Eclipse's Case Files - Blog Posts

Small drabble with a very nervous Mark (aka my fave)

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“Do you want to come visit anytime soon?” [Draft]

“What are you doing this spring break?” [Draft] 

“You know, the weather this time of year here is amazing! You should come check it out, if you want.” 

He doesn't even bother keeping that one, immediately deleting it. Far too forward, it was practically embarrassing. 

Mark accepts his defeat when he sighs, pocketing his phone in his pants. He just decides to head to class early instead of loitering in the halls like an idiot. He can settle on spending his break with William again.

Having a pen pal started as an annoying project he had to do to pass his sociology class, one he unfortunately needed to graduate. When he had put his hand in the bowl with a bunch of paper slips in it, he had expected nothing but the worst: conservative old men, a middle aged cat lady, or god forbid, a twelve year old boy. He shivered just thinking about it.

However, somehow, by some miraculous stroke of luck, he had gotten you. A girl his age. 

And nevermind that reasoning. Because you happened to also be quite pleasant to talk to. Even if he did have to speak brokenly in your language– at least you were nice about it! (sometimes) Plus, you were pretty funny when he didn’t have to use google translate to understand your messages. 

And listen, so what if you were crazy hot? That’s just a side reason of why he wants to meet you in person. He admires your beautiful personality even more, alright? 

When confiding his predicament to his best friend, William had suggested to simply: ‘take the shot.’

“Either she thinks you're a complete pervert or you’ve got a hot new girlfriend! Gamble, my friend. Gamble.” 

Thanks, William. 

Mark sits in class, taking out his biology notebook and some pens, when he feels his phone buzz. 

He practically jumped. He only has notifications on for one person, (besides his mom) and that was you. 

Hesitantly, he takes out his phone to read the message.

“Hey, Mark! Hope you’re doing well.

Bummer news: all of my friends are going to visit their families this break, it really sucks, I’ll be alone for two whole weeks! So, I wanted to ask if you’d mind if I could crash at your place? I heard the weather where you are right now is amazing. :)” 

He could faint.

ִֶָ࣪☾. | Sinister.

ᥫ᭡. Part two! (Part 1 here)

Tags: canon-typical violence, pwp (porn with plot), cunnilingus, oral sex (f receiving), interrupted sex, sinister mark is his own warning.

Silently, you read on your soft, large bed. The one that you’d told Mark to get you after he had kindly snapped the last one’s framework in half.

Afterwards, you’d tried to convince him to sleep on the pull-out couch downstairs. Unfortunately, he had thought you were making a less-than-clever joke. 

Even with the window closed shut and the curtains drawn, you could still hear the destruction and the screams of agony from outside; and it was creating a serious detriment to your train of thought. You can’t focus if you’re rudely interrupted by a cry or a pained scream after reading a single sentence. 

You let out an annoyed groan when you hear a goddamn gun go off, and decide to take matters in your own hands. Or rather, dump them on Mark. 

You place your bookmark with little cats on it in the page you’ve stopped, a paw extending to point to the last sentence you read. Then, you hop off the bed to draw open the curtains and open the window. You don’t bother to direct your gaze downwards, where the murder and destruction occurs. 

“Mark!” You call out loudly. You wait for a few seconds, keeping an eye on the sky as you wait. Your expression warps to a more annoyed the longer he takes. “Maaaark!” 

Amidst the polluted sky, you see something like a sonic boom approach from far away. When he’s a couple hundred meters close, he steadily slows down, angling his feet forward to slow himself further. Till finally, he’s face level with you. 

“Yes?” He says with a grin. 

“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting here forever.” 

He sighs, “Baby, I was in Rome. You know how far away that is?” You roll your eyes, “Pretty damn far away.” 

He leans in through the window and plants a kiss, “If you want, I can take you with me right now.” He says musically.

You shake your head and smirk, “Lovely offer, but no.” Then, a frown takes place on your lips, leading you back to the reason you called him, “Mark, I can’t pay attention. I'm trying to read that stupid book, but I can't.” You gesture to your ears, “Everything is so loud.” 

In that exact moment, an explosion goes off. Mark genuinely thinks about it for a moment, offering a solution, “So, do you want to live somewhere more remote?” 

“No. I don’t want to live in a wasteland.” 

“So do you want me to kill everyone here?” 

“But then who will I talk to?” You complain. 

He sighs, “Can’t you just deal with it?” You frown, and he eats up his words, “Okay. Fine, fine.” You can practically see him roll his eyes, even with his ridiculous goggles. “But I want pasta for dinner.” 

You pout, “That’s what we had last night!” 

He grins, “But not from Italy.” 

He gives you a last, parting kiss, and then darts away. You nearly tip over at the force of it, then wipe your lips with a groan. You close the window and shut the curtains. 

For a few, particularly annoying moments. There’s nothing but annoying loud noise. You try to keep your mind off of it by plugging in your headphones and listening to the songs you’ve saved. 

You walk over to the bookcase in the room, pristine and untouched. After the fiasco a few nights ago, you refused him when he wanted to put it back in its original spot in the living room. Instead, you decided on keeping the nook close to your heart, and you. In the bedroom. 

You run your fingers across the rows of books. By the time you find that same, slightly tampered with book, the noise has dispelled, leaving you in a comforting silence. You hum along to the song as you open the book. 

The book that you are fairly sure that you hadn’t possessed before your fight. You don’t know what had compelled you to look for a book you didn’t own that night. But somehow, you knew you needed that book, and you knew it was just within your reach. 

For some strange reason, the man that had opened a portal to your dimension –Angstrom Levy– was not keen on grabbing your Mark by the scruff and chucking him to a lovely reality he can ruin for his own enrichment. Or, that’s what you thought the idiot’s thought process was. Who the fuck knows what he’s thinking, really. 

The book is on how dimensions work, how people that can open realities do that, and most importantly, how people who can’t inherently create a hole in the fabric of reality, learn how to. 

Interesting stuff. 

On the armchair near the bookcase, your legs are pulled to you and you drape a blanket over your lap. You take a sip of your warm cup of tea and set it down on the small coffee table next to you. 

You open to where you stopped, and begin to read. 

You have read this book more than a few times over the last couple days since you discovered it’s existence. During that time, you’ve found it’s less been a long read, and more a tough read. You’re trying your best to wrap your head around the idea before you even begin to attempt it. Because you only really get one chance. One chance to get rid of your Mark. And if you fail? Well, then you can kiss kicking Mark’s ass out of this reality goodbye. 

The entire late afternoon, you spend it in your reading nook, repeating over and over what you have to do to open a portal to a different reality. 

When seven o’ clock strikes, you hear the familiar click of the front door. And before you could even lift your face to see, you’re met face-to-face with Mark. 

He sees the book you’re reading, “I see you’re making good use of your time.” He kisses your cheek, “I’ll take a quick shower and meet you downstairs. I won’t take too long.” You suppose the last part was meant to be a threat. 

***

At the dinner table, you twirl your fork around the spaghetti, then push the spikes of it into a meatball, before putting it in your mouth. As you chew, you hum pleasantly. 

He watches your expression with a keen eye, a grin on his lips at his triumph. “See? I told you it wouldn’t be cold. You just like to complain.” 

You swallow. “It’s a little cold.” You don’t want him to think he did an amazing job and get too full himself. 

He throws his hands up and furrows his eyebrows at you, “No! It isn’t!” You just shrug. 

The rest of the dinner continues to be a series of cutlery clinking with each other as you silently eat. Per usual, Mark’s face is screwed up into a frown.

“So,” He tries to start, “How’s the book you were reading going along?” You look at him with an eyebrow raised, and he groans, “The one with the angsty guy.” 

You sigh and correct him, “Angstrom.” You take a sip of wine, it’s painfully good. “And I already told you, I can’t open a portal. It’s impossible. You have to be born with it.” 

You fall into yet another uncomfortable silence. And the cycle continues with Mark trying to speak up, “Well, what about those other books you were reading? The one with the dragons and princesses and whatever.” 

Each time, you respond as curtly as physically possible, and the dinner ends with you throwing the dishes in the garbage. Because who does dishes at the end of the world, anyway? 

Without needing to be told, you hop on the marble counter and let Mark slip between your legs. He holds your hips as gently as possible (for him, anyway) as he kisses your lips. But as the kisses become more heated, his grip on you tightens, and you repress an annoyed sigh. He’s such a goddamned brute it’s almost aggravating. 

He picks you up by the back of your thigh without cutting off the kiss, a show of his strength. You wrap your arms around his neck and let him kiss you on the table where you were eating at. You let him suck at your lips against the living room couch, and you let him mark your neck against the stairs, before finally carrying you up into the bedroom. 

Along the way, there is a mess of a trail of clothes. He throws you onto the bed and takes his underwear and pants down in one go. He kicks them away and crawls to you, planting kisses down your neck. 

“You’re so fucking…” He grabs your waist tightly, “bitchy without even trying.” He bites the column of your neck harshly, then again on the other side. You yelp both times. “You know how goddamn annoying you are?” 

He’s taking his frustrations out on dinner, and every dinner, on you. And you won’t have that. You slap his back, he shudders, “Either do it right or get off of me.” You grit. 

He just groans, “God, I hope that leaves a mark.” He kisses down your body. Starting from the middle of your chest, to your stomach, all the way down to your pelvis. With how impatient he is, it doesn’t take long before he plants a wet kiss directly on your folds. Your thighs instinctively cage his head. He snickers. 

“Oh…” He chuckles breathily against your cunt, making your spine shiver. “Missed this fucking cunt.” 

You don’t, or rather can’t, comment on how it’s only been two days since the two of you last had sex, because he decides to put his face directly into your pussy, licking at it. His mouth finds your clit, and latches on it, sucking. 

You immediately grip his dark hair, moaning. Your breath turns ragged as he leaves your clit a sensitive, puffy mess. “D-Don’t tease.” You grumble, but it sounds more like a whimper. 

He licks a stripe along your folds in response, “Baby, I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, ‘cause this is my pussy. You fucking got that?” He licks along your folds insistently, making you squirm. 

When you don’t reply, he slaps your hip, “You got that?” and you nod immediately, amusing him. As a reward, he slips a finger inside your wet core, and your breath is caught in your throat. 

Without bothering to let you get used to the feeling, he starts to slip it in and out. The lewd squelching sounds please him, and he returns his attention back to your clit. 

“M-Mark–” You barely say, your leg jerking, “Wait–” 

He takes that as an invitation to slip a second finger inside of you, making you gasp. He crooks them, trying to find your most sensitive spot, and he catches it when you scream. 

Determined to make you cum, each thrust of his fingers lands on your g-spot. Your head thrashed against the pillow, and your body jerks, trying to get away from him. But you’re pretty sure you’d cry if he did. 

He takes turns sucking on your clit, and marking your inner thighs. Every movement and jerk makes you flex, and he grips your thigh, “Stay fucking still, yeah?” 

You try, but it’s asking the impossible. Mark goes down on you again, eating at your pussy with renewed fervor. Curse viltrumite stamina. Or bless it. 

You feel the feeling in your stomach boil over, and you barely have time to warn him before he makes you come with a scream. You cry, and your cum lands on his mouth, making a mess, and he eagerly laps up your release. You breathe quickly, your thighs squeezing around him so hard his skull might bash in if he wasn’t superhuman.  

Eventually, you come down. Though your breath still comes in sharp inhales as you try to calm yourself. You realize it’s impossible with Mark still in between your legs. You try to push him off you as he licks at your inner thigh, “Mark—” You whine, “Enough. Stop. It hurts.” 

With one last lick, he finally gets up from between your legs. His tongue darts from his lips to clean them of your release. He crawls on top of you and kisses beneath your jaw, his hands going to feel your body up and down.

“Well it’s about to hurt a lot more. Because you’re such a sweetheart, and you’ll let me finish inside of you.” He squeezes your waist, “Won’t you?” 

Your cunt automatically pulses like a sleeper agent, and you feel the waves of arousal come back to you in an instant. Yes, the fuck. You are a goddamned sweetheart. The sweetest, even. 

You can’t help yourself from wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him, which he responds to with a pleasant moan. He grabs the side of your head and sucks at your lips, like he’s trying to eat them. But you don’t care. You want to have him. And you want him right now. 

His tongue slips between your kiss-bitten lips, and you feel his hardness push against your inner thigh. So close, yet so completely far away. 

“Mark.” You moan, “Mhm?” he says back, and you take a second to lay back down, looking up at his sickly sweet puppy eyes. Pretty eyes that are clouded over with lust. 

You let out a sound that’s like a whine. “Please? Now?” He chases after you like a puppy, immediately connects your lips again. 

“Yea, mmm, fuck. Yeah, okay.” 

He rubs his cock against your inner thigh, and it barely grazes your core, making you whine. You’ll die if you don’t get to have him inside of you right now. You wrap your legs around the small of his back, letting him know. 

He continues to kiss you like he’s starved, practically trying to melt your lips into each other as he humps your inner thigh. 

You feel sweat cling to your skin and Mark’s breathing becomes more frequent. 

He sits up on his haunches and strokes the underside of his cock, his eyes rolling back atthe pleasure. You swallow, enraptured by his display as he pumps his dick right in front of you. “You want this?” 

You look into his eyes with as much desperation as you’re trying to convey: yes. Oh my god, yes. 

He looks down at you with half-lidded eyes, and he brings your thighs around his hips. You help him without hesitation. Your body racks with nerves and anticipation as you eye his dick. Excitement bubbles up in your core. 

Just as you think he’s about to slam into you as roughly as he always does, he’s suddenly snapped out of his lusty haze, his face becoming more alert as he glances around the room. He quickly turns his head up to look at the window. Wordlessly, he jumps out of bed with speed and peels back the curtains. 

You know better than to even call out his name, so you lift the covers up to your chest and try to see what he’s seeing, sitting up. 

From the exact opposite side of the room, there’s a crackle, and an otherworldly sound fills the room as a bright green portal opens up. Instantly, it casts the room in its unrealistic, brilliant green. 

It continues to swirl in on itself, as it had done that fateful night. 

Mark looks at you, as if you’d done that, and you snort, “Yeah cause i’d have enough concentration to warp reality while we have sex.” 

He groans, not at all pleased with the turn of events. “Well, if you’re soo concentrated, close it back up again.” 

“And what the hell makes you think I can do that?” 

While the two of you bicker, a figure emerges from the portal, and your eyes flit to it on instinct. Meanwhile, Invincible’s instinct is to pull back his fist, ready to kill. 

Your jaw falls open as what emerges from the portal is not like anything you’ve seen. It’s a man, with a large, gross-looking head. He wears an inelaborate suit with a dramatic red cape. You turn your head and frown in distaste. 

You’ve always associated Mark with being some kind of freak accident, but this guy clearly takes the cake for being a mutant abnormality. 

“Invincible.” He declares, and in your opinion, ridiculously. “I have a proposal.” 

So it seems that’s what mutants say instead of ‘Hello.’ these days. 

You squint your eyes at the man. He seems familiar, but at the same time not at all so. 

“Angstrom?” You say, before Invincible almost punches through his guts with a yell. 

Instead, he catches himself and merely shoves him to the wall opposite, creating a crater. He looks back at you, “This guy?” He asks incredulously. You can only nod. 

“Thank you for your hospitality, I'm sure you’re known for it.” Angstrom groans after being struck. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask against your better judgement.

“Well, I wanted to give you guys some privacy so you can finish up.” He looks to Invincible, “But I don’t have all day for you to get off, too. And it’s as they say, ladies first, anyway.” 

You could not believe what your ears had just heard and what information your brain just relayed to you. You’re pretty sure your vagina just shriveled up and died right there. 

It’s only then that you notice Mark stands with his dick hanging. Just like that. Just…like… that. 

Perhaps it is just a way of life that you will never understand men.

Angstrom relays to invincible the deal that had slipped out of your mouth the night of your fight. To no one’s surprise, he instantly agrees. And faster than you can blink, he changes into his black and yellow suit. 

The man with brains for a head goes through the portal without further delay, confident Invincible will follow anyway. 

Invincible floats in front of the portal, looking back at you with his usual, cocky grin. You must look like a fish out of water. 

“This probably won’t take longer than a few days, you know?” 

You nod, not sure what to say. 

“And it’s what we want, to expand the empire.” 

You nod again, wordlessly. 

Satisfied, he flies through the portal, and it closes up behind him without delay. Instantly, the room is free of the portal’s glimmering green glow, and it’s shrouded in the complete darkness it was in.

Seems that mutants don’t say hello, or goodbye. 

You get off the bed sluggishly and put on your underwear and your shirt. You go to your small reading nook that was only made recently. The book Angstrom had given you is still laid on top of your thin blanket. You take it, and drop it into the trash can. 

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a/n: sorry to edge, next part will have p in v, yay.

Tagged: @onlybatsyy

ִֶָ࣪☾. | Sinister.

ᥫ᭡. Part 1! (Part 2 is up)

Tags (pls read): Domestic violence, themes of abuse, choking (not as a kink), almost fainting, sinister mark is his own warning. Notes: I tried to make the reader seem bad but you know, anyone can look good next to fucking lucifer over here.

There’s a crash, and your bookcase breaks into many halves when Mark throws a lamp at it. The glass shatters, sending the wood splintering across the room. You cover your face with your forearms.

“You always do this. You always fucking do this!” He huffs like an aggravated bull. The sound of his voice just makes you sigh in annoyance, your eyebrow twitching at the mess. Which apparently, is enough to set him off. 

Enough to scream so loud the walls shake slightly. “What? WHAT?” With the speed of a viltrumite, Mark slams you into the wall of the living room, his forearm against your neck, holding you high, “Got something to fucking say?” 

You feel your face instantly flush and you kick his chest and scream, clawing at his arms, he barely deters. “Mark-" You sputter, "Put me down!” 

He puts you down. Or rather, drops you so you fall on the wooden floorboards. You wheeze in a breath and cough painfully, trying your best to fill your lungs with oxygen with a sharp intake of air. You bring your hand to your neck, trying to feel at it as you cough. Your eyes are familiar with the sight of wooden floorboards, even with your vision unfocused. 

“That’s what you get… for being smart with me.” 

His hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him, you instinctively hold his wrist. When you glare, he grips you with such vigor that you’re afraid your jawbone might shatter under his hold. You breathe madly, still not recovering from the choking he had decided to give you.  

He leans in closer, “Are you done?” His voice sounds like he’s speaking through a broken megaphone, and you’re starting to see double of the bastard. 

You feel your eyes droop and your head spin. Nonetheless, you spit blood on his face, “Go to hell.” 

His hold on your jaw turns crushing, but even with all the pain in the world, it won’t stop you from acting in spite of Mark. Never will. And when he sees the unadulterated hatred in your eyes, he yells, but lets go of your face harshly, your hand immediately going to your jaw. You hiss, finally feeling the burn.

He paces around the room with shaky fists. He never really could accept that you didn’t love him. Though technically, you wouldn't call whatever twisted form of affection he has for you 'love'.

He's hyper aware that with one more wrong move, you’ll die. So, he directs his punch to the wall instead. 

“Why?” He says shakily, with his fist still connected to the wall. “Why, why, why, why?” He punctuates each word with a punch, the last one breaking a hole in the wall. 

Still unsatisfied, and still brimming with anger, he turns his line of view to you. You're completely still on the floor with your forehead to your knee, panting. 

He clenches his fists, they continue to shake. “I do everything for you. I make sure you’re fucking spared, you even have a goddamn house.” He gestures to the place, the one that is now in complete ruins, “And you’re still. So. Ungrateful.” He laments. You don’t hear him.

He continues to bitch (all he’s good for, anyway). You’re starting to come down from the dizziness, feeling the bruising on your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot something painfully bright green in your monotone living room. 

You mistake it for a trick of the eye, your dizziness playing with your perception. But you see it, just out of the corner of your vision...

You double take, and it’s real. You tense. Some kind of wormhole that whirls in on itself. A portal that’s ripped the fabric of reality momentarily. Even Mark's shut up. 

It’s presence darkens the room, but it’s green makes up for it by illuminating, casting you in it’s bright glow.

You squint your eyes, leaning forward on your arms, “What the–” 

You see something, like a mini movie, but it’s blurry, and you can barely catch a sliver of it. However, you can hear it. 

It’s… Mark’s voice. If you had the strength, you’d turn to him, because it somehow sounded less irritating than it always does. 

Before you could question who was talking (because that soft voice couldn’t be Mark’s.), you see yourself walk into frame, talking to someone chirpily. You look healthier, stronger, your expression relaxed. 

“The fuck is this?” Mindlessly, you lift a hand to silence Mark as you try and pay attention. Somehow, he doesn’t comment on your ‘rudeness’, letting it slide. Or perhaps just as taken aback by the portal’s abrupt presence.

Then, there’s Mark…you’re talking…laughing with Mark. He looks so…different. Much younger, much cuter, much softer. 

You don’t know how long you’re staring for, completely astonished at what it is that you’re seeing— But without your permission, it leaves just as suddenly as it came, swirling in on itself, disappearing into a wisp. It dissolves into the tiniest of sparks, leaving you with the deafening silence of the room. You blink, sitting back down on the floor. 

You hate Mark, you really do, and you would never speak up to him first unless he had threatened to saw you in half or something. But this time, you couldn't help yourself, “You just saw what I saw, right?” 

“Of course I did, I have eyes.” He says far too quickly, you’re too tired to roll your eyes. 

Without even thinking about it, you lift your arm up. Mark takes it, lifting you up, “Was it an illusion?” 

“Because it's so hard to believe I'm actually nice somewhere.” 

You ignore his insistent grumbling. “So, it’s a different reality.” 

You shrug off him rather forcefully and walk to the bookcase, the one that now looked more like a crime scene than anything peaceful. You crouch down and filter through the fallen books. 

Mark crosses his arms, “What are you doing?” 

You move a piece of wood weakly and look under it, “You could have ruined any piece of the house, by the way.” You chastise.

“Well, I specifically wanted to upset you. So that’s that.” He says matter-of-factly. He walks over and lifts the wood piece without effort. You crawl under it to try to find what you’re looking for. 

“Not even a thank you?” He says when you ignore him. You crawl out and sit on the floor with your legs crossed, a book in your hands. He lets go of the broken wood and it snaps under its own weight. He puts his hands on his hips and looks down at you as you flip through the pages. 

“I’ll ask again, and I want an answer this time. What are you doing?” 

You land on the chapter you were looking for, splaying your hand on the page. You blink at it, and a soft smile spreads across your face, “Mark," You begin, "Do you want to expand your damned viltrumite empire, or not?” You say calmly. 

He bites his lip when you say his name like that, but a sadistic smile makes its home on his face. “Well, don’t fuckin’ keep me waiting then.” 

You feel a sense of peace amidst your headache, like the clarity after a cry, because you had just hatched an idea, a brilliant idea, to get rid of Mark, forever. Where he’ll be gone some place far, far away. And you doubt he’s bright enough to come back all on his own. Ridiculous in his perseverance at times, but not at all brilliant. 

The book in your hand shakes, you’re convinced he’ll think it’s just because you’re still in pain. 

“There is this man, his name is Angstrom Levy.” 

He laughs, “What a terrible name to have.” 

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a/n: I think this is weird on top of being non-canon compliant? But im gonna expand on it nonetheless because i have some ideas

ִֶָ࣪☾. | And who says chivalry is dead?

Tags: none. (wow!)

You appraise his romantically decorated bedroom when you open the door. There’s a cliche trail of rose petals to the bed, and the petals lead to a heart that's made a little messily on the sheets. The room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the white and light pink candles that adorn the bedroom. Your heart immediately swells at the effort.

You open the door further, excited to see, but you accidentally almost knock over a candle that was far too close to the door. Luckily, Mark’s sharp reflexes stop his entire apartment from burning down. 

You raise an eyebrow at him for his (dangerous) technical error, but let up far too fast with a sigh and a soft smile. “Mark…this is amazing. Thank you.” 

He smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck, “I know you’re always…uh– putting up with me when i'm not around a lot. I just wanted…I dont know, to let you know i'm still a boyfriend worth having around?” He looks at you with those gooey doe eyes, and who are you to resist? 

You wrap an arm around his neck, “Mark, baby…you know im not putting up with you, I actually–” 

He cuts you off immediately, "Nope, nope--" and you raise your eyebrows. He wills some confidence and his hands pull you closer hesitantly; then, he looks away, “This isn’t Pity Mark Day. This is Pamper you Day. Or, uh– night.” He looks back at you with a pretty blush. "You know?"

You feel your own cheeks start to heat up at his slightly embarrassing, yet endearing words. You don’t know what to say. After all the times he’s blown you off or left you in the middle of a date, you can’t possibly believe him when he says he’ll fully have his attention on you tonight. 

But you have this moment, you suppose, and you don't let yourself be stunned by his charm for too long. You smile mischievously and close the door with your foot, dragging Mark to the bed with a giggle, “Well, you have a lot to make up for.” He doesn’t think his face has ever been this red. 

I dare you to say anything about it too because if u even lightlyyy express that ur fed up he's gonna be like NOOOOO !!!!!!! NOOOOO 💔💔💔NO BABY PLEASE PLEASEUHHHH

clinging to ur legs with wet tears being like ok so ur manipulating me now !!! U KNOW WHAT U GOT INTO AND UR YELLING AT ME FOR IT!!!!!!! (ur not yelling)

Many many breaks ur almost fwb but heavy on the FRIENDS with benefits too cause he needs a cuddle buddy

Hawks is the biggest switch on earth but no one wants to hear it I swear.... JUST ACCEPT ITTTTUHHHH

Not to mention that that you can say the freakiest craziest thing ever to suggest to try and he'll respond with "okay baby !! Love you so much i'll call u in ten <3 !!!"

I thinkkk it may root from his stupid ass urge to please everyone and probably especially if he loves you sooo freaking much it makes his heart hurt ! Tbh I think he's the type to get pleasure cause ur getting pleasure because duhhh.

Also he has so much stamina + strength he can take whatever it is u dish out. Like perhaps we can be open to the idea that ur freaky ass has to keep up with HIM and not the other way around (not me tho, the rest of you stay veryyyy safe.)

