⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼wc. 1943🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆

“College break doesn’t start until Monday.” Debbie chirps, eyes following the way William so easily navigates his way through the kitchen, three mugs lining the kitchen counter.

“Gotham U’s aware of the crime rates. So, they give you a year planner with the curriculum and they give you the semester’s topics and stuff.” William hums, continuing to carefully dust cinnamon across the top of frothy white foam.

“And if you finish your tasks prematurely, you get to go home afterwards.” You explain, before plugging the vacuum cleaner into the wall, glossy lips pursed in concentration as a soft silence fills the lounge.

Nobody’s ready to address the elephant in the room. The fact that it’s been months since you’ve spoken to Mark, having saved his name as Gotye in a clever and sleep-deprived haze because he was, in fact, somebody that you used to know.

William places Debbie’s mug in her awaiting palms, a plate of pastries in her lap before he hums softly, lips pursed.

“Are the gutters clean?” He questions and Debbie shakes her head. “Mark didn’t get around to it before he left for college.”

And William lets out a sound, like a huff but he makes no comment.

“Like Eve’s vagina is amazing enough to neglect your mother.” The low hum of the vacuum acts as the sweetest ambience, Debbie’s attention on the book in her grasp as you continue to quietly seethe about Mark and his stupid, stupid choices.

“I don’t know. She’s got like… a whole feminine hygiene label named after her.” William shrugs his shoulders, standing on one of the kitchen stools to clean as he begins to dust at the light fixtures, gloved hands carefully unscrewing at the cover.

“What?” Your brows scrunch.

“Summer’s Eve.” William answers and there’s a quiet silence, only filled by the bubbly and airy laughter that slips from Debbie, her face obscured by the hard cover of what you can only assume, looks deviously innocent.

“Man, fuck you.” You huff, but the corners of your mouth twitch with amusement.

And before Debbie can reprimand you, you’re already sliding a dollar into the swear jar in the centre of the coffee table.

“It looks empty.” You hum softly.

“You two stopped coming around as much and after Nolan…” Debbie trails off. “Safe to say, no one cusses much anymore.”

There’s a sad silence that fills the once warm home, and you swallow, the corners of your mouth tugging downwards just a bit before you inhale.

“I’m… Sorry about Mr Nola—”

“He can suck a dick.” William slides a dollar into the jar. “I never trusted him. He’s got a porn stache.”

You cup your mouth, trying to stifle your giggles.

“Dollar.” Debbie points at the jar. Pretty, peeling flowers painted by cheap acrylic, and you make a mental note to fix it.

“I didn’t swear twice.” William defends.

“You said ‘pornography’.” Debbie hums.

“I didn’t say ‘pornography’, I said ‘porn’.”

“We can’t say ‘porn’?” You question.

“No. And a dollar.”

And you purse your lips, before sliding a 20 dollar bill into the jar, gaze averted.

And Debbie grimaces.

“Why have you spoken about pornography 20 separate times?”

“Miss Debbie, I don’t know why I speak about half of the things I do.”

Debbie let’s out what can only be called a low groan, a headache brewing but for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t feel like she’s out of her depth with a teenager.

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆

“Eve, you’ve met my mom.”

Mark ushers Eve into the lounge, their shoes swapped out for the slippers that sit comfortably at the door and Debbie gives Eve a sweet smile, crinkles at the corners of her eyes.

“It’s nice to see you, Eve.”

Mark glances towards the jar on the coffee table, brows scrunching in confusion at the cash that nearly spills over the edge, stuffed haphazardly and he stares towards the blossoms. Freshly painted baby pink peonies and snowy tulips, staring back at him. Almost menacingly and he glances back at Debbie. Eyes narrowing.

Watching her and Eve before he hums. Almost offhandedly.

“M’gonna go shower.”

Mark trudges up the staircase, speedy steps as he makes his way towards his room and he feels almost… nostalgic.

All of this, all of the easiness was before it all happened.

Before he felt what it’s like to choke on your own blood, to see his father’s fists stained red and that… Crazed, empty look in his father’s eyes.

Before it all when to shit. And he takes a breath.

Walls littered with Seance Dog posters, shelves stuffed with comic books and figurines, a small mirror on the wall, and Mark hates the way his gaze lingers on your features, pretty face encapsulated by film and stuck on his mirror. Cheeks sucked inwards, glossy lips pouting cutely and a bedazzled cowboy hat on your head. He remembers the way the three of you clamoured into that tiny, crammed photo booth.

And much to his dismay, he had found himself on William’s lap, despite the fact that he really, really wanted to have you on his lap instead.

“Why do I have to sit on William’s lap?”

Mark grumbles, arms folded across his chest, brows knitted into a frown as he watches you readjust your bearings. Both of them, making sure you’ve got just the right amount of cleavage for the picture. He makes an active effort not to stare.

And you gasp. “Is it because he’s gay?”

And Mark groans.

“It’s because he has a dick.”

He tries to bite back that memory, as well as the painful burn behind his eyes and he runs his tongue along his plump bottom lip, before hopping onto his bed. Face planted into the pillow and he takes a heavy breath.

“Fuck me.”

Your smell is strong on his pillows, his bedding. And he almost feels stupid that it took him so long to smell that sweet scent that he’s basically had a lungful for all of his life. The smell that clung to his clothing so comfortably. And his heart clenches, hands moving out of their own accord and he pulls one of his pillows towards him, wrapping muscular arms around the cushion before letting out a breath.

You’re everywhere.

His walls: “This colour would look really good. It’s in Séance Dog’s palette, so nothing should ever clash.”

His floors: “You fucking animal. Why do you even have coffee stains on your floor?”

His ceiling: “Maybe we should put a mobile up there. Since you’re such a giant baby.”

