS YOUR DRINK? YOU THINK SHE WANTS YOU?! YOU TRYNA FLIRT?!" Rex’s hands start to glow, dangerous sparks flying. The table catches fire.

The waiter is pale. "Sir, this is my job—"

"OH, SO YOUR JOB IS TO HIT ON MY GIRL?! I’LL BLOW YOUR NUTS OFF!"

"Rex," you hiss, face buried in your hands. "Put him down. Right. Fucking. Now."

Silence.

Then Rex lets go. The waiter collapses onto the floor, trembling.

Rex turns to you, panting, eyes crazed. Then he smirks, sliding into the seat next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "So anyway, babe, I was thinkin’ about gettin’ a tattoo of your name across my chest."

You stare at the burning table. "I'm leaving."

— RUDOLPH CONNERS ⋆

You wake up to the soft, persistent buzzing of your phone. You squint at the screen.

Unknown Number: Good morning. You should drink some water. Your body temperature was slightly high at 3:42 AM.

Your stomach drops.

You: Who is this???

Unknown Number: You left your window unlocked again. I locked it for you. You’re welcome.

You don’t respond. Instead, you launch out of bed, rip open your curtains—

And stare directly at a hovering drone. It stares back.

It waves at you.

“Jesus Christ,” you whisper.

Your phone buzzes again.

Unknown Number: Why did you close your curtains? :(

— EVAN WILKINS ⋆

You freeze as soon as you step into your apartment. Something is… off.

The walls. They’re a different color. Your furniture? Not where you left it. Your wardrobe? Different.

Oh no. Not again.

“Surprise!” His voice is so cheerful, it makes you want to throw something.

You whirl around. There he is, standing in your newly pink-painted living room, arms wide open like he expects a hug.

You stare at him, horrified. “What did you do?”

“I made everything better!” he beams. “I mean, you have terrible taste. No offense.”

“No offense?!” You gesture around wildly. “You redesigned my entire apartment without asking!”

“Yeah, because I love you,” he says, like that explains everything.

You inhale deeply. Do not commit murder. Do not commit murder.

“Also, I made sure the door won’t open until we talk about your feelings,” he adds helpfully.

You scream into a pillow.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[jks1uv]

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝐸𝑥𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ; mark grayson / invincible

summary: in every universe, mark grayson turns into his father and seals his destiny as a true viltrumite. what if things are different this time?

pairing: fem!reader x mark grayson.

trope: childhood best friends to lovers + fate gives love a chance.

genre: fluff + angst + slow-burn romance + hurt / comfort + some comedy.

warnings‼️: crude language + spoilers for s3 (mark’s variants) + amber & eve never get w mark but r goated wingwomen & friends for reader + william, rick & rex r goated wingmen for mark + 2 jealous!mark moments + the tiniest moment of tension + multiverse talk + a mention of the chicago incident feat. scott / powerplex + REX LIVES 🗣️‼️🔥🔥 + a short & sweet kiss scene.

word count: 9,975.

random disclaimerrr: when eve said “you don’t deserve this” 😞 like he always just out here suffering 💔 kate, immortal, cecil & scott pmo so bad like bruh can y’all just pls stfu pls 🙏🏽 I CANNOT BELIEVE MY GOAT REX IS DEAD LIKE BRUH HOW 😭😞💔 but the 2 ppl majority of the fandom hates get their happy ending… mkay… happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jks1uv

Mark Grayson has always liked you.

It was the first day of school, 2nd grade homeroom. The first day of school was always nerve wracking but this time was different.

His desk was next to you per the seating chart and you were the last kid to come in.

You were wearing a black t-shirt with some white bows on it and sky blue jeans with pink flowers embroidered on the pockets. White twinkle toes with pink and purple rhinestones.

Your hair was styled in 2 ponytails with cute bows on the bands.

Your eyes bright and a shy smile on your lips.

“Hi.” You bashfully said to him.

“Hi.” He said back in a daze.

His seven year old heart was fluttering and he was as red as a tomato when he realized it was you! You were the girl whose empty desk he was seated next to!

You always shared homeroom, if not, recess with him in elementary school.

Then came middle school, where you had at least 2 classes with him.

High school was a bit easier as you saw him 3-4 times a day, and that’s not including clubs or other extracurricular activities.

He spent 11 years like that. Seeing you in class, in the hallways, at lunch or after school.

Your relationship with him never wavered. Your character was still the same even after new chapters and opportunities for development.

He’s endured some insane shit, but he’s so happy the one constant in his life remained consistent.

“You still have a crush on her?!”

“Shut up, William. Or do you want the whole world to know.” Mark chides.

William snorts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world (it is). “The whole world already knows, it’s just your dumbass that’s somehow oblivious.”

“Give the lover boy a break.” Amber lightly teases.

Mark sighs and rubs his face with his hands, trying to hide the redness creeping up on him without his consent.

“Is that her?” Rick points towards Mark’s dream girl.

But what he forgot to mention was the living explosion (literally) walking alongside you.

“What’s he doing here?” Eve’s surprised Rex decided to step foot on college campus willingly.

William subtly side-eyes Mark and makes a desperate attempt to hold in his laughter by squeezing Rick’s hand.

Mark slowly stands, a confused look on his face.

“I’ll… go find out.” He says it like a question, like he’s unsure if that’s what he should do.

Amber and Eve share a knowing look.

“You’re funny.” You say as you catch your breath.

Rex shrugs nonchalantly and smirks. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

You’re shaking your head and are about to say something when you see Mark in front of you.

“Mark.” Your eyes crinkle as you smile.

You go in for your usual hug and Mark accepts it.

Unbeknownst to you that he’s making wide eyes among other facial expressions in a desperate attempt to make contact with the other male.

The hug lasts for a second longer and you ignore the butterflies that swarm your belly, deducing that he probably just wanted to hug you a bit longer.

No big deal you think as you’re screaming inside the longer you feel Mark’s arms around your waist.

When you meet Mark’s face, he allows himself to give you a tight-lipped smile.

“Mark, this is-”

“Rex! Heyy, how’s it going?” He chuckles nervously and rubs the back of his neck.

Your eyebrows furrow and you tilt your head a bit. “Yeah… wait, you guys know each other?”

Rex is enthusiast with his reply. “Fuck yeah! This is my best bro.”

He slaps Mark’s back with a confident grin and the “bro” laughs awkwardly.

You know, one of those ‘ha ha ha’ type laughs.

“Okay. So, um, Mark?”

“Yeah?” Aaand his voice cracks.

You politely ignore it but Mark wants to die inside.

“I was wondering if you were still down to go to the mall?”

Mark knows you’re attentive and take your friendships seriously, which isn’t old news. But he can’t help feeling special that’s you remembered a thought from a couple days prior.

“Only if you’ll buy me boba.”

Mark never lets you buy him anything if he can help it, and that’s how it’s always been.

You insist, he’ll deny; but that doesn’t mean his sentiment isn’t nice.

You blink and softly smile at his bargain. “Deal.”

Rex hums thoughtfully, a hand at his chin and his gaze on the sky.

“Can I join? I don’t have anything going onnn~” He suggests in a sing-song manner.

“No, you can’t!” Mark suddenly yells.

You look at Mark with furrowed brows. “Mark, don’t be rude.”

“Yeah, Mark, don’t be rude.” Rex repeats with a sly expression.

Mark deeply exhales through his nose and puts on a fake smile. “Rex, can I talk to you? Alone.”

“Sure!”

He follows Mark about 15 steps away from you.

You decide to sit down on a bench nearby and watch some TikTok to pass the time.

“Hey, so, um- quick question: what the hell are you doing here?”

Rex scoffs. “What, I can’t come visit my bro?”

Mark quirks an eyebrow and crosses his arms, unimpressed.

Rex puts his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll be honest. I was here to talk to you about Cecil,” He looks over at you and sighs dramatically.

“But?” Mark presses when he sees Rex eyeing you.

“I see a hot girl and I can’t help myself, you know?” He smirks knowing he’ll rile Mark up and get the exact reaction he wants.

Mark immediately gets in his line of sight, making Rex back up a bit from the fast and unforgiving wind.

“Woah, man! A little warning next time before you almost blow me away?”

Mark ignores him. “Don’t call her that.”

The truth is, Rex came to campus with a purpose.

Mark never talks about you, but Eve may have let your name slip into conversation a few times.

Rex may be aloof and jerk-ish but he’ll be serious when it’s time.

He’s seen the way Mark’s face changed every time Eve mentioned you; his head would tilt slightly, he’d have a small, unnoticeable smile on his lips.

Rex suspected a crush and he was right! Of course he was, look at the way he’s being defensive of you.

There was just one problem, he didn’t know how you looked. He asked Eve and she was suspicious, but when he revealed his own suspicions, she indulged him.

So, the two of them made a plan with Amber, William and Rick; Operation: Get Mark To Man Up and Admit His Feelings Before You Slip Away.

- FLASHBACK -

“She’s wearing a PINK t-shirt with ripped blue jeans. Oh, and a black backpack.” William directs.

“Pink shirt, black backpack, ripped blue jeans. Got it.”

“PINK as in the brand, not the color.” Amber reminds.

“Wait, what? So what color is the shirt?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s dark green..? And the logo is an even darker shade. ” Eve remembers.

Rex is so unimpressed.

“So, let me get this straight; she’s wearing a shirt from the brand PINK, but it’s just dark green?”

“I’d say you’re on the right track.” Rick chimes.

“This shit is ridiculous. I mean, seriously. Why can’t you girls just wear stuff that warrant normal descriptions?”

“Shut up, Rex.” Amber and Eve say simultaneously.

- FLASH FORWARD -

“Alright, her unwanted, meddling knight in shining armor.”

Mark is about to defend himself against that true baseless allegation when William and Rick find him.

“What’re we gossiping about?”

There’s a glint in William’s eyes, the kind you don’t miss if you’re paying attention to the very specific lilt in his tone.

“Oh, I was just telling Marky boy here,”

Mark side-eyes Rex at the ridiculous nickname.

“How he’s Y/n’s unwanted, meddling knight in shining armor.”

William claps his hands together. “That’s actually an accurate assessment.”

Mark’s offended. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

Rick clears his throat as a guise to hide the very subtle laugh itching his throat.

“Sassy.” William says impressed in his best friends comeback skills.

Rex gets a phone call and excuses himself, giving William a crisp high-five and Rick a chest bump.

“Go get your Juliet, Romeo!” He cheers.

William shakes his head as he guffaws at the man.

“Dude, he's hilarious. How come you've never introduced him to us before?”

“Do I really have to answer that?”

William rolls his eyes at him.

“Anyways. When are you gonna tell Y/n you love her, again?”

“William!” Mark whines.

Rick smiles and expands his thinking.

“He meant to say, you should tell her soon. Before she's with someone else and leaves you to collect the pieces of your broken heart.”

“Not gonna lie, that's exactly what he needs to hear right now.”

Mark can't lie either. “Yeah. You kinda ate with that.”

William cringes and Rick winces with embarrassment.

“Hey! So, uhh, never say that again. Hope this helps.” William makes a finger heart.

“Wha- but I used the phrase correctly! Oh, come on guys, seriously?”

- MEANWHILE, WITH AMBER & EVE -

Amber and Eve thought it’d be a good idea to have a quick chat with you while you were waiting on Mark.

They casually brought up relationships and basically implied that ‘men ain’t shit’, but you disagree with that attitude.

“I dunno... Mark’s a good guy.”

“Oh yeah, for sure! Mark’s one of the good ones.”

Eve nods along to Amber’s statement.

She reminisced on her fair share with toxic relationships. She deliberately left out how it was with Rex but that’s okay, you don’t need to know that…

“Are you and Mark..?”

You feel your cheeks warm at the thought but you’d be lying if you deny your feelings for him.

“No.” You state with your head down and hands in your lap, playing with a ripped thread on your jeans.

“Huh. That’s a shame.” Eve comments.

That gets your attention.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that you and Mark seem…”

“Ideal.” Amber completes smoothly.

Your wide eyes and mouth agape give you away.

“You've never thought about him like that?”

You have, but how do you admit this to Mark’s coworker and friend without it getting back to him?

You think Amber and Eve are cool, they’re nice to you; but they're more Mark’s friends.

To you, they're friends of a friend.

Amber senses your hesitation and sat down next to you.

“We won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Eve locks her lips with an imaginary key and throws it away.

That elicits a small laugh out of you, making you feel a bit more confident to share your secret.

You look over and see Mark and Rex still talking, now joined by William and Rick.

You contemplate for a moment before admitting it.