He definitely overcompensates too cause he doesnt see u very much... He feels soooo bad about it too like actually biggg googly eyes up at you watching every shift in ur expression and twitch of your body so he can perform better. soooo maybe pat his head and say u love him when hes done eating you out so he doesnt become a super sad mush. Or dont and be mean so he becomes SADDER and UNHAPPIER. I dont really care.

Anyway, next point. I do think at a more psychological level (outside a dom and sub) Keigo is technically a 'sub' ? In a sense that even if he was railing the shit out of you and out of the blue you had something to say about his pacing, he'd fix it up sooo fast, lol. Like it really does not matter what role you guys are physically assuming, at the end of the day he's basically at the mercy of your whims.

That lowkey reminds me of the slave role in bdsm buuuut ok 🤔

Don't get too excited though because even though he's a sweetheart his work is veryyy annoying which in turn makes him veryyy annoying. He makes up for it by being overly honest though.

He doesn't beat around the bush with making plans that intervene with his work. If you wanna have a date this friday but there's a stakeout mission then? He'll say no immediately.

Might cancel Valentines, might reschedule your birthday, might not attend your cousin's baby shower. He's literally capitalism taking over your life final boss except its the hspc dragging him through the mud LMAOO. Poor him I guess?

ִֶָ࣪☾. | Invinci-dih

Tags: Sub!Mark, Also u cuck ur neighbors (Kidding! ^_^) Notes: Creative title, right? Also pretty short I'm just horny soooooo

You clasp a hand over Mark’s mouth, quieting him. 

The neighbors had already knocked on your door at ungodly hours so often, you’re worried they’re gonna make an actual noise complaint one of these days. 

You blink slowly down at him. The air is thick and heady, making sweat stick to your skin, “Are you going to be quiet, Mark?” You whisper. He makes a small sound that’s muffled beneath your hand. So, you go for the meaner approach, “Or else... we’re going to have to stop.”

He whines at that, but ultimately quietens when you give him a firm look. 

After a few seconds of being shut up, he nods, and you remove your hand. It’s connected to his mouth by a line of spit. You wipe it on his red-hot cheek with a hard smile. 

You place your hands back on his abdomen. It flexes or rather- jerks, but as promised he doesn’t make a sound. You roll your hips shallowly experimentally, and he groans. 

You place a finger to your lips, and he nods, a bit dazed, and bites his bottom lip. 

You continue to roll your hips against his own, steadily increasing your pace. He cant say a word besides the whimpers that escape him accidentally, so his head thrashes against the pillow, and his thighs jerk and flex under you. Talk about an unsafe ride. 

His bottom lip bleeds from the pressure of his sharp teeth, and you decide to act funny. You rise on your knees, the lewd sounds of the both of you being disconnected filling your dark bedroom, and Mark’s eyes roll back, and he shakes his head, knowing what you're about to do, “No. Please—”

You drop down with an unfamiliar speed, and Mark lets out a drawn out, loud moan. At the sound and motion, you feel butterflies in your stomach. 

You shallowly move up and down, and he lets out a series of cries, chokes, and screams. You already knew this night was going to be a short one, expecting to greet your neighbor in a few minutes at the door, so you’ll make these few minutes count. 

ִֶָ࣪☾. | Love is Blind.

Mark/ Mohawk Mark x reader

About: Basically invincible variants bullshit, and mohawk mark is the hottest I fear. Reader mistakes mohawk mark for their mark. Ouch! Tags: Non canon compliant, literally has nothing to do with what actually went down, mohawk mark playing his cards right to get some. we love a clever man around here, Reader is naive asf, implied smut but it's really just some kissing. (saint virgin eclipse era.)

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

“Just stay calm and I’ll fix everything, I promise.” You hear a shrill scream and the sound of a thousand science fair volcanoes erupting. In response, you duck behind an apartment building. 

Clutching your bag to your body, you somehow make it through the alleyway and out the other side, just a little further from the destruction. In that moment, Mark decides to give you some of his classic, wise advice, “And preferably get further from the damage? I can still see you, you know…” 

You close your eyes and cringe at that. Oh, that snarky, asshole, piece of shit. With a big mouth, too. You glare at the sky, though you don’t see him. You hope it gets the message across. 

Maybe if Mark stopped pulling his goddamn punches, then a fire breathing dragon wouldn’t be terrorizing your district. And in that moment you swear to yourself that when Mark saves the universe, you’ll kill him immediately after, so he wouldn’t even get to enjoy it. 

Before you can plan your revenge on your boyfriend, a car plummets heavily into the gravel from the sky, just a few feet away from you, and you instictively scream. The car makes a million different noises of honks and rings as you try to catch your breath. Why me? You lament, Why goddamn me? 

“Are you okay?” You hear across the line once you’ve calmed down a little more, and you clench the phone in your hands. 

“Just peachy. I’ll call you back when I get some place safe.” You say into the speaker, and Mark says something brilliant like, “Whuh?” before you end the call. 

You make sure to put your phone safely in your bag before you run. You run faster than you’ve ever run before in your life. You run away from the danger, from monsters and superhero boyfriends and unfortunately— your apartment and flat screen TV. 

Adrenaline keeps you going till you reach the heart of the city. You manage to accidentally break the lock of your planned safehouse in your rush, but you decide to shut it behind you and pretend that didn’t happen. 

You hang your bag, and in that moment quickly decide that leaving the door unlocked was not one of your brightest ideas, and you begin to barricade your door, placing any heavy furniture you can find in front of it. Which honestly, isn’t much. 

Once you sit down on the plain white bed, you start to notice the burn in your legs and your sides from sprinting halfway across the city. You try to rub your waist as you look for Mark’s contact on your phone. 

“Need help with that?” 

The voice makes you shriek and jump from the bed. Your heart beats a mile a minute as you see Mark– no, Mark with a mohawk resting on the inside sill of your window. 

With that realization, you take a pillow and throw it at him, “Oh my god Mark, you scared me—!" He dodges easily and you try to catch your breath, "What are you doing here? Go. Help The Guardians or something.” You say, slightly out of breath.

Mark hops off the window and stalks towards you, there's a crazed gleam in his eyes, “Don’t worry, it’s all taken care of…” He says rather breathily, like he’s in awe or in disbelief. 

He stalks to you till he’s right in front of you, and you miss the way he grips your shoulder by the way your blood is still thumping madly in your veins, and slides across your arms till he reaches your hands, and squeezes. 

Ignoring your rapidly beating heart, you get on your tippy toes and try look across his shoulder to the window. Without even taking a glance yet, you hear a scream and the sound of catastrophe. Before you can open your mouth to tell him to 'get back out there!', Mark zips to the window, shutting the blinds and coming back to his original position with such speed it nearly knocks you off balance. Luckily, he’s there to stabilize you by gripping your hips, digging his fingers through your jeans. 

“Mark—” You tell him, then sigh when he raises his eyebrows and smiles. He appears a bit different. You’d noticed it when you first saw him, but with the blinds closed…

“What’s with the new do?” You ask him, “Got your hair burnt off or something?”

He laughs, boisterous in a way that Mark has never. You wonder if it’s the adrenaline from the battle, and merely roll your eyes. 

He pushes you back to the bed, till you willingly fall on the white sheets and he climbs on top of you. 

“Fuck. I missed you, you’re so goddamn hot.” He breathes as he kisses your jaw wetly, trailing all the way to your chin. “You like my hair?” 

You ignore him. “The world needs you, and you’re here, fooling around?” You grumble, not exactly thrilled with this turn of events. 

He can play the ignoring game too, “My hair. Do you like it?” He kisses your lips sloppily, and you don’t even extend the effort to kiss his back, just letting him suck and kiss as he pleases. 

Your eyes flit to his hair, thinking about it seriously for a moment, “Mmm…yeah. It’s sexy. I guess.” You add that last part to keep his ego contained. He chuckles and bites at your neck, kissing it roughly after. 

“You’re so fucking sexy im gonna ruin you.” 

He wastes no time in pinning you and making out sloppily on the bed. You grip the hair that is on his head to angle him as you please. He finds that funny.

You barely hear your phone ring. But with super hearing, of course your boyfriend manages to detect it. Mohawk Mark kicks at your bag, and your phone clatters out of it, showing a missed call from: Mark <3

Not proofread but I dont keh because I am wild and free! Stay tuned for tomorrow nights episode where I peg him!!! <33

If you've ever summoned demon!hawks by accident, I feel bad for you.

Maybe you were feeling a tiny bit vindictive and gladly gathered the offerings required to make a deal with a lower-level demon you were planning to summon. Just a small little homeless spell...and only for a certain amount of time! That's it, you swear.

Unfortunately, things went slightly awry when you decided to make a tiny error in your summoning spell. An action you quickly came to regret when an entirely different entity spawned in your summoning circle.

…

A small hiss of smoke emerges from the pentagram, till it erupts into a full blown cloud of smoke that makes you shut your eyes and cough. You wave your arms around aimlessly to help dispel it. You silently pray to God it doesn't trigger any smoke detectors.

You squint to look around at your home, but it's like it's been engulfed in a thick fog, and your eyes begin to water. Maybe this was a bad idea...

Suddenly, just as you were thinking to leave through a window, a powerful gust of wind sends the smoke flying away. You immediately hack a cough and take in a large inhale through your mouth at the bout of fresh air.

You blink your watery eyes at what the hell just happened, and you gasp.

A demon stands proud in the middle of the pentagram. Entirely bare, his body is painted with strange, intricate black markings, the most remarkable ones being on his eyes. Sharp, golden eyes.

He flaps his large, red wings lightly to clear the remaining smoke, looking rather disinterested. 

You pale.

Whatever this thing is, it is not what you intended to summon. Hell, you were half predicting nothing would show up at all. You blink and come to your senses; then, bambi-scramble towards the counter for your book.

"Hey, where are you going?" His voice sounds male. Humanly so, and you shiver.

"Shut up." You respond mindlessly as your shaky hands open the marked page on your book. After a few rather inexpert turns, you finally do, and your eyes zero in on the picture of the demon.

Fat, garish, stubby, and old looking. Truly, one of the ugliest pictures your eyes had the misfortune of gazing upon.

You look back at your demon. He's lean, tall, and perhaps... handsome. 

No, no. Anything is handsome when compared to the demon in your book, you reason.

You run your hands across your face and resist a groan. What the hell were you even thinking? You're gonna go to work tomorrow after this. It's already late, and you have the audacity to make a mess at this hour.

Perhaps you're dreaming. Oh, yes. That is the most plausible answer. What the hell is a demon anyway? A being made to scare children into believing the moral of the story. That's all. All you need to do is pinch yourself, and you'll be awake--

"Hellooo?" The demon calls out, quite poutily. "Big, scary demon in your house. Come and sell your soul to mee." He waves as if that'll catch your attention.

You ignore him, and look over the instructions that you followed to summon the entity.

You slip from behind the counter with the book to your nose to stand in front of the summoning circle. Your eyes flit from the book to the circle, appraising your work. You circle it, paying attention to every detail. You’ve followed every step correctly, so…what gives?

"Hey!"

You finally look up from your book to him. He doesn't look amused.

He huffs, "I don't appreciate how rude you're being. I'm a high-class demon, and I’m being treated like this?"

"Are you?" You pipe up, surprised, "No, no, that can't be right..." You look back to your book. You specifically intended to summon a lower-class demon.

He guffaws, "Am I?"

Your eyes finally land on the ingredient list, orange-red salt.

You look at the summoning circle. Blood-red salt.

You facepalm. God, how could you be so stupid? You messed everything up over such a tiny mistake. Just great. Whole night ruined over what? Just because you were a vindictive little thing that wanted to get back at your trash bag ex, and it totally came and bit you in the ass. Stupid, stupid, stupid...

A loud creak is heard and your train of thought is cut off. You look up and pale at the sight of one of the wooden boards holding your house up having been snapped almost halfway. What on Earth…?

"Tick-tock." Your eyes look to his own, and there’s no hint of joking to them. They’re only sharp and intimidating. "You're on borrowed time, human. Better make a deal fast before this whole house comes crashing down on us." He doesn't look relaxed anymore, tone and demeanour rather serious.

You inhale through your nose, looking at him with wary curiosity, "What...does that mean?"

He laughs, "Don’t got a clue in the world, do ya?" He crosses his arms over his chest, "Well, I'll tell you. Since I'm so nice."

You tilt your head to the side, suddenly feeling anxious. The ceiling creaks again. "Tell me what?"

"Well, well, well, let's see here..." He puts his hand on his hip, drawing your eyes to a rather unsavory part of his body, you quickly look back at his eyes, "You opened a gateway from Hell to Earth inside your cute little house here, and it's putting quite the strain on it." You hear small splinters give way from above you, "Keep it open long enough, and well..." He looks unbothered, like it’s not his problem, "It'll all come crashing down on us."

You blink slowly, jaw slightly ajar. You swallow, and muster the words, "We're gonna die?"

"You're gonna die."

"I'm gonna die?"

"Unless you make a deal with me." He says nonchalantly.

There's a lag in your brain before the complete snap of one of your overhead beams draws your attention back to reality, "Okay, um, well...what kind of deal?"

He doesn't look impressed, "What kind of deal?"

"Well– Look, I summoned you on accident–" His eyebrows shoot up, "No, like, I meant to summon a different demon. And I think what I was going to ask fit his line of expertise more..."

He grins, "Try me."

You bring your hand up to explain, averting your eyes, "Well..." Then, you realize how ridiculous you'll sound. You click your tongue as you look into nowhere in particular, a lie not coming to you fast enough.

He yawns, "Come on, do you want to be homeless?"

Your face flushes in embarrassment at the irony of it all, "I actually..." You swallow, "I wanted to do that to someone else."

He snorts. A snort that erupts into a laugh. Right in your face. Talk about rudeness.

You cross your arms and look away, "Yes, yes. How hilarious. The irony is not lost on me."

He flicks a tear from his face as he comes down from his laughter, a small giggle coming out, "Oh...Oh Lucifer. Okay, I actually can't do that. But that's, so fucking funny."

You pinch your nose bridge, less mad at him and more so yourself. "Well, what can you do?" You say as evenly as you possibly can, which is not much.

He hums, "Affecting other humans directly is not exactly my forte."

You have a hand under your chin as you think, "Then, can you make me...super rich or something?"

"Well, ah...not quite."

"Then…” you try to think, “Can you make me crazy hot?" Perhaps a revenge look is what you should be going for, make your ex miss what they lost...

He grins slyly, "Don't worry, you don't need me in that department."

You try to ignore the flush that creeps down all the way to your neck. Rather annoyed, you burst out, "Well, tell me, then. What can you do?"

He inhales through his nose, "Hmm, I have to say, not much."

You grit your teeth at his annoyingly casual response. Instinctively, you look up. Unsurprisingly, even more of the beams have splinters and...holes in them. As if a mold has eaten its way through them.

Now, you're very, very worried.

"Please, just..." You swallow, trying your best to gather your scattered thoughts, "Anything, any deal you want, i'll do it. Just make it stop."

He smirks, like he’s won a big prize at a casino, "Anything?"

You're suddenly less sure, "Yes."

"Fine." A loud creak, "You can close the border by keeping me on Earth instead of the other way around. The deal can be making me your demon companion...in exchange for your soul."

You choke, and your head grows foggy, "What?"

"It's hard in Hell for a new guy like me." He laments, though a bit fakely... "No souls to keep me warm, and more importantly, powerful." He sighs, "I get picked on."

You look at him in horror, "And you're sure...you're sure there's nothing else I can give you?"

Another beam snaps, "Oh, absolutely. Though if it doesn't float your boat you can just wait it out till you die." He sighs sadly, "Then, you'll go to Hell anyway for summoning me and land in the hands of..." He grimaces, as if it disgusts him to even be looking at the page in your book, "That guy."

At your hesitance, he rolls his eyes, "Listen, you're going to Hell no matter what you choose. So, you might as well choose to stay on Earth longer." He smiles, "I promise I'm not so bad."

You don’t have much of a choice. With an inhale, you make your decision. 

“Fine. Deal.”

Touya is about to propose you just give him a plain old handjob when you say, “I guess you could fuck me.”

He closes his eyes and inhales sharply through his nose, with your legs wrapped around him, you felt the deep shudder that passes through him, making you bite your lip, “Do you have nothing except bad ideas, woman?” He scowls.

You attempt to rock into him, but frankly speaking, he was very strong, and very stubborn as well. “Does your body think its a bad idea, too?” You get on your elbows to kiss him. He may be as headstrong as a bull, but there were cracks in the facade. He kisses you back in earnest.

You let go and lean back on your elbows, giving him your best bedroom eyes, “Fuck me, Touya.” You bat your lashes.

He looks at you hotly, his face flushing, and brushes his confined dick to your thigh, making him moan. The cogs seem to turn in his head, albeit not many. “…okay.” He breathes.

#- Who let the dog out?

3. "Belladonna."

continue reading here

Features: The dawg, Mohawk mark.

summary: you and mark go on a date! how cute. too bad there always seems to be an agenda...

Merchant's tip: Sometimes inconsistencies in reality may occur, learn to brush them off. Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong!

content warnings: mentions of domestic violence (brief + not with reader), mentions of homicide (again, brief)

wc: 7.4k

The early morning light spills from your french windows in rivulets onto your carpeted floors. It showcases every bit of dust that floats around idly like airborne glitter. A soft halo that encases your room in subtle warmth. 

Your town had just begun to wake. Children going to school, adults going to work, and your lousy elderly neighbor mowing the lawn loudly.

Dawn was the busiest time in your town, second to lunchtime rush hour. And yet, it was still relatively quiet. Unlike the constant buzz of the city, it was almost as if there was an unspoken curfew here. Everybody wakes up at 7, goes to sleep at around 11. And… that's it. That's the system.

There's a twenty-four hour convenience store a short walk away, sure, if you were feeling particularly nocturnal. But even if you were, the people of the town pushed you back into shape, bending you as straight as a ramrod like the rest.

Luckily for you, you knew just about, uh… nobody. So skirting between bedtimes and staying up till sunrise was normal; and no one cared enough to question it.

And that was good. You liked that. To be left alone. 

You inspect yourself in your vanity mirror, turning your head side to side. You lean back a bit and pull at the gossamer of the ribbon in your hair, positioning it as straight as it would allow you to.

You tuck your fingers into the bow, pulling at the material to get both sides even. You had slept three hours last night, all because of the scare you had received yesterday. You couldn’t even toss and turn with the way Mark was draped over you like a lazy house cat. Luckily, you managed to steal away a few hours of sleep before the sun rose. A restless sleep that felt more like existing in a black nothingness.

The alarm woke you up with a jolt at 7:30 AM. The ringing threatened to burst every blood vessel in your head.

Mark, on the other hand, continued to sleep next to you like a lifeless corpse. You were annoyed to admit you were jealous.

You powder your face, attempting to relieve it from the fine lines and dark circles you gathered beneath your eyes. A well-cherished gift you received from years of incredibly poor sleeping habits. You repeat a phrase in your head like a mantra as you watch the blemishes disappear: poise, style, manners.

Poise. Style. Manners. Even had a ring to it.

It's a phrase your grandmother would repeat to you as she dressed you in fancy garments that were specifically tailored to you, just before you were expecting guests. Esteemed, wealthy guests whose faces were steeled and smiles tight as though they’ve received multiple cosmetic procedures.

Those nights were boring, until you managed to slip away with your grandmother’s closer friends, where they entertained you with games and stories about their wonderful lives overseas. You still remember your giddiness when they’d tell you about their lives like Disney movies you used to watch. And the funny look on her face when your grandmother caught you. Feigned disappointment that was more like playful envy that you didn’t have to entertain visitors. She always pretended she didn’t see.

Taking a step back to see the full view of yourself, your feet shuffle as you run your eyes along your body. Instinctively, you pull at the hem of your short dress, trying to cover more of your thighs.

It's completely useless, the material hardly gives, firm in its place without stretch. You should appreciate how well-made clothes were made back in the day; but instead, its inability to pull down just makes you huff.

You pad over to your closet, running your eyes along the folded up fabrics on the shelves, nicely organized from lack of use. You look for a pair of shorts to wear beneath the dress so no one gets any funny ideas by peeking, or worse– accidentally flashing your quaint little town, probably scarring them forever.

As you leaf through them, your eyes threaten to droop, and the inviting softness of your carpet beneath your feet is appealing. Telling you to fall asleep and forget all about cold waters and strange woods and stranger men.

You pause your browsing when something bright red catches your eye, you take it out curiously.

You hold it in your hands, it's a pair of opaque tights that look garish unless styled properly. You splay it over your arms, looking at its full length. You were never this bold. Plus, you remember how you got it, a gift.

You hum at the sight of it once again, pleasantly surprised to remember you still had this.

It's old, so you sit on your stool and put it on as carefully as possible. You bunch the material up at your toes and slowly slide the fabric over your leg gently. You wouldn’t want to rip it by careless accident– luckily for you, the sturdy material does not rip or stretch unnecessarily, lifting on your legs without hassle.

It was made for endless nights of dancing under strobe lights in white, clunky go go boots. It’ll do just fine on your small trips today. You bet it's handled worse.

Just before you leave the bedroom, you glance at Mark sprawled on your floral sheets one last time. You watch as his bare chest expands and contracts with every slow breath he takes. With the movement, the piercings on his chest and collarbones catch the light– inviting you to come over and touch. He looks like the picture of peace, like a pretty angel that crash landed from heaven onto your roof…

He lets out a loud snore.

You shake your head, sighing and close your bedroom door with a soft click. You’d see him again today, anyway.

You sit in your antechamber by your front door, bending down to pull on white socks with short lace to rest neatly over your Mary Janes. The frosted glass of your front door allows less light, and you struggle with the shoe’s clasp.

You relent and flick on the lights by the front door when you want to look at yourself one last time before leaving.

You stand in front of the full length mirror, (there were many mirrors in your grandmother's house, it seemed) and exhale in surprise.

You did it, you honestly really did it. You managed to encompass the style that your grandmother used to dress you in, but without her help. You were very nervous, because although you had adapted her sense of style, (read: she dressed you at every given opportunity.) you weren’t sure you could pull it off. You didn’t have her mind and her artistic way of thinking about mundane things.

You bite your lip, suppressing that proud smile. She’d be so happy to see you looking like this. You do a little twirl in the mirror because you can’t help yourself. It wasn’t shoddy work what you’ve done. Not at all.

When your poor grandmother wasn’t suffering from Alzheimer's, you never cared to please her by abiding by her silly way of dressing up. Outside of when you saw her, that is. Nowadays, you feel like you owe it to her. At least when you went to go visit her.

You can’t imagine what it must be like for her to be ripped from her comfortable lavish life into a care home, where she was treated like a regular person, or worse. It was dramatic, and you weren’t sure how your grandmother was coping with the sudden change. It couldn’t be easy.

You had begged her to stay and let a few nurses take care of her in her own home, but it just wasn’t what she wanted. And you couldn’t change your grandmother's mind any more than you could steer a bull away from a clever matador.

You think of your grandmother on the drive to see her. How, in her youth, she twirled between wealthy men at jazz bars and once caught the eye of a prince—though she did tell you he was a selfish idiot.

It’s hard to believe someone so extravagant could share your DNA. You and her seemed worlds apart, and you couldn’t understand why. Why were you a recluse and she a social butterfly? Fate could be unfair with its dealings at times.

She never hid her disappointment when you came home without a man on your arm—but she still doted on you. Every weekend, she’d insist you visit so she could brush oils through your hair, tucking a net over your head before pulling out card games or puzzles.

That is, if you got to choose. More often, she’d drop a book in your lap and tell you to read.

“Any woman can be beautiful, that’s the hook. But what after that? You need to be smart to keep them wound around your finger.”

The message went over your head back then. You just wanted to play. Still, despite the forced math drills and constant lectures, she was endlessly entertaining—filling afternoons with scandalous stories that made your aunts cover your ears, even as they laughed.

As you think fondly of all these memories, you frown. You stand at the entryway of the care home, and you spot her. The sight of her, weak, frail and so small in the armchair… it broke your heart.

You blink back tears that threaten to pool at your eyes, then muster up the courage to walk up to her. It always made you anxious, because you never knew what to expect. You didn’t know if she would recognize you as her granddaughter, or smile politely as though you were a stranger. Or worse, lash out on you in a panicked fit.

To your relief, you spot Amber nearby. So you decide to speak with her first.

Amber was the intern who worked here, sometimes shadowing doctors. Though as of late, she's mostly able to get all the work done herself. She was very competent.

She had only just started when your grandma had been recently admitted. Nonetheless, she was a huge help during the startling change. She’d seen you snotty and sobbing on more than a few occasions.

When she spots you, she beams, and waves her hand in greeting.

You inhale, waving back with a tentative smile. Your short heels click softly against the tiled floors as you approach her.

She carefully places a thick, plaid blanket over an elderly resident, smiling at him before walking over to meet you. She wraps her arms around you in a big hug.

“It's so good to see you!” She exclaims. You’re startled by the affection, but do the same. She pulls away, hands resting at your elbows.

Before you could tell her it was good to see her as well, she does a once-over on you. She giggles, “Wow! You look beautiful.” She cocks her brow playfully, “You know, I've always been meaning to tell you this, but you always look so cute. You’re really talented with style and stuff.”

You feel a flush climb up to the very tips of your ears. Amber is a very pretty girl, and she saw you looking like shit a lot. So, it was a bit overwhelming to hear the compliments.

“Thank you.” You clear your throat, “You…uhm, always look beautiful.”

She laughs, “Flatterer.”

You intertwine your fingers in front of you, smiling warmly. Amber was very easy and kind. It was such a relief to know she was taking care of your grandma. It made you less anxious.

At the thought of it, you remember what you came here for. Nervously, you ask what's on your mind, “How’s…?”

She smiles, putting a hand on her hip casually, “Don’t worry,” Her eyes go to your grandma staring at the window onlooking the garden, “She’s having a good day today.”

You blink, feeling excitement bubbling up in your chest, “Really?”

“Yep. When she was eating breakfast, she was telling me a bunch of stuff.” She chuckles, “Something about Soho and apartments above dance bars…?” She shakes her head, amused.

You sigh in relief. Yes, that sounded exactly like your grandmother. The one you knew and adored. “God, you don’t know how relieved I am to hear that. Thank you.” Then you take her hands, “Really, thank you. For… uhm, everything.” You give her what you hope was an honest smile.

