𝓢ynopsis: two best friends, one brain cell, & way too much flirting. unfortunately, both are idiots.

𝓦arnings: ooc(?). mutual pining. oblivious flirting. secondhand embarrassment(?). mark being stupid but lovable. idiots in love. oblivious mfs, js kiss already. vi has no humor.

𝓝otes.

© minorlyatfault, 2025

test drive

content. fem!reader x mark grayson, established relationship

warnings. MDNI!!!, plot?? what plot, smut, riding, car sex, unsafe sex, making out, semi public sex??

author's note. this is just silly and i wanted to write it there is literally no plot just raw dawging dude. its also super short, just wanted to do something quick hehe, anyway enjoy

Taking Mark out for ice cream in your new car was supposed to be a quick endeavor. Just a short drive to that park near your place, where you could sit side-by-side in your car and absolutely demolish your ice cream cones while the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky streaked with lavender and gold, slowly slipping into darkness. You both had exams, because well, college is demanding (not to mention Mark has saving the world things to do most days) and studying is mandatory so you both don’t flunk out.

But how did he expect you to be able to resist him, sitting in your passenger seat, looking sexy as hell as he rants about the new edition of Senace Dog. It’s some new limited edition that sold out too fast, you’re not sure, you weren’t paying attention. You were watching the way the last bits of sunlight kissed the strong curve of his jaw, the way his biceps flexed when he gestured too dramatically. You were drinking in the way his dark eyes lit up when he got excited. There was no way you could resist. 

And that's how you ended up here.

So wrong

a/n: accidentally deleted🫤. was gonna scrap this but @tiramissyoucake dilf!omni mark blurb gave me the motivation to finish it. (link here if you’d like to read it) feed back welcomed!

summary: if sneaking around with nolan is wrong why does it feel so right?

warning: porn w plot. slight breeding kink? cheating. age gap(reader in 20s, omni man is old asf). unprotected p in v. forgive me if it’s ooc but we need some omni man fics.

Sinister!Mark Grayson Origin

You reassured him it wasn't his fault, that bad things just happen. You told him you would be okay, even if it would take a while. You promised him you would always be by his side.

So he agreed to give you some space, because for all his gifts, he can't turn back time and he can't take away your pain. 

"I have to get over this myself," you said, giving him a list of your scheduled appointments with the therapist. He wanted to be with you, even if it was just driving you to the office and picking you up, but you told him he didn't need to do that.

You were always strong, like his mom. Always carried on with a silent dignity that he didn't think he could ever possess. 

So he believed you.

He believed your reassurance and your promises, and as much as he wanted to push through the wall you built around yourself after that night, he didn't want to risk upsetting you.

When he found you, you were barely recognizable. Eyes swollen shut, lips busted, nose broken, your blood everywhere in that alley. You were crying out his name the entire flight to the hospital. 

After twenty-seven agonizing hours of surgery, he could finally see you. Bandages covered so much of you only your lips and eyes were visible, but it took a great amount of effort on your part to peer through your engorged eyelids.

When you opened your mouth to speak, his chest hurt at your hoarse voice, "Mark..."

"I-I'm right here." He gingerly put his hands over the pile of bandages where your fist would be.

You struggled to breathe through your nose. A second passed. Then you smiled and said, "I'm okay."

Like a dam exploding, he keeled over and sobbed, letting out a string of incoherent "I'm sorry's" and "You're okay's."

He was so pathetic. 

You were okay. You were safe.

It took over three weeks for your more serious injuries to recover, another month for you to start physical therapy, and two more months before you were cleared to go home. 

But recovery wasn't so simple.

Your attackers were a bunch of rich college kids who got a slap on the wrist. After all, "a little mistake shouldn't define the lives of such promising young men," as their lawyers put it.

There was no word to describe what Mark felt when their punishment of three hundred hours of community service was announced. He wanted to kill every single one of those little fu--

You had gently put your hand over his. You didn't need to say anything, you didn't even look at him. But he knew what you felt at that moment. 

You squeezed his fingers softly, as though to ground him, when it should have been the other way around.  He was filled with so much guilt at receiving your comfort again that every spectre of rage left him instantly. He could only squeeze you back as you silently watched your attackers be escorted out of the court.

You were... in pain. You were quiet, the quietest you have ever been since you two have known each other. But you have never cried since leaving the hospital.

And you told him therapy was fine. You were fine.

You were okay.

You told him so, and he believed you. So he agreed to go on an important mission that was only supposed to last for three days tops. But some aliens ambushed the team of astronauts he was protecting. Plus there was that meteor. And then there was a problem with the spaceship. And then the people wanted to do more research.

Three days became five days. 

He missed you so badly. He was tempted to just leave these idiot scientists to die. But you wouldn't have liked that. You were okay so an unplanned overtime was tolerable.

Five days became thirteen.

Thirteen days became a whole month.

He was so close to committing murder on that spaceship, but the thought of finally coming home to you and falling asleep in your arms restrained him.

He took a warm shower at the base then went to purchase a large bouquet.

"I'm home!" 

You didn't greet him, but that was normal. You were probably asleep. 

When he thought of that, he instantly felt like a jerk. Of course! It was seven a.m. on a Sunday and he had to burst in here screaming. 

He silently closed the door, noting its unusual dustiness. But as he reached for the lock, he realized something: he didn't use his key. The door had been open the entire time.

He dropped the bouquet and yelled out your name.

He sped through every room and hallway, each inspection adding more and more weight in his stomach.