“Yeah.” You breathe out.

Eve hums in thought. “Let me guess, you don’t want to say anything in case it’ll fuck up the friendship?”

You gasp lightly at her spot-on description. “How’d you know?!”

She just shrugs nonchalantly and Amber bites her tongue to point out how obvious the entire situation is.

“I do like him, a lot... but what if he doesn’t feel the same? I would've ruined something special for something selfish and it would stay with me forever.”

You rant to the 2 girls you’re closest with and somehow, it feels right. You dismiss the thought of them turning out like the average mean girls in a teenage rom-com.

“But what if he does like you back?” Eve proposes.

“Then he’ll have to make the first move.” You shrug obviously.

“I know that’s right.”

You feel giddy from Amber’s approval.

She’s always been the type to keep it short and sweet but once you get her talking? She’ll always keep it real.

“We gotta go but we’ll see you later?”

Eve's already planning on the next hangout because she likes you enough to wanna help. She doesn’t like a lot of people so consider yourself special!

“Oh! Uh- yeah! Sure, that works with me.”

“It’s settled then.”

“See ya, Y/n.”

Coincidentally, you see the boys leave, leaving Mark to come to you.

“Shall we?”

“We shall.”

“Just let me try it.” Mark whines.

You shook your head and stood your ground. “It'll be gone in under ten seconds.”

He gasps dramatically, a hand to the heart like a lady of the opera. “You don't have faith in me?! I am a superhero-”

“I'm sure that's what they say.”

Your sarcasm isn’t foreign but he grows quiet at the remark.

It just slipped out so easily, without care or regard. You immediately try to make it right.

“I’m sorry, Mark.”

“No, no. It’s okay. You didn’t mean it like that.”

Ever the sweetheart but you refuse.

“No, it isn’t.” You stop walking. “I was careless with what I said and it’s not right.”

He looks at you with appreciation and gives you a smile. “Thank you, Y/n. It feels nice to be seen as I am.”

That both warms and saddens your heart.

You know how much he’s been through and even though you’ll never truly understand, you know he can still count on you. You’ll be there for him and that’s gotta mean something.

“Of course.”

You and Mark spend the next hour chatting and idly checking out things in the stores.

You wander into the dress and gown section and are completely in awe of the collection. Every color you can think of in every style: silky, thigh cut, halter top, strapless.

Your hands run through the material and you’re reminded of the spring formal coming up soon.

Not everyone gets the chance of going but you have a friend who extended the courtesy of inviting you and a plus one.

You recall the last time you went to a dance: your senior year of high school's prom. It was memorable. You were a part of a small group that went together; consisting of your friends.

You took photos with Mark and danced with him for a bit but not like anything you wished. There's nothing romantic about screaming club anthem lyrics while getting twerked on but since it was Mark's ass, you didn’t complain.

That was the first and last time he accepted drinks from William, by the way.

You chuckle quietly to yourself in memory of that glorious night when Mark comes up behind you.

"You ready to go or do you wanna try some of them on?"

You take another look at the gorgeous dresses and think.

Mark's hoping you say yes.

He won't admit it anytime soon and despite him already thinking you're the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, prom night solidified that for him.

You had him starstruck.

His hear stuttered, adrenaline rushed through his veins and conjured up a swarm of butterflies in his stomach.

SImply put, every feeling and action that describes a man in awe of a pretty lady was an accurate depiction of him.

“Nah, maybe some other time.” You decide.

Mark nods, looking forward to the future dress tryouts. “Okay.”

Later, you have dinner with Mark, Oliver and Debbie.

Mark flew out and brought home some authentic pasta and garlic bread from Italy.

You rolled your eyes playfully and claimed he was being “extra” but reevaluated your statement when you thought about it.

If you could move that fast, you'd go to another country to have their finest food as well.

“It's so good to have you, honey.”

Debbie was always so nice to you, it made you feel happy and proud of yourself knowing someone's mom wholeheartedly accepts your presence in their kids life.

“It's good to be here.”

“Are you gonna stay the night?!” The purple little boy asked full of hope.

You didn't want to let him down but you had no choice.

“I'm sorry, Oliver, but not tonight.” You ruffle his hair and give him an apologetic smile.

You know he's bummed out when he doesn't sound that infectious laugh and tell you you're messing up his hair.

“Oh.”

You feel Mark's gaze on you and when you look up, he offers a sympathetic smile.

“I can stay until it's time for you to sleep.”

You know you've got him, it's an offer he can't refuse.

He's all smiles now and hugs you by the waist, his head laying on your chest.

You smile and hug him back, your head laying on his.

Mark cleans the table and Oliver takes out the trash while you help Debbie with the dishes.

“It doesn't matter how many times I say “no”, does it?”

You hum and shake your head. “Nope.”

You make small talk while you dry after she scrubs and rinses. About college, your plans after college, Mark.

“What about him?” You wonder.

“I mean, how has be been since...”

You see a look of helplessness on her face.

Debbie may be his mother but even she is not immune to the conflict of secrecy in her son's life.

You instantly feel bad.

Mark always tells you everything but to have his own mom ask you things about her son makes the situation complex.

You turn your head over your shoulder and see Mark playing a video game with his baby brother.

When Mark told you about Nolan, what happened to them on Thraxa and the events that unfolded afterwards, you didn't know how to respond.

As if hearing Nolan reveal his plans for Earth and call Debbie a “pet” wasn't heartbreaking enough, you were there with Debbie when Mark was brutally assaulted by his own father.

Then you hear of Nolan's second family he while the first one was still trying to keep it together and deal with the devastating aftermath of the biggest betrayal.

You almost cried when Mark broke down about Angstrom Levy hurting Debbie and Oliver.

You were out of the country on a field trip with your classmates when that happened. Devastated was an understatement for how you felt to hear both Mark and Debbie in the hospital from William.

Mark shamefully admitted to killing Angstrom, thinking that would sever the bond between you two. He expected you to be afraid of him, no matter how awful he’d feel about doing that to you.

It was the total opposite, you embraced him and let him cry on your shoulder. You let him feel everything but you also let him feel your hand in his.

You looked him in the eyes and told him that he did what he had to do and if killing Angstrom was the solution, then so be it.

“Mark told me everything. From seeing Mr. Grayson—”

You see a flash of hurt in Debbie's eyes at the mention of his name and almost forget that before he was known as Omni-Man, he was Mr. Grayson. He was Mark's dad.

“—again and about Oliver. Up until Angstrom and how the last thing he did was hurt you and Oliver.”

Debbie drys her hands and looks out of the window above the sink.

You can tell she’s disassociating. Her eyes seem so far away and crestfallen.

You don’t know if she’s getting much sleep but you also can’t imagine getting any if you were her.

You put a hand on her shoulder and she’s visibly shaken out of her thoughts.

“He’s gonna be okay, and so are you.”

She looks at you like you’ve lit up a candle at the end of a very dark tunnel.

Debbie leans in for a hug, eliciting a small sigh when you strengthen the embrace a little.

You figured she should feel taken care of for once.

“Thank you.”

You hear her sincerity and make a mental note to talk about this with Mark later on.

Oliver is tired out from having a “good playdate” with you and his older brother.

You tuck him in for the night per his request and can't help but feel the warmth from taking care of him touch your heart.

He's a growing boy but despite the many changes one goes through due to that constant stage of life, his feelings for you don't change.

Mark loves how much Oliver loves you. He loves seeing 2 of the most important people in his life get along so well, secretly admiring the way you've grown a soft spot in his mother's heart, too.

“They grow up so fast.” Mark attempts to humor.

You hum and try your best not to cry dwell on the bittersweetness of that phrase.

“Yeah.”

You're sitting on Mark's bed, looking fondly at the one of many drawings the kid made for you.

You softly exhale and bring up the conversation you had earlier with Debbie.

“Mark, I have something I want to talk to you about.”

He looks at you knowingly. “I know.”

Your eyes widen a bit at that revelation. “You do?”

He nods, a pursed smile on his face. “I have super hearing, remember?”

How did you forget that?

You close your eyes and exhale sharply, feeling silly for forgetting that power of his. “Right, duh.”

You don’t want to push the conversation if he’s not feeling it but you want to know if you did the right thing.

“I... didn’t overstep… right?”

“Oh, no. No, you didn’t.”

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I… haven’t had the best time talking to her about the things I say to you.”

You nod in understanding.

“I felt bad when she asked you how I’m doing. She should be able to ask me that.”

He’s guilt-stricken and it makes you feel dejected.

“Mark.” You put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard talking to your mom about your inner turmoil but you’re all she has.”

Who does Debbie go to when she wants to discuss the matters of her heart? Who’ll listen when she wants someone to talk to?

“You give her the strength to carry on so let her give you some peace of mind, hm?”

Mark’s eyes shine with a strong fondness for you, his mind wiped clean of all things difficult and heart ten times lighter.

You’ve always understood him, whether he explains himself or not. You could always just know.

Your heart and emotional intelligence are perhaps his favorite things about you.

“You okay?” You ask, worried you’ve overstepped again.

“Never been better.” He promises.

A soft smile graces his lips as he leans in to hug you.

You accept it with an equal gentle expression and when you feel his arms wrap around your middle, you feel good.

Mark is invulnerable but not when it comes to the war between his mind and heart, that’s when you step in. And when you do, there’s always a resolution found in great clarity.

You feel his heartbeat above yours and unconsciously, they sync. His breathing evens out with yours.

It feels intimate, this hug.

You’ve hugged him a million times before but none of them have felt quite like this.

A heavy weight on his shoulders has evaporated and you can feel his gratitude.

“I don’t know how to thank you.” He murmurs.

You tilt your head back a bit so he can see you. “Then don’t.” You shrug, like it’s the most obvious answer.

He chuckles lightly and blinks at you, a tight-lipped smile on his face.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of his arms loosening around you and replacing the warmth with his hands on your hips.

You subconsciously gulp and watch his eyes flicker towards your eyes, lips then back to your eyes.

You don’t know if it’s your mind playing tricks on you, but you swear he moves his head a little closer to you; just enough to barely touch noses.

Your stomach is in a frenzy and your hands feel clammy.

Is this really happening?

But then, like a switch being flipped off; he gingerly clears his throat and backs away.

You blink, catching yourself in a daze and he gets up to put on a movie.

He acts like he wasn’t just about to kiss you, as if that chemistry was just a figment of your imagination.

You don’t have the guts to say anything, to ask the obvious. So, you also pretend that you two weren’t just about to fulfill your biggest ‘what if?’ scenario.

“Oh, wow… that’s crazy.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.”

It was nice to hear sympathies from the only people who you could afford to talk about this with. They’re also the only people who wouldn’t go and spread the telltale truth of the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“I can’t believe he fumbled this badly.” Amber facepalms herself in disbelief.

She sighs in exasperation and plops down on your bed with an arm covering her eyes.

Eve doesn’t move from her position; leaning on your wall with her arms crossed and her face in thought.

“What if he doesn’t like me like that?” You wonder aloud.

Amber peeks an eye out from under her elbow and Eve shakes her head.

“No, no, no. Trust me, that’s not it.”

“Don’t seem so sure.” You grumble as you pick at your nails to distract yourself from the heartache.

Eve sits down beside you and thinks about her words carefully. “Mark… well, I won’t defend him; he is kinda stupid.”

“Kinda?” Amber argues.

That makes you grin a bit.

“But he’s also your best friend, and you’re his. Maybe he doesn’t know how he feels but he does know that you’re not worth the risk of something he’s unsure will ever happen.”

Somehow, she put things into a perspective you’ve never thought about before.

“I never thought about it like that.”

You feel Amber sit up.

“That’s because it’s a confusing situation. Seeing both sides of the story might help you make some sense, give you consolation.”

You nod, already having potential answers to your unanswered questions. If not real answers, you’ll settle for theories. It’s still something.

“Thank you, guys.”

Amber winks at you. “Anytime.”

“Of course. We're rooting for you both.”

You shyly smile when Eve nudges your shoulder.

“So," She claps her hands together. “what should we do to commence our very first sleepover? Omegle?”

Amber is concerned for the first time at Eve’s expense.

“Umm...” You pout your lips to the side.

“I don't find the idea of accidentally getting flashed the most... thrilling.” Ambers grimaces.

“Yeah.” You nod.

Eve has a sly look on her face, one that says her proposition comes with an entertaining twist.

“Trust me, I have an idea.”

“Okay, that was pretty fun.” Amber concedes.

You laugh softly to yourself, remembering the events from the previous night.

The 3 of you decide to go out for lunch, finding the night an excellent moment for bonding.

“What was fun?”