She squeezes them back, “You’re stronger than you think for coming to visit her so regularly like this. A lot of people wouldn't.” She says sincerely.

You nod, and adjust your weight to the balls of your feet excitedly. It makes Amber laugh.

She lets go of your hands and gives your shoulder a firm squeeze. She gives you a honeyed, “Good luck,” Before veering off to attend to the other residents.

You nod. And feeling a wave of confidence at Amber’s words, you walk over to your grandmother in quick strides.

You stand in front of her, but she doesn’t look. You bite your lip, and your stomach knots anxiously, afraid this morning was a fluke.

You calm yourself and sit on the armchair in front of her.

“Hi grandma,” You tell her quietly, face as soft and fond as you can make it, trying to appear as least threatening as possible, “It’s me, (y/n).”

You utter your name softly, in hopes of coaxing her back to her memories. You can’t stop yourself from reaching over and holding her hand.

When she looks at you, her eyes seem foggy for a moment, as though confused. Your heart beats a mile a minute, waiting. Waiting very hopefully for that moment of remembrance…

Then, recognition slowly makes its way across her face. The smile that forms on her face is infectious, making the apples of your cheeks hurt.

“Oh, darling,” She says lovingly, in the nickname she always called you, “Oh, I missed you so much.”

You’re surprised when she leans over to hug you, but not surprised enough to not act quickly. You lean in more so she doesn’t strain herself.

She lets go after a few moments, an affectionate smile on her face. She moves a lock of hair behind your ear, "You look beautiful. That dress is so lovely on you."

You smile, rubbing over her knuckles, “Thank you. But…” You laugh, “Grandma, it's your dress.”

She makes a surprised noise. You also extend your leg so she can take a good look at it, “And these are the tights you gave me, remember?”

She hums, thinking about it, then she says, “Oh, yes. I remember now.” She holds your hand firmer, but the pressure is light at best, “I'm so happy you’re wearing it.”

You nod with a smile, looking away momentarily. You made your grandma happy, so all that time it took to get ready in the morning was worth it. You feel your shoulders slack at the relief. She likes it, she really does.

You kiss her hand, then place it gently back onto her lap.

She smiles at your affection. “So,” She settles against the back of the arm chair, getting comfortable. Her smile goes from sweet to wry and knowing. You cock your brow, listening.

"You must have a boyfriend now since you're dressing so pretty." Her eyes twinkle.

“Uhm–” You make a startled noise, blinking with how off guard she caught you with that surprisingly keen observation. Even though her reasoning was wrong, she still got the answer to the equation right.

You don't want to waste time with your mouth open uselessly, not while you don't know when she's going to slip away to her illness again.

You collect yourself, "I am seeing a man…" You admit, "But we aren't together."

She doesn't in the least seem deterred by your uncouth admission. On the contrary, she seems delighted.

She intertwines her thin hands on top of the blanket, settling further against the cozy chair, "Well tell me," She gives you her full attention, "What's his name, darling?"

You tell her his name is Mark, and she hums thoughtfully.

"Mark," She repeated his name, like an old friend, "I knew a Mark."

"Really?" You shuffle closer to the edge of your seat.

There were always some telltale signs your grandma was about to tell you a story. A very elaborate story that sounded straight out of a blockbuster movie. You couldn't keep the eagerness out of your voice, feeling nostalgic of your childhood. Fond memories of you tucked in your bed, looking up at her as she told you a bedtime story. A bedtime story that was all her memories.

You wonder how it could be that one person was so interesting. Your kid self thought that was the standard for everyone else. Clearly not.

“Yes. He was handsome and rich.” She looks at you through her thin reading glasses, “Is Mark handsome and rich?” She asks, referring to your Mark.

Although your grandmother adored the attention of so many, she only really entertained men who were part of the upper class. She knew her 'value' — or as valuable as a woman back in the 60s could deem herself to be— and reached for the stars.

And she did land on the moon. She gave you more in your inheritance than you ever could have asked for. All for being a honey-tongued sweet talker with a beautiful face.

So, it didn't seem like a bright idea to tell her Mark was rugged, a punk, and that you hadn't met him at the country club— but by slamming your car into his body.

You also wouldn't tell her that he was bossy and had the table manners of a drunk while stone cold sober.

"In a way." You say, dodgy and noncommittal. You nod, "I like him."

She hums, mulling the information over her head silently.

The cogs in your brain move as you watch her expression carefully. Will she approve? Or change the topic? Or maybe she'd tell you to realize your worth and ask for a rock of an engagement ring already…

Instead, she says, "Oh, darling, you know I'm so happy for you,” She looks at you forlornly, “But Mark is bad news."

A silence stretches between the two of you as you process what she said.

…How could she have known that? Did she somehow hear from someone? The only time the both of you left was yesterday. But now, you couldn't recall how open your windows were for the past two weeks or how dark it was outside when he smoked on your porch.

Or maybe she was still continuing her story…?

You swallow, placing your hands on hers, "What do you mean?

“Well…” She starts, “He was very strong, yes. Big, muscular. But he hit Caroline.”

You furrow your brows, confused at the change in tone, “What do you mean? Was he abusing her?”

Your grandma thinks on it for a moment, her own brows furrowed in concentration, then she waves her hand when the memory doesn’t come. “It was all such a long time ago. It doesn't matter.”

You blink. Well, you suppose that was true…But you couldn't help the morbid curiosity that gnawed at you. Just who was Caroline? And what happened between her and Mark?

Most importantly, how’d your grandma even know such intimate details around these people’s lives. Were they close?

Maybe she just saw it happen. Maybe they were married. Your grandmother probably wandered into the wrong hallway at a party, drunk, and caught him hitting her.

It wouldn’t be surprising. It was the 60s, after all.

Hell, it didn’t have to be the 60s for a man to hit his wife. 

As much as you wanted to hear the story behind it, you didn't want to strain your grandmother and tire her. That was the last thing you wanted.

So, you switch the topic, "Umm… Mark and I went to collect firewood from the woods the other day… He suggested he do it to save money instead of buying it at the department store.”

At the easy turn the conversation takes, your grandmother's tense muscles relax. “Oh?” She seems interested, a smile playing on her lips, “Tell me, darling. He sounds like a gentleman.”

You resist a snort. Not even close. But little white lies can be made here and there. For the sake of your poor grandmother who thought you were a socially repressed, anxious virgin who refused to leave her house. You wouldn’t want her worrying.

“Yes. And he was very good at it, too. He’s also very calm. I can't explain it… it seems like he has a temper at times, but nothing actually gets to him.” That at least was true.

“That's odd.” Your grandma says, “Because Mark is very violent.”

You suck in a breath, trying to reign yourself in. You get that it’s a different Mark. You do, really. Your grandma knew more people than you could count. Of course she knew a Mark. Maybe even five. But still, you can't seem to shake off that sick feeling in your gut… You really wanted her to stop talking about this guy.

Uncomfortable silence hangs in the air, and you decide to speak again, “I… I also brought you something. Tiramisu, I made. I adjusted the recipe a bit so I think you’d like it–”

“Darling, you have to be careful.” Your grandma cut you off, “He’s no good.”

Now, she's mixing her abuser-mark with your stranger-mark. You know she's making a mistake— that those Marks weren't the same. They lived nearly 70 years apart. You wouldn't be surprised if that Mark had passed on by now. Or at the very most, living out his last few years in a care home. They're not the same person.

So why is your heart suddenly beating a lot faster?

Your grandmother smiles, "Did you say you brought tiramisu?"

With a tense face, you nod curtly, passing the tupperware to her absent mindedly.

As the cutlery clinks and the sound of your grandma’s pleased chewing fills the air, you’re unable to get out of your own head.

Amber was delighted, and brought forks for the two of you. You insisted she'd have some instead of you. That your appetite has been curbed. Or maybe you said you had a big breakfast. You don't remember.

While the two of them were chatting, and Amber brought out a bright pink sticky note to label the container as your grandma's, you received a text.

2 new messages from: Mark

You bite your lip and open them.

Mark: Hope you didn't forget about our date today, crazy. I'll be at the diner at 12pm.

Mark: Also, why'd you leave without a kiss goodbye???? You’re definitely going to pay for that… hahaha.

Ding!

Mark: Not kidding.

You grip your phone so hard your knuckles bleach.

You're not sure how long you stare at the messages. Just that you kiss your grandmother goodbye and leave the care home.

—

The drive to the diner is long, which you're grateful for. It's giving you time to think. To think about how completely ridiculous you’re being.

You love your grandmother. Of course you do. But you can't let her words torment you knowing the poor old woman was sick. It was a memory sure, but one that was foggy, tucked away in a safe corner in her mind that she could barely graze.

You couldn't let it get to your head. Mark was your friend now. You needed that. A friend. Maybe even more. This was good for you.

Your mind, being your enemy, recalls your fantastical books that you’d read late at night under your weighted covers. Books about monsters who don’t even bother to glamour themselves when mingling with humans.

The book was good, so your mind begins to reel in the scene. The wizard was animatedly explaining to a traveler why no one questioned his glittering cape and wand while waltzing around Times Square.

"You don't need to fool humans, because humans always fool themselves."

The quote hadn't stuck with you. You were much more interested in how handsome and tall the wizard was described to be. But now, you find the subconscious presenting the phrase to you like a piece of wise advice in a game.

Monsters weren’t real. You knew that. You’d always known that.

But that wasn’t really true, was it?

There were plenty of monsters in the world who weren't witches or goblins. There were monsters who loitered in dark playgrounds with fentanyl disguised as candy. Monsters who used their authority to ask students to stay after school. Monsters who were so bloodthirsty, the need to kill emanated from them in waves. Thick and heady. Black and rancid like rot. 

And then there were the liars. The ones who smiled too wide, who blinked just a little too slowly, words too syrupy. Monsters that wrapped themselves in skin and walked among the living, uttering soft words laced with deceit. Those were the worst kind.

Because they didn’t just hide under beds.

They waited.

Waited for your foot to slip past the edge of your warm bed, so they could clamp down and drag you screaming into the dark. And you’d never even see it coming.

All until you were in your personal hell, their playpen where they could do Whatever. They. Wanted. To. You.

You made it to the parking lot of the diner.

—

You look at the sign and sigh, Rex’s Roast.

The terribleness of the name makes you physically frown as you look at the yellow and red awning. You could picture the simple-minded thought process: 'My names Rex, and I sell roast…booyah!!'

You shake your head, and it almost takes your mind away from the trembling of your hands.

You can't leave your car and see Mark. You aren't ready to. Most importantly, you don’t even want to. Even his name is leaving a bad taste in your mouth at the moment.

But it never really mattered if you were ready or not. Your hands click open the door, and your heel comes in contact with the asphalt.

You stare at your red tights blankly.

Is somebody coming to save you? Or will you have to do this on your own again?

You shake your head to physically rid them of the thoughts. There is no need to be dramatic. It's going to be fine. It's a date.

The bell above the door rings as you push it open. It's a bit heavy, and it swings back in place like a magnet attaching to metal with a soft click.

You stand on checkered floors, looking for Mark.

You checked the time in your car, it was 12:07 PM. He should be here.

Wishful thinking makes you believe that maybe he ditched.

Actually, that thought makes you upset instead of glad. You don’t actually want him to ditch you. That would make you so upset. You wanted to ditch him. That would make you feel much better.

You spot a familiar mohawk sticking out in a sea of people who look the exact same, and you exhale.

He sits on the booth in the far end of the diner, by the window overlooking the park. He scrolls through his phone boredly, a long Weekday Lunch Offers! menu is folded up beside him.

With a deep breath, you unclench your fists and you will yourself to walk over to him.

The second he hears the click of your mary janes approach, he looks up.

A brown leather jacket hangs from a worn band t-shirt, framed by a silver necklace against his collarbones. His jeans are held up by a studded belt.

Now that you really pay attention, you see the outline of the piercings on his nipples. Just barely. You wouldn't have noticed them if you didn't see them first hand for yourself. It was like a little secret only you knew.

You look at his face, and he was also checking you out. By the look of his face, you could tell you were thinking the exact same thing.

Damn, so they do have style.

Still, he doesn’t acknowledge that. Instead, he casts you a grin. “Looking sexy as fuck, babe.”

You slip into the spot in front of him, rolling your eyes at how sweet and thoughtful his words were. You slide the menu across the wooden table to face you.

"Aw, did you dress up for me?," He coos with a fake pout even though you already ignored him, "That’s so cute.” 

You squish your palm to your cheek, looking at him exasperatedly. Yet a smile plays on your lips. He grins. 

Your legs cross under the table in case he decides to play footsies.

You don't bother to correct him on how you, in fact, did not dress up for him. "So did you."

His grin grows wider, amusement dancing on his features, “Obviously.”

Beneath his eyes, are bags. You don't understand how he has them even though he snores through half the day. Must be the toll to pay for being so fucking annoying all the goddamn time. But they do frame his honey-brown eyes well. Makes him look more innocent. 

That is, if you didn't look at the rest of him. All piercings and devilish smiles. Even worse when he opened his mouth, where he spouted vulgarity like he skipped every other vocabulary lesson in school.

The bottom of his clunky boots touch the toe of your heels.

You grumble, your legs are already flush against the booth, with nowhere else to go but to cross them and lift them to rest on top of the red leather seats. And you would rather die. And of course the shithead knew that.

When you look at him, he's wearing that stupid smirk on his face. He's leaned back so far into the seat to reach you, you can barely see his face beneath the table.

He makes you smile because he is an awful man who does these kinds of things to you.

"Stop it." You say, not meaning it. "What are you going to order?" You try to change the subject.

He grins, fangy, "Milkshake. Anddd steak." He has his boot entirely over your shoes now.

You kick him. That just makes him chuckle.

"Gross combination." You say as you skim through their menu. As you look at the pictures of juicy meat and fried chicken, you remember you hadn't eaten a thing since you woke up, and you were absolutely starving.

He shrugs, then drags the back of your heel to rest at the middle of the table, where he can comfortably tangle his legs to yours.

Reluctantly, you place your heel over his boot so he can stop bugging you already.

At the action, there's a pink on the apples of his cheeks that you refuse to believe you imagined, but it's gone quickly. "The hot, blonde waitress told me the strawberry milkshake was the best. How could I resist?"

You glare at him, frowning, "Don't talk about women like that. Like you're a gross pervert." But it is true, the strawberry milkshake was the best, especially with their blueberry cheesecake…

He blinks. You’re cut off from your fantasies of dessert with his quiet, “Right. My bad.”

You don’t bother saying anything back. Mark merely watches you skim through the menu with his head on the table, laid over his folded arms. You come to the most correct, grandiose decision to have a double cheeseburger, with extra fries. You deserve it after the chaotic morning. And because you’re annoyed with him, you’re taking the vanilla milkshake. There. That will really show him that you’re passively upset. Won’t know what hit ‘em.

The beach blonde waitress comes over, small notebook and a pen in her hands. She glances at both of your legs intertwined beneath the table, and her youthful face smiles, "What can I get ya two sweethearts? Marry me pasta?"

That wasn't on the lunch offers, so no.

You tell her your order with a polite smile and she notes it down.

She looks at Mark, "And you?"

He doesn't look up from where he's moping against the sleeve of his jacket. You and the waitress both look at him for a bit, but he continues to stare into nothingness. Ignoring her.

You bite your tongue at insulting him, instead pressing your heels against his boot harder, making him flutter his lashes, "He'll have a steak and a strawberry milkshake."

She immediately jots it down, an easy smile back on her lips, "And how'd you like it done?"

Is this all because of the 'respect women' comment, jeez. His ego was more fragile than you thought. "Well done." You answer.

She clicks her pen closed against the notebook, "Mmkay, your order will be ready in eight minutes!" She gives you a smile which you return before she turns on her heels and heads to the kitchen.

The second she's out of earshot, a frown immediately makes its home on your lips, and you look at Mark, "Maybe don't be rude to the waitress?"

He shrugs. And it's only then you realize he isn't spacing out, he's looking at something.

You turn your head, curious to what has his undivided attention like this.

Eve.

She was the reporter you saw yesterday on the news, and also your neighbor.

You cock a brow back to Mark, face screwing up even more. But he isn't looking at her with lust —not at all— but you're not sure what it is, either. It's something calculating. Like how a writer goes people watching.

"You know that girl, right?" He asks.

His eyes narrow at her, as though she's personally victimized him.

"Yeah, shes…" our… "my neighbor."

He finally tears his eyes off of her, looking up at you.

"Do you wanna call her over?"

Now, this was just getting weird. Last you checked, he didn't want to leave the house for two weeks straight, let alone talk to people. Then, out of the blue, he decided to be useful, going out to the woods like some born-again lumberjack. And now, he was Mr. im-so-social?

"No. I hardly know her."

"Then I'll call her over."

Before you could even react, he was standing up, throwing you a wink. “Be right back, babe."

You barely have time to kick him before he’s halfway to her. She’s perched on one of the bar stools, chin tilted up in a way that says she’s used to being noticed. Surprisingly, it's easy for him to say hi and strike up conversation. Easy. Totally effortless. Like they’ve known each other longer than you’ve known him. Which wasn’t much, but still. 

You hate how long you watch. 

And then, he gestures to you, waving in your direction. 

Both of them look straight at you. 

Your stomach flips, and the tips of your ears flush and you quickly look away.

But it's not long until you're scooting in your booth so Eve can sit next to you.

"Hey (y/n)," She says, as though you’re old friends, "Your little boyfriend over here is into journalism, apparently."

You give him a withering look. He really isn't. If anything, he's into the sort of journalism where he voices over sports games or insinuating shit in a matchmaking reality TV show. So basically, not journalism.

You don’t bother correcting her on the fact that Mark isn't your boyfriend. Having a man you weren't even dating staying over your house for that long was just screaming, "Look at me, i'm an easy whore. Please gossip about me and my poor life decisions."

Instead, you go for a layered, "Is that so?"

She senses the tension in your voice and your sharp glare at Mark, "Woah. Hey, if you guys are fighting, I want out. I don't wanna be stuck in the middle of a couple-fight thing."

Before Mark could say something so irrevocably horrendous it'll ruin your reputation forever, you speak, "No, please stay." You give her an apologetic look, "I'm sorry. I'm just a little hungry, that's all." You smile sheepishly in a way that you hope conveys sincerity. Because it is. You were really fucking hungry.

She sighs, relaxing her cheek onto her palm, "Honestly, same. I had to do this broadcast that was in the next town over. Literally did not eat anything since last night, but it was so worth it."

Mark pipes up at her words like a sleeper agent, “Oh shit, yeah. I saw the tape yesterday. Some dude died, right?” He says it like he’s deeply affected, but it comes out more douche-y, “So sad.”

You cover your temple with your hand so Eve doesn’t see you roll your eyes. She nods at Mark’s words, "It was really sad. But if it's any consolation, the guy was kinda old." She leans in closer, whispering, "And apparently, a total sleaze."

You furrow your brows. Did that man really deserve to die because he violated a couple HR workplace rules?

Yeah probably.

Mark hums and the waitress comes again with your plates.

The food on it is steaming and your mouth immediately salivates. It smells really fucking good.

"Careful," The waitress says, chipper, "It's a little hot." Eve has a plate of wings, you, your burger with a mountain of sticky cheesy fries, and Mark his well-done steak.

He frowns at the plate when she sets it down in front of him, "I like medium rare."

All three of you ignore him like it's an unspoken code of conduct.

She gives you all your pastel-colored drinks in tall glasses. A candy cane looking straw sits in a sea of whip cream. "Oh, and the chef is trying out a new strawberry shortcake recipe! I can give it to you guys after your meals. Since it's new, it's totally free of charge." She winks.

You have a feeling she only said that because Eve is sitting with you guys. Although you don't doubt her words that there really is a new dessert Rex is trying to perfect, you don't believe such an offer would be made towards you.

If a small town could have a celebrity, it would definitely be Eve. The journalist was always on TV, even if it's just reporting something mundane.

Still, Eve was ambitious. Reporting school events and petty crimes probably wasn't what she wanted when she pursued journalism. You're not surprised she jumped at the opportunity to broadcast a robbery-homicide when the chance was given, even if it was a five hour trip away.

You were never jealous of Eve. She was pretty, yes. And social, and smart, and her goals in life were clear. But you never felt like you hated her because of it. You barely even gave it a thought.

Till now. You don't understand the feeling entirely. But you find yourself wallowing in self misery as you realize you could've done great things in your life but you decided to lay in bed all day instead.

"Oh my god, that would be so fucking awesome. Thanks, Stephanie."

The blonde waitress says more pleasantries back to Eve and you find yourself dreading sitting next to this radiant woman. Her presence was just too much. You find yourself rubbing at your forehead, a headache building up as you find the situation akin to a moth sitting next to a star. 

God, get it together.

There's a nudge at your foot.

You glance over across the table. 

Mark is wearing that cat-like smile again, sharp and smug. But in his eyes is a different emotion, something you haven’t seen in him yet. 

A flicker of wariness? Doubt? You couldn’t be sure. 

He leans back casually, hands folded behind his head.

While Eve is distracted, he mouths the words, "You. Look. Delicious."

He wiggles his brows and pretends to bite the air.

Your breath stutters and heat floods your face. 

Then, you glare at him, scandalized. That only makes him grin wider. 

He shrugs, keening, “What? I meant like, in a respectful way.” 

He’s lying. Obviously. 

You scoff. You can’t believe him. You also can’t believe your own self for feeling warmer. “You’re such a creep.”

He leans in closer, “But a hot creep, right?”

You open your mouth to say something that probably isn’t that clever, but it was worth a try anyway– but Eve beats you to it. 

"Guys," Eve interjects. 

You immediately straighten, like you were caught. 

She dips her spicy wing in the ranch, "You know something super weird about this homicide guy?"

Mark was already looking at her intently, pretending like he wasn’t just shamelessly flirting with you.

Then, he kicks your leg. His calf stretches to rest against yours beneath the table. 

You pointedly ignore it.

You look at her, trying to sound invested, "What?"

"He wasn't even supposed to be in the building that day. It was his day off."

Mark shrugs, "Dumb luck?" He offers, but his words sound too measured.

"No footage of the murder happening either. He was just walking by and dropped dead, apparently."

Eve puts a wing in her mouth, you stuff your own with a big bite of your burger. You never thought the day would come when Mark would be the most civilized person on the table.

"No footage, but how'd you know he dropped dead?" Mark asks as he steals one of your fries. You give him a nasty look.

"Well," She starts, covering her mouth with her hand then swallows, "There was. But it was like, one minute, he's walking through the hall with a briefcase, right? Then," She waves her hand dramatically, "Guys on the floor."

You imagine the scenario in your head, "Poison?" You offer.

She shrugs, "Yeah, maybe. His body is in forensics being tested. But also, if you're robbing a bank, why poison an accountant who's not even supposed to be there that day? It's weird.

"Then again…" She sucks the bone clean, "The guy who killed him apparently smuggled morphine here and there. So…"

You think it over as you take a gigantic bite out of your juicy burger, but it still doesn't make any sense.

Mark looks at you and Eve with confusion as you both scarf down your food like an underfed pack of wolves. But he values all his limbs in place to even say a word about it.

“So, hypothetically…” He starts, “would the report be in our news outlet, even though our town isn’t the one that recorded it?”

She smirks, proud of herself, "You kidding? I have the broadcast plastered everywhere there. I came back a hero."

He chews his steak, then brings his pierced lips to wrap around the candy cane looking straw, "Would you mind if we saw it? I'm really interested." He’s weirdly polite. The words sound all wrong coming from him.

You stop chewing. Then look at him. But his eyes are on Eve.

She shrugs, nonplussed, "What the hell, sure. You're new here, anyway, right? Maybe you could meet people here."

He nods, and that malicious grin is back, "Oh, for sure. Journalism connections and all that shit."

He meets your fearful eyes and winks, just go with it.

Go with what?! Your eyes scream back.

"Oh my god, (y/n), you should totally come with." She bumps your shoulder with hers, "One more person to brag to."

No. You want to say no. But between Mark's horribly adorable puppy eyes and Eve's 'this is going to be so weird if I go alone with your boyfriend.' look, you comply. Like an idiot.

"Okay. Sounds fun." You say. But actually, fun sounds like eating cake and cozying up on your couch as you read a good book. But who gives a flying fuck what you want, right?

You eat your meal with random conversation. Apparently, Eve thinks Mark's band shirt is "sorta satanic"

"Dude, this band literally cast spells on their songs so people can listen to them."

Mark guffaws, "Holy shit, are you my fucking mom scrolling through facebook?"

You leave them to bicker as you think about when you're going to go to your town's news outlet archive and watch the rerun of a crime that was five hours away from you.

News outlet archive.

Now that you ate, you're beginning to formulate an idea in your mind. But you won't ask about it while Mark's here. No. That's way too suspicious.

Maybe spending a day between endless folders and a million screens doesn't sound so bad after all.

♡

Hi, I just wanted to say my bad for including a detailed outfit description for the reader, I understand that's not everyone's cup of tea! I'll refrain from doing so at all in future chapters. But I wanted to address that both Mark and reader dress in cool/ unique ways (and of course the grandma stuff), so that's that.

If anyone was wondering, the outfit was a mix of 60s and modern fashion! The dress was 60s (skirts were very, VERY short at the time, haha) and so were the tights! Bright colors that often clashed with the rest of the outfit represented youthfulness. Short mary janes are also 60s. The socks and the bow made it more modern-ish, so the outfit wouldn't feel costume-y. Try and think london mod! Mary quant stuff.

I was going to make the tights have polka dots/ geometric patterns on them and then I was like jesus christ

Also, yes, in every reality Rex is bad with names. He will never escape.

Thank you all so much for following along! Your comments are all such a joy to read.

#- Who let the dog out?

2. "Love is for the birds."

keep reading here ^^

Features: The dawg, Mohawk mark.

summary: marks all healed from your reckless driving and decides to be of use for once. too bad hes so mean...

Merchant's tip: Let life mold you into who you are, not the other way around. Don't get too swept up with the consequences though, or else you'll start to think too much. Remember, the goal is to not think.

content warnings: oral sex (fem receiving), dubcon, mentions of murder but brief

wc: 8.3k

Mark. The name of the man you hit with your car fifteen nights ago was Mark.