Fuck, even his shelves were lined with things that reminded him of you. Paper crafts, those stupid little seashells and turtles that would line your For You page, framed pictures of you and William. Comic Cons, fan signs and even a stupid talent show.

“You guys look gay.” You snicker, hands tucked into pockets of your fuzzy onesie, the black dot on your nose and drawn on whiskers made it obvious you were a cat.

“Fuck you. Magic’s cool.” William defends and Mark nods. “Yeah! Besides, what are you even supposed to be doing?”

“An interpretive dance, duh.”

A laugh slips past Mark’s lips when he recalls the hesitant applause that came from your performance.

You basically just sat in the centre of the stage, contemporary music playing from the speakers and you licked your leg. Mimicking a cat washing itself.

He thinks of the way you had to defend him and William from bullies because magic is, in fact, pretty gay. Especially with the amount of glitter on William’s cape and his waistcoat.

Mark takes a deep, shaky breath to steady himself.

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆

Biting down on his bottom lip, Mark rifles through his drawers in the dead of the night. Muscles flexing, body tense and so, so wound up and he’s downright embarrassed by the way his body loosens at the sight of cotton.

A flash of violet, accompanied by lavender lace and Mark fists the fabric, veins raising on the backs of his hand because of his iron clutch and he glances towards the tent in his boxers.

Shuffling back to his bed, Mark props himself up on his pillows, before he lowers his waistband.

His cock leaks copiously, translucent trickles down onto his tightly toned belly, abs flexing with each breath as he brings the cloth to his nose, taking a deep whiff.

He used your fabric softener. So the smell of you clings to it but not in the way he wants, not in the way he needs.

He needs to smell your cunt after a long day, he needs to lick a stripe up your slit before pressing down on your clit, all while his eyes are on yours. Watching, learning what you like. Before he gives it to you. God, the way he’d give it to you.

Mark fists his cock, beads of precum running down the length of his cock, pooling in the crook of his thumb, before he swipes the pudgy digit along the edge of his flared tip. A stuttering breath slipping past his lips and his brows furrow in an attempt to keep quiet.

His room is dark but fuck, the moonlight soaks his bedroom, his window open and whispers of icy wind makes his skin prickle and he’s just so fucking sensitive.

He misses you. Bad.

He misses the way his cock would nestle in the crease of your ass when you spooned, separate by layers of fabric that did fucking nothing to hide how warm you actually are. He misses his nose being buried in the curve of your neck, the way he’d subconsciously push your tits up when he wrapped his arms around your body, pushing them up just a bit. And he likes how you never noticed his peeking.

Mark thumbs at his flushed tip, brushing just along that divot and he stuffs your panties into his mouth.

He really doesn’t wanna get caught by his mom and his teammate with his best friend’s panties in his mouth.

And motion in the corner of his eye catches his attention, and Mark’s head whips at the sight of you walking past your window, before doing a fucking double take.

A double take and your gaze meets his.

And Mark’s fucking expression crumples, but not with sadness. No….

Mark’s eyes roll back, drool soaking through the fabric of your panties and he knows that you watch the way pearly cum shoots out of him, lazy ribbons coating his chest and abs.

Mark’s panicking through his pleasure-filled haze, especially at the way your mouth is agape and the corners of your mouth twitch upward. A wide ass, open mouthed smile. You’re looking at him like you’re about to call him a dirty dog and slap his arm.

“Uhhh…”

He doesn’t know why he gets up, but he hates himself for it when he does, his cock still hard and glistening and it’s actually in your eyeline, your hand moving to cover your mouth, your head turning away and fuck, that flash of vibrant satin on your head makes his cock twitch.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He breathes out, panicked as he grabs his sheets, fumbling to wrap them around his waist.

His chest is heaving, his cheeks are flushed and raven strands are tousled. He hope the Earth swallows him.

But he also wishes you’d swallow him too. The way your tongue would rove over his skin, and the way you’d clean it up.

And yet another ribbon shoots from him, this time, all the way up to his jaw.

“Mark! Stop cumming!”

“I’m trying!”

T🌼A🌼G🌼L🌼I🌼S🌼T

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Backseat Tension

A cramped car, too little space, and Mark’s lap becomes your seat.

You don't even remember how it happened or how the hell you ended up in Mark's lap. Something about there not being enough space, and him saying “You can just sit here.” Like it was no big deal.

The car ride was cramped, squished in the back with bags and boxes from Rick helping William move into his new college dorm. You tried to squeeze into a corner, but there wasn't enough room. Not with all the stuff piled in the backseat. Boxes of books, bags of clothes, and a few random things that Rick hadn't packed right. The space was a mess, leaving you no choice but to sit on Mark’s lap.

Now here you are.

Stuffed in the backseat, on his thighs. Not only that.

It's hot.

No windows down, no nothing. The Ac in the front is blasting but you couldn't feel it, but you could feel his hands resting low on your waist. His breath warm against the side of your neck.

And every bump in the road has you feeling him.

The tension is insane.

You try not to move and ignore the way his thighs shifted beneath you. Your shorts are definitely not doing a good job of separating the two of you.

You feel him,

God, you feel everything.

Ignoring those dirty thoughts of what would happen if you just had five minutes alone. Ignoring how his hands have slid a little lower or how his fingers twitch, like he's fighting every instinct not to pull you closer. His lips ghosting over your shoulder, just enough to make you shiv–

“Is everything good back there?” William’s voice suddenly cuts through the silence.

You froze

Mark stiffens under you.

You sit up straight, way too fast. “Y-Yeah! All good! Great, even.”

Rick glances as William with a sly smirk. “You sure? Kinda quiet back there..” You swear you hear William snort.

Mark pressed his face into your shoulder, biting back a groan. “They know,” he mutters under his breath.

You whisper, “Do you have to be this close?”

“I'm not doing anything” he lies through his teeth, but the grip on your waist tightens just slightly. You can feel how hard his breathing is, how hard he is beneath you. You pretend not to notice the bulge underneath you.