Mark pulls a seat up at the table you're occupying.

“Mark? How'd you know we were here?” You query.

Mark looks just as confused as you but before he could answer, Eve does it for him.

“I invited him.”

“Oh. Okay.”

You don't have a problem, it's just that you thought this was gonna be “girl time” as you like to call these moments.

It would've been nice to know, at least.

Amber attempts to start up a conversation but little did you know; this conversation was a part of Eve's “idea” she mentioned the night prior.

“We went on Omegle last night.”

Mark's eyebrows raise in surprise. “Did anything happen?”

You understand the underlying message to be, “Were you victims to any unsolicited sexual advance?” and find it kind of sweet that Mark cares enough to have that be his first train of thought.

“Yeah, actually.” Eve notes as she takes a bite of her burger.

“Y/n's got herself a loverboy.”

You choke on your drink. Exploding into a fit of coughs, you hope it kills you.

Mark is quick to pat your back and try to aid in helping.

When you catch your breath, you look over at him awkwardly and thank him.

“Don't mention it.” He humbly said.

You make it a personal mission to never bring it up. Ever.

Amber continues to fuel the fire.

“Yeahhh.” She sighs. “He's Russian and was all, like, ‘Your eyes are like the ocean and I am a merman.’.” She puts on her best Russian accent and giggles when she nails it.

“Mm!” Eve makes a noise of enthusiasm, adding on to the punchline. “And then he said, ‘They are so deep, I can drown in them.’.”

“The fuck?” Mark grunts under his breath. “But mermen can swim.”

Honestly, he thought it was fucking stupid. Even if this guy was a “merman”, he'd be able to swim. Drowning is totally out of the question.

“Yeah, but it was the thought that counts.” Amber spoke before eating a fry.

“It was pretty corny.” Eve seemingly agrees with Mark.

“See?! I knew I wasn't the only one.” Mark nods to himself.

“But...”

His smile drops.

“I gotta admit, it was kind of romantic.”

Mark can't believe this.

Is romance really dead? Aren't punchlines supposed to make sense?

He knows it's only romantic because the guy's Russian. Okay, so he has an accent. So what? That should pardon his inadequacy of flirting?

“You guys only ate it up because he has an accent.”

Mark narrows his eyes as he takes a curly fry from your plate.

Amber and Eve side eye each other with mischief as they see you enter the ring.

“I thought it was kind of sweet, you know? At least he tried.” You counter.

Mark tilts his head, clearly bewildered. “You mean to say that you actually liked that?”

You don’t like his accusatory tone. “It wasn’t that bad, Mark.”

He rolls his eyes and begs to differ. “Wasn’t that bad- it made no sense! He definitely pulled that shit out of Google’s top thirty best flirty lines.” He puts air quotes around best.

“Oh, would you look at that? I actually have to go do that... thing.” Eve slowly rises from her seat.

“Yeah, me too.” Amber flashes a sweet smile.

They’re gone before you can impose.

“They really just left.” You say to no one.

Mark is still somehow going. “I just… I dunno.” He says, defeated.

“Mark, it wasn’t that deep. He liked my eyes and said some line that made me feel nice. That’s all.”

He nods like he understands but he really doesn’t.

“He’s no Mr. Darcy.” You settle as you take a sip of your milkshake.

Mark smiles at that and you’re confused.

“Why’re you smiling?”

“I knew it! I knew you couldn’t possible swoon over that ridiculous, nonsensical one-liner.”

You laugh incredulously. “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just knew he couldn’t be your type after that. Sure, you like them romantic but with genuine thought.”

He says that so confidently, with such attention, it makes you feel nicer than the Russian’s compliment. He makes you feel seen with that keen observation.

You nod to yourself, lowkey impressed.

“Mkay.” You simply say.

His gaze flickers towards you at the seemingly confusing, neutral response.

“What.”

“What, what?”

“You said that like you’re not convinced.”

You deeply exhale, not wanting to argue anymore. “Mkay.”

His eyes widen a bit and he snaps at you like he’s just discovered the phrase: ‘eureka!’.

“That, right there. That’s what I mean.”

You rub at your head as if you’ve got a headache but you doubt you won’t get one soon.

“Elaborate.”

You’re sticking with as little words as possible if it means to get to the point.

“Are you mad at me?” He asks with worry coating his tone.

You shake your head, unsure of what’s happening. “I just don’t know what’s gotten into you today. You’re in this strange mood to argue.”

He blinks.

You’re right.

Arguments are a rare occurrence in this relationship.

“We never argue.” He realizes regretfully.

Your eyes trail up his form and you see the uncomfortableness etched onto his outline.

“I’m sorry-”

“Sorry-”

There’s a pause, one that melts the lingering awkwardness into friendliness.

You see the hints of a smile creep up on him and instinctually, there’s one in yours.

“You first.”

Ever the gentleman.

“Sorry for making it awkward.” Your fingers interlock with each other and you give him an apologetic look.

Mark immediately shakes his head. “No, you didn’t make anything awkward… It was me. I got-”

He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, trying to find another way out of this as two thirds of his sentence has already been put out.

“You got..?”

He puts on a tight-lipped smile but it looks pained. “I just wanna say that I’m sorry for getting defensive for no reason.”

He thinks that was a good excuse for his detour but you’re smart.

“Jealous.” You say firmly.

“Huh?” He squeaks and immediately clears his throat.

“You got jealous.” You shrug your shoulders and move the whip cream in your milkshake around with the straw.

He scoffs with the intention of obscurity. “That- I- What? Pfft, jealous. Who, me?! Yeah, right.”

His stuttering erupts a snort from you, an “I told you so” fresh on the tip of your tongue.

He wanted to spout declarations of how incorrect you are but he couldn’t. The cat had his tongue.

“Whatever.” He bites with little heat.

He crosses his arms over his chest and appears to look unaffected by your ability to see through him.

“Mkay.” You hum to tease him.

Your best friend groans and you giggle at him slouching down in his seat, his hands covering his face and in turn; a sheepish grin.

You’re in your home when your TV bears awful news.

“Breaking news: intruders that look like multiple Invincibles are wreaking havoc across the globe.”

As soon as you hear that, a loud boom is heard from across the city and sends shockwaves to where you are.

“We urge you to stay in your homes and hide. Do not make contact, I repeat; don’t engage with them.”

You’re scared.

How the hell are you supposed to stay hidden in your home when there’s the start of destruction visible outside?

How can they tell you to stay inside when there’s a chance you can die in there?

It’s not like the variants aren’t gonna come inside. Who’d stop them from hurling your place of residence like a football?

Despite all of those thoughts, you stay inside.

You hide in your living room. You sigh to yourself as you hide inside a spare closet, leaving a sliver of space open to breathe.

You turn your phone’s ringer off but feel the vibrations in your pocket. You look to see who it could be and feel so much relief flood your stomach when it’s Mark.

“Mark?” You say shakily.

“Y/n? Oh, thank god. Where are you?”

Your eyes water but you keep them at bay. No point in crying over spilled milk.

“I’m in the spare closet of the living room, what’s going on?”

He starts to explain when the call abruptly cuts.

So fucking cliche you think as you the see the dead battery sign.

The sound of a window opening makes you heave out a sigh of relief.

You get out and are about to hug him but the first thing you notice when you open the door is his face. Er, the lack thereof.

“Is… this a new costume?” You ask wearily.

You didn’t know Mark had a black mask installed. It covered his whole head and the lens was turquoise blue instead of white.

He just stares at you, unflinching and scarily still.

You gulp as the realization sets in your stomach.

This isn’t the Mark of your world. This isn’t the Invincible you recognize.

The masked stranger can sense your irregular heartbeat and hear the small panicked breaths that well up in your chest.

He slowly stalks towards you; like a predator to their prey, except there’s nothing dangerous about his stance. He doesn’t radiate harm or anger and he puts his hands up, as if to show you he won’t harm you.

For your own sake, you don’t believe that. You can’t believe that’s what he wants.

You’re frozen, wide eyes filled to the brim with fear and shock.

You grip your phone tight in your hands, ready to turn it into a weapon if you must.

He’s interrupted when another one shows up.

This one has a black and yellow suit with a yellow cape.

Your eyes dart to his figure and you’re sure this one’s gonna do the honors.

“You’re alive.” He says to himself.

His eyes are covered with white lenses but you know he’s looking at you.

His hands ball up into fists and he walks to you with an urgency in his stride.

You instinctually back up and hit a wall when the masked variant gets in between you both.

“She’s scared.”

The tone in his voice almost makes you think he cares. Almost.

“Get out of my way.” The bright-caped intruder basically spat his face.

“And let youuu have all the fun? I don’t think so!”

What the fuck?

You see what looks like Mark… in a mohawk.

His lips spread into a smirk, a cocky tone in his words.

Your nails press into your arm to prevent you from sputtering out a giggle.

How are you supposed to take him seriously when he’s willingly sporting a mohawk? Right.

If you knew there was going to come a time where your home is used as some sort of Invincible convention, you would’ve moved out a long time ago.

“You’re here.”

This one scares you a little.

His demeanor may be softer but his eyes, they’re wild with a fire furling around his pupils.

What makes the fear prick at your heart is the fact that he’s wearing the Viltrumite uniform.

Wherever he came from, he became his father.

That fact chills your bones and you think, how could that happen? Why did that happen?

His wild eyes are wide with surprise and there’s the ghost of a relieved smile on his face.

Very quickly have you gone from 0 to 100.

There are 2 seemingly decent Invincibles and 2 Invincibles that give off evil vibes.

What’s better news is that they all have some sort of fascination with you.

Awesome! Fantastic, even!

Your adrenaline has taken a back seat but you’re still unnerved by the destruction just outside your neighborhood.

You’ve never wished for a quicker death as this cat and mouse game is becoming all too much. The anticipation will kill you if they don’t.

“Alright,” Mohawk Mark yawns. “Enough dickin’ around.”

The 4 variants surround you, encasing you in an otherwise unbreakable square.

“You’re coming with us.” Decides the caped crusader.

He puts his hand out to grab you but is thrown through a wall by an unstoppable force.

It feels a bit blurry after that.

You feel yourself being lifted and moving at an alarming speed, your body lurching forward and side to side by the breeze taking you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He murmurs.

He hugs you close to his chest, a hand cradling the back of your head and the other clutching your back protectively.

“M-Mark?”

You find your voice amongst the dizziness clouding your head.

He holds your head and tilts it towards him, kissing the crown and meeting your eyes.

“Yeah, it’s me. You’re okay, you’ll be fine. Just stay here.”

You hold his wrists and blink, looking around you to find yourself with Debbie and her boyfriend, Paul.

“Please.”

Mark’s desperation appeals to you. His voice cracks with an urgency for your life. One that is begging you to listen, and you do.

“Okay.” You agree.

He nods and kisses you once again, a sweet promise pressed against your forehead.

You may have had the wind knocked out of you but that doesn’t mean you’re unaware.

Oh yeah, that kiss sobers you up real quick.

Your eyes are wide and cheeks are warm; you’re flushed and hope he doesn’t detect the jump in your heart rate because of his tenderness for you.

“Be careful.” You blurt out.

Mark looks back at you with a smirk on his face.

“I will.”

He kept his promise for the most part.

“Ow.”

“Maybe don’t move around a lot?”

“…Sorry.”

He winces as you treat his facial wounds.

Mark got pretty banged up; his left eye was swollen and purple from Conquests fists. He has similar shades of bruising on his face and a nasty cut on the bridge of his nose, another on the corner of his lip.

His arms and leg are almost fully healed.

It’s been a grueling 2 weeks.

Oliver helps out as much as he can.

Eve and the rest of the heroes are helping piece the cities back together but no matter how much they help rebuild, the atrocities committed won’t be forgotten.

Conquest was here on a personal mission and almost leveled the state because of it and roughed up Oliver pretty badly.

“I don’t know what to do.”

You hear him, you hear the things he wants to say and the things he doesn’t say out loud.

You feel so bad, so awful for him. He’s still a kid trying his hardest, doing his best.

Why can’t that be enough?

“It isn’t fair.” You respond.

His gaze turns to you.

“You do your best and when you think it’s over, the worst is still yet to come.”

Your fingers lightly touch the one of many bruises on his cheek, his eyes close at the contact.

“I can’t imagine how many times you’ve had pieces of you broken for us but it’s a sacrifice that unfortunately comes with the job.”

It hurt your heart, saying the second part.

Hard truths are a pill you’ll always find difficult to give.

He sharply inhales and the tears he tried so hard holding, come pouring down. Soft sobs and wails plague his throat.