Other than his unremarkably ordinary name, you’ve learned a few other unremarkably ordinary things about the man playing guest in your home: he refuses to wake before ten, won’t eat a meal without a toasted bagel on the side, has appallingly bad manners—and his piercings make his kisses cold, always leaving a shiver trailing down your spine.

It’s a gaggle of insignificant things you learn about a housemate. Yet it’s far too intimate of information for two strangers sharing a roof under—what you believe is—necessity. Whenever the discomfort creeps in, you tend to push it down. It’s too upsetting. And you’re still barely processing the fact that you just got away with a crime. Not out of wit, but because he simply allowed you to. Not dissimilar to children playing a game of house.

Likewise, he’s learned many things about you. He still blinks dumbly during your regular panicked fits, only watching as you wear down your nails and glance around nervously. But he’s learned to change the ashtray when it’s overfilling, to avoid the news channel at all costs, to tuck away scattered papers lest they overwhelm you; and at night, he replaces the logs at the fireplace, fretting over them with a poker while mumbling to you.

It’s only been a handful of days, so it’s ridiculous how easy it is to fall into a routine. This is especially true when Mark makes believe that it is routine. You feel as though you slept for a hundred years and woke up to a mystery that is your life. Unfortunately, you had let it all happen.

“We need more wood for tomorrow night,” he tells you, watching the fire catch onto the last of your supply. The sound of the crackle makes your eyes droop. “Should be a few dry ones near the stream bed. Trees that fell last winter.”

You nod mindlessly, watching the flames consume the logs with sleepy interest. Your head feels heavy, and the effects of the Tylenol are wearing off. You decided to pull an all-nighter last night, then had to start work at eight.

Unsurprising to Mark, you work from home. Though it did elicit a delighted cackle from him. But you weren’t embarrassed. Not at all. You may work from home, but he didn’t work, period.

"We could get them from the department store," You lay your head on the armrest, gathering your legs closer to you. You're already starting to feel warmer. "I can go in the morning," you utter softly.

There’s quiet as he moves the logs around with the poker, hand on his hip, complaining to himself about how their arrangement fell and soon your entire house will be up in smoke. It’s all just a dull hum to you as you grow drowsier and drowsier on your couch. Your hands find the throw behind you and pull it over your legs.

"You got tools in that shed of yours?" he asks, nudging at a log.

You nod, "There are. But I haven't been there for a long time."

"Hatchet?"

You shrug. "Maybe."

He slides the poker onto the tool stand. Either he’s satisfied with his work or he’s decided that preventing a fire in a house that isn’t his own isn’t worth his time anymore.

He gestures for you to lift your head, then settles under it. His lap is a comfortable pillow, and his hands come to rest on your head. It lulls you even deeper into sleep.

You’re not sure what you’re doing with him anymore. He’s been extra touchy ever since he got here, and you suppose it’s your fault for never denying his advances. Now, he’s comfortable enough to cross his bare feet on your coffee table.

You know your face speaks for you. You don’t even try to conceal your look of horror at his explicitly bad manners. But he always has his eyes trained on the trashy reality TV show playing above the fireplace, absentmindedly playing with his lip piercing. In layman's terms, Mark is ignoring you.

"I'll go through the shed, see what your nan thought was useful enough to keep." The sound of the fire crackling and his voice just makes you sleepier, "Then, I'll go out early tomorrow to chop up some firewood. Alright?"

He speaks as though underwater. You can’t keep your eyes open any longer. You feel the blanket being pulled over your shoulders. You nestle your head further into his lap, growing comfortable. His hands begin to smooth over your hair, coaxing you to sleep.

The headache between your brows settles into a dull throb, barely there as you slowly lose your lucidity. "I could go with you," you mumble, feeling like a pliable house cat.

You distantly hear the man above you snort, as though in disbelief.

He knows you don’t know what you’re saying, and you’re definitely going to eat up your words tomorrow. Make up some half-baked excuse about how work is killing you. If there’s anything he’s learned about you, it’s that you’re a hermit.

Still, he humors you, "Sure. We'll even take your car. We can make a little date out of it."

You don’t answer. You feel as though you’re being dragged under a peaceful, dark lethargy.

—

Every time you leave your home, you're reminded as to why you don't.

You keep your trips around town to a minimum. Barely there. And that's a good thing. You're resourceful, while taking up as little space as possible.

You make your own coffee at home, so there's no need to go to the only cafe located in the heart of town. You buy your ingredients in bulk, so there's never any need to go to the only diner a few blocks away from your home. You don't have a dog, so you don't have to walk one every morning. You skip out on most events, so you don't know anyone in town.

You're honestly not sure why you're like this. You're always tired, even when you're not pulling all nighters. Your meals are balanced. Though you suppose the only thing you do slack off on, is exercise. Maybe some vitamin D.

Still, getting out of bed seems to be an impossible chore.

Not to mention, you're sure no one in town is particularly fond of you. You're convinced it's because they can see the hollowness inside you, where your bones cave in like a bird's. Sometimes, you contemplate as to why you're alive, or what you're meant to do. You feel like a waste of air sometimes. But you're way too pussy to kill yourself.

So, like a lot of people, you suck it up and live with it.

This morning, while you make coffee for two (one black, the other with extra sugar) you finally admit it to yourself. You only let Mark stay because you're lonely, not out of altruism. You're not sure you're even capable of the latter.

You feel a little warmer knowing your only company won't be yourself. That there is someone to bicker with. Though it's mostly him complaining, and your complacence. Him yelling at the terrible couple on TV, and you giggling. You don't initiate conversation, because you're too shy.

You don't know what's different about this morning. Because this morning sucked.

"I'm excited," You told Mark, watching the way his ringed fingers leisurely grip the steering wheel. You had tried to keep the bouncing in your seat to a minimum, but it was hard, "I've never collected my own firewood before."

His eyes lazily flickered to yours, and you think you must've had a big dumb smile plastered on your face, because he mirrored it.

"That's stupid." He informed you, matter-of-factly, "Because its easy as fuck. And it saves you a couple bucks, too."

You hummed, your hands rubbing over your thighs. You were fidgeting a bunch, trying to quell the urge to run like you want to. You haven't felt like this in ages. Filled with so much pent-up excited energy.

His eyes go back to the road. He starts driving with a barely-there hand, his other arm swung over his seat. But your town is small and most people walk. You only saw a few cars on your drive to the woods.

He grinned, "Just watch and learn, babe. You'll see that I'm a fucking pro." He nods to himself, as if already picturing it, "Try not to look too impressed, but I know you'll want to, anyway."

You were far too busy trying to keep your legs from swinging like you're a child at the playground, but you still nodded, "I'll try."

"Actually I changed my mind. Don't try. Feel free to ogle, even"

You chuckled, "Alright."

Like all things, it goes bad when you think it's going good.

Mark watches you attentively, like you're the best act in a goddamn circus. He has that stupid smirk on his face that he can't seem to wipe off ever. He leans over the blunt tip of your grandmother's sharpened axe. So sharp it cuts through the grass it's ledged on. He watches you as you wane through a muddy pool of water. He doesn't even consider extending an offer to help. To him, it's funny to watch you struggle.

It was just your luck that your necklace had decided to snap and fall just as you were passing by a shallow pond. It slid over the grass on a ledge and fell into the water with an unceremonious plop!

Once you managed to collect your jaw, and Mark to quiet his snickers, you hiked up your jeans to your knees, ready to go get it where you saw it fell. But when you started looking, feeling everywhere around that spot, it just wasn't there. You've even managed to get the bottoms of your jeans soggy because you keep accidentally bending down.

You groan, squinting your eyes to try and spot something sparkly in the water. But it's useless, it's so murky you can't even see the silhouette of your bare feet right beneath you.

At the notion that the water seems to have swallowed up your nice necklace like a snake unhinging its jaw to consume prey— you slap the surface with a childish groan.

"I give up." You utter petulantly. The necklace may have been your grandmas, a pretty, simple design. May have also been a little on the expensive side. It was sweet of your grandma to leave behind for you, really. But at this point, it was also more trouble than it was worth.

You extend your hand upward, where he's standing over you, hoping he'll take it and help you up so you can just leave already.

He doesn't. Instead, he tilts his head over to a far left corner in the water. “Look there. I think I saw something catch the light.” 

You look to where he's pointing at. You squint against the slightly harsh glare of the sun. You don't see anything but more murky, gross water.

There's a big chance he only said that to try to prolong your misery for his own twisted amusement. Because now, his new favorite pastime seems to be watching the sun beat against the back of your neck as you wane through what basically was skimmed sludge.

You throw him a look. He shrugs, his plaid covered shoulders moving up with the motion. 

"Doesn't hurt to look," He reasons with a grin. 

Could hurt.

You tuck that thought away and trudge over to where he pointed to. You crouch down —making sure not to get the back of your jeans dirty again— and dip your hands into the water, feeling for a chain or a pendant.

For the first few seconds, you feel like a blind mouse fumbling through a maze, desperate for a prize—a morsel of Swiss cheese. Yours is worth more, but feels just as vital. You fumble through pebbles and grit, searching for something necklace-shaped. Your fingers graze something. Then—suddenly, and completely unlike you—your face lights up. Your smile stretches wide, so wide it almost hurts.

You feel something! You've really found it. Mark was right, it must have floated here when you had dropped down into the water. With ease, you pull it out from where it was wedged between two rocks, blood pumping into your veins from excitement. Or the heat.

Your facial expression falls a full 180 degrees when the thing you pull out isn't your grandmother's necklace, but a small, blue sea creature instead. One of which you had just impolitely dragged from its home. Its thin, delicate arms had you believing it was your necklace. You try to block out the noise of Mark laughing.

With a sigh and a small apology under your breath, you bend down to try and drop it back into the water. Just as you were about to place it back into the rock you found it on, its tendrils unfurl, writhing. It kindly attaches itself with suctions onto your hand, believing you to be a predator.

You look at it for a good moment. 

Then you scream.

You can't contain it, "Ew, ew, ew!" You wave your hand around wildly, trying to shake it off. It stays stuck and unwavering to your palm like gorilla glue.

After a few feral seconds of trying to shake it off, you manage to fling it to a random direction. On the way, you slip and end up falling on your ass from the momentum.

You emerge from the water with a loud, desperate slosh just before your face can sink.

You hear a demonic cackle of laughter as you sputter, wiping at your face with the drenched sleeve of your jacket. Your freshly washed hair is dripping, and so is the rest of you. If your throw killed the slimy, clingy thing, it was well-deserved.

You glare at Mark through wet lashes, and his obnoxious laughter fades to a titter as he sees your expression.

He decided to play nice, "Having fun over there?"

Or as nice as Mark could be, anyway.

You clumsily rise from the water, trying not to slip on pebbles, while completely soaked to the bone. The air that hits you after emerging is freezing. You feel like you just walked into a butcher's refrigerator. Your hair is sticking to your neck and your clothes to your body. Gross.

God, you hate being outside.You really, really hate being outside.

You will yourself to begin trudging through the water to the ledge where Mark is waiting at, positively dripping and feeling awful.

You grip your own arms. Your nose is the coldest. It almost stings. 

The bright sun above immediately helps to warm you up, keeping you from shivering too much. You keep your eyes on the water you wane through. A mixture of annoyance and shame welling up in you. Mostly annoyance. Also a bit of horrific, unbridled hatred for nature. You can't believe you almost took a yoga class with pine trees and the smell of wet air. It would've fucking sucked.

Just as you get close to the ledge, a reflective sheen of silver comes into view, its sharpness dangerously close to your face.

You instinctively back up, your heart still not calmed from the scare you just had of almost drowning. You see the familiar ruby red of your pendant flash against the gaps of sunlight.

It’s hung onto the blade of the axe, like he fished the necklace out with it.

You don't take it. Your heart beats a mile a minute. "Where did you find it?"

You do take his outstretched hand. “It floated over when you fell on your ass. Dumb luck, huh?” He grins.

You frown at the phrasing of it, and hook your foot onto the rock protruding. With ease, he helps haul you out of the small crater. You immediately shiver like a wet dog.

He pockets the necklace in his jeans, promising to fix it when you go back home as compensation for your troubles with a stupid smile.

Mark gratefully does not rush you while you squeeze the water out of your hair like a rag back into the pond. Your sopping wet jacket has been unzipped and peeled off of you, left to dry against a boulder. Mark feels everything for you but pity, you're sure. After all, you could see him looking at you in your skimpy tank top. The clothing sticks to you like glue, and you try to loosen it at your chest. But you're too cold and frazzled to be as embarrassed as you would have liked.

"Told ya you should've taken off your jeans before going in the water. If you had, they'd be dry now."

Yeah. Like you'd strip in front of a stranger while bending down. You've lost most of your mind, but not that much.

"Now that I think about it…" He taps his finger against his chin, "its not too late." He muses.

You don't grace him with a response.

The rest of the trek through the woods is unbearable. The air is cold, and you were sure you were going to catch a fever as it violently beats against your already wet chest. Your legs feel like jelly as you squash through the soft, wet ground underfoot.

And just your luck, a thin fog encases you. So you can't be as far from Mark as you would've liked. You're not really in a conversational mood after his idea was the one to leave you soaking wet and shivering in the middle of the woods.

As you hike walk, Mark keeps looking behind him, pausing every once in a while to wait for you to catch up. All the while, he has the axe leisurely hanging over his shoulder. Like the effort is nothing for him.

You try your best to keep your mind off the annoyance bubbling in your chest at the casual display of strength. It already hurts enough as it is, let alone without the ego bruise.

You ignore that and eye its positioning, "Is that safe?"

He looks at you, purposefully dodging your question. The reason he does that is because he is annoying. "If you're me, yeah."

You were asking about yourself.

After what feels like a torturous mile or so, Mark stops at a clearing, tucked behind a ridge of ferns. It's not as sunny here like it was near the pond, but not too cloudy either. You peek out from over his shoulder, and sure enough, a few trees lay lifeless on the ground. Where a vicious storm must've torn them from their roots.

Moss steadily eats away at the bark. The smell of rot mixes with the smell of… everything else that is nature.

There's silence as Mark scans the clearing. He takes a few steps closer, moving away from you so he can swing the axe off his shoulder comfortably. He mounts it onto the dirt without looking, and starts to scrutinize each fallen tree closely.

Since you have apparently finally arrived at your destination spot, you decide to settle your soaking wet body onto the grass, taking a break from all the walking that has been agonising for your bruised butt.

You watch him nudge a branch with his boot. It cracked clean. “This one’s good. Dry enough.” He says to you.

Though you were a little upset, you eye him curiously. You weren't sure what the criteria for firewood was. You usually pick it up at the department store, where a teenage boy with messy hair and even messier worn uniform picks them out for you.

“Least I could do.” You remember what Mark told you as he pet your hair whilst you were fading in and out of consciousness. His voice was rough, misused from hours of watching the television with rapture and constantly grunting in place of responses.

You're beginning to miss clerks, and managers. And tile floors. And walls. And warm fireplaces. Anything that screams this is an urban civilization where people live, basically.

You watch attentively as he lined up the axe, aiming it at the thickest part of the trunk. Your eyes don't look away, already anticipating the sound it'll make when the blow will land.

The first strike echoed sharply, the noise bouncing off the bark. You distantly hear the sounds of birds cawing, probably disturbed by the sound.

Thankfully, after the first time it becomes less impressive. For a while, the only sounds are the axe swinging down onto the bark, the birds, the wind, and your teeth violently chattering as you hug yourself, trying desperately to preserve warmth.

Nature was supposed to be calming, you grumble to yourself under your breath. Your eyes flit to a random direction, and you see something made a hole in the grass. You sit up straighter to see if its a deer print or something.

Its a dead bird. Lying flat on its back. 

You shudder, out of cold and annoyance. The department store and the polite clerk suddenly seem extra appealing to you at the moment. 

Settling on a stump, you look down at your dry sneakers. The only thing you're wearing that's dry. The wind is blowing stronger, making you wrap your arms around yourself tighter and it makes you miss home desperately. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, the sounds of the axe colliding with bark stop. You hear the axe being set down on a thunk of wood and then the sound of heavy boots walking across humid grass. 

You're not keen on listening to him gloat or even tease you about your current predicament. It was the last thing you wanted and it would just make you even more miserable.

When he's directly in front of you, you take a deep breath to steel yourself from the jabs that'll be thrown at you. You sniff from how cold it is and look up.

He's holding out his plaid shirt for you. 

You blink, surprised at the sweet offer coming from The Grandiose Asshole TM. His nice gestures are usually out of the blue and only when you need them. Not desire them.

Still you shake your head at his offer, taking a deep breath. "It's fine."

He cocks his head, not looking convinced. He wriggles it a bit, like he's trying to entice a puppy with a treat, "Come on. I know you want it."

You continue to utter your polite little no's. And Mark expected it. Really he did. Prepared to tease you the first one or two times. But at your insistence, the rage simmering to the surface of his skin was beginning to boil.

"Don't you get it?" He sighs, thoroughly inconvenienced, "The sound of your shivering is getting on my fucking nerves." He looks directly into your eyes, entirely serious.

You're taken aback by the sudden darkness in his tone. You grow as stiff as a corpse. Swallowing, you suddenly become aware that you are alone in the woods with a man you do not know. With a weapon only he can wield. 

Your feet brace firmer against the ground. You’re not sure where you could run to, but you were pretty fast. You could get far. And when you're close to the neck of the woods, your screams would be heard. 

All you need to make sure of is that they won’t be ignored. 

Suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts, an unexpected grin makes its home on his pierced face. As though he hadn't said anything strange at all. 

"Come on." He wriggles it again playfully, "Let me be a gentleman, yeah?"

You feel your heart pound against your ribs, like it wants out. Still, with a healthy dosage of fear, you nod. You take the shirt from his hand and slip it over your shoulders. It smells like his musky cologne, and his body heat is stuck to the thing like glue. 

Instantly, you feel better when you wrap it tighter around your body, like a big warm hug. You take a deep inhale that you hope he thinks is because you're cold and not because you're sniffing his shirt. 

You mutter a small, "Thanks," just to placate him, and to perhaps make him less murderous. 

It works, because he turns on his heels back to his makeshift workstation. He whistles like he's done philanthropic-level virtue as he walks back over to the stump. He grabs the axe, switching his grip on it a few times. You assume he's trying to show off his impressive strength, to put you in a better mood. 

He shoots you a smile over his shoulder, then a wink. Quickly, he turns back and swings at the ready piece of wood. 

You watch him snap the bark neatly in half. Then in quarters.

The cuts aren't exact, but pretty damn good. You frown. 

Fuck him. 

You try not to let the smell of damp earth overpower the cologne, so you dig your freezing nose into its collar. Your eyes flit to the muscles on his back moving with each swing.

Just because you're deeply rattled with him, doesn't mean you can't appreciate what God graciously gave him. He wears nothing on top but the wife beater he wore under that plaid shirt. You feel bad for having his shirt, but not bad enough to return the thing anytime soon. You watched his strong biceps flex as he raised the axe and the small beads of sweat that disappeared under the top… God. 

You look away, unable to help your brain from moving to less than holy thoughts, and you want your head screwed on tight while in the middle of these eerie woods. You try to remember to never come back to them again.

Just before dusk, when the sky is pink and the shadows are long, you feel warm fingers slide against your cheek, stirring you awake. You had dozed off against the stump. Upon waking up, you’re pleasantly surprised to find a towering skyscraper of ready-to-use firewood

The drive back to your cottage was short. The trek out the woods, not so much. When you finally made it to the forest's neck, you ran to your car, and ended up staying there like a sitting duck. You waited uselessly as he loaded the something-dozen pieces of log into your trunk himself. The ones he also carried through the woods…himself.

You don't understand where the strength comes from. He has a sweet tooth and practically lives on your couch, always watching trash TV. Then, he goes to bother you when he gets bored of that. Which, to your knowledge, does not expend much effort, either.

You get rid of the thought. He's injured, for God's sake.

Injured. Yet strong. Yet lazy…

Besides not knowing where the strength comes from, you also don't know where he's from. You've attempted to pry into his personal life a couple times. Just little comments or questions here and there. You try your best to come off as casual and discreet. However, each time he answers your questions vaguely or with a grunt.

Which happens to throw you off because he literally lives in your house. 

The drive back home is quiet, save for Mark's whistling as he taps the silver rings on his lithe fingers to your steering wheel. He tries to mess around with the radio, tsking when the already poor signal loses connection. His turns are starting to get sharp —a product of his annoyance— which disorient you. Other than that, Mark's proven to you today that he was an OK driver. Though you'd argue it's easy enough to drive through empty streets with minimal traffic…

He parks sloppily into your driveway. But you don't mind, your shoulders sagging in relief when you realize you're finally back home. All you want to shake off the bothered feeling the forest gave you.

He let you shower first, and said you "Needed the hot water more than me, anyway." You weren't really going to let him shower first if he didn't offer, but the sentiment is nice.

There is a shower in the guest bathroom, but he complains that it's too cold for his tastes, so he likes to use yours instead. 

In truth, you didn't like him lurking around your house while you were otherwise preoccupied, but you didn't have a choice. You were freezing and you were sure you were going to come down with a cold. 

On the bright side, at least you didn't need to take a leave of absence from work. 

You turn on the faucet to a warm setting, so you don't shock your body with a temperature change. Instantly, you sigh in relief as the warm water splashes against your body. You feel like you did when you were a kid. Swimming in your grandma's pool all day in the summers then feeling the nice, hot water of the shower afterwards like a treat.

You smile as you think about those days. You were so upset a year ago when you'd found out your grandmother had Alzheimer's. You weren't incredibly close, but you loved her. You loved her a lot. Though, you didn't listen to her a lot when she was in her right mind. She used to always dote on you when you and your mother would come stay in her summer home.

Grandma's always been cool to you when you were a kid. Mostly because you only saw her on holidays, when she always took you on vacations.

And by vacations, it's usually homes she owned in random places around the world. She used to tell you there was a time where she had one in the Hampton's, but she ended up breaking it off with the guy who owned it. She told you he was too "clingy" and bothered her far too much for her tastes. You didn't care. The ones in Yorkshire and Switzerland's countryside were more than fine by you, in your humble opinion. 

You're snapped out of your thoughts of cows with bells and England's gothic structures when the door clicks open.

You freeze. After living alone for so long, you forget to lock your doors. It's a major oversight on your part. You hold your breath as you wait for Mark to leave. 

It's fine, you tell yourself. He decided he was going to pick up a towel because he was too tired of waiting for you and wanted to use the freezing cold guest bathroom. Which is more than fine by you. He's going to leave, obviously. 

You hear the sounds of clothes dropping on your rug.

You grow deathly still, and don't dare look. Your voice comes out more high pitched than you would like. "What are you doing?"

You hear him struggling with the button of his jeans, "Relax, doll." He grumbles, fumbling with the button. He finally gets it and shucks off his pants and boxers in one go. He kicks them away, then steps into the shower behind you, "Just didn't wanna miss out on the hot water, that's all." He turns on the faucet on his end.

A his and hers shower. You've always imagined your grandmother as innocent, because she is a grandmother. But when you were touring the home for the first time and spotted…that. You couldn't believe it. And you were much too embarrassed to ask her about it when you visited the care home. And it's just poor manners to do so, really. Especially after she generously gave you this entire home.

You can feel him behind you in the spacious shower, and you can't breathe. You've always imagined the first time getting naked with someone to be romantic, sensual and slow. In the dark with a few candles organized around rose petals. You wanted to feel sexy, while feeling loving kisses placed on your neck…

Not this! Not out of stupid convenience.

You take a deep breath and suck it up. You know you're not going to say anything about it. He knows you're not going to say anything about it. So you don't bother to complain.

You're not sure how long you've been staring into nowhere when you begin to calm down. The heat from the shower and the warmth from him behind you help relax your taut muscles just a little so your shoulders can slack. 

A stupid, touch-starved, virgin part of you screams for him to turn around. Wishing that he would hold you and give you those same cold kisses you get from his snake bites.

A saner, rational, and also virgin part of you tells you to just get on with it so you can get out of the shower already. Make sure nothing unnecessary happens between the two of you — more than it already has — and grab your robe. Too many mistakes were made and now's not the time for another.

Too many mistakes to turn back, the depraved part whispers to you like the devil.

There's no such thing, your holier than thou side tells you.

You hear him uncapping a bottle of shampoo, but you keep still. Though the idea of him washing just his mohawk is amusing to you. 

It’s not until you see some of the suds circle at your feet and smell the scent of your cinnamon shampoo do you hear him speak, “If I were you, I’d hurry." There's that taunt in his voice, "Unless you want your ass to freeze even more?” 

Sighing, you barely lift your head when you see a hand holding out your bottle of shampoo. You look behind you, to see if he’s turned around– but he actually still has his back facing you, handing you the bottle from an awkward angle to maintain your privacy. 

You swallow, a small flush spreading to your cheeks. You didn’t offer him that same grace, even if it was purely by accident…

Still, you can't stop looking, the muscles on his back are very well defined, the memory of watching them flex while he grunts, swinging the axe onto the bark is still fresh in your perverse mind.

Your gaze unwillingly continues down to his behind… Hello sailor. 

When you look up again, you find his eyes on yours, and you resist a yelp, body going still. His soft eyes look at yours, honey brown and golden. 

Fuck. You're so embarrassed. At this point, you're not even faulting him for all that he's done to you. Every boundary crossed like a childish game of skipping. It's your fault for being such a repressed wimp.

Instead of cursing at you, he smiles, “Tricked ya.” The words barely register before his smile widens to a grin.

Taken aback, you blink, "Tricked…?" You echo, confused. Only to find his eyes raking over the back of your body as well.

You don't know if it's possible to become both lightheaded and as heavy as a boulder. But you do now. It's like your feet cannot support your weight anymore and your knees will give out.

You know that if you did, Mark would catch you. 

You dispel that egregious thought immediately.

He chuckles, finding your confusion cute. Like he'd walk into a shower with a girl naked just to shower. That trick is so old. Empty talk about saving water, or wanting it to be hot. He thought you wouldn't fall for it. Maybe slap him across the face. But you really believed in his innocence, when he's shown you anything but. God… you were too cute– maybe even a little dumb for your own good sometimes.

And besides, he has a few things to repent for. More than a few, actually. And he knows a good way to pray for that forgiveness. A very good way. That he’s good at. Yeah. 