Another bump in the road. Mark lets out a shaky breath, his lips ghosting your skin. “Stop moving so much.”

You glanced towards the front seat. Rick is adjusting the music, but William? He's peeking in the rearview mirror with a knowing look. “Beheave back there” William says in a playful voice. “Or we’re kicking you out.”

Mark leans in closer, whispering to you. “We wouldn't even make it to the sidewalk.” You know he's teasing but his voice, the way he said and how he's looking at you, like he means it.

You swallow hard and try to focus on anything else, the road, the music, the way William and Rick are bickering over directions.

But all you can feel is Mark.

The second William pulls into the gas station, you know.

Oh you know.

Rick’s talking about snacks, asking if anyone wants something from inside the gas station and Williams’s too busy reading the pump instructions like he doesn't already know how gas works. But Mark has that look. Ready to pounce on you look.

“You stayin in the car?” He asks in a low voice. Your heart skips a beat. “Yeah. Why?” Mark doesn't answer. Not with words anyways.

You shiver at his touch, his hands move higher. Cupping your breasts through the thin fabric of your shirt. “They'll be gone for five minutes.” Pulling you closer, “And I've been dying for hours.”

You try to say something clever but he captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss. His mouth moving against yours with a hunger that takes your breath away. His tongue slipping past your parted lips to explore every inch of your mouth.

Hard and needy.

You moan into the kiss, your hands tangled all in his hair. The kiss is messy and sloppy. The car rocks slightly, just a little at first but enough for you to pull back. "Mark–"

“They can’t see us,” he cuts in, voice thick, eyes half lidded. “Windows are foggy and you're shaking.”

You are. You haven't even noticed and the worst part? You don't want to stop. “Look at you” He breathes heavily. “You wanna get caught don't you?” You can feel your arousal building up, your panties soaked with your juices. “Shut up,”

The car creaks and rocks with every shift of your hips.

You try not to moan. His mouth sucking on your breast while his hands fondles and pinches your nipple. Grinding on his thighs, letting out a sound you couldn't even describe, feeling the urgency. You reach down, fumbling with the button of his jeans.

Desperate to feel his skin against yours.

And then–

A muffled voice from outside. “Yo Mark! You want a drink?” William’s shouting from the gas station door. You stopped. Lips swollen, legs trembling.

Mark bites back a groan, forehead pressed against yours. “If he comes back right now. I swear im-”

You slap his chest. “Get it together!”

He chuckles. “You're the one on top babe,”

You cleared your throat. “Red slushie” you said, voice barely steady.

“We’re not even halfway done.” He whispered.

And he was right, you were nowhere near finished.

ROLLED UP ‘N RUINED ! | MARK GRAYSON X FEM READER

warnings: 18+, nsfw, usage of weed, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m), cunnilingus, unrealistic pussy eating, mark tries weed but it doesn’t affect him, mark is kinda subby, outgoing ‘n carefree reader, friends with benefits kinda. whimpering.

summary: you try to teach your friend how to smoke a blunt—instead, you learn something entirely different. wc: 3.1k

an: minors dni. i’ve only done weed once n i greened out horribly so this may not be the best description of a good high lmfao. also idc idc mark a d1 eater, literally nothing could convince me otherwise. not proofread excuse any mistakes.

“Does weed even do anything to Viltrumites?” You don’t look at him when you ask, your fingers working the paper, the grind of leaf and resin between your fingertips. A familiar ritual, slow and practiced. The room is thick with the scent of it, sweet and burnt, though the air between you is heavier with something else.

Mark shifts on the couch, the leather creaking beneath him. “Not sure,” he says, voice easy, weightless. He waits, sprawled like a cat in the sun, his hands loose at his sides.You stride over to him ignoring the mess on the table—scattered lighters, empty glasses, a book neither of you had finished—and hold the thing out to him. His fingers brush yours when he takes it.

“Well,” you murmur, striking the lighter, its flame leaping up, carving out the planes of his face in gold and shadow. “Let’s find out.”

i'll tr(eat) you better

content. fem!reader x mark grayson, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, you get cheated on, confession of feelings, beginning of relationship

warnings. MDNI!!!, smut, oral sex (fem receiving), some fingering, cum eating?

author's note. i hope no one has done this already because i thought the name was so funny i had to do it heheh

Getting a ‘hey girly’ message on your Instagram was not how you wanted your Saturday to start. Photo evidence of your boyfriend Luke, making out with another girl from your chemistry class. Your eyes can barely believe it when you survey the picture, your eyes canning for recognizable features. There’s no denying the way Luke has her shamelessly pressed against the dimly lit brick wall of one of the campus bars, his hands gripping her waist possessively.

The worst part? He didn’t even deny it when you texted him about it to confront him.

Sitting in your bed, waiting for your boyfriend of eight months to say anything about the pictures you had just sent him, eyes glued to your phone. Three dots pop up, then disappear, then pop up again. Finally, his response comes through: 'It was a mistake’.

ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE

pairing mark grayson x gender neutral reader

you and mark have been best friends for years—through sixth grade, high school, his early days as invincible, and all the chaos that comes with being a teenager stuck in puberty one day and thrown into superpowers the next. you'd call the two of you close, very close actually. perhaps maybe too close?

or at least, that's what it feels like when his hand brushes yours and neither of you pull away. when you're in a crowded room and it's like the world narrows down to just his laugh, just your stupid jokes, just the way he looks at you like you're the only person who matters.

the two of you know each other's schedules by heart. both of you know exactly how to cheer each other up after a particularly rough day. your inside jokes are a language only the two of you speak, and every 'accidental' touch lingers a second too long and leaves the two of you feeling satisfied just for a brief moment yet desperate for more. compliments are mumbled, quiet things—meant only for his ears only, or yours. it's the way he brings you your favourite snack after a tough mission, the way you patch up his wounds without being asked. it's the way this doesn't feel like just a friendship anymore.

meh, might just be overthinking it.

you huff through your nose, chin propped on your palm as you watch mark launch into yet another rant about seance dog—this time at william, who looks like he's two seconds from drowning himself in his chocolate milk. your lips twitch when mark's voice pitches higher, hands waving wildly as he makes some ridiculous point, and poor william, you're honestly impressed that his exasperated expression could become more... exasperated. your amusement drifts away after a moment though, when your eyes trail down to mark's arms.

you try not to stare. really, you do. i think. but it's hard because mark's sleeves are rolled up to his elbows like come kind of cruel joke, and his forearms are doing that thing where the tendons shift under his skin when he gestures. and god, his hands—calloused from hero work, fingers splaying mid-air like he's trying to physically sculpt his terrible arguments. your eyes catch on the rough knuckles, the faint scars from battles, the way his fingers flex—strong, but oddly graceful, like he could crush steel or trace a whisper down your spine with the same hands.

you swallow hard, throat suddenly dry as your brain betrays you with the image of those fingers—rough palms skimming your waist, the heat of them gripping your hips, the way his thumb might—

you blink rapidly, your gaze drags up (slowly, very slowly) over the curve of his biceps, the way his stupid "i bench-press buildings now" shoulders stretch his sweater when he throws his arms out. puberty had already been generous to mark grayson, but superpowers? superpowers were obscene. his waist is still narrow, but his chest is broader, his back tapered in a way that makes your teeth ache when he leans forward across the lunch table. and his thighs—

"hey, you good?" mark suddenly asks, his hand pausing from waving in front of your face.

you jerk upright, your face feeling warmer. "what? yeah, pssh. of course i am, why wouldn't i be?"

he grins, dorky and adorable and oblivious. "you were staring at me like i grew a second head or something."

oh, if only you knew.

william shoots you a knowing look, his lips twisting into a shit-eating grin as something positively devilish glints in his eyes. he leans across the lunch table, elbows knocking into his tray. "ohhh, someone's got it bad," he sing-songs, wiggling his eyebrows. "c'mon, spill - are they hot? because that," he points at your face, "is that look of someone who's thirsty. absolutely dehydrated-"

both you and mark snap your heads toward william in perfect sync - though your expression quickly morphs into pure horror, cheeks burning so hot you could power a small city. mark's reaction is worse - his eyes go wide, his grip tightening around his juice box until it crunches ominously.

"y-you like someone?" mark asks, voice cracking in a way that would be hilarious if it wasn't so devastating. there's something heartbreaking in the way his shoulders slump, like a golden retriever who just got told 'no walk today.'

your brain short-circuits. "no! yes? i mean-" you flail, hands waving wildly like you're trying to physically bat away the conversation. why are you sweating? why does this feel like you're being interrogated for the murder of a family of five? and why, why does mark look at you like you just kicked his favourite action figure into oncoming traffic?

you sigh in defeat, face falling into your hands. "it's complicated..." you messed up. big time. well—okay, you didn’t, but it feels like you did. why are you even panicking? it’s not like mark’s your boyfriend. not like you’re promised to each other or whatever.

you’re one second away from digging yourself a hole and rotting in it forever when you feel a hand settle on your shoulder—warm, solid, mark’s—giving you a gentle squeeze. you peek through your fingers, and there he is: looking at you with those stupidly soft brown eyes, the corners crinkled with quiet concern. his thumb rubs a tiny circle against your collarbone, and god, it’s unfair how easily your body melts under his touch, tension evaporating like he’s got some secret superpower just for calming you down.

"hey, it’s fine." his voice is so soft, so close, you swear you could dissolve into a puddle right here in the cafeteria. "it’s not like i’ll beat you into a pulp if you have a crush." he jokes, pulling his hand away to nudge your shoulder with his knuckles instead. you try not to pout at the loss of warmth.

"yeah, you’re right," you sigh, finally dropping your hands—but not before shooting him a sidelong glance. "sorry for, y’know. emotionally collapsing over nothing."

mark clutches his chest like you’ve stabbed him, lips twitching despite his very serious pout. "it’s not nothing. i can’t believe you’d hide a crush from me. after all we’ve been through?" his voice dips, faux-dramatic. "the trauma. the bonding. my undying loyalty—"

you kick his shin under the table, but your grin ruins the effect. "god, you’re insufferable. fine. our relationship is clearly toxic." you lean in, stage-whispering, "you’re obsessed with me. it’s unhealthy."

"oh, totally," he deadpans, matching your lean until his shoulder bumps yours. "real stalker behavior. i’ll start sending you creepy letters next."

"promise?" you say without thinking—then freeze. shit.

mark’s smirk softens, just for a second. "only if you write me back," he murmurs, so quiet you almost miss it. then he’s straightening up, clearing his throat. "but, uh. yeah. toxic. i’m a monster."

you roll your eyes, propping your chin on your palm again as william gags dramatically, clutching his stomach like the mere idea of feelings is poisoning him. the conversation ironically spirals into william's love life, ending with him scoffing, "hard pass on your advice, grayson. unless ‘eternally single’ is the aesthetic i’m going for."

when the bell rings, the three of you shuffle out of the cafeteria, splitting off down different hallways—mark with a half-wave over his shoulder, william already texting someone (probably to complain about you two). you should be thinking about your next class. about the quiz you didn’t study for.

instead, your traitorous brain replays mark’s voice, low and teasing: only if you write me back.

stupid. it’s stupid how your heart still stutters like you’re some middle-schooler with a crush. how your fingers twitch at your side, phantom-warm where his shoulder had brushed yours.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the glow of your monitor is the only light in your room when you hear the familiar tap-tap against your window. even before you pull back the curtains, you're already reaching for the first aid kit under your bed—because mark grayson might live next door, but he always comes to you like this, bleeding and beautiful in the moonlight.