His head falls atop your chest and his hands wrap around your middle, clinging to your shirt.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders and you do your best to ground him, to be his anchor.

His mental state is unimaginable, the thought of him slipping away has been a reoccurring nightmare for you but you push through. You have to.

“So many people died.”

The death toll worldwide was into the hundreds of thousands. That was the doing of the variants but Mark was inadvertently responsible, too.

It breaks your heart at how unfair this all is.

A Viltrumite’s personal vendetta against Mark resulted in such catastrophe.

Scott -also known as Powerplex- fried his only family left and somehow thinks that is also Mark’s fault.

As if the Chicago Incident wasn’t enough, there was almost a Chicago Incident Part 2 had it not been for Eve.

“You can’t blame yourself Angstrom’s doing.” You try to reason.

Mark shakes his head and gets up.

“I thought I killed him, but I should’ve been sure. I should’ve finished the job.”

Mark palms at his wet eyes, sniffling lightly as he calms down.

You don’t know what to do, you don’t know what to say.

You don’t want him to wallow in this pain by himself but you also don’t want to say something wrong.

“You should leave.” His cold tone and neutral face really sells it.

You’re confused. “What? I’m sorry, was it something I said? Or did?”

You’ve never seen him like this and are worried the wretched day you’ve been imagining is finally here.

“No. I just want you to go.”

You watch his fists bunch up the material of his joggers on his knees and the veins protruding from his hands.

“I…”

You want to say something, you want to stay for him but you can’t. You know it’d only make things worse.

So you just nod and whisper a meek, “Okay.”.

Mark still isn’t looking at you when you make your way to the door. His face still expressionless, calculated, distant.

Your fingers reach for the handle when you hear him.

“Y/n?”

It’s embarrassing how quick hope flashes in your eyes at the sound of him saying your name.

You try to suppress the obvious reaction as much as possible.

“Yeah?”

It still seeps through your voice but you’re human.

Your emotions are a part of you, even if they end up being a helping hand to your disappointment.

You don’t see the pool of guilt swirl around in his almost annoyed eyes but maybe it’s for the better.

He stares at you and feels bad but after everything that’s happened, is it worth keeping you in his life?

He wants to tell you so badly what’s making him push you away.

Sure, William is his best friend but you’re so much more. You’re a part of him, you’re his soulmate.

Mark wants nothing more than to see you happy but he ultimately decides that it’s nothing compared to seeing you alive.

“Can you close my door all the way?” He begrudgingly says.

The average person would blame him for pushing you away, him getting your hopes up only to crush them so inadvertently cruelly.

But you only chastise yourself.

You want him to know that despite people like Scott or Angstrom; who put the blame on wrong people for their circumstantial demise, there's people like you and Debbie.

He has a support system ready to recharge him but maybe you were overcharging him?

You go to sleep in tears, crying silently to yourself over how fucked life is.

Mark doesn't sleep the whole night, knowing he can hear your heart break.

It's been a slow week.

You don't talk to anyone or do things you used to; only getting up to go to class and eat, do some occasional grocery shopping.

You make an excuse for Amber and Eve when they text you to meet up and watch their caller ID's flash across your phone before it rings all the way through.

Mark hasn't spoken to you at all. No call, no text.

Despite him quitting school, you used to see him all the time on campus. Whether it be for you or William or Rick.

Now, you don't meet with anyone.

“She doesn't wanna talk to me or Amber anymore.” Eve voiced one day.

"Nor us." Rick pointed towards him and William.

“Something’s wrong. I'm worried about her.” Amber adds as she comes across the last message you sent in the group chat with her and Eve.

hey guys, just going through the flu rn. i’m fine tho! no worries :)

But of course they worried. They're your friends and that's what friends do.

Which is exactly what they said when they arrived at your doorstep, so you can't afford another excuse.

Your duo sits on your bed, trying to come up with a solution to best help you out.

“He’s closed off and maybe that was expected, but it's been a week.” Amber says.

“Yeah, you'd think he'd open up by now.”

You sigh pitifully and look out your window and down the street.

You’re a 10 minute drive and he’s a 1 minute flight away, yet nobody is willing to close that distance.

“It should be him, though.” Eve says.

“Hm?” You hum absentmindedly.

“Mark should be the one to come talk to you, not the other way around.”

Eve gauges for a reaction from you, one that will oppose her idea.

“Maybe you should go.” She switches up.

You look at Eve hesitantly, like it's a flop idea.

“You tried, Y/n. You did your part and he let you know but this isn’t the way things between you should end. Should he want it to end.”

It's like Amber knew what you were thinking and tried to dismiss the thought for you.

You weren't gonna lie and say that you haven't thought about blowing up his phone, driving to his house and banging on his door to open up to you.

But would he even want to? Would he even listen?

“It's not about what he wants, it's about what he needs.”

“And what he needs right now, is you.”

- MEANWHILE, WITH WILLIAM, RICK & REX -

“Come on, man. Don't be like this.” William tries.

Rick can see how much Mark is beating himself up over everything that’s happened.

With the fight against Liu’s dragon and Powerplex. And now recently, Conquest.

Mark never complained, it was the job. But you made getting back out on the field a bit easier.

“It's not worth losing her.” Rick gently reminds.

Mark's trio of lending hands have come to his service but it's unwanted, and Mark lets them know.

“Look, I don't need this. Especially not right now.”

This makes Rex mad.

“Oh you don’t need this? Well, excuseee me! We don’t need you to be so goddamn stupid, especially not right now.”

Mark narrows his eyes, visibly agitated. “Stupid? I’m being stupid?”

Rex widens his eyes, his pitch growing higher. “Yeah! That’s what I said.”

“Okay, I think we’re elevating the situation so let’s all just calm down.” William suggests nervously.

Mark has other thoughts as he rises from the bed. “And how exactly am I being stupid?”

Rex knows he shouldn’t be egging him on, he shouldn’t be encouraging his anger; but if this was the way to make his friend see his foolishness then so be it.

“By distancing yourself from the one woman who’s nice enough to let you, instead of manning up and telling her how you really feel.”

That stung.

“You don’t get to tell me how to handle my love life.”

Rex smirks lazily, a hardball on the tip of his tongue. “You don’t even have the balls to have one.”

“Rex.” William warns.

The cheeky bastard ignores him and continues on, a bit excited to see where this would all lead.

“I think she’d want a man who sees her, who doesn’t hurt her by ignoring her entire existence.”

Rick facepalms himself and wonders where the line between bravery and stupid was drawn.

Mark’s knuckles are white from how hard his fingers are curling in on themselves, his fists ready to pound into the explosive asshole.

Rex steps closer, now toe-to-toe with Mark and ignorantly unafraid. “I wouldn’t make her wait.”

Mark punches him right in the mouth, hard.

“Mark!” The yell of his friends fall on deaf ears.

Rex grunts as he stumbles back a bit, expecting this outcome.

“You don’t know her. You don’t know what’s good for her.” Mark spits bitterly.

Rex spits some blood out, sighing heavily. “You do.”

That makes Mark soften up.

He blinks like he’s snapped out of a trance. His fist wavers and is set down beside his thigh, a deep sigh exiting his nose. He looks at his friend and witnesses the ugly truth; his jealousy won.

“What am I doing?” He whispers.

Rex coughs lightly, the cut on his lip stinging.

“Talk to her, Mark. Don’t let her live with the regret of not knowing.”

Rick puts a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, hoping this will finally tip him over the edge.

Rex comes off the wall, slapping Mark’s back with a warm pat.

“I’m sorry, Rex. I shouldn’t have-”

He dismisses him with a wave. “Nah, I was being an asshole. An asshole on purpose, but still an asshole.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You’re gathering the courage to mull over the most impactful relationship in your life.

Is there even a correct way to do that?

You don’t know, but what you do know is that you have to try.

You look yourself in the mirror and feel the weight of your younger self.

She’d be devastated. you think. If she were here in the flesh to see this, you don’t think she could withstand it.

A sharp knock to your door pulls you out of your head.

You’re not expecting anyone, and you’re unsure about the one person you did want to hear from.

Regardless, you walk over and open the door and your heart drops out of your ass. Not in fear, but in surprise.

“Mark.” You breathe.

Here he is; in the flesh and without the scowl you picture. In fact, he looks guilty.

His once glee-filled eyes are now empty of it, making you reminisce the time before last week.

“Can I come in?”

His voice resounding of forlorn hope. He expects you to deny him, to make him walk away with his hands held in a helpless prayer.

Instead, you show him mercy and welcome him inside your place of refuge.

Tentatively, he makes his way inside and awkwardly stands beside your desk.

You’re quiet, still trying to process his presence after an entire week of radio silence.

You don’t know how to feel. Should you be happy? Ecstatic? If anything, frustrated and hurt are also a great couple of options.

“Y/n?”

You look up at him and see his concerned face. “Hm?”

“I asked if we can talk.”

“Now you want to talk?” It came out before you could even think about it.

Your annoyance seeps through and he shuffles the weight on his feet a bit uncomfortably.

“I know-”

“No, you don’t.”

He looks at you like you just told him to kill himself.

“Y/n, please. Just hear me out.”

Your arms are crossed over your chest in a defensive position, he clocks that. He also notices the way you make eye contact with him throughout your sentences.

You were really hurt, he gathers.

He takes your silence as a sign to continue talking.

“After I left you at Paul’s, I went back out there and fought off the rest of those… variants. While I was fighting them, they told me about you.”

Your interest is absolutely peaked now.

“What do you mean?”

“They... they said that you existed in their world but-” He cuts himself off with a vexed sigh.

“But what, Mark.”

You want, need to know what was worth hurting you for days on end.

Mark looks at you and it's the most disheartened he's looked since that night he told you to leave.

“You died, Y/n.”

It all makes sense now. You grapple with the stomach-churning epiphany of the century.

The different Invincibles that wanted to take you was simply because you ceased to exist in their worlds.

“I... I died in every single universe.”

He takes some steps in your direction, not wanting to overwhelm you.

“You either died on accident by being murdered among civilians or you killed yourself.”

“Why would I commit suicide?”

He deeply inhales. “Because you'd rather die than join the other me.”

That sounds on brand.

“I couldn't live with myself knowing I'd lose you in this world, too.” He admits raspily.

That touches your heart.

You want to hug him, to comfort him but you're still kind of confused. You needed more answers.

“I was so scared, I had never felt fear like I did when I saw them with you.” He whispers.

“Why'd you tell me to leave?” You ask gently.

“Because I love you.”

His confession is so light, said with such helplessness, that you tear up.

Mark maintains eye contact with you, tired of hiding his true self. He wants you to see him.

“So many people have died because of me, it may not be directly my fault, but it still had to do with me.”

He comes a little closer, just a couple of steps away from touching you.

“What if I was too late that day? What if they managed to take you away?” He mutters in a hushed tone.

Mark shakes his head as if to get rid of those thoughts.

“If anything happens to you, it will be because of me.”

“So, you thought it was best to create such a large gap between us, that there'd be a sinking hole inside of me. Is that it?”

Your eyes well up against your will but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when he can finally see just how much you've been suffering.

“You think I wanted to do that?” He asks defensively.

You scoff indignantly. “I think you could've told me from the jump. That's what I think.”

You know it's a little unfair given how vulnerable he's being right now but he was unfair when you were vulnerable, too.

He shakes his head, eyes closing in on themselves as his tears threaten to fall. “I can't risk your life, Y/n! Why don't you understand that?”

You messily wipe your tears, your lashes wet and nose tinged with the lightest of reds.

“All this time, you didn't have a problem with how close we were. Now that you saw how close I was to something dangerous, it got too real for you?!”

He's in your space now, his chin set down and eyes on yours.

Contrary to how mad he looks, he relays his message in an low tone. “Yeah. It did.”

Your eyes widen a bit at the length he's cut between your bodies and you're back in time. You go back to the moment he almost kissed you.

“Don't push me away, Mark.”

You beg him and you don't care if you look pathetic. You love him and don't want to lose him like this.

Mark just presses his forehead against yours and shuts his eyes, he concentrates on you. Your smell, your hushed breaths, your heartbeat.

You feel his hands slide up and down your arms, grounding you.

Even when he's opening up to you, Mark still chooses to comfort you. He still wants to calm you down, to make you feel better. He still chooses to have your best interests at heart.

“I came here to tell you the truth, that you deserve better.”

You wordlessly deny his idea, shaking your head once.

He grabs ahold of your head, making you look at him.

You see it all, you see all of his pain, grief, anger.

“I love you but you're not safe with me.”

“You don't get to make my decision for me.” You stubbornly point out.