"Ya know," He starts, your body goes hot, and not from the water. "I didn't really get to thank you for your amazing hospitality." He grins like the cat who got the mouse between its fangs.

He still hasn’t fully turned around, only his head faces you. And thank God, because you don’t think you could handle that.

But instead of the fresh air you crave, all you smell is that delicious cinnamon shampoo he’s using, breathing in his scent is the only thing you can breathe right now.

You try to keep your eyes trained on his, but it’s difficult. Besides, you can just barely see the rest of him from the bottom peripheral of your view. But with whatever self control you have left, you keep it trained on his face.

You’re not sure if he’s blushing, or if he’s red from the hot water, “I want you.”

Your breath hitches. The way he says it so carnally makes your cunt throb. Like he's desperate and starved in the desert, and you're his only reprieve.

You feel so hot and stupid. He is making you feel so hot and stupid. And he probably likes that. You're so dizzy and you are going to double over and throw up.

Then, you realize it. He is waiting for your yes.

How gentlemanly.

You're not sure when you nod, just that he turns off his side of the water and presses against you.

The water is spilling on the two of you in harsh rivulets. His hands have made their home on your naked hip, moving carefully as though you'll break. And honestly? You will.

You gasp when he squeezes. The sensation is unlike anything you've experienced before, coupled sweetly with the warmth of him pressing against you.

You can't do this. But you're also going to die if you don't do this.

His chin lands on your shoulder, and he starts to nose at your neck, before placing a chaste kiss on your neck.

He's kissed your neck before, making out on your living room couch. But this is different. This has crossed a wholly different line.

Are you fucking stupid?

Yes. Yes, you are.

You feel especially stupid when he grinds his hard cock against your ass, and you release a shaky sigh. Your own arousal has been building up since he entered this shower, but still, it feels like debauchery.

He just holds you like you're going to implode if he does anything else. Occasionally planting kisses on your wet skin. He just stays there, as if comforted by your presence as much as you're comforted by his.

You try to relax, really. But you just accidentally push at his hardness. He grunts.

"Sorry," You gasp, shivering despite being under now scalding hot water. To your misery and bliss, Mark starts to place open mouthed kisses along your neck.

You can tell he’s trying to be delicate and slow, but he’s barely containing his heat, and you’re not doing him any favors by jerking against him.

Still, he just inhales deeply through his nose, and holds you tighter against him.

After a noisy kiss against your shoulder, he says, “Can I see you?”

You swallow, knowing he can see you. He just wants to embarrass you.

So he doesn't play nice after all.

Still, you turn in his hold, intending to be close. And the goddamned asshole immediately backs up a few steps to get the full view.

You force the embarrassment of being naked in front of someone for the first time to the back of your brain, taking the green light to examine his body as well.

You spot the matching piercings on his collar bones that you've become familiar with, glistening against the water. Your gaze trails down, to his pierced nipples… He's even more uncouth than you had thought.

When your eyes go to his lower stomach, you gasp, putting a hand over your mouth.

And honestly, never mind the huge, throbbing monster of a cock with piercings all over it. Your issue is with the tramp stamp right above it.

You thought that kind of tattoo was mostly gotten on your lower back, but it's not any less tramp-y if it's above your dick, either.

He must be thoroughly amused by your look because he grins, "Like it?"

You don't. You don't like how vulgar he is at all. But in the moment you find that you do. Stupid cupid.

"Yeah." Way too breathy than you would have liked.

He seems to be just as enamored with you, because he eyes you much more unabashedly. That sends a new wave of butterflies in your stomach.

His eyes bore into your wet sex, then meet yours, “Do you want me to thank you, still…?” He breathes. Cocky.

You nod quickly, "Yes."

"Don't worry," He approached you again, bumping his body with yours and maneuvering you against the wall, "These piercings will feel really good inside you."

Oh, you don't doubt that.

"But first," He starts to kiss sloppily at your collarbone, between your breasts, then to your stomach, taking his time as he makes his way down your body. All you can do is moan into the steamy air like an idiot and hope you're doing ok.

He kneels between your legs, eyes on your cunt. 

He blinks, staring at it, "Cool," He breathes.

He looks up at you with honey-brown eyes, wide and glassy, like melted caramel catching the morning light. He pats your thigh, "Let's get your pretty self prepped, yeah?"

You have an idea of what he's going to do. You've read books with far too much indecency for your own good and watched a few homemade videos here and there. So you're pretty familiar with how this goes down.

He snickers, "You spread your legs like a slut."

Gee, blame a girl for trying to help you along, would you?

His hot breath fans over your wet sex, making you squirm. And the sensations you feel when he places a smack of a kiss against your clit are much better than you ever could with the press of your fingers.

Your moan is far too high pitched for a kiss.

"Knew it." He kneads the flesh of your thighs, then prys them open even further, "You're a virgin. Too obvious, babe."

You've taken to ignoring him, mind too hazy to give him a response. But he impatiently waits for one. Going as far as to pinch you to get it.

"What?" You ask, incredulous, frustrated that he isn't burying his face into your cunt yet, "What do you want me to say? Sorry for being a virgin?"

He scratches that previous thought about you being cute. You're actually really fucking adorable.

He rewards your sass by sticking his tongue out to lick across your folds, spreading them.

Immediately, your thighs clamped around his head like muffs. And he groans.

"Sorry, babe. 'S too early but I wanna see how tight you are…"

That's the only warning you get before he slides a finger into your hot, wet entrance.

Your hands come to grip your own hair, biting your lips at the sensation, trying to keep quiet. But the sounds of your moaning escape you nonetheless.

"Haah, that's good." He sounds like he's the one receiving oral. He moves his finger in, out, in, out, "Really good."

His mouth is on your entrance, lapping up at your wetness like a dog. His slurps are lewd, on purpose.

You're so embarrassed. You're trying to shut up but it's impossible. You think your elderly neighbors can hear you. Or the journalist. Maybe even the whole neighborhood. It's driving you insane.

You yelp when he hoists your thighs over his shoulders.

"Lose the stick up your ass." He tells you astutely.

You don't know what overcame you, but he's taking his sweet time and you're only getting more frustrated, "Pull it out since you're down there already."

He laughs, loud and boisterous. The vibrations against your cunt make you squirm, but with his strong hands gripping your thighs like a vice, you can barely move anywhere.

"God, babe. I am going to make you fall in love with me. Swear it."

A blatant threat in your opinion, before he dives into the wet cavern of your cunt again.

Your heart is beating so fast and you're growing so hot. Your pants and moans echo through the spacious bathroom.

You throw your head back and it hits hard concrete. Your groan is mixed in with a cry of pleasure.

He pats your thighs in consolation, before easing a second finger into your cunt.

It barely takes, but he makes it. Squeezing his ring along with his middle with the audaciousness to scissor them inside of you. You grip his hair and scream.

At the pain. At the pleasure. At the embarrassment. At the desperation. It all mixes together into one hot, stupid mess.

You clamp down on his fingers and you cum. You cum harder and faster than you've ever cum before in your pathetic life. It's dizzying, it makes your throat raw and you kick at his back. But it's the best feeling you've ever experienced.

He guides you through it, sucking at your clit then licking your folds, slowing down his movements when your high starts to ebb.

He pulls away from between your thighs, not even taking a decent gulp of air before he wetly kisses your inner thigh.

"I told you I'd make you fall in love with me," He says musically.

You're ashamed to admit that might be halfway true.

—

Surprisingly, Mark is nice to you after. He helps you clean up so you both smell like your cinnamon shampoo, delicately washing over your back with his hands. He's his usual chatty self, but you're so out of it you can't keep track when he keeps jumping between topics.

He treats you like his girlfriend and not a stranger who hit him with their car when he kisses you on the bed. He's all over you, kissing everywhere on your face. Even when you try to push him off and protest.

He's on top of you, and you glare at him. Although everything is softened under the hazy glow of post-sex, you've regained some of your bearings again and realized he is still your very ill-mannered housemate.

Nonetheless, he's stronger than you and likes to crush you under his weight when you get too bothersome about his blatant harassment of squeezing and pinching your cheeks (both kinds).

"You should've seen that look on your face, it was all like," He sticks his tongue out crudely and rolls his eyes back. Then he looks at you with a full blown grin, "Like that. It was really funny."

You ignore him with a groan, rolling over onto your stomach. "Get off my bed."

Now it's just worse because when he presses his pierced chest to your back, your chest is compressed against the sheets, practically sucking the wind out of you.

Still, you'd rather be crushed under his weight than give him the satisfaction of wheezing.

"Aww," He says, condescension dripping like honey, "You're so adorable, like a kitten." He smiles toothily like he just came up with the best idea of his life, "Can I call you kitten?"

You try to push him off you, completely disgusted, "No!"

"I'm kee-ding," He says, not kidding. He squeezes leisurely at your hips, his thumbs pressing into the fat of your ass. "I've got another name that suits you wayy more."

You grunt, your wriggling finally stopping as you accept your defeat. You sigh, "What?"

He squeezes the flesh of your ass, "Crazy."

—-

Someone used to call you that, back when you were a kid and you'd have panicked fits under the crafting tables. You were the nicest, but also the most troublesome child in preschool. When kids got over their fear of coming to school within the first week, yours persisted to the second grade.

You're sure it was a tease — or, most probably a bully — from kids your age. Either way, it's like all those strange memories resurfaced to your mind when he called you that.

You're not still hung up on the names you were called when you were four or five. Of course not. It simply striked you how accurate it was when he called you that.

Mark falls asleep like a half hour later like a rock. His arm dangling lazily over your waist is no better than dead weight. After finally wrestling out of it, you slide your feet into your slippers and pad quietly out your bedroom.

It's been a while since you've had hot tea to calm you down. Nearly since Mark first came here. You used to have it to calm your nerves pretty much everyday. You push down what that could— and does mean.

You sip the chamomile out of your giant bowl of a mug and turn on the TV. Much to your annoyance, the first thing you see when it assaults you with its bright colors is the news at full blast. Mark must've been watching it while you were taking a shower.

You blink.

It's not much. Just a robbery from the neighboring town, a couple miles off from here. Still, it bothers you. One of the robbers happened to accidentally kill an accountant. 

You switch channels just as a person gives a detailed eye witness account to a ginger haired reporter. 

The channel switches to the middle of a spy movie, right at its climax. While watching an agent parachute from an airplane very dramatically, you recognize that reporter on the news as your neighbor, and you wonder what could've brought her all the way there just to report a random robbery. Seems weird.

Your train of thought is cut off by the gun shots of the main character shooting the unnamed terrorist of an unnamed country.

You sigh, pushing your cheek into your palm. You won't be getting any sleep tonight.

♡

a/n: ik im not the only one whos a sucker for wife beaters under plaid and chopping wood... fans self

Also, im aware that no weird stuff happened yet. This chapter is still a "setting the stage" sort of one. soo yup mohawk n reader being a thing from the get go was the plan. itll all make sense later. maybe

Anywaysss, thank youuu so much everyone who commented on the first part <3 It really motivated me to finish this utter monstrosity, lol. Never underestimate the power of a comment, I suppose.

This is Torture!!

summary: It almost seems as though Invincible lets you get away with committing petty crimes on purpose...

its just a littleeee suggestive, nth serious. Reader is a villain & has a compulsion quirk

wc: 1.2k

The smirk that stretched across your face was entirely involuntarily as you watched Invincible cower before you. Darling, really. Though you suppose anyone bends under your thumb eventually. It was only a matter of time.

You tut, “Look what the cat dragged in…” Classic villain of the week introduction, but you really couldn't help yourself. Invincible has been trying to catch you for months with not even a single close call on your end. This time, you decided to stick around after he had “apprehended” you. It was an entirely sadistic move. All to show him that even if he did catch you, (Which –lets make it clear– he will not) you’d immediately overpower him. 

It isn't your fault you were blessed with compulsion. Those who didn’t know you, called you honey-tongued. Though who did know you, called you a lying, conniving bitch. Which is a little harsh because you weren't really a liar.

“What did you do to me?” He spits. The poor thing was stuck in place while your lackeys made quick work of the bank’s vault. You’d thank them later by sparing their lives. 

“Answer me!” 

You sigh. You loved the guy to an extent, really you did. But sometimes he could get very annoying before he could be cute. 

You huff, putting a hand on your hip and shaking your head at his poor manners, “Invincible,

"how about you walk with me?” 

The effect of the compulsion takes place. His eyes dilate noticeably, and they seem locked on yours for a few moments. Then, when you start to walk he follows. The face he makes is visibly confused as to why he would obey you. 

“What–” 

“And don't talk, please.” His tongue complies and remains at the roof of his mouth. He knits his brows together further. 

You walk into a random executive’s office and shut the door behind you with a click. 

You sigh, as though thoroughly inconvenienced, “So, what is it this time?”

He crosses his arms and gives you an annoyed look. You raise your eyebrows, then it hits you with a laugh. 

“Oops,” You say insincerely, you wave your hand, “Speak.” 

Again, it's like he’s in a trance for a few moments, then he shakes his head, “What is it this time?” He groans, “You are robbing a bank!” 

You shrug, “So?”

“You did the same thing last week!” 

“I blew the money on a yacht made of pure gold and the motherfucker sank, what can I say?” 

He squints his eyes, though you couldn't tell by his big fat goggles. However, his displeased frown does more than enough to let you know what he’s thinking, “Bullshit! You know damn well you could just hypnotize someone into getting you a new one! Why even bother?” 

You shake your head, “Language. You are so vulgar for a pacifist.” 

He seems to forget his earlier point in favor of defending himself, “I am not a pacifist! But you don't make it easy to not pull my punches.” He’s fuming. He's fuming and you think he looks like a kitty cat.

You put your hand to your cheek, as though endeared by the sight in front of you, “You’re going to learn, some people are evil for the sake of being evil.” You purr. 

He scowls, “So you’re the worst of the worst, huh?” 

You stalk towards him till you’re right in front of him. Your grin is all cheshire, “I'm the best of the worst.” 

Unable to help yourself, you run a finger along his exposed cheek. He slaps it away a few seconds too late. 

Still, you don't deter, “What about you?” You smirk, “Don't tell me you’ve never thought of wearing ear plugs before coming to face me off, do you?” 

His heart beats a little faster in his chest, and he hopes you can't hear it. He glares at you with his arms crossed and his teeth grit. But he doesn't say anything in his defense. 

“Invincible,” The way you say it makes him retreat on himself further. Your eyes run along the planes of his face with the smile of a vixen. Though, you’re next words are laced with an undeniable threat, “Tell me yourself or ill drag the words out of you. Take your pick.” 

Shit. 

He can't do it. He can't contain his flush anymore. You could probably– no, definitely tell. 

Still, he keeps quiet, trying his best to retain a modicum of dignity. 

“You force my hand needlessly,” You lament, but grab his chin anyway, making him look at you, “Tell me.” 

His mouth speaks of its own accord, “Because I like it.” 

You raise your brows. Oh? That's interesting. Not unexpected, you figured as much. But interesting. 

His face is a tomato now. He wants to crawl into a ditch and die. He could, probably. You haven't forced him to stay put. But… 

“I don't think anything I can say is more embarrassing than the truth, huh?” You run your finger along his jawline. Worst part? He lets you. 

“Tell me,” You start, voice low, “How fast do you rush over when you see my face on TV?” He shivers, and presses himself further into the desk behind him, “Do you deny other heroes to come see me? And just for what? To catch me slipping away…?” You mutter. You’ve only recently noticed the pattern, but was too prideful to see every move was made with intention. You wonder how long he’s been waiting to get caught in your web… 

He shakes his head, turning away, “No…” 

“No? No, what?” He presses himself flush against the desk, and you against him. Really, it was shame worthy. Your power had a silly amount of drawbacks, the victim needed to be looking at you and hearing you for your compulsion to take effect. You’ve seen how fast Invincible is. If he wanted to, he wouldn't even need to look into your eyes before feinting to shatter your spine, “No, i'm not a sick pervert?” You chuckle, “Because that's a stupid lie…” 

He swallows. He’s imagined this scenario over a double dozen times while biting his pillow, his dick in his hands as he fists it hopelessly. Each time he’d close his eyes and picture you commanding him to do something downright humiliating. That would be enough to make his hips stutter into the fleshlight and come with a muffled scream. 

You snap your fingers in front of his face with a grin, “Invincible? Hello? Don't tell me you're so rude that you won't even answer when you’re spoken to?” You sigh. 

His stomach flips. God, he can't believe himself. He grits his teeth together so as to not make an embarrassing sound, “I don't talk to lowlife criminals.” 

You look utterly pleased with yourself, your smile a permanent feature on your face, “Oh, but I suppose having wet dreams about one is dignified?” 

He chokes. How could you have– 

The door swings open, and you both turn at the same time. The man at the door doesn't in the least look confused, a glossy fog permanently on his eyes thanks to your compulsion, “It's done, boss.” 

You throw him a smile that doesn't reach your eyes, “Faster than last time. Good.” Then, you turn to the superhero in front of you. A soft ringing assaults his ears, your compulsion taking root. He can't even wince. 

“You’re not going to move from this spot until you hear me get away in the car.” 

“I am not going to move from this spot until I hear you get away in the car.”

#- Who let the dog out?

Features: The dawg, Mohawk mark.

full series link here! o(*￣︶￣*)o

Merchant's tip: "Wonderland can be very scary, but if you show it you're scared, it’ll try and take advantage of you…

Oh, and try and remember something... your actions have consequences...good luck"

Tags: Kinda creepy, lots of mentions of death but no one dies, also its just suggestive at the end I guess? Kinda dubious consent tho errrr

wc: 2.2k

You hit someone.

You think you did. You're not sure.

Your hands are locked on the steering wheel. Your knuckles have gone white. You can hear your heart in your ears, high and shrill and unnatural.

You open the door. Not because you're ready, but because you need to.

Your legs shake. You're trying to walk normally, as though someone didn't just crash into your windshield. Your body won't cooperate.

Still, you force yourself forward. One step. Then another.

The man’s lying there, sprawled like a rag doll in the middle of the road.

You crouch in front of him, breath catching. Blood pools beneath him—too much blood, and from where, you can’t even tell. The sight makes your eyes blur, your stomach flip.

Your mouth works before your brain does. “Hello…?”

The man almost immediately groans, shifting slightly, though you suspect it's more of a spasm. 

With the sign of sentience, panic builds into your body, and you clutch his shoulders, “Hello?! Hello, are you okay?” 

You let go of him and fumble with the phone in the back of your pocket. You get the password wrong a few times in your state of alarm, and it just makes you panic even more. 

You want to say something to relieve him of the agony he must feel. But all you can come up with is, “I'm going to c-call an ambulance…” You slur your words as you fumble with the buttons.

“Wait,” He says, perfectly clear. Though his voice is a little raspy. 

You immediately obey, looking up from your phone to the man, “W-What is it?” 

“Don't call an ambulance.” 

Your heart is beating loudly, pumping so much oxygen in your blood you're somehow growing woozy, “Okay…”

He sits up with a grunt, clutching his side. Your eyes stare lifelessly at his face, purposefully avoiding the wound.

“Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?” You speak slowly, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. You're not sure you're pronouncing words properly.

He shakes his head, and you notice a shaky grin on his face. You suppose because he is scared that he is going to die, “No. No hospital.” He says quietly.

You speak before you think, “Please, I’ll cover the expenses–” 

He lets out another loud groan, and the shrill sound in your ears grows louder.  Till all you can hear is ringing.

“No…” His face is beading with sweat and he’s breathing shallowly, “Can you… can you stitch me up?” 

No. You’re not a doctor. You don't even know what that would mean. “I have a first aid kit in my car.”

He speaks to you calmly, “Alright." He breathes, labored and short, "Then go get it.”

At his sudden sharp tone, you snapped out of your brain fog and got up, bambi-scrambling to your car. You find that familiar white box you've never used in the passenger seat compartment. With shaky hands, you set it down on the asphalt, and click open the latches. 

You spot bandages, gauze, tape, and pain relievers. Disposable gloves, scissors, and tweezers take up a corner. A helpful red and white pamphlet is taped to its lid.

You stare at it all for a long time, then shakily start to rifle for something useful in this situation.

“Can you go a bit faster, sweetheart?” You hear him tell you, almost like a taunt, “You don't want a criminal record this young, do you…?” 

You can't grace him with a response; your mind is not on Earth. You take some antiseptic, and look towards him. He's already presenting his wound to you. 

Fuck.

You resist a gag because you know you’ll end up immediately throwing up. You want to pass out and never wake up after this. It's so bad. It looks really really bad and it's pulsing. Oh my god it's pulsing and it's bleeding so much. Oh God… 

You don't understand… You think as your brain thuds against your skull, Why hasn't someone driven by? Did the neighbors not hear the crash of a body colliding with your windshield? Making a huge crack onto it? Did they not hear your car skidding to a halt? Or the way your heart beat so much it was about to jump out of your chest?

You don't understand. 

You feel a hand coming on your shoulder, snapping you out of your panicked fit, “Easy there, sweetheart,” He tells you, boredom seeping into his tone, “Calm down. It's fine.” 

You don't know when you started sobbing, “It's not fine. You’re going to die.” 

He snorts, “I ain’t gonna fuckin’ die.” 

You can't help yourself when he gathers you in his arms, shushing you. You feel the warm wetness of his blood against your side, but you don't care. You cry into the crook of his neck. Confused. Confused on why this is happening to you and why nobody is coming to help. Why…

“Are you sure?” You ask, shakily. 

“Pretty fuckin’ sure,” He tips your chin to look up at him. His pupils are blown wide, but other than that, he looks fine… His skin color is a normal shade, too. In fact, it even seems to be a bit ruddy… 

He moves a few stray hairs out of your face, “Would you feel better if you stitched me up at your house?” 

You nod gratefully, sniveling and heaving, but grateful for the opportunity. Grateful that he isn't mad at you. Or sad that he is going to die on the road. Because you’re the one already sad that he is going to die on the road. 

You stand up first, and extend your hand to help him get up. He leans his weight mostly on you, and he groans with each step you take. But you make it to the car. 

You help him to the passenger seat —trying your best to not look at his chest rapidly moving up and down— and click the seatbelt in place for him. 

“Safety first, right?” He mocks with an upturn of his lips.

Your stomach churns. 

The ride back to your house is quiet. At first, he runs his eyes along the interior of your car, curious. After a while, he just lays there, eyes closed, but breathing. You have never been so grateful that someone was breathing. 

You slow and put the car in park in your driveway. He still hasn't opened his eyes yet. 

Driving sobered you up a bit from your panic, and you’re feeling steady on your feet when you circle around and open the car door. You haven't even realized how much the car had smelled coppery from the stench of blood till you're exposed to the fresh air.

You lean across his form to unbuckle the seatbelt when he stirs, like he woke up from a cat nap. You pause. 

“You’re a little touchy-feely, aren't you?” 

It's strange how there isn't even a tremor to his voice. It's all so strange, really. When will someone realize something is wrong and come help you…?

“Sorry,” You say, a little embarrassed. But you still act as his crutch as you reach your doorstep. He leans most, if not all his weight on you. He must be in a world of pain, poor thing... And he still had the decency to help you calm down. You need to get your mind straight and help him. 

Like he did in the car, the second he arrives in your home, his eyes rake over every every corner and crevice. 

He whistles, “You live here? Fucking cherry, babe.” 

Your home is nice. Not because you got a job and worked hard for it, but because it was inherited from your grandmother who signed the deed over to you after she was admitted to a care home. 

It's a two story open floor plan. The furniture is old. But it has its charm. 

The french windows were always open, letting in the fresh air. Tonight, the first thing you do when you get home is shut them. 

You don't know why you don't want anyone to know there is a bleeding man in your home, but suddenly the noble part of you that was willing to accompany him to the hospital and face charges for your crimes was gone. He did not want to go to the hospital, and you did not want to go to jail. Maybe you could work something out… 

For now, you grab the bigger first aid kit at the top of your kitchen cabinet. This one had much more equipment than the one in your car. 

When you pass by the closed window, the darkness makes a sort of mirror. When you see your face in the reflection, you blink. Your face is bleak and sunken. Your eyes have puffy bags under them and your hair is a mess. 

You rinse your face before going to see him again. You feel infinitely better afterwards. Not good, because you're still scared and you're feeling lost. But better. 

You spend a good part of the night learning how to stitch a wound. 

While you're watching the tutorial, he lays lazily on the couch next to you. Watching, but not with much attention. 

When you calmed down and told him you didn't know how to close a wound, but you’d be happy to hold his skin together while he stitched, he laughed in your face. 

“Well, you better fucking learn then, huh?” He had told you. 

You're not that weird. You first helped him with the bleeding and the wound’s much cleaner now. There's a warm dish towel pressed to it to stop any more bleeding. However, it's been a few minutes and the cloth is still completely white. 

He sits there. Shirtless and a little sweaty next to you. You’re not sure when he put his cheek on your shoulder. But he does. A heat blooms on the apples of your cheeks. 

“This is soo boring,” He laments. 

“I am trying to save your life…” You mutter. Not really convinced in yourself either. 

You put your phone down, confident in the technique, and take a deep breath. You spend a few moments threading the thin string to the eye of the needle, and his yawning exaggeratedly did not make your hand any less shaky.

The wounds shallower than you remember when you were scared in the dark and alone. But the pink flesh still pulses, thrumming. 

He holds the edges of his skin together like he’s half assing a task at his corporate job. You don't deter, remaining focused as the needle pierces his skin.

And so, you begin to stitch. 

There's hardly even a grunt of pain on his end. You suppose he’s tired of that. Still, the way the thin needle pierces the flesh makes your heart beat faster with fear and your hands start to get sweaty. 

You’re at it for a few torturous minutes. Finally, there's the satisfying snip of sharp scissors cutting the thread. 

You did it. You really did it. It doesn't look very pretty, but you could care less, really. He is not going to die. And you played hero. God… 

You allow your shoulders to sag and to exhale deeply. Almost immediately after, fatigue hits your body faster than you hit the… All the adrenaline keeping your form steady seeps out of your system as you begin to calm. 

You throw the dishcloth into the laundry basket and put everything back in place. You wash your hands that are already clean (hardly any blood on him by the time you started), but just in case. 

You’re beginning to feel dizzy. The events of tonight are finally starting to catch up to you. All you want to do is fall asleep on your warm bed and forget this all happened. 