"missed the front door again, huh?" you tease as you help him inside, but the joke dies when you see the bruise blooming across his ribs and the way there's that stupidly familiar black eye on his right eye. good thing it's not as bad as the last times. "shit, mark."

"i've had worse," he mumbles, but winces as you press a disinfectant wipe to his side. his skin is warm under your fingers, sticky with sweat and city grime. for a while, it's quiet—just your careful hands, his steady breathing, and the way his eyes track your face like you're the only solid thing in the world.

then, softer: "...sometimes i wonder if i'm even making a difference out there."

your fingers pause. "hey." you tilt his chin up, thumb brushing the cut on his cheekbone. "you saved seven people tonight. i heard it on the scanner."

"and how many did i not save?" his voice cracks, raw in a way that has nothing to do with physical wounds.

you don't have an answer for that. so you just lean your forehead against his, noses almost touching, his breath warm against your lips. "you can't carry the whole world, vincible."

he remembers when you first called him that, years ago, all sarcasm and raised eyebrows ("invincible? really? more like vincible if you keep tripping over your own feet"). now, it’s something else entirely. now, it’s the way your voice dips, tender and knowing, like you’ve carved a home just for him in that single word. vincible. his chest tightens.

the nickname—once teasing, once a joke about his dumb superhero name—comes out so soft now it might as well be darling. sweetheart. mine. mark's pulse stutters at the way your voice wraps around it, at how your thumbs brush his cheekbones like he's something precious. he wonders, distantly, if there's even a difference between vincible and i love you when you say it like that—all fondness and quiet understanding, like the words are just different shapes of the same feeling.

(he knows which one makes his chest ache more. he wonders, desperately, if you can feel how ruined he is for you—if you notice the way his breath hitches when your thumbs brush his cheekbones, if you know he’s memorized the exact weight of your sighs. it’s pathetic, maybe, how easily you unravel him.)

"you’re staring," you murmur, but you don’t pull away.

mark should say something clever. something normal. instead, his traitorous heart whispers: you’re my whole world.

what comes out is: "shut up."

he exhales, shaky, and leans into it—just slightly, just enough to make your heart pound against your ribs. when you pull back, his eyes are dark and searching, lips parted like he's about to say something that'll change everything.

instead, he whispers, "you'd make a terrible motivational speaker, you know that?"

you snort, swatting his arm. "and you'd make a terrible patient. always whining."

"only for you," he says, so casually it aches.

(and god, does he mean it. he’d whine, beg, bleed for your attention if it meant you’d keep looking at him like this—like he’s worth the effort. like he’s yours.)

there it is again—that look. the one where his gaze drops to your mouth for half a second too long, where he wonders if you’d taste like the iced tea you’d been drinking or something sweeter. where your hands, still cradling his face, tremble just a little, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from leaning into them completely and placing a tender kiss on your palm. the air between you is charged, suffocating, alive.

(he wants to ruin this. he wants to have this. he does neither.)

then mark grins, breaking the spell. "maybe i should hire you as my personal doctor."

"with what money?" you laugh, shoving him. "last i checked, 'professional martyr' doesn't pay well."

he clutches his chest in mock offense, but his laughter fades too quickly. and just like that, two hours had passed already, but it felt like only minutes. (time always bends around you—stretching and collapsing like taffy, leaving him dizzy.)

at your window, he hesitates—hand gripping the frame like it’s the only thing keeping him from crawling back to you. shoulders tense, throat tight with all the words he won’t say: stay. ask me to stay. please.

"see you tomorrow?" he finally asks, half-turned toward you like a question.

you swallow the stay on your tongue. "yeah. tomorrow."

(and maybe tomorrow, he’ll be brave. maybe tomorrow, he’ll say it. maybe—)

the moment passes. again.

dirty mind …. ! ₊ཾִ ᖫྀ ⁣⁣.

mohawk!mark, full-masked!mark, shiesty!mark, & reader ╲ your boyfriend is a little perv <3

𖥔 ࣪˖ tags⠀⎯ separate headcanons | pre-established relationship | ooc characters | perverted behavior | mentions of panty stealing, nudes, masturbation, etc | if this isn’t for you, please ignore | silly headcanons don’t take them too seriously | fake humping | groping | voyuerism? | shiesty mark is childish asf | etc

𖥔 ࣪˖ author’s notes⠀⎯ really on the mark is a little perv train (i mean look at the lotion and tissues in his room ) so of course his variants are gonna be similar if not ten times worst. decided i may write headcanons inbetween work days cause i only ever rlly write fics on my day off— but i don’t wanna starve y’all. i’ll make more of these soon probably i need to sleep tho 🫶🏾🫶🏾

MOHAWK!MARK

- keeps sexy pictures of you as your contact info. consensual, naughty pics of course— he’s not that odd.

- however one day you had his phone to check something and happened upon his call log by accident. of course you were a frequent caller, your lips curling into a smile at the little ‘headache’ contact name he had chosen for you.

- but on further inspection you saw.. what you believed to be, was you on your knees, breasts pressed up against the damp thin tshirt you wore. along with this comprising position was mark’s hand holding your cheeks gently, your lips slick and face a complete mess; eyeliner dripping, eyes teary, the whole nine yards.

- you immediately recognized this photo, nearly tearing your blankets in half as you jumped out of your bed. without much thought you were barging into the bathroom where your lover showered, the man giving you a confused glance though not entirely apposed to your presence.

- “change my contact photo!” you huffed, gripping the phone tight and showcasing it. you watched in absolute disbelief as mark slowly grinned, not at all phased by you finding his dirty little secret.

- “nope.”

- “nope! mark, how old are y— that’s not the issue. change it now! what if someone saw this?!”