“Y/n-”

“I love you.” A shaky whisper snuck into the air between your lips.

His wide eyes stare back at yours in surprise.

“I've loved you for a long time and I don't wanna be in love with another.” You wrap your hands around his, feeling the warmth bloom onto your cold ones.

“Please. Please don't ask me to stay away from you.” You cry.

He kisses your head and brings you close, your head on his shoulder and slotting between his bicep and forearm. He curls his other arm around your waist and lays his head on yours.

“Okay, fine.” He fondly agrees. “You win so stop crying.”

“Fuck you.” You jab.

He airily laughs and brings your face close to his, pressing an equally feathery kiss to your lips.

You timidly kiss him, shying away a little to breathe but Mark wants you to take his breath if you must. He pulls you in, hands gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him, wanting to shape a new mold from your figures.

Your fingers nervously brush his hair and he groans at the contact.

You chuckle at the sound and he pulls away leaving a soft peck.

He's in a daze and has hearts in his eyes but he ultimately decides; he wouldn't want it any other way.

[vinnyvamppp]

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

Bite Me Back Too

A/N: Every main, side, and popular variant is in this bitch.

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

Synopsis: Each version of Mark Grayson— bratty kings, calculating monsters, broken gods— crave the same thing: your body, your loyalty, your soul. You’re a cure and a weakness they crave to keep.

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

Viltrumite Heat Cycles x Fem!Reader

Word Count: (.... sigh.)

Sinister Mark

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

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

Then he smelled you.

And suddenly, he was falling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shivered. “Then make it real.”

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

Mark wasn’t the type to surrender to anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Omni Mark

He hadn’t planned to see you tonight.

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

But the heat came early.

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

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

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

That made something snap in him.

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

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

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

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

“But you didn’t,” you whispered.

“I couldn’t,” he admitted.

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

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

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

That broke him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I warned you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Full Masked Mark

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

“Mark?”

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

He nodded once.

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t move as you slid it off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he didn’t fall apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Main Mark Grayson

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

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

You blinked. “Mark… what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mohawk Mark

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

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

Something worse. Something hungry.

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

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

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

“Are you teased, Mark?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure you don’t like it?”

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

His pupils blown, and he heaved as if sick.

Another step.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lensless Invinicble

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

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

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

Nothing. Not a single word.

So you break first.

“You good?”

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

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

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

“Cave?” you echo, raising a brow.

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

“You’re actually insane.”

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

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

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

You kneel beside him. He twitches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You already are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His entire body convulsed beneath you.

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

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

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

Shiesty/Hooded Mark

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

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

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

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

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

You crossed your arms. “So suffer.”

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

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

You shoved him—pointless, really, but instinctual.

He grinned.

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

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

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

“You’re a freak.”

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

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

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

“Am gloating.”

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

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

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

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

“Because you put me there.”

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

“You kiss all your enemies like this?”

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

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

And then your mouth wrapped around him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You come home to silence.

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

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

He’s already there.

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

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

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

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

Just says, “You’ve been avoiding me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re disgusting.”

He just smirks. “You say that now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@ploiigee

(Photo stitching made by me!)

[grimmsbride]

✶ ℘ EASY GOING DOWN ╲ rex sloan.

₊ཾִ ᖫྀ ⁣⁣. ⠀⎯ summary rex was trying to be better, to a new and improved man and superhero. slowly growing himself, the man turns to you in hopes of learning one, very important thing; how to get better at oral sex..

₊ཾִ ᖫྀ ⁣⁣. ⠀⎯ tags rex is ooc (i’ve never written for him before) | oral sex | past mentions of rex being a selfish lover/person | eve mention (love her) | porn with no plot | porn with complicated feelings | fingering | pet names (mama, baby) | again rex is ooc i’m sorry 😭 | uhh that’s it

₊ཾִ ᖫྀ ⁣⁣. ⠀⎯ notes i asked for requests and then literally went on vacation i’m sorry 😭😭, i’m slowly trying to get through them (though this wasn’t a request just something i wanted to write) so please bare with me and thank you for your patience. as always please excuse any mistakes, and pls enjoy

“Rex, are you fucking serious?”

“Can you give me a minute to warm u—“

“Warm up?!” You huffed loudly, quickly sitting up from your laying position. Your eyes bore into the man between your legs, spotting the way he so stupidly sat there with his tongue partially past his lips, eyebrows furrowed a little in annoyance.

The situation was odd in the simplest terms, weird at worst. Currently you found yourself in nothing but a tshirt, completely bare from the waist down whilst your close friend Rex Splode was at his knees towards the edge of the bed, attempting to eat you out.

It was no secret Rex was selfish at times; a dickhead, cheater, just a boundless amount of certain emotions wrapped into one. But luckily, he was trying to change, trying to outgrow the old Rex Sloan into a person worth being around.

And well, one of those steps was learning how to be.. less selfish during sex.

That’s where you came in. Given the two of you were pretty close — and pretty platonic, up until this point — Rex was able to come to you about his personal dilemma, practically begging to practice on you with the promise of buying you whatever you wanted; no matter the price.

It took a moment for you to give in, but something about that pretty face screwed up into a begging pout was enough. And it couldn’t be that bad, right?

Except, the man has done nothing spectacular since he started. He avoided your clit like the plague, did nothing special with his tongue, and nearly bruised your walls with the unnecessary speed of his fingers.

You flopped back onto your bed, groaning softly. “Warm up..” You repeated in soft disbelief, leaning to rest your cheek against the blankets.

“— no wonder Eve dropped your sorry a— OW!”

You shot up once again, glaring daggers at the man, “You did not just fucking bite my thigh.”

“Serves you right.” Rex grumbled, though rubbing his thumb across the bite mark as if to soothe you. He leaned his cheek against your opposite thigh, eyes trailing to focus on your face.

“Just tell me what to do. That was the entire point of me coming to you.”

Your gaze trailed back to the man, silent for a few moments before releasing a little sigh. You shouldn’t be too hard on him, despite how silly the situation seemed, this was Rex’s odd way of being better. In his own, little, very odd way.

“Well first..” You begun, adjusting your hips to catch his attention. Your legs slid open a little wider, gliding your fingers across your thighs. “Don’t immediately jump to fingers, use your tongue— you’re supposed to warm the girl up.”

Rex was quick to obey your instructions, hands finding your thighs whilst leaning closer. His tongue slowly slid out from his mouth, gliding across your folds, the tip parting them to drag against your little bud. The act was experimental, Rex clearly taking your words to heart; something you found quite cute in the moment.

Resident douche bag Rex Sloan sitting here so patiently and sweetly, eyes on you and eyebrows lifted as he awaited your next request.

Your hand rose, finding a strand from his loose bun, curling it around your finger.

“Keep doing that, focus on my clit too..” Your voice trailed the moment he gave you another lick, dragging the fat of his tongue along your slick cunt. Soft squelches begun to rise in the air as he continued, his shallow breathing fanning against you with each moment that passed.

Unlike before, Rex didn’t rush, throughly taking his time in pleasuring your body. The complete 180 had you reacting much more positively then before, sinking into the bed as the pleasure bloomed from little sparks to strikes down your spine the moment his lips wrapped around your clit.

You couldn’t help the way your thighs jolted, threatening to squeeze his head into place. Large hands spread along your warm skin, carefully taking your thighs into his palms and keeping them steady and wide.

“Shiiiit...” Your voice dragged, taking your shirt in your hands for a gentle grip. Gentle was his lips and tongue, circulating your little bud swollen, sucking even softer— your arousal pooled from within down to your taint.

A growing mess that Rex was slowly getting proud of.

His eyes dragged up your body to your face, noticing the way your eyelids rested low on your eyes, lips parted as a mix of soft breathing and quiet moans escaped. Rex’s hand adjusted, allowing his thumb to rub little circles along your labia, slowly removing his lips from your swollen button with a soft pop.

“Looks like I’m actually doing something right, huh?”

It was just like him to tease you at a time like this, lips slick with your mess and his saliva curled into the most devious little smile.

Your eyebrows pushed close, mouth opening a little wider to tell him off, only for the man to lean back down to your clit, returning to his previous ministrations.

“What’s the next step, baby?”

The words were muttered right into your wetness, eyes completely focused on your face and awaiting your command.

Your stomach was clenching into knots, hand moving over to his hair to hold instead of your own shirt.

“Just… ke—keep doing that..” You whined loudly the moment his teeth ever so gently dragged across your clit, a swear escaping you in the process.

His confidence was thriving at this point, and something else as well…. Rex Sloan didn’t put much thought into coming to you, none at all, actually. In his mind, it was nothing more than a friend teaching another how to beat a level to a game.

Nothing more right?

Except, here Rex was with his mouth right on your pretty cunt, feeling his dick twitch with every moan that escaped you. And it sure didn’t help every so often the sweetest Rex, would escape your throat; soft, as if you didn’t want him to hear at all.

That simple conclusion caused just a pinch of annoyance.

A hand of Rex’s moved, two fingers being dragged against your wet slit for a couple seconds before they slowly pushed into your fluttering hole. The man watched you carefully, watching as your eyes shut, a groan escaping your throat.

And with a single curl of his fingers, Rex was getting exactly what he wants.

“Rex, fuck!” You cried out, quick whines soon following. Your legs shook and twitched, you were trying so desperately not to crush his head but as he started to thrust his fingers; pushing at your velvety walls in slick squelches, your will was draining slowly.

You slowly sat up, leaning onto your hands and glancing down at the man with glossy eyes.

“Y—you’re good now.. you do—“ Your teeth dragged across your bottom lip, attempting to shake off the pleasure to get through your sentence. The man wasn’t even focused on you, his fingers and mouth continuing to ruin you utterly and completely. You rested on a single hand, reaching down with the other to uselessly push at his forehead.

“— don’t.. have to finish. Fu—fuck, Rex!”

The pads of his fingers were striking that little spongy spot with each thrust, thick appendages scissoring inside, rubbing against your walls so deliciously you were seeing the back of your skull and stars in one fell swoop. Your words were falling on deaf ears, or rather— ears that couldn’t give that much of damn.

Rex was quick to raise his freehand, pressing it against your stomach and effectively pushing you back to your mattress. You squirmed for a moment before quickly realizing the man didn’t work out for nothing, given he kept you seated completely without even trying.

“C—can’t take.. it, Rex— fuck!”

For the first time in a while Rex was moving away, even if just an inch — bated breath fanning across your cunt — as he released a simple;

“C’mon mama.. let me finish. I can’t half-ass end my lesson without at least getting a grade.”

You wanted to kick him, slap, everything— basically hearing that cocky grin dripping from every word. Instead you could only gasp, feeling him latch his mouth right back to your little button with much more vigor then before, little tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

With both hands you were tugging at his hair, ruining his bun as brown strands tickled your heated skin. Coupled with this, your hips lifted off the bed, driving your pussy right into your face as desperation collected right at the pit of your tummy.

Rex couldn’t help but groan into your wet sex, muttering a soft Fuck my face, [Name] right into you, the vibrations of his words just adding to the already overwhelming pleasure.

You felt that band coming quickly, threatening to pop the longer time went on. And with how hard you were clenching, you knew your end would be intense.

Rex was quick to mutter soft encouragements right into you the moment he noticed how harshly you were clenching, sucking in his fingers so much as if you didn’t wish to let go. The man couldn’t help but grunt the moment the hold on his hair tightened, cock straining at his pants, him wondering if he could come untouched— off your tastes alone.

His name escaped you in one final pleasure filled bellow, coming all over his face and practically locking him into place with your legs. Rex didn’t seem to mind, licking you up, helping you ride out your orgasm perfectly.

Your legs shook from the aftershocks, stomach on fire as you fell back onto your mattress, legs loosening as you breathed. Between soft breaths and strokes of his hair you attempted to calm down, eyes closed and sinking into your mattress.

Only to realize Rex had not stopped once, continuing to lick at your messy cunt, not wasting a single drop of your arousal.

With a loud groan, and much rougher then you intended you were tugging at his hair, lifting him from between your thighs.

“You have to let me catch my breath, Rex!” You huffed out, moving your hips a bit the moment he pulled his fingers out.

Your eyes narrowed at the smile crossing his soaked face, absolutely hating the way he looked downright sexy with messy hair and your essence all over his skin.

“Then hurry up and catch your breath.. I still got a couple of lessons I need help with.”

Your eyes widened, releasing his hair in slight shock as you basically tossed yourself back onto your mattress.

“Five.. minutes.”

[sangunary]

Invincible character × *Silly* Reader.