From behind you, two hands creep across your waist, wrapping around it. He leans his chin on your shoulder. 

You stop. And your heart is back to beating like a hummingbird. You swallow before you speak, “...Yes?”

He hums, muttering against your skin, “Thank you. For taking care of me.” His words are breathy and have a lilt of something… devilish in them, “That was so…” He smirks, though you can’t see, “Brave.” 

Inhaling deeply through your nose, you answer, “You're welcome. And…” You swallow, genuinely guilty, “I'm sorry for what I did to you.” You can't say out loud what exactly. Not yet.

He almost says for what? Then catches himself, clearing his throat, “It's not that big of a deal, honest…” He grins, “I'm a very forgiving person, you know?” 

His hands begin to entertain themselves by moving under your shirt, feeling at the soft flesh there. You remain deathly still. 

“Listen, doll,” He starts, “You know I hate to bother a pretty little thing like you, but you wouldn't mind if I crashed here a couple days, would you?” He starts to play with the waistband of your pants, and a heat starts to pool in your stomach, “Just until I recover. Then I’ll be out of your hair. Promise…” The low timbre of his voice was starting to do things to your head. 

You don't know when you started to lean into his touch, just that you started to nod, “Yea, okay. Obviously… stay–” You choke on your words as his other hand inches towards your breasts, “Stay as long as you need.” 

He chuckles darkly, “You’re such a doll…”

Rex is so into sub n dom dynamics r u kidding meeee!!! P.s. contains foot fetish sorta

With a stocking-covered foot, you slide it along the outline of his dick in his boxers. You trace the obscene shape of it, taking your sweet time. 

Rex throws his head back and his groans. It's always been so hot how responsive he is. “Fuck. That's good.” 

Even though his eyes are glazed with a hint of pleasure, he keeps his legs spread obediently. So sweet. He chuckles, though it sounds a tad delirious, “You know, I really, really like this.”

You push your foot into the imprint of his dick, pleased with him. “I really, really like this, too.” You smile, feeling at his confined cock. 

His moans begin to sound like white noise as your eyes zero in on the pretty picture of his dick being stepped on by you. Your touch is soft and delicate. At least…for now. 

You press a little more of your weight onto his cock, and a proud smile forms on your lips when he moans even louder. 

Feeling a bit impatient, you order him to take his cock out of his boxers. You coo at the sight of it. An angry, irritated red with a tip that drips pre. You tap his tip with your foot, and the pre smears onto your new stockings.

You tsk, “So messy…” You speak over his lewd sounds, beginning to use your foot to stroke his cock in all sorts of matter. The sides, the front, the bottom…all worthy of your lovely attention. 

He blinks his eyes up at you, “So, when can I cum, exactly?” He asks nervously. By his voice, he seems already worn out. 

You sigh, but can't wipe that pleased smirk off your face, “Hopefully…tonight?” 

Teasing is always so fun, especially with the way he almost chokes on his own spit at your words.

This bow divider is so cute ajdffsla it looks like this was a little gift. Credits to @anitalenia !

This is kind of niche, I think

Its so romantic in Paris...

First of all I just wanna say i was an og sabrina fan before allll her espresso fame back in like 2018. All of u guys r fake. Anyway.

Note: I cant b a normal person and have a severe spiritual illness so this is part 1, aka the normal part. part 2 will be cunnilingus and all that amazing stuff. Ok? Ok.

Content: All sfw, angst, mentions of canon-typical violence

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You sip on rich, decadent hot chocolate as you watch the full moon cast beautiful light against a backdrop of endless black. The moonlight’s shine spills onto the oceans back elegantly, whilst the restless waters gently ripple and slosh against a rocky bed. You watch the scene intently, unable to tear your eyes off of nature’s beauty. 

Your first day in France was more than you could have ever hoped for. The sites were just as serene as the pictures, the cafes might have been a tad overpriced, but you’d still enjoyed your time conversing with the locals. Unfortunately, Mark had to leave halfway through. But it was fine. You could make do on your own. And you did. 

Work has been…tough recently. It’s been overwhelming to even leave the soothing comfort of your bed in the mornings, let alone carry on with your mundane days. Seeing your discomfort, Mark had suggested a vacation to ease your mind off of everyday’s stress. 

Reluctantly, you had agreed. 

And a good thing you did. You can’t even picture yourself at a desk anymore, slaving away all day. The thought itself makes you cringe.

Besides that, it’s all just been a bit much recently. More than someone like you can handle. A human, and not so terribly flawed, you’ve come to realize. At least you weren’t made to flaw… 

Behind you, there’s a soft click. The subtle sound of the hotel room’s door opening catches your attention, successfully disturbing your train of thought. 

You carefully set the mug on the white railing supported by well-sculpted pillars, enclosing the balcony (rather tastefully, in your opinion.) You turn around to see your lover, albeit tattered and stumbling, but still comfortingly beautiful. 

You can’t help the small smile that creeps on your face at the sight of him. “Mark,” You purr. 

He grins at the way you say his name so sweetly. He peels his mask off of his face, revealing your tired, but darling boyfriend. 

You meet him halfway into an embrace, and he holds you back. You instinctively kiss the side of his jaw, he chuckles. 

Cupping a side of his face, you look into his glimmering eyes, and you almost see the moon in them, “I thought you wouldn’t be back till tomorrow.” You tell him, though there's still a peaceful smile on your face. 

He closes his eyes as you gently stroke your thumb across his cheekbone, and leans into your touch to lightly kiss the inside of your palm. He shakes his head, “Mm-mm. No way. No how.” He opens his eyes to look at you, and you feel your heart melt. “I wanna be here with you.” He holds your hand in his own, warm and reassuring. 

Your shoulders sag in relief and you sigh, your face relaxing. Hero duties never sleep, but you were hoping it would– just for the night. Just for one, quiet night. 

You look at him with all the love in your heart. Seems the stars have granted your wish. 

You take the opportunity to lean in and kiss the plush skin of Mark’s lips, and he reciprocates eagerly, enjoying the gentle suckling on his tender bottom lip. Time leisurely curled around both of you as you kissed—slow, suspended, infinite.

Everything was perfect for a moment— too perfect, like a dream you didn’t want to wake up from. Perhaps the world could end now, like it’s done time and time before, and you would accept it, relish in it. After all, there is no other place you’d rather be…

Your heart stutters in your chest at the thought, the afterimage of collapse, destruction, and fear running through your mind. You try to forget it, tuck it away to the furthest, darkest corner of your mind, but you can’t. How could you, after everything that he’s— you’ve been put through. You flinch away from him like he was hot coal. 

You hadn’t even noticed your breathing had picked up, and you held your hand to your heart, trying to expel the fear from your body desperately. 

Mark calls out your name amidst your internal struggle, but it comes out more like a scream underwater. Your ribs ache, and your legs feel weak. 

This can’t happen. Not again. How many times will there be a miracle for you to ride the coattails of? Not enough. 

You can’t live like this. In fear, in agony. It’s too much. Why can’t anyone see that? Why can’t he see that? 

You're abruptly snapped out of your thoughts when you feel arms encircle your waist. Mark’s hand comes to your temple to lean your head back, placing a ghostly kiss on your cold skin. 

Your fingers grip the balcony’s railings, watching a silver eye staring back at you, unblinking against dark waters. The sparkling stars hang like broken glass against the deep expanse of sky, of space, of unknown. 

How did you get here? 

Your eyes search for anything, a sign, an omen, an angel. When you find nothing, you inhale shakily, your face scrunched up and determined. You needn’t proof to know that this time will be different. It has to be. 

You can’t bear the thought of more tragedy, the feeling of helplessness already etched far too deep into your skin. When will enough be enough? 

Turning just slightly to the side, you see the refined marble shine modestly. You keep your eyes on it. “Mark,” You utter his name gravely, quietly. 

He lets out a soft ‘hmm?’ and you look up at him, his eyes are already on yours. 

Your lips suddenly feel dry, and the air seems harsher, prickling at your sensitive skin. The waves below crash insistently, trying to grab your attention. You hardly even notice. 

In your restless dreams, you see that day. You see the mangled bodies at your feet, ruining your brand-new white shoes. Your shaky hands had lifted up into your line of view, showcasing… blood. It had dipped all the way to your elbow, into every crack and crevice on your hand. Your destiny had been entirely erased from your palm. 

In the shower, you had spent hours scrubbing yourself, your sobs scratching at your throat and echoing against the walls. The drain swirled with a whirlpool of red. Your white shoes outside, abandoned in the dumpster. Throughout it all, all you could think was, ‘But, why? Why Mark? Why me?’

Was there something so egregiously wrong you’d done you needed to atone for? If so, you wanted to repent. So badly, you did. All you need… is for the angels to tell you where you went wrong. And you promise— oh, you promise you won’t be swayed astray again. You couldn’t bear it anyway. 

You blink up at him hollowly. There was no life in your eyes, only the echo of where something used to be.

Your lips open into a small keyhole, trying to find the words to say. What to ask. 

You want his help. You need him to help you. 

Cold hands touch his face, but he doesn't flinch or shiver, merely matching the intensity of your gaze. 

He’s desperate to speak, but he can tell something is weighing on your mind, a question on the tip of your tongue. Your eyes trace his features, committing them to memory. You don’t want to forget… not so soon… because you could swear his hair was shorter just yesterday. 

You chew on your bottom lip, furrowing your brows as you look at him like you’re here. Here with him. “Is it you…Mark?” 

Sometimes, Mark feels like a broken mirror you had tried to piece together, but your feet keep bleeding from stepping on the shards, and your reflection doesn’t look quite the same anymore…

He looks at you lovingly, his fingers curling around your face like petals closing around morning dew. 

His smile is strained, but he tries at it anyway, “It’s me. I promise.”

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See the way I decorate my posts to seem aesthetically pleasing, Mark?

Anyway, im starting a series with cray cray reader and this is lowk beta and ill post the final version on ao3 but yolo (i'll fix this one afterwards!)

masterlist <3

If you take requests or suggestions, might I ask for pegging Mohawk, Sinister, or Lensless Mark? (Take your pick tbh) all of the variants are so pretty I NEED to top, bite and choke them 😔 unfortunately, there is a serious lack of Dom!Reader in this fandom

You can totally ignore this if you want to, I always feel awkward abt writing these cause I don’t want to ever seem rude or entitled 😭

Omg, not at all!!! I love this idea so much hahaah

Also, I completely agree, in regards to all fandoms ngl! So I just decided to put out the content I wanna see, lol

uhh warning very perverted I guess

✩ MOHAWK MARK ➔ Asphyxiation, Reader is like, mean

His eyes roll to the back of his head when the obscene shlick! sound of your strap thrusts into his asshole again. His spine shivers and he moans into the pillow at the feeling of fullness. A feeling that may just be better than the thrill of controlling the entire Viltrumite empire. Just maybe. 

Both of your bodies are slick with sweat, and the air around you is intoxicated by the heady, unmistakable scent of sex. Your legs still haven’t begun to ache from sitting on your haunches for so long, but it’s only because you have practically memorized this position, and the view, too. Besides, your body has already learned its lesson on becoming tired when pleasuring Mark, and it won’t be one it soon forgets. 

“Shit.” He chuckles shakily, shifting slightly to accommodate the fullness, “So are you planning to make me cum by Christmas or what?” 

You pull out, keeping just the tip in, and he groans. “It would be a nice gift.” You hum, then push the pink rubber back into his warm, inviting hole. Your lips form a small smile when you notice a shiver pass through him. “But I'm not so sure you even deserve it.” 

He frowns at your flippant comment, looking behind him to see your calm face. You drag your fingernails gingerly across the length of his spine, helping him subtly into an arch. He takes the hint, although not without a bratty huff under his breath. 

He rests his head back on the soft pillow, a pillow made with material better than silk, worth more than half your internal organs back on Earth. To your gleeful delight, it will be ripped, ruined and discarded. Funny. But honestly, you never really did like him to have nice things too often.

He’s just far too spoiled, in your opinion. 

His eyebrow twitches in annoyance, “Just so you know, I wouldn’t treat you like this.” 

The frustration breaks way to a half-truth. Would your despicable Mark torture you while he was on top? Absolutely. Would he adhere to your set of cruel methods? Not exactly. While he preferred to pull as many orgasms from both of you as possible, you believed in the art of patience. Of drawing out the perfect, warm orgasm that steadily bubbles up from the deepest part of your stomach and burns off your nerve endings when washing through. 

The kind of orgasm he would be reaching for every time he’d sit on his plush bed and draw his hard cock from his pants. He’d stroke the underside of his sensitive dick and think: “I wish my angel were here to help” Though you wouldn’t live to see the day he expresses any sentiment of gratefulness. 

However, Mark believed in patience just as much as he did mercy. In no quantity at all. 

He senses that he hasn't swayed you at all by the way you lightly trace over the skin of his hips, and he sighs. He succumbs to desperate, perverse methods like some kind of whore. 

He shimmies his hips upwards a bit, trying to entice you into fucking him hard like he wants. He whines, “C’mon, baby don’t you want to make your man proud?” He says in the prettiest voice he can muster. 

Sadly, you can read Mark like a book, and all the act does is make you roll your eyes. 

You really can’t teach an old dog new tricks. 

You grab the sides of his narrow hips, and meanly squeeze the fat of his ass, deciding to humor him, “Can I get a please?” 

He sticks his tongue out in distaste at your demand, yet he predictably complies. Though not without uttering the word in the most annoying way possible, “Please–” 

The sentence ends on a choke when you quickly pull the plastic dick out of his hole then slam back in, taking pleasure in the sound that he makes. 

You grip the back of his neck for leverage, and pound his greedy hole into oblivion. Because when has Mark ever even deserved nice things? Even a romantic orgasm would be far too much for him. He was too much of a goddamn leech. 

You press your chest to his back, pushing him further into the mattress, intending to get inside of him as deep as possible. You switch your grip from the back of his neck, to the front, squeezing at his airway mercilessly. 

He chokes, surprised at your boldness. “Oh, fuck– shit, babe.” He laughs shakily, taking perverse joy in your rough treatment. “So good to me, aren’t you?” 

Not bothering to spare him a respectable response, you continue to pound into him like that's what he was made for. You don't grace him even a second to take in a breath. Just the way you fuckin’ like it. 

The lewd sounds of skin slapping fill your bedroom like they were made to be there, and you barely resist squeezing his throat like you’re going to kill him. Keeping it to an every once in a while. 

Though… you honestly can’t resist the sounds of his sweet choking, so you channel all your strength into your fist. Leaving him gripping for purchase on the mattress. 

The sounds of fabric ripping, or his face turning pale don’t deter you. In fact, it does the exact opposite effect, giving you motivation to fuck him harder. He continues to sputter chokes and pleas, but is largely unable to by the unwavering force you have around his neck.

When he starts to shake and twitch uncontrollably, you begin to understand what exactly he’s trying to babble. 

“C-Cu-.” You bite the cartilage of his ear, then let loose on his airway, just so he could spill the words out, “Gonna- fucking–” He stutters hoarsely, and his hips twitch and jerk. 

You hum in affirmation to his warning. Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled.

Using your free hand, you snake it down to his poor, leaky cock, and squeeze its base roughly, delaying his orgasm. 

You let go of his throat and smile when he gasps in a large breath. 

He coughs, "Baby, please, wait--"

“Say please like you fucking mean it.” You lick at his neck, then bite the area harshly, and he screams. You still don’t let up on the abuse your strap-on does to his poor hole. 

“P-Please!” He cries, gasping desperately. You push his face back in the pillow, making sure he struggles for breath, “Please!” You hear him scream into the pillow, muffled. 

You dig your fat cock into the deepest part of him and let go of his dick. You smile when his hip stutters and his dick releases its seed onto the sheets beneath him. 

Weak spurts spill from his tormented cock and he groans. It’s only then that you decide to pull out, making him whine. 

You sigh, tiredly and get off of him. You feel hot, and disgusting, and Mark still somehow got what he wanted. You tsk to yourself.

Silently working on removing the belts from your hips, he rolls on his back to look at you, quirking a brow, ”Why’d you stop?”  

✩ SINISTER MARK ➔ Asphyxiation, oral fixation, dog imagery

Mark’s mouth wraps around the bright pink of your strap-on like it’s a glorified chew toy. You’re lucky it’s not your actual dick. Because with the way he bites, chews, sucks, and drools all over it, you’re sure it would have been a strict off-limits zone for him. 

Your hands move to tangle into his dark, thick hair, petting it softly. Hoping it the action will let up on his aggravation just a tiny bit. 

It works, because he shoves the cock up his mouth deeper, letting out a small choke as he sucks. 

He looks at you with the prettiest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen, waiting for his well-needed praise after such a hard day.

You know if you don’t give it, he’ll have your head. Or at the very least, he'll sulk in a corner. Either case is less ideal than the other.

You coo to him, watching spit drip from his lips and onto his spread thighs, “So good, Mark.” The dribble is everywhere from down his mouth, and you can't tell when exactly the sweat ends and the saliva begins, “You look so pretty like this.” 

His moans are muffled around the pink dick. He takes slow, measured breaths through his nose, so he won’t have to stop for air frequently, and blinks his eyes up lazily at you. Then rolls them. 

Exactly like a pretty puppy. 

Despite the defiance, you still play nice, “Are you going to lube up my dick so it can go in your pretty hole?” His hard dick between his thighs twitches at the reminder, and he does his best to nod with the strap-on in his mouth. He tries to say, “Yes”, but it comes out more like an incoherent garble. 

He tries his best to slide the thick cock from out of his mouth, coughing and sputtering when it’s fully out. He wipes at the dribbles of saliva around his lips, speaking throatily, “Yes, I want to.” 

The plastic cock drips of his saliva, practically soaked in it. Yet, he puts his mouth back on the tip, sucking lightly to get used to the feeling, before putting it halfway through his mouth. 

He tries to shove as much of it as possible inside of his mouth, but then looks up at you for help when he doesn't seem able to. 

“Help?” You ask. If he could pout around the dick, he would. You grab the back of his hair again, and steadily help him down the length of it. 

Instinctively, he stutters and chokes as the sex toy slides down the wet cavern of his mouth. He instantly grabs your thighs for support, trying to alleviate the intruding feeling. You remove your hands from his hair and stroke at his cheek, trying to coax him back his measured breathing through his nose. 

There’s no point in pulling him off. If he says he wants to take it all, he’s going to take it all. And no amount of praise will get his mind off his goal. 

He looks back up at you, ‘Help me.’ he seems to say.

You sigh. For all his imprudence, you cannot wait to make him cry on your dick. 

However, you are beginning to  feel impatient at the way he only steadily inches more of it down his throat. The slow pace is starting to frustrate you.

The hedonistic side of you wants him around your cock, now. Irrationally, you grab the hair on the back of his head harshly, he gasps around the cock at the contact. You brutally push him all the way down to the base of the cock. 

He chokes around it immediately, and his grip on your thighs turns bruising as his throat tries to accommodate to the sudden intrusion. He fails, and a pool of drool spills from his mouth, but your hands don't let up, keeping him there. 

“Come on. You can do it,” You goad, tilting your head to the side, “Can’t you?” 

You see alarm bells ring in Mark’s head, and he tries his best to accept the length of it in his greedy mouth. “Can.” He slurs. 

His nose kisses the skin of your stomach, and he blushes, making it even more difficult for him to breathe. But he’s keeping himself there, unmoving. Though you do see him chewing around the plastic to alleviate the burn of his throat. 

After a few more seconds, Mark moves a few inches down the cock, landing halfway. He swallows, or– tries to swallow. His throat fucking burns. 

He continues to suck and chew around the cock, getting lost in the warm feeling of his mouth filled. 

You tap his cheek a few times. He opens his eyes to look at you through his lashes. He hadn’t even noticed he’d closed them. 

You're beginning to feel a little more impatient.

“Mark…” You move your feet airily, then slightly drag it across his dick, barely touching. He instantly grips your thighs again and chokes around the dildo. His neglected dick twitches at the simple contact, and he closes his eyes as he tries to even his breath again. 

“You want to be filled up?” He moans around the cock at your filthy words, “Wanna be mine?” 

Slowly, he moves his lips across the dick and out, leaving it with a lewd pop! Fucking hot. 

He heaves when he’s finally met with air. His face is sweaty and debauched, eyes glazed over like he had just gotten fucked. He’s a complete slut. “I’m already yours, I don't have to work for it.” He says throatily, vocal cords basically compressed off. 

You hum, just trying to keep him quiet. He can get pretty mouthy, and you can’t bother to hear bitching when you’re so horny right now. 

He’s feeling extra touch starved after barely being offered any stimulation before it’s taken away, so he stands up quickly. You lay down on the sheets, and before you can even bother to start to get comfortable, he’s already clambering onto your lap. 

You raise an eyebrow, like you’re not just as turned on, “Someone’s eager.” 

He lines his hole with the bright pink plastic cock, dripping of his drool and spit, pressing his hands to your stomach for support. 

The tip breaches his hole, slicked up and ready for his awaiting hole. You’re so fucking jealous. You can’t imagine how warm and silky he feels…

He moans, tipping his head back, but doesn’t dare stop at just there, continuing to slowly descend down the pretty dick, his hole fluttering around it. 

When he reaches the hilt of it with ease, he shifts, trying to relax himself onto it slowly.

But you know better. You know that he wants to be treated like the cumtoy that he is. 

You tap his hips, then squish the flesh. He moans in response. “Come on, baby. Move.”

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Im calling this work: "Do you think you peg me in every universe?"

"Duh."

Thanks for the request, meow meow meow

♡

someone on twt said one of the variants had a slave kink, so I ran with it.

Tags: Use of restrictions, bdsm, sub and dom dynamics (not heavy), sub!mark obviously, stoplight system used, sounding, uhh i think thats it idk Word count: 4.5k (no comment)

I wanted to make something that was entertaining yet simultaneously sexy, so I hope that worked!

This work is inspired by this picture! Show some love, the artist is amazing!! (I wanted to include the thong but I didn't really know how to. Plus, it was already getting a lot and i got overwhelmed So, uh... *audience boos*)

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The chain above Mark rattles when he pulls on it. The metal is thick and mounted to the ceiling far above. (courtesy of him) So it's pretty secure, he’d say; and nothing really feels wrong… so why was he just a tiny bit scared? 

From across the room, you fiddle with some objects in a smooth black box. You're broken out of your concentration when you hear him twist and squirm. 

You spare him a glance, raising a brow, “...‘You doing okay over there?” 

Mark pulls on the chain again, furrowing his brows at it in thought, “Shouldn’t it be stronger?” He lifts his head at an awkward angle to look at you, “I mean— you know I could break out of this easily, right?” 

You pick up the box and walk over to him, setting it on the bed for later. Then, you look down on him, trying to get a good look at his current state. At the inspection, he feels his face growing slightly pink. 

“That’s not the point.” You cross your arms, looking into his eyes, “You’re not my hostage, Mark. That’s the idea. You’re purposefully relinquishing control over to me, so you can feel good.” You tilt your head,

“Got it?” 

“Uh–” He looks at you with a blush across his face then nods slowly, swallowing, “Um, yeah. I think I got it.” 

You smile nicely, playing with the thin, silky belt of your robe,  “Good.” 

Mark’s eyes immediately land on the black silk, focused on the way your fingers teasinging go over it, “So…” He looks back at you with a smirk, “Am I the only one that’s gonna be undressed here, or…?” He teases, but you can tell he’s nervous. 

You do believe that a healthy dosage of nervousness and…fear is good. Even advisable. But, Mark seems to be far too on edge. And, well, we can’t have that, can we? 

And so, you decide that now’s a time as ever to show a little sweetness. You crouch down to his level, mustering the most disarming look you can and whisper, “Just be patient.” You use your fingers to gently trace the skin below his briefs, and you feel the strong muscle beneath flex. At the sight, you hum in approval. “You can do that, right? Be good and patient?” You splay your hand over his stomach, looking directly into his eyes, “So you can have nice things.” 

His eyes flit away nervously under your gaze, and he wants to run away, feeling overwhelmed already. But he stays put. “Yes.” 

“Hmm? Yes, what?” 

“Um…yes…ma’am?” 

You giggle, tapping his hip, “Good boy.” Then stand up to look through the box on the bed. 

He groans, trying to cover his face with his forearms, “This is so not okay.” His voice cracks endearingly in the middle of the sentence. Thank god Mark can’t see your face right now, because you’re trying to suppress a laugh. And if he sees you laughing at him, he may actually run. 

From the mysterious black box, you take out a thin wand. It’s silver and metallic, with a sizable ball at the end. On the rod itself are variously sized balls. It’s very pretty and dainty in your opinion. It suits Mark in that regard.

Inside the box is another rod. Except, this one has a lithe tip that thickens as it goes down. It's painted a dull black, and looks far meaner. But you can’t judge a book by its cover, only by how good it’ll feel inside of Mark. You hold the silver one in your hand and look at the black one. 

Decisions, decisions…

However, your train of thought is cut off by a wobbly voice down below, “Babe!” Mark whines from the cushion on the floor, you look behind your shoulder to see a very pink and pouty Mark Grayson. He sighs when he sees your reasonably unimpressed face. A face that his ego does not take lightly. However, his hot head between his legs seems to trump the one between his shoulders. “Don't take too long, it's weird being here all by myself…” He looks away, “I want you here with me.” He mumbles that last part.

You’d chastise him for neglecting the first rule you’d told him only a mere minute ago, but you internally (and perhaps graciously) decide to forgive him because he does look like he’s going to melt… And a sad Mark does make you sad…

Alright then, lightwork. Just decide quickly, by using clever Jean-Paul Sarte’s decision-making philosophy. You believe it went something like…

Eenie… meenie… minie… moe…

There we go. Silver one it is. 

To avoid scaring the trembling kitty at your feet, you place it outside of his line of view when you sit back down between his legs. He doesn’t even notice, more attentive to the fact that you’re here with him.

As a reward for being so (im)patient with you, you lean down to place a kiss on Mark’s lips. However, you stop just a few centimeters away from his mouth to watch how he chases after your lips. It’s cruel, but can anyone blame you? It’s endearing.