- his eyes rolled slowly, “no one touches my phone except you. c’mon it’s a hot picture, lighten up!”

- you didn’t bother in confirming or denying it, eyes squinted at your man who was practically struggling not to laugh at your dismay. a few silent seconds passed before he groaned a bit, a wet hand reaching out towards you.

- “i’ll change it right now, right infront of you.”

- “and use a tasteful picture?”

- “yeah, yeah.”

- you waited a moment before stepping closer, extending his phone— only for a tight grip to come upon your wrist. you scrambled, immediately knowing what he was going to do.

- “mark, n—“

- magically — curtesy of viltrumite speed — mark tossed his phone onto the pile of dirty clothes on the bathroom floor while simultaneously pulling you ( fully clothed mind you ) into the shower with him. you practically shrieked, fighting at the arms that wrapped tightly around you, trying to ignore the mischievous laughter escaping him.

- “you keep falling for that.”

- “you’re such a dick! i’m all wet now, mark!”

- the man would snort, peeling back to glance down at you. “hasn’t been the first time, definitely won’t be the last.” his fingers rose to pluck at the soaked shirt you wore, slowly peeling it off you.

- “now let’s get you out of these clothes, i would hate for you to catch a cold.”

- you would have to badger him later. and since mohawk!mark isn’t a total dick, he will change it to something a little less compromising…

FULL MASK! MARK

- while i don’t believe full mask!mark is timid or anything, when it comes to you he’s a little less ‘aggressive’ (for lack of a better word) when compared to the other variants.

- but that doesn’t mean he’s not just as freaky. meaning.. the man is prone to stealing your panties.

- like the doting boyfriend he was, mark was doing your laundry one day, simply moving the clothes to and from the basket to the washer— easy peasy, no need to fuss.

- except he happened upon a pair of your panties. dark blue, lacey, with such thin material he questioned if it even fully covered you.

- for whatever reason the man got so fixated on that pair, clutching it in his hand for what seemed like thirty minutes before shoving it into his pocket.

- that day, he mulled over it while you were gone, a million thoughts running through his head everytime he shoved his hand into his pocket, feeling the fabric glide across his fingers.

- should he put it back? why did he keep it? how disgusting can you be to take your girlfriend’s dirty underwear?

- but.. all that seemed to cease when mark pulled it from his pocket once again, feeling way to hot the moment his fingers dragged right against the crotch.

- he felt dirty, perverted, everything in between but that didn’t stop him from pressing the fabric against his nose. the man couldn’t help but notice your smell immediately, basically groaning right into the panties as if the single sniff left him high.

- from that point on mark began to steal your panties, always so eager to do laundry just for this reason.. and when he had some time to himself mark would spend it sniffing, licking, even dragging the fabric along his length..

- a true pervert, right to the bone.

- of course, he wasn’t subtle and of course you found out quickly, but you decided to let him have his fun. albeit a little low on underwear, you truly didn’t mind his freakiness.

- until one day the two of you were both home, cooped up in during house chores together; mixed in with a little kissing and groping, it was a good day after all

- you were busy shoving a new load of laundry into the washer whilst mark emptied the dryer, him humming along to the little conversation you had going.

- in the middle of it your hand suddenly grabbed those same blue panties, a fake look of surprise capturing your features.

- “oh, i should probably set these to the side for you.”

- mark hummed for a moment still focused on doing his part until his eyes turned, gaze settling on you— heart dropping the moment he noticed what was in your hand.

- “wh—what?..”

- you gave a sweet smile, shutting the washer close and setting the panties ontop of it.

- “i put it to the side for you. you’re welcome.” you leaned over to stamp a kiss to his cheek, walking off to finish some other task.

- leaving a completely red mark who began to stammer, clearly embarrassed, practically trampling over himself to chase after you.

- that night he makes quick work of apologizing over and over again, not at all convinced by your pretty grins and little “its okay”s.

SHIESTY! MARK

- a groper and humper. even at the worst fucking times.

- will go to sleep with his hands under your shirt, a palm full of your breasts. not even in a he wants to play with them way but in a— that’s the only way he sleeps well way.

- if you wear nightgowns around the house mark is quick to grip your ass, even spank it a little bit just to hear you whine in annoyance.

- do not bend over in his presence, ever. not unless you want strong arms to tug at your hips and for him to hump you like some dog in heat.

- will even add over exaggerated moans and groans just to fuck with you

- “oh yeah, just like that.. feels so good!”

- “mark, get off me!”

- this doesn’t stop just cause the two of you are in public, it may even increase tenfold — outside of the sight of children of course — because mark knows no one will step to him.. cocky bastard.

- imagine grocery shopping and he’s all like “babe can you hand me that” something that’s magically on the bottom shelf. you think nothing of it, trying to be a good girlfriend, you know, and bend to grab it.

- it was a trap. obviously. because like glue mark is slipping behind you, arms tight, and giving you a few pumps.

- you kick up a small fuss, slapping at his hands and throughly embarrassed by his behavior.

- to his credit most times the aisle is empty when this happens, but the one time it wasn’t, instead of stopping; mark winks at the poor guy that passed by.

- to say you were pissed was an understatement, mark spent the rest of that day groveling for you to forgive him.

Mark wasn't the bragging type. At least, not all the time. He has pride in his comic collection, his action figures, things like that which he always talks about.

But when you finally went to his house for the first time, you realized how little you asked him about himself.

He was rich?!?!

Well, obviously not so high in the upper crust since you went to the same school, but well enough off that you were totally star-stuck just by walking through the front door.

You came from completely different worlds! Why were the rooms so big? There was so many of them too! And everything was such a sleek, modern design, inside and out! The windows were huge! And everything was cleaned to a shine! He had a second floor? Even his yard was so well kept! You bet even his garage looked amazing! That TV is huge! Look at that fridge!