*Reader calling Mark at 4 in the morning*

Reader: "Hey, so if anyone delevery a casket at your house it's mine kay?"

Mark: "Why the fuck did you order a casket for?"

Reader: "...It was on Sale... plus it's a pre-order meaning there is a special benefit!"

Mark: "Special benefit? Why Do YOU need a casket for?!"

Reader: "Well I can clearly tell one of us care for our future! Do you have any idea how Expensive casket are especially when our job pay us like hundred dollar per hour? Eitherway im going to manifest a use for it, money well spent!"

Mark: "Jesus Chris... You're going to regret this..."

{ A few month Passed }.

Rex corpse laying on the casket Reader pre-ordered.

Reader: "I did not mean to manifest upon him..."

Might turn this into a series.

[toxicrelief]

Crawling Back to You

Chapter One

Synopsis: You quit. The Guardians of the Globe? What a joke. You are surrounded by assholes. Rex-Splode being the biggest of them all. Except, now he keeps trying to call you. And there's a knock at the door.

Pairing: Rex Sloane x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Chapter: 1/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

• TW: alcohol mentioned,

Note: My first attempt ever at a fanfiction. Could not find any Rex x Reader on Ao3, and I am a sucker for a slow burn. Just watched two YouTube videos on how to use Tumblr, and here’s the first draft of chapter 1! Please tell me what you think! Once I have more chapters I’m going to post it on Ao3 as well.

Background: Chapter 2 will character build the MC more, this chapter is meant to be more of a hook.

“Go away!”

The knocking stilled for a moment; you stood just a few feet from your front door. God, he did not know how to take a hint. You had turned your phone off over half an hour ago when he first tried to call you. And you were sure if you turned it on now a litany of notifications would hinder it from running smoothly for at least a few minutes.

The silence lasted a bit longer before a few more knocks rapped against the door. It was dark out; it must be late. But to be honest, you were not sure what time it was. After all your phone has been powered off for who knows how long, and you were not about to just sit in front of the microwave for your time-checking purposes.

“Please-” A soft voice said through the door, followed by a soft thud. The assailant must have just put their head against the door. You could picture it. A sad, pathetic sight. With a sigh and a roll of your eyes you responded.

“Why Rex.” It was not really emphasized as a question, but an exasperation. Running a hand through your hair you turned and put your back against the door. Against your better judgment, your fingers brushed against the cool metal of the lock.

There was another long pause, for a second you thought you could hear his breathing, quick, erratic, messy.

It is odd to think that everything has led to this. Years, months, weeks, days, it did not matter, a lifetime had passed since you had both met. He’s an asshole. Has always been an asshole. It was the first thing you thought when he opened his damn mouth during your first encounter. Never had you ever met something so egotistical as Rex-Splode. God, even thinking his name made you want to rip your hair out. It was insane to you that someone could be so in love with themself that they did not even have an identity outside of their “secret” identity.

Maybe he was ashamed on some deeper level. If he was even capable of being that self-aware. Maybe the only interesting things about him were his abilities. Who he is on a level past that is so disappointing and pathetic, pathetic, that he has erased it. He practically lives in his costume, in fact, you once saw him wearing street clothes and before you could fully be surprised, he disintegrated it to reveal that he was in fact, still wearing that damn costume.

But you had to admit, he was able to jump into the action much faster than you because you had to grab your backpack and pull your own costume on. Which regrettably you still are not great at doing with complete efficiency.

He was a good hero though, you could admit this to yourself internally. As unpleasant as he was as an individual, he made up for it in a lot of ways with his competence. They had definitely gotten their asses beat loads of times, but he was never one to give up.

This was one of the few things you admired about him, but as of right now, it was the bane of your night.

“I… I have to talk to you.” The voice responded finally, “Fuck- Please Joy.”

You found yourself rolling your eyes once again. You hated that nickname. And you made it well known. You held nothing short of disdain for that stupid, stupid-

And then he whispers something, it hardly makes its way through the wood. You cock your head slightly in surprise, pointing your ear towards the door. And then you hear it again, a little louder this time, you had not imagined it. Rex had just said your name, your actual name, not your alias, or any of his ridiculous nicknames for you, your given name. You could count on one hand how many times you remembered him saying it.

Suddenly you’re unlocking the door, bad idea, and you’re pulling it ajar just slightly, bad idea.

His hair is wet, it must be raining outside. It’s too bad you cannot hear it in your apartment, it would be nice to lull off to sleep to the rhythmic tapping. There is also a faint scent of alcohol. Great. Much to your surprise he is wearing street clothes right now, but part of you wonders if even now he is wearing that orange and yellow suit underneath. That cannot be comfortable.

After a few moments of silence, you realize you are just standing there looking him up and down. Is he not going to say anything? Your mouth parts slightly, ready to say something snarky, your brow rising.

“Can I come in?”

Silence again. No, you cannot come in, I hate you and I hate your stupid face and your stupid ponytail, man-bun, whatever it is. You have done nothing but complicate my life and make me feel miserable.

“Fine.” Shit.

You shuffled slightly to the side, letting him come in. He took in your apartment for a second, seemingly forgetting why he was here. In the dim light of your apartment you could see now that not only was his hair wet, but he seemed to be almost soaked, scratch that, he definitely was soaked.

“Did you walk here?” Disbelief is clear in your tone. Headquarters was much too far, a twenty-minute drive on a good day. Maybe he had been drinking at a nearby bar, but that was still quite the walk.

“What? No.” There was that familiar indignation. Most assuredly a lie though, there was no other reason why he would be quite literally trailing water into your entryway. Rex had a way of seeming disingenuous no matter what he said, which made it hard to see through his lies sometimes, but you were starting to be able to pick up on certain cues.

He walked up to a shelving unit in your living room. It had books on it, not that you ever had time to read, they were mostly birthday and last-minute housewarming gifts. There were some framed photos too, well kind of. There were picture frames that still had the generic stock footage in them from the store. A sad reminder of the fact you could not have a normal life, and now Rex was staring at them.

“You like the family tree?” You finally quip, sighing as you leave to go get some towels from the other room “You’re making a mess everywhere.” You state dryly, handing him a towel and drying up the trail he left from where he was standing to the front door.

Rex simply gave an absent-minded hum. He never shut up for this long usually, it was nearly impossible to get a word in without him feeling the need to have the last word during your first. Even if you were not saying something that could be argued with, he always seemed to find a way. He hesitated for a moment just standing holding the towel before he tried to dry off the ends of his pants which were the major culprit of the indoor mess.

You could not deny your mind was racing, and he was apparently in no hurry to explain why he wanted to come in. After spending far too much time making a sad attempt at banging down your door, he was suddenly docile. He was not looking at you and his hands were fiddling with the damp towel. If you did not know better, you might even think he was nervous. Had he even looked at you since entering?

“I like your apartment, the interior design in here is… nice.” He finally said.

What.

“Oh, thanks?” What? “It actually came mostly furnished; I did not want to search for furniture while also trying to settle in with the Guardians you know? Kinda…busy.” What is happening right now?

“Oh.” He seemed almost disappointed. “Well, it’s nice.”

Great talk.

“So-”

“Uh-”

“Oh sorry-”

“No, you go first.”

YOU’RE THE ONE WHO WAS JUST BEGGING ME TO LET YOU IN WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘No, you go first’ WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

“Not to interrupt your sightseeing in my apartment, but what exactly do you want Rex?” Silence. Again. Is he drunk? He’s not swaying, but you definitely caught the scent of it earlier. He was not usually the poster child for moderation either. But he was also not slurring, then again, he has said approximately seven words since walking in so how can you really know.

“You have to come back to the Guardians of the Globe-”

“No.”

Theres the eye contact, first time since he walked it, but now it felt weird. You wish he would go back to staring at the embarrassing frames on the shelf.

“You’re a strong asset to the team-”

“Oh do not give me that rehearsed bullshit. Is Cecil feeding that to you right now? Because that’s a new low for him.” That was not a new low for Cecil, he has definitely gone much lower. You knew this after learning more about the ReAnimen.

“Fuck, Joy what do you want me to say?” He held his hands out in exasperation, taking a step towards you.

“I am not going back; you’re wasting your time. I am sure that you have better ways to spend your evening than being here beating a dead horse. Also, I am getting tired of you calling me that.” You step back towards the door, grabbing the handle to escort him out.

“Half the Guardians just left on some bullshit expedition to Mars, only Rae, Kate, and I stayed behind.” He folded his arms and did not budge. “If anything happens-” He gritted his teeth, man it must have almost physically hurt for him to admit that you were a good member. It was not too long ago that he practically threw a fit when Cecil introduced you. “At least wait until the others get back to go on this pity party.”

Rude.

“Seriously?” You could not believe the nerve he had to beg to be let in and then pull whatever this was. “If you need back-up so bad ask Mark.”

“He left with them.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Honestly Rex, I do not care. You’re a big boy, I think you can hero without me holding your hand for a little bit.”

“What is your deal!” He glared but then closed his eyes taking a breath. “I did not come here to fight or force you.”

Cute, he’s doing self-affirmations now. Okay, time to go. Out.

“Alright this has been fun, bye Rex!” You started to open the door just to feel it slam shut again. Your gaze snapped up to his hand pressed against the door. He moved fast.

“Fuck this isn’t-” He was a little too close for comfort. You back away, your hand trailing off the door handle. His eyes follow you closely.

“Rex, you’re drunk-” You start, your arms crossing over your chest.

“No-”

“It is really late-”

“No-”

“I am tired, it’s been a really long day-”

Your name, said loud, for the third time tonight, finally shuts you up for a second.

“You’re not listening.” There’s a tense silence now, his hand is still against the door even though you have stepped away. “I’m not drunk.” He almost whispered, shaking his head as if even he did not know where he was going with this.

Right… sure…

If there was one more long silence you were going to do something violent.

“Do you need me to call a car to drive you back?” You said quickly, turning around to go get your phone. He did not say anything, but you could hear him impatiently tapping his foot behind you. After a second of holding down the power button your phone flashed to life. As you expected it struggled for a bit, once fully on a litany of messages flashed across the screen and your notification sound went off an obnoxious amount of times. You turned around to see Rex now pinching the bridge of his nose. It was such a bizarre situation you almost wanted to laugh. But instead, you ordered a car. Five minutes out.

“You did not really leave because of me, did you?” It takes you off guard, his voice is soft, there is no layered sarcasm. It is almost vulnerable feeling.

“What do you want me to say?” You mirrored his words from earlier back to him, raising your eyebrow. Was it one hundred percent his fault? No. Was it approximately ninety-two-point-eight percent his fault? Yeah, that sounded about right. But what productive would come from telling him that?

“Say it wasn’t my fault.” He rasped. He stepped towards you again. You stepped back again.

He almost looks hurt.

“The car is going to be here soon, let me show you out.”

“Goddamn it.” His jaw tensed and he looked away, but did not say anything else, and stepped aside so that you could open the door.

The tense feeling did not stay behind you in your living room, it followed you down the hall. The other apartment doors one by one make you feel like you were in a box of mirrors. Did it always take this long to get to the elevator? If you lived in an apartment building with less stairs you would have jumped at that. Quickly running down the stairs with only the footsteps resounding in your head. The idea of the two of you standing side by side in the elevator as 13 floors passed was not one you were fond of.

You shook your head to yourself remembering his outburst about not being drunk. You were getting very tired of the lies. Pressing the elevator button there was nothing left to do but wait in more silence.

Maybe you should go back to the Headquarters with him.

If he was telling the truth about the Mars trip, then it might be better for you to be around. Even if Rex was lying through his teeth earlier about you being an “asset” in his eyes, you actually were. Even if he did not truly think so.

God, no what are you thinking? You have not even been gone twenty-four hours; you haven’t even been able to sleep on it. No way.

But a part of you wanted to make sure Rex got back safe. Even if he made horrible decisions and bruised your pride more often than not, you had been through a lot of fights together. And he does not seem to be thinking clearly.

With a ding, the elevator door opened, and you stepped in, Rex following behind. You pressed the button for the first floor.

Begrudgingly, you had to admit he had even saved your skin more than once, not just in the field but to the team before as well. He was not one to step down when he thought someone was being unrighteously lectured. Even if he did not like the person being lectured very much. He must have had some sense of loyalty. God forbid you defend him though, or he would get upset you did not let him handle it himself. Now you were getting irritated all over again at several unpleasant memories.

If you were one hundred percent honest you were probably going to go back to the Guardians after a week, maybe less. It would be embarrassing after the scene you made about leaving “for good” but you were meant for it. What good were you if you were not a hero? A week. Maybe less. Rex gave you approximately fourteen hours.