You hold his warm face as you kiss him, and he kisses you back in earnest. Even though needy and fidgety, Mark takes his time to suck on the supple flesh of your lips before escalating, which you highly approve of. You make sure he knows that by running your right hand slowly down his body, landing just below his waist. Your index finger teasingly pulls on the waistband of his briefs, and Mark backs away from your mouth to huff. Above the both of you, you hear his chains clatter together as he instinctively tries to touch you too. He groans in your mouth when he realizes he’s restricted. How cute. 

His bottom lip juts out and you already hear the complaint on the tip of his tongue. So, you decide to distract him from his neediness by alleviating it. Your kiss-bitten lips lean down to his jaw to begin to place kisses along it. You make your way down his neck, making sure to suck a hickey at the base of it. 

He shivers at the hot, wet contact of your tongue with his sensitive neck. Instinctively, he groans and throws his head back, which is all the better for you. 

You lick, suck, kiss, bite along his neck. A pleasure for you as you feel butterflies burst in your stomach. You glance up to see his flushed face, biting his lip. You can’t help the smirk that grows on your face at the sight. You blink up at him through your lashes, enamoured by how genuinely beautiful he is. But that only embarasses him, making him flush and hide his face in his bicep. 

You can’t help but laugh at the sight, crawling just a little further so you’re face-to-face with him. 

“Maaark,” You say musically, nosing at his cheek. He ‘Hmm?’’s

This is the usual routine. But sweet Mark, bless him, can’t seem to put two and two together. 

Your hand slips beneath his briefs slowly, and he immediately jerks, pulling on the chain hard in a bout of nerves. Your eyes flit up instinctively to where it's mounted on the ceiling, but it hasn't budged. Your baby boy is so handy, it makes your heart swell. You kiss his hot cheek to try and soothe the overwhelming feeling. You feel his rapidly beating heart against yours. A wild BA-THUMP, BA-THUMP, BA-THUMP, hammering against his ribs. His heart echoes its language to yours, and you try your best to cradle it safely in your arms. 

“Mark…” You whisper, kissing his cheek. You keep your face pressed to his, “I love you.” 

His breath is a little ragged, but he responds anyway. Like he always does. “I love you too–!” 

He ends the declaration in a groan as you gently stroke the base of his hard cock. You kiss the corner of his lips, keeping the soft, careful pace. He huffs loudly, his lungs shallowly trying to take in air as you wrap your arm around the base of him with two nimble fingers. 

He lets out an “Oh!”, and his breath doesn't calm down. You kiss his pretty, flushed lips a few times. “Okay?” You  ask, then correct yourself when he doesn’t respond, “Green?” 

Despite the fact that he looks like he’s in complete agony, he sniffs and nods, “G-Green. Don’t stop, okay? Please.” He shuts his eyes and bucks his hips into your touch, making you gasp softly, “I wanna cum so bad.” He whines. 

Oh, Viltrumites. Ever so sensitive you are. 

Your lucky pretty little Mark over here has stamina, or you would have never let him orgasm this fast in a million years. You can’t just have everything you want just because you have a pretty face, you know? 

You grip the base of his cock, and he throws his head back, moaning. You use your other hand to lower his briefs, then wrap around his length brutishly without a care. He whimpers at the harsh contact, the left side of his hips lifting. But you know he likes it that way. He’s so darling. 

“I hope the message is clear:” Your hot breath against his face makes him whimper, “You can cum, but I won’t be nice about it. Do we have a deal, bunny?” 

The pretty nickname makes him groan breathily, and he nods furiously. “Deal. Deal– oh, deal. Oh please, please, PLEASE–” 

You move at the animalistic pace you promised him. With every stroke upwards, your fingers pay a harsh visit to his head by squeezing, making him choke. You no longer concern yourself with his cries, his “please” ‘s, or the chains threatening to break from the ceiling that it is mounted to. All you care about is delivering his wish. 

However, his fidgeting is a problem. You bring your legs to hold back both his thighs. But his strength, of course, overwhelms you, no matter how delirious he may be. Your lower half ends up jostling around as you try to calm him like you would a wild steed. But if this one decides to become good, then maybe you won’t need a whip after all. 

You feel it in the way that his hip stutters that he’s close. In the way that he babbles, “Love you, love you, love you–”

He bucks his hips forward one last time and he cums hard, screaming. His release spills onto his stomach, his thighs, and tarnishes the perfect black silk of your robe. Not that you mind one bit. 

He breathes heavily into your neck, trying to come back to Earth. You stroke his soft black hair as he does, and kiss his forehead. 

You kiss the tip of his nose and decide to ask a silly question. “Mark,” “Hmm?” He says softly. “What are you?” 

His mouth is slightly open, and his eyes are glazed over. He squints his eyes, and his brows furrow as he tries to think about what you want him to say, “U-Um… your pet?” 

You laugh at the sweet answer, “Yes. But also something else.” 

Overwhelmed and overstimulated, his cock weeps for him as he tries to think, “Mmm- ah– Umm…” 

You sit up on your haunches and undo the fastens of your sultry robe, deciding it was time to reveal the mini-surprise, since the poor silk was already filthy. 

It slips from out of your arms and lands on the floor, revealing an even more seductive black lingerie. Lace lines the cup of the bra and where it ends thinly below your hips. It connects to a pair of garters on your thighs and ends at the long, sheer black thigh highs. 

Evil, but make it sexy. 

You smile down at him, “The answer is mine.” 

You move your hair out of your face to see Mark’s face, and it’s nothing short of awestruck. His mouth hangs open, and the glaze in his eyes clear as he tries to focus on the view in front of him. You think you see some drool escape his pink lips, but you’re more focused on the silver rod you hold in your hand, something Mark is not. 

His cock twitches, and he makes a small sound at the back of his throat. Then, he reels it in to form a sentence, “Was all that just-just foreplay or something?” He asks nervously, but with the way the corner of his lip twitches upwards, you suspect he can handle it. 

You smirk, “It can be anything you like.” You position your legs on either side of his abdomen, then lower to a kneel, right above your most beloved part of him, (other than his big, loving heart) his well-defined abs. Just looking at them makes you groan. 

Deciding you want his undivided attention, you blink pretty eyes at him as he looks up at you with an unsure, but needy expression. You already feel his dick come to life once again from behind you. It makes you shiver.

“Do you want a show, Mark?” You move the suit's crotch to the side, teasingly slow. His eyes are trained on the area between your thighs, focused and unblinking. 

“Yes–” His sentence cuts off awkwardly, and he looks up at you, “Please.” Noticing the way you slightly raise your eyebrows, he adds, “Ma’am.” 

You send an approving smile his way, and he shakily smiles back. 

“Well, you haven’t been on your best behavior…” His stomach tenses from underneath you, and his throat tightens up, “But…” You smile, “You did your best. But just know that won’t be enough next time. I expect perfect. Isn’t that right?” 

He immediately nods, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Though it stings, he’s thankful for your leniency. 

“Besides, you’re my good boy.” You hum, then move the thin fabric to the side, exposing your dripping core. He gasps instantly at the sight, then lets out a needy sound at the back of his throat. Your entrance pulses at the intense gaze it’s receiving, which just makes Mark swallow, “So, you’re allowed to be spoiled every once in a while, right?” 

He nods, licking his lips, “Yes.” He looks up at you with his pretty doe eyes, “Yes, please. Thank you.” 

At his blatant display of eagerness, you can’t help but drag your free hand between your folds, making you moan in satisfaction. Mark flexes beneath you at that. 

You circle your clit lithely, trying not to excite yourself too much too early. Not everyone can go on like a Viltrumite. “You know, Mark,” His eyes snap up to your own, hanging to your every word with obscenely rapt attention, “I may need some help.” He bites his bottom lip with a groan. You bite your own to stifle a giggle. 

You continue to circle leisurely at your clit. Seductively, you whisper, “Can you help me, Mark?” 

You hear the chains above you rattle and clatter from above you immediately. He seemed to have forgotten the constraints and wanted to lunge to you, but was only able to lift his upper body slightly. Once he realizes the cause of his failed attempt, he looks up at the chains with a deep frown and furrowed brows, suddenly wishing he could break it into a million tiny pieces. 

Then, he directs his unimpressed gaze to you, trying to garner sympathy by whining your name pathetically, “Please?” He pulls on them lightly, “Off?”

You snort, then slip a finger just between your folds, but not going further. Simply teasing your entrance. Mark is back to his entranced stare without needing to be told twice, mesmerized by the way the tip of your finger immediately slicks up from your wetness. 

Saliva pools in his mouth, and he swallows it before he speaks, “Please– I can help—” 

You both gasp when your finger slips in your entrance, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Your thumb comes forward to begin circling your clit. You struggle to time the thrusts with the way you tease your clit. But after a few seconds, you capture it perfectly, enunciated by the way you moan louder. 

“You like this, Mark?” You huff, looking down at his enraptured face, his jaw agape into an ‘o’ shape, “See what you do to me? This is all you. You make me so fucking horny, know that?” He whines at your filthy words, and pulls on the chains. His pretty pink face nods, wanting to close his eyes shut but not wanting to miss a second. 

“Y-You said I could help.” He begs with a flex of his hip, bucking up into the air. You bring your hand down to the side of your hip. 

“Control yourself,” You pull your finger out, it’s wet and covered in the scent of your essence. You lower yourself down on his abdomen, making him gasp. You moan softly, the feeling of his chiseled stomach against your sensitive clit making your pussy clench. You gently rock yourself on him, the movement making your sight heady with lust, and all you can see is Mark below you, panting like a dog. You bring your hand to his chest, “And you can help.” 

You grind yourself against his abdomen, with no intention of coming anytime soon. Only to arouse yourself further. You need to be as wet as possible for what you want to do. 

But Mark feels so good. Not to mention, his wanton whimpers and moans only boost your pleasure. His hip still jerks and flexes from beneath your hand, his dick wanting to be touched and played with desperately, but he doesn’t dare voice it. You don’t even think he notices with how hard he’s staring at your soaking wet entrance. 

You feel your head get lost in the momentary pleasure. The feeling of wanting to come suddenly bursting in your stomach, and you have to physically shake your head to clear it of its wanton haze. Aimlessly, your other hand scrambles to the sounding rod next to you. Mark swallows audibly and makes a dizzy ‘Huh?’ sound, but you pay it no mind. 

You will yourself to concentrate as you angle the silver wand to insert it between your folds, the ball of it to the front of your crotch, close to your clit where your fingers hold it in place. You look down to see a speechless Mark. You can practically see his empty brain try to form a cognizant thought as he tries to register what it is you’re doing. 

You move the handle of it forward slowly, the balls on the wand glide through your folds and your clit with slicked ease, making you gasp. It steadily comes out the other side, in plain view of Mark. He angles his head even further forward to take a good look at it. It’s already gleaming with the beautiful sight of your wetness. His mouth falls open further, his tongue threatening to loll out, and his cock throbs. 

He whines your name as he stares at the wand, suddenly painfully aware of how jealous he is of it. Mindlessly, he only lightly pulls on the chain, subconsciously realizing that his effort is futile, since he is not going anywhere anytime soon. Just a reflex.

“You like it?” You smile, turning it so the light catches on the slicked metal, “I picked it out for you. I thought you’d think it was pretty.” 

“U-Um— What?” He says intelligently, having not heard a word you said. 

In that case, you decide to go for a more physical approach, taking his jaw and angling it downwards to look at nothing but the silver wand and your cunt. You make it pass backwards again quickly, and you almost choke on the feeling. 

“I said– Do you like it?” You bear through the pleasure-pain to bring it back forwards in front of him, so he can take a decent look. You feel a glob of his spit drip down your thumb. 

He nods quickly, trying his best to get into your good graces, “I like it, like you.” He blabbers. 

“Do you know what it is?” 

He nods immediately again, his eyes glazed over and his expression drilled in on your wet core. Wet for him, wet ‘cause of him, love him, you love him, gonna fucking come— His dick twitches at his train of thought, and it bleeds precum insistently. He blinks and tries his very best to answer you, “Suh- So- Me?” He replies astutely.

You hold onto his shoulders, digging your nails into the firm, strong muscle, he groans, “Yea, you want it? You wanna use it after me?” 

His mouth falls open, the flush that encapsulates his face reaches down to his chest. His hip involuntarily bucks forward sharply. He whines when the motion does not reward him with any stimulation. 

Drool freely escapes his mouth as he watches the wand– the wand that’s going to be inside of him, drip with your wetness. Your slick coats the entire rod, and he shivers at the obscene sight of it– at the– at the future implications of, of–

You glide the wand through your folds and simultaneous reach behind to stroke the underside of his painfully hard dick. You both moan wantonly at the same time. 

His biceps strain desperately against the chains. He can’t do it, he can’t do it. He needs to touch– kiss, bite– 

He feels a wetness at the head of his cock, and he gasps, taken aback by its coolness. You move to sit on his strong, thick thighs, circling the head of the wand along the head of his dick gently. Occasionally, you ‘accidentally’ swipe it along the slit of his head. 

“Ah– mmm, Hah– B-Baby?” His firm thighs flex beneath you, but he’s thankful for the comforting weight as his face watches the wand move dangerously close to the hole of his urethra. 

You move it daintily across the side of him, his muscular thigh jolts upwards but you can tell he’s trying his best to control himself for you, so you don’t get hurt. Aww. 

You move the thin tip directly on his dick’s slit, he whimpers. 

“Do you want it, pretty baby?” You insert a centimeter in, he moans, then back out, “Hm, what do you say? I got it all lubed up for you, you know.” 

He nods like he’s mad, “Please, please, I wan’ it.” 

He sniffs, confused on whether to watch the wand inch closer to his dick or the way your body looks in that skimpy lingerie. He whines, feeling agitated and overwhelmed. 

Luckily for him, you don’t think twice before you lower the rod into his welcoming hole. He gasps, his face lowering to the sight, barely an inch in. He squirms, suddenly hyper aware and very vigilant. 

You look up at him, when you find his eyes zeroed in on the sight of the textured wand slightly inside of him. You directly ask, “Green?” 

He blinks, drunk on the sight and the feeling, “Yea.” He fidgets, “So green.” 

You continue to lower the rod down slowly, and the first ball inserts inside of him, and he sighs, satisfied as it moves against his insides. Using the chains to help him, he sits up a little more and seeks your lips. 

You grant it to him, sucking on his bottom lip gingerly. You continued to push the rod down, and the feeling of the tiny spheres moving inside of him was starting to make him antsy, his thighs jutting and flexing insistently. But he still kisses you back, albeit sloppily. You keep going, inching the silver rod further into him. 

He breaks the kiss with the gasp when the entire thing is inside of him, the handle jutting out. 

He pants, trying to get accustomed to the feeling of something so…big inside somewhere as sensitive as his dick. He didn’t think it's that big, especially not when you were playing with it, but now, it feels huge. 

You hum at the sight, and don't bother to push it back when his hole slowly tries to push it out. You say the first thing that comes to mind, “You would look very pretty with a dick piercing.” 

He grows bashful, despite the fact that he’s fully naked in front of you with a rod you’ve shoved up his cock, “Uh, really?” He says hesitantly, “Well, uh maybe I’ll get one? If you like it, I mean…” 

You laugh at his nervousness, holding the handle between three fingers, “Yeah. Why not?” You say airily, throwing him off before pull at the handle quickly, leaving only one ball inside of his painfully hard cock. He gasps, letting out a shaky moan as he pants. 

“O-Ow! I'm– sensitive, you know.” He pouts at you. 

You chuckle deliriously, “You’re beautiful.” You push the wand completely back in, deep inside of his cock, then back out, letting the texture on the rod do its magic. 

Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out, in, out, in, Out In Out In Out In–

Mark screams, squeezing his eyes shut as the feeling waahes over him, eating him whole. He digs the heels of his feet onto the floorboards, and you hear a snap, snap, snap. 

You don't concern yourself with the chains that rattle above you wildly as Mark tries to control what, when, and why. His head rolls back and forth quickly, trying to alleviate the feeling, but it just makes it worse. 

“Hah— Cum.” He says haphazardly, bucking his hips forward to match your thrusts “‘m gonna, cu-ahm!” He feels himself scream so loud, he wonders if the entire neighborhood could hear. 

You grip his shoulder with one hand, digging your fingernails in, “Mhm, yeah, gonna cum?” You thrust the wand faster into his pretty cock, “Cum pretty baby, do it.” 

He pants and nods, obeying you. He meets the wand at the exact moment you shove it back inside of him, entering him excruciatingly deep, and he cries. He cries as he cums, he cries when you quickly pull out the wand to watch the way his release paints his stomach and thighs. 

A few more weak spurts come out of his twitchy cock, and he whimpers. 

You look at your sticky, dirty hands, and a dizzy chuckle comes over you. You instinctively put a finger into your mouth and suck, tasting his semen

At the sight, Mark moans, “Ah, shit.” You look up at him, and a loud clash is heard. He breaks free of his chains and lunges at you, toppling over you on the floor. You fall with an audible oomph. 

He kisses at your jaw, and you feel his hard dick against your thigh. In that moment, he plays cheeky and uses your own words against you, “Wanna cum?”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: For those of you who are curious, the quote by Jean-Paul Satre is: "Man is nothing else but what he makes himself." i.e. that our decisions create our own essence. so thats a quick philosophy fact to impress your co workers ;)

Funnily enough, I spent an indecent amount of time trying to decide between Friedrich Nietzsche and Jean-Paul. Then, I realized that 1) Not everyone is a philosophy major, or into existentialism, so they wouldn't give a fuck who that even is. 2) Even if they were, they still wouldn't give a fuck because its literally bdsm smut. Talk about a reality check!

This took a while so I hope its up to par... ugh.

Hope you all enjoyed <3 mwah

Small drabble with a very nervous Mark (aka my fave)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Do you want to come visit anytime soon?” [Draft]

“What are you doing this spring break?” [Draft] 

“You know, the weather this time of year here is amazing! You should come check it out, if you want.” 

He doesn't even bother keeping that one, immediately deleting it. Far too forward, it was practically embarrassing. 

Mark accepts his defeat when he sighs, pocketing his phone in his pants. He just decides to head to class early instead of loitering in the halls like an idiot. He can settle on spending his break with William again.

Having a pen pal started as an annoying project he had to do to pass his sociology class, one he unfortunately needed to graduate. When he had put his hand in the bowl with a bunch of paper slips in it, he had expected nothing but the worst: conservative old men, a middle aged cat lady, or god forbid, a twelve year old boy. He shivered just thinking about it.

However, somehow, by some miraculous stroke of luck, he had gotten you. A girl his age. 

And nevermind that reasoning. Because you happened to also be quite pleasant to talk to. Even if he did have to speak brokenly in your language– at least you were nice about it! (sometimes) Plus, you were pretty funny when he didn’t have to use google translate to understand your messages. 

And listen, so what if you were crazy hot? That’s just a side reason of why he wants to meet you in person. He admires your beautiful personality even more, alright? 

When confiding his predicament to his best friend, William had suggested to simply: ‘take the shot.’

“Either she thinks you're a complete pervert or you’ve got a hot new girlfriend! Gamble, my friend. Gamble.” 

Thanks, William. 

Mark sits in class, taking out his biology notebook and some pens, when he feels his phone buzz. 

He practically jumped. He only has notifications on for one person, (besides his mom) and that was you. 

Hesitantly, he takes out his phone to read the message.

“Hey, Mark! Hope you’re doing well.

Bummer news: all of my friends are going to visit their families this break, it really sucks, I’ll be alone for two whole weeks! So, I wanted to ask if you’d mind if I could crash at your place? I heard the weather where you are right now is amazing. :)” 

He could faint.

ִֶָ࣪☾. | Sinister.

ᥫ᭡. Part two! (Part 1 here)

Tags: canon-typical violence, pwp (porn with plot), cunnilingus, oral sex (f receiving), interrupted sex, sinister mark is his own warning.

Silently, you read on your soft, large bed. The one that you’d told Mark to get you after he had kindly snapped the last one’s framework in half.

Afterwards, you’d tried to convince him to sleep on the pull-out couch downstairs. Unfortunately, he had thought you were making a less-than-clever joke. 

Even with the window closed shut and the curtains drawn, you could still hear the destruction and the screams of agony from outside; and it was creating a serious detriment to your train of thought. You can’t focus if you’re rudely interrupted by a cry or a pained scream after reading a single sentence. 

You let out an annoyed groan when you hear a goddamn gun go off, and decide to take matters in your own hands. Or rather, dump them on Mark. 

You place your bookmark with little cats on it in the page you’ve stopped, a paw extending to point to the last sentence you read. Then, you hop off the bed to draw open the curtains and open the window. You don’t bother to direct your gaze downwards, where the murder and destruction occurs. 

“Mark!” You call out loudly. You wait for a few seconds, keeping an eye on the sky as you wait. Your expression warps to a more annoyed the longer he takes. “Maaaark!” 

Amidst the polluted sky, you see something like a sonic boom approach from far away. When he’s a couple hundred meters close, he steadily slows down, angling his feet forward to slow himself further. Till finally, he’s face level with you. 

“Yes?” He says with a grin. 

“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting here forever.” 

He sighs, “Baby, I was in Rome. You know how far away that is?” You roll your eyes, “Pretty damn far away.” 

He leans in through the window and plants a kiss, “If you want, I can take you with me right now.” He says musically.

You shake your head and smirk, “Lovely offer, but no.” Then, a frown takes place on your lips, leading you back to the reason you called him, “Mark, I can’t pay attention. I'm trying to read that stupid book, but I can't.” You gesture to your ears, “Everything is so loud.” 

In that exact moment, an explosion goes off. Mark genuinely thinks about it for a moment, offering a solution, “So, do you want to live somewhere more remote?” 

“No. I don’t want to live in a wasteland.” 

“So do you want me to kill everyone here?” 

“But then who will I talk to?” You complain. 

He sighs, “Can’t you just deal with it?” You frown, and he eats up his words, “Okay. Fine, fine.” You can practically see him roll his eyes, even with his ridiculous goggles. “But I want pasta for dinner.” 

You pout, “That’s what we had last night!” 

He grins, “But not from Italy.” 

He gives you a last, parting kiss, and then darts away. You nearly tip over at the force of it, then wipe your lips with a groan. You close the window and shut the curtains. 

For a few, particularly annoying moments. There’s nothing but annoying loud noise. You try to keep your mind off of it by plugging in your headphones and listening to the songs you’ve saved. 

You walk over to the bookcase in the room, pristine and untouched. After the fiasco a few nights ago, you refused him when he wanted to put it back in its original spot in the living room. Instead, you decided on keeping the nook close to your heart, and you. In the bedroom. 

You run your fingers across the rows of books. By the time you find that same, slightly tampered with book, the noise has dispelled, leaving you in a comforting silence. You hum along to the song as you open the book. 

The book that you are fairly sure that you hadn’t possessed before your fight. You don’t know what had compelled you to look for a book you didn’t own that night. But somehow, you knew you needed that book, and you knew it was just within your reach. 

For some strange reason, the man that had opened a portal to your dimension –Angstrom Levy– was not keen on grabbing your Mark by the scruff and chucking him to a lovely reality he can ruin for his own enrichment. Or, that’s what you thought the idiot’s thought process was. Who the fuck knows what he’s thinking, really. 

The book is on how dimensions work, how people that can open realities do that, and most importantly, how people who can’t inherently create a hole in the fabric of reality, learn how to. 

Interesting stuff. 

On the armchair near the bookcase, your legs are pulled to you and you drape a blanket over your lap. You take a sip of your warm cup of tea and set it down on the small coffee table next to you. 

You open to where you stopped, and begin to read. 

You have read this book more than a few times over the last couple days since you discovered it’s existence. During that time, you’ve found it’s less been a long read, and more a tough read. You’re trying your best to wrap your head around the idea before you even begin to attempt it. Because you only really get one chance. One chance to get rid of your Mark. And if you fail? Well, then you can kiss kicking Mark’s ass out of this reality goodbye. 

The entire late afternoon, you spend it in your reading nook, repeating over and over what you have to do to open a portal to a different reality. 

When seven o’ clock strikes, you hear the familiar click of the front door. And before you could even lift your face to see, you’re met face-to-face with Mark. 

He sees the book you’re reading, “I see you’re making good use of your time.” He kisses your cheek, “I’ll take a quick shower and meet you downstairs. I won’t take too long.” You suppose the last part was meant to be a threat. 

***

At the dinner table, you twirl your fork around the spaghetti, then push the spikes of it into a meatball, before putting it in your mouth. As you chew, you hum pleasantly. 

He watches your expression with a keen eye, a grin on his lips at his triumph. “See? I told you it wouldn’t be cold. You just like to complain.” 

You swallow. “It’s a little cold.” You don’t want him to think he did an amazing job and get too full himself. 

He throws his hands up and furrows his eyebrows at you, “No! It isn’t!” You just shrug. 

The rest of the dinner continues to be a series of cutlery clinking with each other as you silently eat. Per usual, Mark’s face is screwed up into a frown.

“So,” He tries to start, “How’s the book you were reading going along?” You look at him with an eyebrow raised, and he groans, “The one with the angsty guy.” 

You sigh and correct him, “Angstrom.” You take a sip of wine, it’s painfully good. “And I already told you, I can’t open a portal. It’s impossible. You have to be born with it.” 

You fall into yet another uncomfortable silence. And the cycle continues with Mark trying to speak up, “Well, what about those other books you were reading? The one with the dragons and princesses and whatever.” 

Each time, you respond as curtly as physically possible, and the dinner ends with you throwing the dishes in the garbage. Because who does dishes at the end of the world, anyway? 

Without needing to be told, you hop on the marble counter and let Mark slip between your legs. He holds your hips as gently as possible (for him, anyway) as he kisses your lips. But as the kisses become more heated, his grip on you tightens, and you repress an annoyed sigh. He’s such a goddamned brute it’s almost aggravating. 

He picks you up by the back of your thigh without cutting off the kiss, a show of his strength. You wrap your arms around his neck and let him kiss you on the table where you were eating at. You let him suck at your lips against the living room couch, and you let him mark your neck against the stairs, before finally carrying you up into the bedroom. 

Along the way, there is a mess of a trail of clothes. He throws you onto the bed and takes his underwear and pants down in one go. He kicks them away and crawls to you, planting kisses down your neck. 

“You’re so fucking…” He grabs your waist tightly, “bitchy without even trying.” He bites the column of your neck harshly, then again on the other side. You yelp both times. “You know how goddamn annoying you are?” 