You stared at him for a long while after crossing the threshold, gesturing wildly around.

"What?" He laughed out, rubbing his neck.

"You live in a mansion dude!" You declared, following him in. "Why didn't you tell me I had a rich friend?"

"What are you talking about? No, I don't. You're just being dramatic. C'mon, let's get a snack before we go upstairs."

You walked behind him as he rummaged through the kitchen. "Dude, you have a big ol' pantry. That just proves my point!"

A well lit and fully stocked one too. And is that a dishwasher?

"I thought everyone had one?"

"No!" You exasperated.

He handed you a few bags of chips. "Anything you want to drink? We have water, juice, a few sodas ...."

"Dude. Mark. How on earth are we friends?"

"Uh, cause you bullied me that one time then for some reason decided that I was interesting enough to start hanging around."

He turned off the pantry light, closing the door with a few beverages tucked under his arm. "Alright, my parents will be back in a few so let's get to my room before they start pestering you with questions."

You followed him up the stairs and down the bright hall to his door. "That's not what I mean. And I said I was sorry for that!"

He paused, giving a nervous smile before slipping into his room, "W-wait here for a sec."

"And do you know how long we've known each other? Mark, you are literally only a few streets away from me. How have I never got invited to your house? Do you know how easy coming over would've been?"

"Well, I dunno, why would you want to come over? D-do you want to start coming over?" He stuttered through the door.

You could hear the shuffling of fabrics and thudding of a closet door a few times.

Leaning against the wall, you continued, "I just mean that most people do that. Though my parents never used to let me go over to friend's places, so it wouldn't have really changed anything. But my point is that you've been holding out on me! William's been over plenty of times! And why didn't he ever say anything? Is he rich too? Is this really normal for you guys? God, you are never coming to my house. I live in a shed compared to this. If you got a connecting bathroom in there, I swear to god ...."

"You're overreacting. It's just ... new surroundings, you're excited. You'll realize it's nothing as big as you're making it out to be. Okay, you can come in now," he opened the door, beckoning you inside.

His room was spacy, but rather plain compared to the rest of the house. Minimal amount of furniture, posters, plus his collectables. Very representative of him.

You took a seat on the bed as he closed the door, bringing out the supplies he'd been holding for your project. "Yeah right. Gonna be dreaming of this place when I get home, shoot."

He jumped up next to you, the mattress bouncing under his weight. "Whatever. Let's just get started on this. You brought the research papers?"

"Of course," you dug out the folder from your bag, shifting into a more comfortable position before focusing on the project.

You worked diligently for a while, the two of you comfortable as ever before his parents came home. Their laugher ringing up the stairs as they came in. Mark didn't seem to notice though, jolting up when he heard the knock on his door, his mother's face peeking in.

"Hey, Mark? Do you- oh? You invited someone?"

"Mom!?" He flushed, reaching for the highlighters that had fallen. "Don't you know you're supposed to wait a bit before you come in?"

"Yes, yes you've told me before."

"Then?"

It took a lot to not whip your head at him for his mannerisms.

But his mother seemed to take no offense, merely smiling to you in greeting. "Hi, I'm Debbie or Mrs. Grayson, Mark's mom. He hasn't kept you in here all day has he?"

You smiled, nodding politely as you introduced yourself. "Hi, I'm Y/N. And no, I haven't been here too long. It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Grayson."

Her brows raised slightly, glancing over at her son for a second. "Oh so you're, Y/N. Mark's told me a lot about you. If I had known you were coming over I'd have made a nice dinner for you. Mark why didn't you say anything?"

"Because, Mom! It's not that important!" The boy huffed, getting up to usher her out the door. "Now, excuse us, big school project to get back to?"

Watching the two interact threw you for a loop, what was wrong with him!?

"So now you care about your homework?" She maneuvered around him, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes from the familiar movement. She was a happy person it seemed. Tired too. "It's nothing homemade, but we were just about to call Mark down for dinner if you'd like to join us? Ran into your father on the way home, we got your favorite from ... that takeout place you like."

She addressed the last part to her son.

Mark's tone softened a bit, glancing at you discreetly as if he was saying something embarrassing. "The place that puts the little prints on the toast?"

"Mhmm. We'll be downstairs waiting for you. You got five minutes, Mark!" She finished, her son quickly shutting the door the moment she turned around.

He blew out a sigh. Which quickly turned into slight yelp as you threw a pillow at him.

His head whipped around to glare at you. "What?"

"You're rich as heck, dude! No, sane kid would ever talk to their mother like that. Do you know what would've happened to me if I tried kicking her out like that? Privileged rich kids ...."

Sure he wasn't doing or saying anything as bad as he could have, but even his raised voice was pushing it!

Tossing the pillow back, he took a seat by the headboard. "Oh, c'mon, stop with that," he muttered. "We'll finish up that last paragraph then head down. Then ... I can walk you home before it gets too late?"

"You can't walk me home! My front porch will look like a baby's hut to you. And my family will not shut up if they see you next to me either. Is this what happens when you grow up without siblings? I don't even have my own room, dude!"

He gave you a look, seemingly done with all your exclamations, brown eyes fighting the urge to roll. "You're being weird. I'm sure it's not that bad. Let's just get downstairs already."

"If this takeout is more fancy than something from Burger Mart, I swear I'm gonna lose it. It's gonna be like ... A5 wagyu beef or something, huh?"

Your wild imagination wasn't too far off. The food, though in take out boxes, was definitely from some high end restaurant and still warm as if the trip didn't last more than a second. You were suddenly very conscious of your table manners.

But the family went along as if this was a simple ordeal, chatting casually and laughing.

His mother was really nice and friendly, making the act of sipping some wine -that you knew in your heart you'd never be able to afford- look so dainty and fluidly practiced. Not a drop was accidentally spilled onto her neat blouse or fresh pressed slacks.