You glanced over at him without turning your head. He was biting the inside of his cheek, staring straight forward. No readable expression. Why was he so quick to try hauling you back? He could hardly stand being in the same room as you for more than five minutes. You used to pride yourself on being mostly likable, you had very few enemies. You were even nice to Rex for quite some time, but it did not make a difference. He was just an ass. An ass who thinks to come to your apartment when he’s drunk? He turned his head slightly and you faced forward again with a snap.

The elevator dinged again, ground level.

Hurriedly, you leave the elevator, a certain discomfort you couldn’t place enveloping you. The glass doors are an entryway ahead of you, showing clearly how much it was pouring outside. No wonder he was unintentionally giving your floor a spot clean. You could see the car waiting outside, the rain showing even more clearly in the beams of the headlights.

You could hear it now, the thrumming of the rain. It immediately made you feel more relaxed. You did not hold the glass door for Rex.

It was very cold outside; you should have grabbed a coat. I guess you had more pressing matters on your mind. You sighed to yourself, not able to hear it over the rain. The windshield wipers of the car squeaked as you got closer. You waited a moment for the driver to open the passenger window, telling them where to take him, and to make sure he gets inside fine. If the driver was just some random guy this would have been highly irregular and definitely not in their job description. But it was one of Cecil’s guys, so they knew exactly where to go.

The passenger window closes, and you go to open the back seat for Rex. Once again, his hand stops the door from fully opening and you prepare yourself for another short-lived argument. But you glance up and he’s just… looking at you.

There’s that feeling again, from when you left the elevator. Was it apprehension? Waiting for him to say something stupid? You shifted back slightly; he leaned forward slightly.

Odd.

“The driver will take you to the headquarters.” You say finally, your gaze jerking from his eyes to his shirt collar. You could see a sliver of orange and yellow and for a second you thought triumphantly that you knew it. He is wearing it still, typical. Focus.

“Come with me.” His brow is furrowed, he must be angry. Angry he was not able to force you into submission, into coming back.

“No.” You said softly, managing a sympathetic smile. You needed at least twenty-four hours of not being around that ridiculous team.

He leaned forward slightly more; you were very close now. That feeling again. Manual breathing is now the only thing that enters your mind. How do you remember to breathe when you are not actively thinking about it? How did you manage for so long until right now? Because this is taking a lot of effort to make sure you’re breathing normally.

“Please.” He’s not looking you in the eye, his eyes have flickered down for a moment, a blink and you miss it moment. You did not blink, and you did not miss it. His lips are slightly parted, and he edges forward what could not have been more than a millimeter. Your gaze returns to his eyes. There is no way. He is drunk and you are imagining this, go to bed.

“Goodnight Rex.” You finally say, but you do not back away immediately. He is entirely in your personal space. But a small insignificant voice in your mind is screaming at you not to move, not to go back to your apartment. You had to know why he was there. For Pete’s sake, it had only been fourteen hours. Why were you now standing here feeling crazy wondering if he was actually leaning forward more. You needed him to explain.

And then you stepped back.

If you did not know better the emotion that crossed his face would have looked a lot like disappointment.

Rex got into the car and closed the door. You turned around to watch it drive off. A shiver ran through your body. Damn rain.

He’s an asshole. Has always been an asshole. It was the first thing you thought when he opened his damn mouth during your first encounter.

Divider credit: @/ saradika

[midnightshindig]

Can I request marriage proposal hcs for Cecil, Donald, Rex, and Mark? Like just quick "this is how they would propose, where, now they're feeling" thing

Cecil, Donald, Rex and Mark Proposal hcs!!

okay quick rapid fire, following a strict format!

Cecil

Where?:

either AT the GDA or some shit like a fancy restaurant he rented out just for you

either way a SUPER private proposal

After how long?:

Cecil would wait a WHILE before proposing

think 4-10 years

How?:

Cecil gets someone to custom design you a ring based on the pinterest board he found on your account

gives you a very curt speech that sounds a little like a business proposal

but then he takes a heavy, anxious breath and drops his shoulder

"Y/n, I can't do this without you. And I love you. and finding those two things in the same person doesn't happen twice. I wanna do right by you. Can I be your husband?"

(The rest under the cut!)

Donald

Where?:

Probably a nice restaurant with people populating it

or somewhere really casual like a drive in movie

he probably took you there a lot on dates early in your relationship

After how long?:

Donald, like Cecil, is pragmatic and older (hc like his early 40s) than Rex and Mark

He'd wait a sensible 2-3 years before proposing

honestly, finding out he's a cyborg is probably what pushes him over the edge into proposing

How?:

The wedding ring is forged from the specific type of metal used to make his skeleton

He gets one of those trinket boxes from like hobby lobby or smth, but not a traditional ring box

Probably opens the ring box and just stares at you

for like a good minute

before it occurs to him that duh he has to, yknow.... ask?

"...Y/n- Will you marry me?"

He just stares at you with that dumb ass placid look on his face

but inside he's SWEATING

his glasses are fogged as fuck

Rex

Where?:

Probably somewhere relatively remote

like the Teen Team tower/bridge

Or where you had your first date

After how long?:

he's impulsive but NOT commital

you'd have to be dating for like.... 4 years before he'll propose

selfishly that's because some part of him is waiting to see if he'll fuck it up and cheat

before he realizes this is for real and he really adores you

like yeah he wants to tie your ass down ofc he does

plans the proposal in a week flat

How?:

boy is broke, you get fancy Target wedding ring

cost him 20 of Rudy's dollars

he puts on a firework show for you, along with some of his cooking for a picnic date

Gets down on one knee as the firework finale occurs, makes a big thing of it

"Y/n- I know I'm a total jackass and I can be annoying- I don't know how you deal with me. But you're the best person I've ever met and I want to be with you forever. Soooo, will you marry me?"

cocky grin with a glimmer of anxiety in his eyes

please say yes

Mark

Where?:

Somewhere only he can take you

if you can breath in space, then the moon

but otherwise, the top of a mountain or the Eifel Tower is not out of reach

After how long?:

Mark is a romantic at heart

Probably between 8 months and two years?

I DOUBT longer than that

I only say 2 years because of Debbie

How?:

He proposes with Debbie's wedding ring

Which, in and of itself is a family heirloom from her side of the family

He goes out of his way to take you on the most fantastical date

An activity and then dinner and then dessert and then he flies you around, laying on his stomach as he cruises backwards through the air

Its some "a whole new world" type shit

He takes you to-- we'll assume the Eifel Tower-- and gets on one knee

pulls out notecards

"ahem- Y/n-" ass mf

Literally the lengthiest, corniest speech ever

"I'm so grateful for that day, the day I met you and you changed my life forever."

this goes one a WHILE

"Marriage is the bond between two people who make each other better. I am better in every way with you in my life. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

Pure anxiety in his face, you can see the crinkle of self doubt in his eyes

[pinkluv29]

When you wanted angst, you got your angst but at what cost. I hurt my own feelings

[bunji-enthusiast]

Bᴇᴇɴ ⵊɴsɪᴅᴇ

A/N… Rex is shameless, rrrrrgh. Wrote this with an energy drink and a dream fyi, so I’m still sleepy as shit.

the sun was shining and the birds were singing—which is what you’d be thinking if you were still snoring away in your beloved dreamland. but no, reality hits you hard as soon as you awoke. your gaze snaps to the man beside you, almost a little breathless; otherwise—out of it. then what happened last night comes rushing back to you, the memory makes you groan as you stretch, feeling the soreness not just down where it was; but virtually everywhere on your body. while you couldn’t complain about where you woke up, your body was hurting like hell. and it wasn’t even from last night alone. It was the entire goddamn week.

you telepathically curse the world. fuuuck.

however, you decide to check if you were really dreaming. you lift the blanket, your eyes razing over your spottily bruised skin; mainly on your hips. though to gods, you could feel some sort of warmth against the sensation of the bruises. you blinked slowly, a semblance of confusion crawls up your spine.

“holy shit.” you mutter, shifting so that you no longer were just laying down.

so you weren’t dreaming.

whatever you were feeling in your heart, or chest—this was just unreal. you actually fucked Rex.

you snort, holding your head in your hands. leaning against the headboard of the bed. well, atleast you were comfortable. because this was some bullshit.

there’s no way you actually did it, but the evidence was indisputably clear. you couldn’t deny it.

you were used to doing one-night stands, no strings attached. no feelings whatsoever involved, all purely for the moment of pleasure. however this was a different case.

Rex actually stayed. you weren’t sure how you were supposed to feel about that, or the whole thing in general. but he wasn’t awake yet—fortunately, so you could freak out about it in quiet silence. not have to be embarrassed. though that was not to deny you were already reaching that right now.

“you good?”

His hoarse voice snaps you out of your hazy daze, and you blink a few times when you fully register that Rex was—in fact awake. you let out a low squeak when you realize, groaning inwardly at yourself. “m’fine.”

“your lookin’ pretty red though.” he drawls, chuckling as he stretches his arms. this probably was nothing new to him, but this was certainly something new to you.

you did not like it. “guess we both know who to blame for that,” you bite, though there was no venom in your words. even despite the circumstances, you try to be a nice person.

“oh me?” he laughs, “damn. I’m hurt.”

however, even full well knowing he says that. it wasn’t true, he enjoys talking with you. so when he’s seen you with some less then inconspicuous assholes trying to pull shit on you last night at the square downtown. Rex most certainly didn’t take it well, he’s trying to be a better man sure, but that wasn’t stuff he takes lightly. even for a douche like him, and he recognizes it.

“like you’d be hurt by that.” you exhale, letting your shoulders deflate. despite being square as they’ll ever be when your in working form, you didn’t have the energy to muster something more. sometimes being around Rex made that part easier.

as per his cocky demeanor, he replies, “had me there, but damn, I didn’t know someone like you could moan so loud.”

“your a whiner.” you shot back with a grin, brow arched. Rex holds up his hands in mock-surrender.

“hey, I know game when I see it.”

“Oh do you?” you laugh, crossing your arms.

Rex props himself up on his elbows, biceps flexing against the strain of his weight. his tone drops low, “s’not meant to be an insult.”

you sigh, shaking your head. “I know. it’s just—“ you cut yourself off, now rubbing the back of your neck. “I’m just surprised.”

now that had him curious, Rex crawls over. for a moment, he hesitates, but against his usual gut instincts — he lends his hand for yours.

and you don’t stop him, of course you don’t. you should, but you didn’t.

“c’mon…” he questions, brows creased with concern. “you wanna tell me?” Rex will respect it if you decline doing so, but, he just senses like it’s something you need to get off your chest.

you take the moment, this transitionary pin willowed in oddly comforting silence. “it’s not like I haven’t fucked before, but usually… it’s all one-time thing with guys I’ve met just once.”

“Mhm.” he muttered, “but there’s more?”

you nod, “it’s always no strings attached, and they never stay—but you did.”

Rex pauses at that revelation, then chuckles. your prolonged sadness suddenly dissipates, wondering why he found it so funny.

“eh, shit. i get that.” he says, firmly pulling your hand closer, interlacing with his own. a lop-sided grin tugs at his lips, “i used to hop out a lot afterwards, but y’know i realized it just only made me shittier.”

you bark out a laugh at his comment, and honest to god that alone makes his heart swell. “I like getting to wake up to a face like yours anyways.” he adds finally, still grinning.

“oh fuck you.” you insult, but nothing behind it whatsoever draws any bite. usually they do of course, but now it’s just not working at all.

seriously, what the fuck was he doing to you?

“anytime of the day?” he interjects, looking straight at you. you shoot him a glare, but he doesn’t back down, instead inching closer to you.

oh my god, you think to yourself. Rex truly always had a way of subverting the mood, whether subtly, or otherwise in true fashion. it was a uniqueness only he could perform, frankly it had made you question once or twice why or how you even had a crush on Rex.

“have you got any shame?” you smile, watching as he drops himself right on top of you.

Rex hums to himself, as if he truly was taking your question into consideration. then he shakes his head, “nahhh, I lost that awhile ago.”

you had to stifle a laugh, “you know what? that tracks.” you reach for his face, carefully holding it. though, his eyes were really… pretty. oh damn this guy.

“exactly.” Rex inhales, leans right into your touch and lets out a long sigh. “damn sure I’m not the only one though.” at that, you shake your head in disbelief. Rex wasn’t wrong though, but you were sure he outmatches you in that department.

hell—Rex was naked an entire fight, and he felt no embarrassment about it whatsoever. you point your finger right into his temple, “you… Rex are lucky I haven’t kicked you out yet.”