He’s taking his frustrations out on dinner, and every dinner, on you. And you won’t have that. You slap his back, he shudders, “Either do it right or get off of me.” You grit. 

He just groans, “God, I hope that leaves a mark.” He kisses down your body. Starting from the middle of your chest, to your stomach, all the way down to your pelvis. With how impatient he is, it doesn’t take long before he plants a wet kiss directly on your folds. Your thighs instinctively cage his head. He snickers. 

“Oh…” He chuckles breathily against your cunt, making your spine shiver. “Missed this fucking cunt.” 

You don’t, or rather can’t, comment on how it’s only been two days since the two of you last had sex, because he decides to put his face directly into your pussy, licking at it. His mouth finds your clit, and latches on it, sucking. 

You immediately grip his dark hair, moaning. Your breath turns ragged as he leaves your clit a sensitive, puffy mess. “D-Don’t tease.” You grumble, but it sounds more like a whimper. 

He licks a stripe along your folds in response, “Baby, I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, ‘cause this is my pussy. You fucking got that?” He licks along your folds insistently, making you squirm. 

When you don’t reply, he slaps your hip, “You got that?” and you nod immediately, amusing him. As a reward, he slips a finger inside your wet core, and your breath is caught in your throat. 

Without bothering to let you get used to the feeling, he starts to slip it in and out. The lewd squelching sounds please him, and he returns his attention back to your clit. 

“M-Mark–” You barely say, your leg jerking, “Wait–” 

He takes that as an invitation to slip a second finger inside of you, making you gasp. He crooks them, trying to find your most sensitive spot, and he catches it when you scream. 

Determined to make you cum, each thrust of his fingers lands on your g-spot. Your head thrashed against the pillow, and your body jerks, trying to get away from him. But you’re pretty sure you’d cry if he did. 

He takes turns sucking on your clit, and marking your inner thighs. Every movement and jerk makes you flex, and he grips your thigh, “Stay fucking still, yeah?” 

You try, but it’s asking the impossible. Mark goes down on you again, eating at your pussy with renewed fervor. Curse viltrumite stamina. Or bless it. 

You feel the feeling in your stomach boil over, and you barely have time to warn him before he makes you come with a scream. You cry, and your cum lands on his mouth, making a mess, and he eagerly laps up your release. You breathe quickly, your thighs squeezing around him so hard his skull might bash in if he wasn’t superhuman.  

Eventually, you come down. Though your breath still comes in sharp inhales as you try to calm yourself. You realize it’s impossible with Mark still in between your legs. You try to push him off you as he licks at your inner thigh, “Mark—” You whine, “Enough. Stop. It hurts.” 

With one last lick, he finally gets up from between your legs. His tongue darts from his lips to clean them of your release. He crawls on top of you and kisses beneath your jaw, his hands going to feel your body up and down.

“Well it’s about to hurt a lot more. Because you’re such a sweetheart, and you’ll let me finish inside of you.” He squeezes your waist, “Won’t you?” 

Your cunt automatically pulses like a sleeper agent, and you feel the waves of arousal come back to you in an instant. Yes, the fuck. You are a goddamned sweetheart. The sweetest, even. 

You can’t help yourself from wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him, which he responds to with a pleasant moan. He grabs the side of your head and sucks at your lips, like he’s trying to eat them. But you don’t care. You want to have him. And you want him right now. 

His tongue slips between your kiss-bitten lips, and you feel his hardness push against your inner thigh. So close, yet so completely far away. 

“Mark.” You moan, “Mhm?” he says back, and you take a second to lay back down, looking up at his sickly sweet puppy eyes. Pretty eyes that are clouded over with lust. 

You let out a sound that’s like a whine. “Please? Now?” He chases after you like a puppy, immediately connects your lips again. 

“Yea, mmm, fuck. Yeah, okay.” 

He rubs his cock against your inner thigh, and it barely grazes your core, making you whine. You’ll die if you don’t get to have him inside of you right now. You wrap your legs around the small of his back, letting him know. 

He continues to kiss you like he’s starved, practically trying to melt your lips into each other as he humps your inner thigh. 

You feel sweat cling to your skin and Mark’s breathing becomes more frequent. 

He sits up on his haunches and strokes the underside of his cock, his eyes rolling back atthe pleasure. You swallow, enraptured by his display as he pumps his dick right in front of you. “You want this?” 

You look into his eyes with as much desperation as you’re trying to convey: yes. Oh my god, yes. 

He looks down at you with half-lidded eyes, and he brings your thighs around his hips. You help him without hesitation. Your body racks with nerves and anticipation as you eye his dick. Excitement bubbles up in your core. 

Just as you think he’s about to slam into you as roughly as he always does, he’s suddenly snapped out of his lusty haze, his face becoming more alert as he glances around the room. He quickly turns his head up to look at the window. Wordlessly, he jumps out of bed with speed and peels back the curtains. 

You know better than to even call out his name, so you lift the covers up to your chest and try to see what he’s seeing, sitting up. 

From the exact opposite side of the room, there’s a crackle, and an otherworldly sound fills the room as a bright green portal opens up. Instantly, it casts the room in its unrealistic, brilliant green. 

It continues to swirl in on itself, as it had done that fateful night. 

Mark looks at you, as if you’d done that, and you snort, “Yeah cause i’d have enough concentration to warp reality while we have sex.” 

He groans, not at all pleased with the turn of events. “Well, if you’re soo concentrated, close it back up again.” 

“And what the hell makes you think I can do that?” 

While the two of you bicker, a figure emerges from the portal, and your eyes flit to it on instinct. Meanwhile, Invincible’s instinct is to pull back his fist, ready to kill. 

Your jaw falls open as what emerges from the portal is not like anything you’ve seen. It’s a man, with a large, gross-looking head. He wears an inelaborate suit with a dramatic red cape. You turn your head and frown in distaste. 

You’ve always associated Mark with being some kind of freak accident, but this guy clearly takes the cake for being a mutant abnormality. 

“Invincible.” He declares, and in your opinion, ridiculously. “I have a proposal.” 

So it seems that’s what mutants say instead of ‘Hello.’ these days. 

You squint your eyes at the man. He seems familiar, but at the same time not at all so. 

“Angstrom?” You say, before Invincible almost punches through his guts with a yell. 

Instead, he catches himself and merely shoves him to the wall opposite, creating a crater. He looks back at you, “This guy?” He asks incredulously. You can only nod. 

“Thank you for your hospitality, I'm sure you’re known for it.” Angstrom groans after being struck. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask against your better judgement.

“Well, I wanted to give you guys some privacy so you can finish up.” He looks to Invincible, “But I don’t have all day for you to get off, too. And it’s as they say, ladies first, anyway.” 

You could not believe what your ears had just heard and what information your brain just relayed to you. You’re pretty sure your vagina just shriveled up and died right there. 

It’s only then that you notice Mark stands with his dick hanging. Just like that. Just…like… that. 

Perhaps it is just a way of life that you will never understand men.

Angstrom relays to invincible the deal that had slipped out of your mouth the night of your fight. To no one’s surprise, he instantly agrees. And faster than you can blink, he changes into his black and yellow suit. 

The man with brains for a head goes through the portal without further delay, confident Invincible will follow anyway. 

Invincible floats in front of the portal, looking back at you with his usual, cocky grin. You must look like a fish out of water. 

“This probably won’t take longer than a few days, you know?” 

You nod, not sure what to say. 

“And it’s what we want, to expand the empire.” 

You nod again, wordlessly. 

Satisfied, he flies through the portal, and it closes up behind him without delay. Instantly, the room is free of the portal’s glimmering green glow, and it’s shrouded in the complete darkness it was in.

Seems that mutants don’t say hello, or goodbye. 

You get off the bed sluggishly and put on your underwear and your shirt. You go to your small reading nook that was only made recently. The book Angstrom had given you is still laid on top of your thin blanket. You take it, and drop it into the trash can. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: sorry to edge, next part will have p in v, yay.

Tagged: @onlybatsyy

ִֶָ࣪☾. | Sinister.

ᥫ᭡. Part 1! (Part 2 is up)

Tags (pls read): Domestic violence, themes of abuse, choking (not as a kink), almost fainting, sinister mark is his own warning. Notes: I tried to make the reader seem bad but you know, anyone can look good next to fucking lucifer over here.

There’s a crash, and your bookcase breaks into many halves when Mark throws a lamp at it. The glass shatters, sending the wood splintering across the room. You cover your face with your forearms.

“You always do this. You always fucking do this!” He huffs like an aggravated bull. The sound of his voice just makes you sigh in annoyance, your eyebrow twitching at the mess. Which apparently, is enough to set him off. 

Enough to scream so loud the walls shake slightly. “What? WHAT?” With the speed of a viltrumite, Mark slams you into the wall of the living room, his forearm against your neck, holding you high, “Got something to fucking say?” 

You feel your face instantly flush and you kick his chest and scream, clawing at his arms, he barely deters. “Mark-" You sputter, "Put me down!” 

He puts you down. Or rather, drops you so you fall on the wooden floorboards. You wheeze in a breath and cough painfully, trying your best to fill your lungs with oxygen with a sharp intake of air. You bring your hand to your neck, trying to feel at it as you cough. Your eyes are familiar with the sight of wooden floorboards, even with your vision unfocused. 

“That’s what you get… for being smart with me.” 

His hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him, you instinctively hold his wrist. When you glare, he grips you with such vigor that you’re afraid your jawbone might shatter under his hold. You breathe madly, still not recovering from the choking he had decided to give you.  

He leans in closer, “Are you done?” His voice sounds like he’s speaking through a broken megaphone, and you’re starting to see double of the bastard. 

You feel your eyes droop and your head spin. Nonetheless, you spit blood on his face, “Go to hell.” 

His hold on your jaw turns crushing, but even with all the pain in the world, it won’t stop you from acting in spite of Mark. Never will. And when he sees the unadulterated hatred in your eyes, he yells, but lets go of your face harshly, your hand immediately going to your jaw. You hiss, finally feeling the burn.

He paces around the room with shaky fists. He never really could accept that you didn’t love him. Though technically, you wouldn't call whatever twisted form of affection he has for you 'love'.

He's hyper aware that with one more wrong move, you’ll die. So, he directs his punch to the wall instead. 

“Why?” He says shakily, with his fist still connected to the wall. “Why, why, why, why?” He punctuates each word with a punch, the last one breaking a hole in the wall. 

Still unsatisfied, and still brimming with anger, he turns his line of view to you. You're completely still on the floor with your forehead to your knee, panting. 

He clenches his fists, they continue to shake. “I do everything for you. I make sure you’re fucking spared, you even have a goddamn house.” He gestures to the place, the one that is now in complete ruins, “And you’re still. So. Ungrateful.” He laments. You don’t hear him.

He continues to bitch (all he’s good for, anyway). You’re starting to come down from the dizziness, feeling the bruising on your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot something painfully bright green in your monotone living room. 

You mistake it for a trick of the eye, your dizziness playing with your perception. But you see it, just out of the corner of your vision...

You double take, and it’s real. You tense. Some kind of wormhole that whirls in on itself. A portal that’s ripped the fabric of reality momentarily. Even Mark's shut up. 

It’s presence darkens the room, but it’s green makes up for it by illuminating, casting you in it’s bright glow.

You squint your eyes, leaning forward on your arms, “What the–” 

You see something, like a mini movie, but it’s blurry, and you can barely catch a sliver of it. However, you can hear it. 

It’s… Mark’s voice. If you had the strength, you’d turn to him, because it somehow sounded less irritating than it always does. 

Before you could question who was talking (because that soft voice couldn’t be Mark’s.), you see yourself walk into frame, talking to someone chirpily. You look healthier, stronger, your expression relaxed. 

“The fuck is this?” Mindlessly, you lift a hand to silence Mark as you try and pay attention. Somehow, he doesn’t comment on your ‘rudeness’, letting it slide. Or perhaps just as taken aback by the portal’s abrupt presence.

Then, there’s Mark…you’re talking…laughing with Mark. He looks so…different. Much younger, much cuter, much softer. 

You don’t know how long you’re staring for, completely astonished at what it is that you’re seeing— But without your permission, it leaves just as suddenly as it came, swirling in on itself, disappearing into a wisp. It dissolves into the tiniest of sparks, leaving you with the deafening silence of the room. You blink, sitting back down on the floor. 

You hate Mark, you really do, and you would never speak up to him first unless he had threatened to saw you in half or something. But this time, you couldn't help yourself, “You just saw what I saw, right?” 

“Of course I did, I have eyes.” He says far too quickly, you’re too tired to roll your eyes. 

Without even thinking about it, you lift your arm up. Mark takes it, lifting you up, “Was it an illusion?” 

“Because it's so hard to believe I'm actually nice somewhere.” 

You ignore his insistent grumbling. “So, it’s a different reality.” 

You shrug off him rather forcefully and walk to the bookcase, the one that now looked more like a crime scene than anything peaceful. You crouch down and filter through the fallen books. 

Mark crosses his arms, “What are you doing?” 

You move a piece of wood weakly and look under it, “You could have ruined any piece of the house, by the way.” You chastise.

“Well, I specifically wanted to upset you. So that’s that.” He says matter-of-factly. He walks over and lifts the wood piece without effort. You crawl under it to try to find what you’re looking for. 

“Not even a thank you?” He says when you ignore him. You crawl out and sit on the floor with your legs crossed, a book in your hands. He lets go of the broken wood and it snaps under its own weight. He puts his hands on his hips and looks down at you as you flip through the pages. 

“I’ll ask again, and I want an answer this time. What are you doing?” 

You land on the chapter you were looking for, splaying your hand on the page. You blink at it, and a soft smile spreads across your face, “Mark," You begin, "Do you want to expand your damned viltrumite empire, or not?” You say calmly. 

He bites his lip when you say his name like that, but a sadistic smile makes its home on his face. “Well, don’t fuckin’ keep me waiting then.” 

You feel a sense of peace amidst your headache, like the clarity after a cry, because you had just hatched an idea, a brilliant idea, to get rid of Mark, forever. Where he’ll be gone some place far, far away. And you doubt he’s bright enough to come back all on his own. Ridiculous in his perseverance at times, but not at all brilliant. 

The book in your hand shakes, you’re convinced he’ll think it’s just because you’re still in pain. 

“There is this man, his name is Angstrom Levy.” 

He laughs, “What a terrible name to have.” 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: I think this is weird on top of being non-canon compliant? But im gonna expand on it nonetheless because i have some ideas

ִֶָ࣪☾. | And who says chivalry is dead?

Tags: none. (wow!)

You appraise his romantically decorated bedroom when you open the door. There’s a cliche trail of rose petals to the bed, and the petals lead to a heart that's made a little messily on the sheets. The room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the white and light pink candles that adorn the bedroom. Your heart immediately swells at the effort.

You open the door further, excited to see, but you accidentally almost knock over a candle that was far too close to the door. Luckily, Mark’s sharp reflexes stop his entire apartment from burning down. 

You raise an eyebrow at him for his (dangerous) technical error, but let up far too fast with a sigh and a soft smile. “Mark…this is amazing. Thank you.” 

He smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck, “I know you’re always…uh– putting up with me when i'm not around a lot. I just wanted…I dont know, to let you know i'm still a boyfriend worth having around?” He looks at you with those gooey doe eyes, and who are you to resist? 

You wrap an arm around his neck, “Mark, baby…you know im not putting up with you, I actually–” 

He cuts you off immediately, "Nope, nope--" and you raise your eyebrows. He wills some confidence and his hands pull you closer hesitantly; then, he looks away, “This isn’t Pity Mark Day. This is Pamper you Day. Or, uh– night.” He looks back at you with a pretty blush. "You know?"

You feel your own cheeks start to heat up at his slightly embarrassing, yet endearing words. You don’t know what to say. After all the times he’s blown you off or left you in the middle of a date, you can’t possibly believe him when he says he’ll fully have his attention on you tonight. 

But you have this moment, you suppose, and you don't let yourself be stunned by his charm for too long. You smile mischievously and close the door with your foot, dragging Mark to the bed with a giggle, “Well, you have a lot to make up for.” He doesn’t think his face has ever been this red. 

I dare you to say anything about it too because if u even lightlyyy express that ur fed up he's gonna be like NOOOOO !!!!!!! NOOOOO 💔💔💔NO BABY PLEASE PLEASEUHHHH

clinging to ur legs with wet tears being like ok so ur manipulating me now !!! U KNOW WHAT U GOT INTO AND UR YELLING AT ME FOR IT!!!!!!! (ur not yelling)

Many many breaks ur almost fwb but heavy on the FRIENDS with benefits too cause he needs a cuddle buddy

Hawks is the biggest switch on earth but no one wants to hear it I swear.... JUST ACCEPT ITTTTUHHHH

Not to mention that that you can say the freakiest craziest thing ever to suggest to try and he'll respond with "okay baby !! Love you so much i'll call u in ten <3 !!!"

I thinkkk it may root from his stupid ass urge to please everyone and probably especially if he loves you sooo freaking much it makes his heart hurt ! Tbh I think he's the type to get pleasure cause ur getting pleasure because duhhh.

Also he has so much stamina + strength he can take whatever it is u dish out. Like perhaps we can be open to the idea that ur freaky ass has to keep up with HIM and not the other way around (not me tho, the rest of you stay veryyyy safe.)

He definitely overcompensates too cause he doesnt see u very much... He feels soooo bad about it too like actually biggg googly eyes up at you watching every shift in ur expression and twitch of your body so he can perform better. soooo maybe pat his head and say u love him when hes done eating you out so he doesnt become a super sad mush. Or dont and be mean so he becomes SADDER and UNHAPPIER. I dont really care.

Anyway, next point. I do think at a more psychological level (outside a dom and sub) Keigo is technically a 'sub' ? In a sense that even if he was railing the shit out of you and out of the blue you had something to say about his pacing, he'd fix it up sooo fast, lol. Like it really does not matter what role you guys are physically assuming, at the end of the day he's basically at the mercy of your whims.

That lowkey reminds me of the slave role in bdsm buuuut ok 🤔

Don't get too excited though because even though he's a sweetheart his work is veryyy annoying which in turn makes him veryyy annoying. He makes up for it by being overly honest though.

He doesn't beat around the bush with making plans that intervene with his work. If you wanna have a date this friday but there's a stakeout mission then? He'll say no immediately.

Might cancel Valentines, might reschedule your birthday, might not attend your cousin's baby shower. He's literally capitalism taking over your life final boss except its the hspc dragging him through the mud LMAOO. Poor him I guess?

ִֶָ࣪☾. | Invinci-dih

Tags: Sub!Mark, Also u cuck ur neighbors (Kidding! ^_^) Notes: Creative title, right? Also pretty short I'm just horny soooooo

You clasp a hand over Mark’s mouth, quieting him. 

The neighbors had already knocked on your door at ungodly hours so often, you’re worried they’re gonna make an actual noise complaint one of these days. 

You blink slowly down at him. The air is thick and heady, making sweat stick to your skin, “Are you going to be quiet, Mark?” You whisper. He makes a small sound that’s muffled beneath your hand. So, you go for the meaner approach, “Or else... we’re going to have to stop.”

He whines at that, but ultimately quietens when you give him a firm look. 

After a few seconds of being shut up, he nods, and you remove your hand. It’s connected to his mouth by a line of spit. You wipe it on his red-hot cheek with a hard smile. 

You place your hands back on his abdomen. It flexes or rather- jerks, but as promised he doesn’t make a sound. You roll your hips shallowly experimentally, and he groans. 

You place a finger to your lips, and he nods, a bit dazed, and bites his bottom lip. 

You continue to roll your hips against his own, steadily increasing your pace. He cant say a word besides the whimpers that escape him accidentally, so his head thrashes against the pillow, and his thighs jerk and flex under you. Talk about an unsafe ride. 

His bottom lip bleeds from the pressure of his sharp teeth, and you decide to act funny. You rise on your knees, the lewd sounds of the both of you being disconnected filling your dark bedroom, and Mark’s eyes roll back, and he shakes his head, knowing what you're about to do, “No. Please—”

You drop down with an unfamiliar speed, and Mark lets out a drawn out, loud moan. At the sound and motion, you feel butterflies in your stomach. 

You shallowly move up and down, and he lets out a series of cries, chokes, and screams. You already knew this night was going to be a short one, expecting to greet your neighbor in a few minutes at the door, so you’ll make these few minutes count. 

ִֶָ࣪☾. | Love is Blind.

Mark/ Mohawk Mark x reader

About: Basically invincible variants bullshit, and mohawk mark is the hottest I fear. Reader mistakes mohawk mark for their mark. Ouch! Tags: Non canon compliant, literally has nothing to do with what actually went down, mohawk mark playing his cards right to get some. we love a clever man around here, Reader is naive asf, implied smut but it's really just some kissing. (saint virgin eclipse era.)

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

“Just stay calm and I’ll fix everything, I promise.” You hear a shrill scream and the sound of a thousand science fair volcanoes erupting. In response, you duck behind an apartment building. 

Clutching your bag to your body, you somehow make it through the alleyway and out the other side, just a little further from the destruction. In that moment, Mark decides to give you some of his classic, wise advice, “And preferably get further from the damage? I can still see you, you know…” 

You close your eyes and cringe at that. Oh, that snarky, asshole, piece of shit. With a big mouth, too. You glare at the sky. Although you don’t see him, you hope it gets the message across. 

Maybe if Mark stopped pulling his goddamn punches, then a fire breathing dragon wouldn’t be terrorizing your district. And in that moment you swear to yourself that when Mark saves the universe, you’ll kill him immediately after, so he wouldn’t even get to enjoy it. 

Before you can plan your revenge on your boyfriend, a car plummets heavily into the gravel from the sky, just a few feet away from you, and you instictively scream. The car makes a million different noises of honks and rings as you try to catch your breath. Why me? You lament, Why goddamn me? 

“Are you okay?” You hear across the line once you’ve calmed down a little more, and you clench the phone in your hands. 

“Just peachy. I’ll call you back when I get some place safe.” You snap into the speaker, and Mark says something brilliant like, “Whuh?” before you end the call. 

You make sure to put your phone safely in your bag before you run. You run faster than you’ve ever run before in your life. You run away from the danger, from monsters and superhero boyfriends and unfortunately— your apartment and flat screen TV. 

Adrenaline keeps you going till you reach the heart of the city. You manage to accidentally break the lock of your planned safehouse in your rush, but you decide to shut it behind you and pretend that didn’t happen. 

You hang your bag, and in that moment quickly decide that leaving the door unlocked was not one of your brightest ideas, and you begin to barricade your door, placing any heavy furniture you can find in front of it. Which honestly, isn’t much. 

Once you sit down on the plain white bed, you start to notice the burn in your legs and your sides from sprinting halfway across the city. You try to rub your waist as you look for Mark’s contact on your phone. 

“Need help with that?” 

The voice makes you shriek and jump from the bed. Your heart beats a mile a minute as you see Mark– no, Mark with a mohawk resting on the inside sill of your window. 

With that realization, you take a pillow and throw it at him, “Oh my god Mark, you scared me—!" He dodges easily and you try to catch your breath, "What are you doing here? Go. Help The Guardians or something.” You say, slightly out of breath.

Mark hops off the window and stalks towards you, there's a crazed gleam in his eyes, “Don’t worry, it’s all taken care of…” He says rather breathily, like he’s in awe or in disbelief. 

He comes towards you till he’s right in front of you, and you miss the way he grips your shoulder by the way your blood is still thumping madly in your veins, and slides across your arms till he reaches your hands, and squeezes. 

Ignoring your rapidly beating heart, you get on your tippy toes and try look across his shoulder to the window. Without even taking a glance yet, you hear a scream and the sound of catastrophe. Before you can open your mouth to tell him to 'get back out there!', Mark zips to the window, shutting the blinds and coming back to his original position with such speed it nearly knocks you off balance. Luckily, he’s there to stabilize you by gripping your hips, digging his fingers through your jeans. 

“Mark—” You tell him, then sigh when he raises his eyebrows and smiles. He appears a bit different. You’d noticed it when you first saw him, but with the blinds closed…

“What’s with the new do?” You ask him, “Got your hair burnt off or something?”

He laughs, boisterous in a way that Mark has never. You wonder if it’s the adrenaline from the battle, and merely roll your eyes. 

He pushes you back to the bed, till you willingly fall on the white sheets and he climbs on top of you. 

“Fuck. I missed you, you’re so goddamn hot.” He breathes as he kisses your jaw wetly, trailing all the way to your chin. “You like my hair?” 

You ignore him. “The world needs you, and you’re here, fooling around?” You grumble, not exactly thrilled with this turn of events. 

He can play the ignoring game too, “My hair. Do you like it?” He kisses your lips sloppily, and you don’t even extend the effort to kiss his back, just letting him suck and kiss as he pleases. 

Your eyes flit to his hair, thinking about it seriously for a moment, “Mmm…yeah. It’s sexy. I guess.” You add that last part to keep his ego contained. He chuckles and bites at your neck, kissing it roughly after. 

“You’re so fucking sexy im gonna ruin you.” 

He wastes no time in pinning you and making out sloppily on the bed. You grip the hair that is on his head to angle him as you please. He finds that funny.

You barely hear your phone ring. But with super hearing, of course your boyfriend manages to detect it. Mohawk Mark kicks at your bag, and your phone clatters out of it, showing a missed call from: Mark <3

Not proofread but I dont keh because I am wild and free! Stay tuned for tomorrow nights episode where I peg him!!! <33

Touya is about to propose you just give him a plain old handjob when you say, “I guess you could fuck me.”

He closes his eyes and inhales sharply through his nose, with your legs wrapped around him, you felt the deep shudder that passes through him, making you bite your lip, “Do you have nothing except bad ideas, woman?” He scowls.

You attempt to rock into him, but frankly speaking, he was very strong, and very stubborn as well. “Does your body think its a bad idea, too?” You get on your elbows to kiss him. He may be as headstrong as a bull, but there were cracks in the facade. He kisses you back in earnest.

You let go and lean back on your elbows, giving him your best bedroom eyes, “Fuck me, Touya.” You bat your lashes.

He looks at you hotly, his face flushing, and brushes his confined dick to your thigh, making him moan. The cogs seem to turn in his head, albeit not many. “…okay.” He breathes.