She was very put together, jewelry minimal but pretty, and hair tied neatly in a well tamed bun. In the real estate business, she explained. It really showed, in her actions and her house. She was a business woman. You only wish to have an ounce of her grace when you were older.

And his dad?

Well ... okay maybe you were a little scared of his dad. I mean you could see the muscles practically aching to break free from the crop in his sleeves! You had no idea what he did for a living and you're not sure you wanted to find out.

But he was very well kept too. Dressed simple like his son, yeah, but you could tell he took pride in himself. He sat up a little too straight, his gestures firm and steady, smile far too charming, voice deep with a practiced confidence, blue eyes holding contact with whoever was speaking ... a bit too long ... kinda felt like he was staring into your soul ....

He had to have been a model or something when he was younger. One you had seen on a magazine in a dentist's waiting room or something.

Cause there was definitely something familiar about Mark's dad.

"Nolan." He'd introduced himself. Shaking your hand with a grip you were sure could've crushed bones if he tried.

Maybe it was the mustache. I mean, rarely anyone decided it was "the look" nowadays. But he wore it proudly.

Whatever it was that rang so familiar about him, you couldn't place. And you were far too scared to ask.

Anyways, the genes in this family were crazy. Mark literally had the cookie cutter perfection that the families in movies had. Was he even aware of that?

His parents even loved each other!

I mean, sure, maybe you were getting second hand embarrassment watching the two flirt so casually in front of your five star restaurant grade dinner.

But Mark was literally living most kid's dreams right now!

The rest of the night went on smoothly though, you watching the family's interaction with a strage feeling settling in your stomach. His parents even walked you out the door with a smile, Debbie offering for you to come again soon.

It wasn't until the two of you rounded the corner, out of sight from his parents, that Mark began to talk.

His cheeks were dusted pink, brown eyes fixed on the ground. One hand in his pocket, the other rubbing his neck. "I'm sorry about them. They're super embarrassing. All the time ...."

"Mark." You stopped. Standing in front of him, hands on his shoulders, shaking for emphasis. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?"

A statement you would only find out later would become such a cruel irony.

"You better not do something dumb and get kicked out of there. I will literally have no chance at seeing luxury again if you do."

He laughed lightly, grabbing your wrists to pull your hands down. "Hey, if you wanna trade seeing them be gross every second of the day for whatever you got going on in your life, I would totally do it. Did you get everything of yours? Before we're too far away to turn back?"

You nodded, tugging the strap of the bag on your shoulder. "Just so you know, I am so talking to William about you when I get home."

"You're being weird again." He stated, continuing your walk down the street. "It's not that big a deal."

"If you say so, Mister Rich Kid."

"You know ... you can come over again. Even we don't have a project to work on. I-if you want."

"Are you kidding me? Heck yeah I'm coming over again! I'm gonna slowly worm my way into your life. Watch, your mom's gonna be inviting me over to all your obscure family parties. Imma be in your family pictures soon. Won't be able to get rid of me."

He laughed softly, sucking his lip between his teeth. "Uh ... not what I was going for but uhm ... it's a start, right?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Turn here?"

"Yeah." You continued on for a bit longer before pressing a hand to his chest to stop him.

"What?"

"Turn around, go home."

"Oh, uh, is this your house?" He turned, looking at the building you stood in front of. "It's not that different than mine. Just a little smaller, but nothing like you're making it out to be."

You shook your head. "No. My house is further down the street."

"Then why did we just-"

"Because! You can't be seen dropping me off! I was serious about what I said, my family is probably peeking out the curtains right this second."

"I don't mind saying 'hi' if they're that interested."

"Well I do!" You braced both hands to push him back slightly. "They will literally torment me until they know everything about you."

A laugh bubbled up in Mark's chest as he smiled, taking hold of your hands with his. "Alright fine, you have a few days more until I show up at your doorstep randomly. Then I'll be invited to all of your family events."

"Not funny, Mark."

"Yeah it is. Just a little bit." He teased. "But I'll stay here till I see you go inside, okay? Don't get all stressed about it."

"Thank you." You sighed letting go.

You paused before turning away, head angled to watch him as you walked.

"G'night." He smiled, rasing up a hand in parting.

He was such a dork.

"G'night," you waved back, turning fully around till you reached your house.

When you looked back again, hand resting on the door handle, he was still there waiting. And you smiled, shaking your head before walking in.

At least he had a bit of manners to show for tonight.

But William was in for a long night of chatter on your end once you settled into your room.

yummy !

Woke up in the middle of the night with this delusion

Mark who develops a weird obsession with his crush, not just "Oh they're attractive and smart, I like them" like he normally does, I mean being borderline creepy. Taking a whiff of your scent whenever you walk by, borrowing pens from you and hoping you forgot you gave him any pens so he could lick into the small indents formed by your teeth, changes his seat to be behind or in the same row as you so he could watch you all the time, absentmindedly doodling what your initials would look like on a wedding invitation. He never approached or talked to you, and he was sure you didn't even care about his existence.

The one time he has the courage to talk to you was during a week-long project, he asked if you could be partners and you said yes, to HIM. he could hear wedding bells already- this is the love story he'd tell your shared kids someday.

mark eating you out has been stuck in my head for a good while

mdni. smut. fem!reader. eating u out. fingering. maybe ooc this is my first time writing for him so please forgive me for any transgressions.

this is pure self-indulgent filth so 18+ I suppose bc I #need that invincidih when gaming also my first smut pls be nice or ill cry

You knew you shouldn’t have listened to him when he promised to keep his hands to himself, sitting comfortably on your bed with the newest issue of Seance Dog in his grasp. You eyed him suspiciously, your arms crossed as you looked at him from head to toe. He only smiled that damn disarming grin of his, settling against your freshly made sheets.

You trusted him.

Stupid horny Mark. Stupid horny brain.