“guess I am.” he responds, its a note of simplicity in he says it that makes you envious. “you know what would happen if you did?”

you only smile, then decide to humor him, “what?”

“I’d be so sad.” he says, laying his head against your chest. relishing in your warmth, and you blush. feeling the heat rise in your cheeks and neck, he was so unfairly beautiful when it looked like he was at peace.

you decide to pat his head, threading your thumb against the sleekness of his hair. “that’d be a first, but i would feel too bad.”

“good,” Rex sighs, almost impossibly nuzzling in closer. he moans, “keep doin’ that, please.”

you almost shiver at the noise, laying your other hand against his back. you fully commit to carding your fingers through his hair. “you really like this huh?”

“feels nice.” he admits, and you roll your eyes in slight disbelief. nonetheless—you continue doing as per his request, taking residence in this little world of yours.

if this had been you and him way earlier, maybe five months back. you would’ve accused Rex of being replaced by someone else entirely, because this was way too domestic. while it was unusual, you didn’t mind it. you definitely wanted going to commit this softness to memory, because you weren’t sure if you ever were going to see this side of him ever again.

a soft buzz interrupts your stream of thoughts, and you realize it was your phone. so you stop your ministrations, you hear a low huff immediately.

he curses breathlessly, motherfuck—he was really enjoying that. “who is it?” Rex mutters.

“dunno, I’m lookin.” you respond, dragging your free hand up and down against his back. continuing on with your other, you check the notification—

“shit.” you cursed, groaning. “it’s my brother.”

he lifts his head up, Rex was surprised, “you got a bro?”

you nod at him, ripping your eyes away from the screen. “he’s just asking if I could come over to his place to help with his shit. dumbass won’t specify.” you roll your eyes, “whatever he means.”

“well that’s stupid.” he replies, raising a brow. Rex leans forward, taking the phone out of your hand. you stutter at his sudden action, but he only just sets it face down on the space of the bed beside you. he then returns his gaze to you, and leans closer, waiting for you to be able to say yes.

you were confused, but then the realization sets in. you couldn’t repress your smile, leaning forward to slot your lips against his.

Rex hums, trying to let his mind get muddled. your the one who pulls back, and he stops. “the dude can wait can’t he?” he asks, and you shrug.

“maybe,” you replied, sighing as you your forehead against his. “but I can’t just stay in here the whole time. I’m gonna get questioned, and damn thoroughly might I add.”

Rex just only groans, rolling his eyes. he leans back a comfortable distance, a light flickering in his gaze, “I could come with you?”

“But then that’d just make things weird.” you refute, squaring your shoulders halfway. at your words, Rex laughs.

“I’ve been inside you.” he grins, resting his hand against your chest as if to emphasize his point.

“pretty sure we’re past that point.”

[luvztodd]

KEEP IT IN THE BEDROOM

rex sloan x FEM OUTCAST! reader

in which you don't know what you want

♫ I'm Not In Love - 10cc

contains - childhood trauma, bullying, alludes to sex, smoking and depression

Nobody knew.

It was a well kept secret between you and Rex. Even if Rex wanted to shout it from the rooftops and you wanted to forever hide from the fact that you spent most of your nights in his bed.

He would hold you, ramble on and on to you about his day or whatever superficial shit he thought was important. You laid there, tired and naked, just listening to him while he combed through your unruly hair with his strong scarred hands.

And then you’d come up with a bad excuse to start getting dressed and then you’d leave him. Careful not to leave any traces that would set anyone off about what really went down in his bedroom during the late hours of the night.

Truly, you didn’t know why you were so ashamed of whatever you had with Rex. You thought maybe it was because of his past? Were you embarrassed to be seen hanging around a known cheater? No, that wasn’t it. Were you ashamed to be seen kissing a man whose ego was as big as his….no that wasn’t it either.

The question stumped you for weeks. Late nights spent on a balcony in Guardians Headquarters, a cigarette perched between your index and middle fingers, a black leather jacket hugged tightly around your body. But not tight enough to resemble the way Rex would hold you while he was trying to mimic aftercare he had read about in ‘healthy sex’ magazines.

He was trying to do better, you knew that. The other Guardians knew that. He was becoming a better version of himself, as was everyone around you.

And then it hit you. Hard and fast like a strong gush of wind during a hurricane. You weren’t embarrassed to be seen with Rex. Not at all. You were scared. Scared that Rex would be embarrassed to be seen with you.

As much as you hated to admit it, it seemed that your grade school habits were hard to shake. The bullying, the name-calling, the fighting. You shuddered, the horrid memories almost always brought an angry chill to your spine.

You took a final drag of your cigarette before dropping it onto the concrete floor, stepping on it with your boot. You watched the ashes fizzle out with a satisfying hiss. You stared at the cigarette butt on the ground for a long time getting lost in your thoughts.

“Trailer park trash can’t even read. Maybe she could just stick to something she’s actually good at, like folding laundry or sucking di-“

“Tyler that’s enough.”

It was seventh grade, you sat in the back of your English class, a hoodie loosely around your body, a paperback cover of Romeo and Juliet clutched in your hands. Your life was falling apart. You were no longer soccer captain, you no longer had any friends to bide time with, boys mocked and taunted you in the hallways and girls avoided you like the plague.

All because the secret had got out, you lived in a trailer park, which wasn’t a big deal to most but to prepubescent teenagers, it was the lowest way of life. Not to mention the fact a rumor that you gave handjobs to every boy on the baseball team was spreading around the school like wildfire. And this all started because what? You rejected that douche eighth grader Doug? As if you would have ever gone out with him.

You were taunted, bullied, your name slandered and dragged through the mud by students and teachers alike. You spent your nights infront of the cross in your mother’s living room, surrounded by all of the shit she hoarded wondering what you did to deserve this. So many nights spent sleeping on a foam mattresss topper with a black trash bag acting as a blanket wishing you could have been born into a poshy rich family, with a cute little white dog and two parents that loved you.

You were miserable. Depressed and rotting away in that trailer, in that awful school for years until you had discovered something that was always there, laying dormant inside of you. A superpower apparently. And of course you used it. Just...not in the right way, instead of using it to help people you were using it to make the people who hurt you suffer.

Word got out and it wasn’t long before you were approached by a fair-skinned man with long white hair. He told you his name was Cecil and that you could leave your entire life behind if you wanted and work for him as one of the ‘good guys’. He didn’t have to say much else, you had agreed almost too quickly. And of course, Cecil claimed he didn't work with criminals but he could make an exception for a misguided young girl with an exceptional abilty.

And now here you were. Almost six years later, still just as miserable. But you had to wonder, was this your fault? If people like Rex were able to change, could you? Could you be better? Could you be happier, less angry, less stoic and more outspoken and cheerful? Did you have to be so miserable-

“Hey…what’re you doin��� out here by yourself it’s fuckin’ freezing.”

You glanced over your shoulder to find the man who's been haunting your thoughts for months, standing near the glass door in nothing but stained grey sweatpants and mismatched socks.

"Rex, go back inside." You sighed, not able to find it in yourself to keep a conversation with him right now.

“Is something up with you? Feels like something’s up with you.” He pried, completely ignoring you and stepping out further. He stood behind you, his arms moving to wrap around your waist.

"What're you doing?" You tried to pull away, not very hard but still.

“Relax, no one else is out here, just me and you.” Rex nuzzled his face into your neck.

"Still," You pulled away, turning around to face him. He was standing there in all his tan, muscled glory, with a little pout on his face.

“Don’t be so mean.” He groaned, “I’m just trying to feel you up, nothin’ wrong with that. You sure did like it last night.” He shot you a smug grin.

"What did i say about that?" You scoffed. "No talking about our...thing in public. That stays in your bedroom, Rex"

“Yeah, yeah i know, but why? I mean, what’s the big deal. If you’re stressed about the team finding out i guarantee they couldn’t give any fucks, i mean, i dated Eve, i dated Kate. Trust me, they don’t care.”

Your jaw clenched at the reminder of the other women he’s been with. All beautiful, talented, heroic girls who would give their life to the cause of being a hero. Meanwhile anytime you thought your life was truly in danger, you would cut and run.

“Hey, Earth to babydoll? You present?” Rex waved his hand infront of your face, snapping at you. Your hand shot out to grip his wrist, making him stop. “Okay seriously, talk to me. I know something’s wrong.”

"You don't know a fucking thing about me Rex, get real."

“Hey…” Rex was taken aback by how cold your tone was, “That’s not true. I do know you, better than you think i do. Look, i know i seem like all i care about is myself and getting laid, but i really do care about you.”

"Right." You replied flatly. Rex sighed in response, the sound making you internally wince.

“Baby…just talk to me please. I’m actually getting…like worried.” Rex scratched the back of his neck, stepping closer.

"I don't know what's wrong. I don't know." You buried your face into your hands letting out a deep sigh.

It didn’t take Rex long to envelop you, wrapping his arms tightly around you and pulling you into his chest. You pried your hands away from your face and slowly wrapped them around his warm neck. There were no words exchanged between you two for a while, just the sounds of Rex’s soft breaths and trees blowing in the breeze nearby.

When you finally looked up at him, he looked sad, confused, nervous. "Do...” You tried to force the words out of your mouth. "Do you wish i was someone else?" You croaked out, swallowing harshly.

Rex pulls away in response, still holding onto you but his eyes now piercing through yours, dark brown eyebrows furrowed. “What? What the fuck are you talking about baby? Why would i ever want you to be someone else?”

"I don't know...it's just...i don't know." You stammered letting out a deep sigh.

“Babydoll…you’ve…turned me into a better person. I mean, i’ve chilled out since being with you. The team thinks i’m less of an annoying prick and everything with you has just been fucking rad. I mean i know i got issues but im working on ‘em. For you.”

"For me?" You echoed, disbelief apparent on your face. Rex nodded in confirmation, one of his strong hands came up to cup your cheek.

“Who else?” He chuckled deeply, his voice just a little raspy from sleepiness. There was a lull in the conversation, before you glanced at the floor and then back up at Rex.

"Do you...ever want this to be like...a thing? A real thing? Not just a sex and go."

“You want me to be honest or bullshit?”

"Honest, i can take it."

“I want more.”

Another lull in the conversation, your eyes softened and the arms you had wrapped around him loosened. "Really?" You whispered

“Yeah. Really. I really really want to be with you, publicly. I want to show you off, i want to tell everyone we’re something, i want to touch all on you in public.” He slyly smiled with his last declaration. “But…i just don’t want you to be so…alone. I mean i get it, you’re always all mysterious, stoic, badass but i kinda don’t like seeing you off by yourself while everyone mingles. It hurts.”

"Why does it hurt you?" You lightly scoffed.

“Because i care about you. A lot.”

You hummed in acknowledgment your heart begrudgingly softening for the man infront of you. You leaned forwards, your forehead against his. Your lips were almost touching and the silence that filled the night air was loud. "You wanna go public then?" You whispered against his lips.

Rex didn’t respond right away, he just smiled against your lips and leaned in to fill that small gap. The kiss was languid and tender, tongues gently mingling together before you pulled apart.

"So that's a yeah?" You laughed, gently nudging his shoulder.

“Duh.”

a/n: this fic was lowk a challenge to write. i tried not to make it stereotypical but who knows. forgive me if rex is ooc, he's kinda hard to write for lol. and i'm finally figuring out how i want to format my posts, i'm excited to be an aesthetic girly now even if the gradient text took me like two hours. thank you for all the love, comments, reblogs and notes are very much appreciated

animated dividers by @/cafekitsune

sparkle dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[invincibledc]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐈𝐍!𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

➣being some dead teen a scientist wanted to experiment on you, is some bullshit. Like no, literally, dug up your body, being so mad disrespectful. And turns out you have electric powers and the power to take part off your body and reattach them. And now you are on the teen team, or whatever this team is called as you just keep messing with these bolts on your neck. It helps with your electric measurement, although you know you shouldn’t use it much to hurt someone. It’s funny to shock Rex a few times, it’s hilarious.

➣ and then there’s mark, eve, and those other extras you don’t really care about. Well, you care about Rae cause she’s hella cool! But obviously the most people that are suddenly all over you is mark and Eve. You’re literally some dead guy brought back to alive as if you are Frankenstein’s son, and these two people wanna be all over you like cats to catnip. Eve always wants to make you comfortable in some ways, and mark just oddly knows your every location. It’s weird and annoying. Plus, you don’t need no fuck ass “heroes” to try and make you feel at “home”. Your real home is [home place] not Chicago. Not this place.

Not here. And not ever.