The kitchen looked like no one had been cooking or eating there. The dust on the gaming console in the living room. 

"No, no, no, no..."

When he reached the last room, the master bedroom, he almost didn't want to open it because what if you weren't there?

What if you left him?

Holding his breath, he opened the bedroom door.

You were here. 

"Thank God," he breathed and approached your sleeping form. "You're okay. You're here, I thought for sure you..." He whispered your name like a prayer. 

A familiar smell hit him like a truck and he looked down at you.

He was seeing things from the fatigue. This wasn't real. 

He knelt down next to you. "Sweetheart?"

You were cold, from your cheeks to your wrists that were stained a rusty brown. 

You were supposed to be okay.

1K followers and I will write an x reader gangbang fic between sinister, mohawk and viltrum Mark

【Ｏｐｐｏｓｉｔｅｓ　

Ａｔｔｒａｃｔ】 - Part Two

Part One

ft: mainstream!mark and variants (mohawk, viltrum, omni, sheisty, sinister) (invincible) reader: fem wc: 2604 summary: hey siri is it gay to want to crack the female version of my dead best friend? cw: canon typical violence, foul language, and the variants are kinda sorta freaky in this requested by: @sophsthebest

this was so fun to write lowk and I would've been done faster if not for the blood moon event in dbd so err yeah I'm going to go die in a hole now

Life is strange, really. 

One moment, you’re helping refold shirts because some people don’t even have the decency to put stuff back to where they found it, and the next, an international warning tells you to stay inside because there are evil variants of your boyfriend now roaming the Earth with unclear intentions.

he was 18! HE SHOULD’VE BEEN AT THE CLUB!

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼wc. 3005🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Do… do you think we’re friends in every universe?”

Mark’s voice is quiet, back pressed against freshly mowed grass, eyes focused on the starry sky above you. It stretches endlessly, an abyss dotted with the faintest glows, celestial pools that reflect off your pupils and you hum. Chewing on your bottom lip.

“I think so.”

You shift on the grass, your shoulder bumping against his and your head bumps lightly against his, and Mark bites back a grin, but you can see the dimples that threaten to appear in his cheeks. “Yeah?” He whispers.

“Mhm.” You swallow. “It doesn’t seem right that I’d only know you in one life.”

Mark’s fingers lace with yours, his pudgy digit tracing over the pretty ring that adorns your thumb.

“I think we always find each other. Even if, like, I don’t know, different worlds. Or timelines. Or species.”

His eyes remain trained on the black above him, wind rustling at the cypress branches, blades of grass tickling the back of his neck, the backs of his legs and he glances at you, pupils dilated so much that you’d think he was on something.

Lashes fluttering shut, the ball of your nose brushing against his and your lips brushing over his. In a sweet, chaste promise that managed to toe the line between friendship and something neither of you could comprehend.

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

“You fought and won, against Godzilla. Like, literally.” You deadpan. “But an off-brand kraken with toenails and spikes, rocks your shit?”

Your scoff breaks Mark from his reverie, his eyes moving to where you’re perched on the closed lid of your toilet, arms crossing over your chest and obscuring nearly half the image of your oversized sleeping tee.

Mark’s never seen that fucking T-shirt leave your wardrobe.

Ratty, frayed at the neckline. A faded print of some presidential candidate from how many years ago. He knows you couldn’t even vote then.

“I didn’t get my shit rocked.” Mark speaks, clearing his throat to get rid of the lump because this is the closest he’s been to his best friend in a while. No arguing, no tension. Just you taking care of him, like you always have.

“Fine, you got your shit jostled.” You correct yourself and he snorts, the cut on his bottom lip doing nothing to prevent that dorkish grin from spreading across his face.

“I won, didn’t I?” He brags.

“Barely. Vincible.”

He rolls his eyes at your chide, before resting back against the edge of the tub, soaking his aching muscles in the concoction of Epsom salts and hot water, bubbles frothing at the surface because Mark refuses a bath where he doesn’t get to use your bubble bath.

The scent clings to his skin, and he lets out a breath, taking in that sweet smell before peeking at you from beneath his lashes.

“Put those ladyfingers to work.”

He hums, eyes fluttering shut and he cocks an even wider grin at the sound of you shuffling, wetting your hands before squeezing a generous glob of shampoo into your palm, griping all the way as you rub our palms, waiting patiently until it emulsifies.

Snowy cream is strewn from between your hands before you massage it onto Mark’s scalp, scratching and watching the way his eyes roll back in his head.

His hand moves to grip your thigh, brows scrunching into a pleased frown at the way your nails rake against his skin, scratching at the nape of his neck and your palms work a thick lather into his hair.

“Your hair’s not even dirty.” You huff. And Mark groans in a ploy to shut you up and it works. But not because he’s interrupting you.

But because you’re watching the way suds slide down the side of his neck, settling in the crevice of the muscle and your watching his broad chest heaves, pink lips parting to let out relaxed sighs and you’re questioning everything you’ve ever known.

You know you have a thing for Mark, that’s for sure. You’ve basically lived on the manifestation side of TikTok in an attempt to get him to dream of you, but you never followed up on if he ever did. You’d do little rituals to make him think of you, forcefully but still.

But never once, did you consider the possibility that Mark’s beginning to qualify as ‘fine shyt’.

“Scratch at the crown.” Mark groans quietly, eyes shut to keep out the shampoo and you comply with a silent ‘uh-huh’, scratching at the crown of his head. Inky strands are messy and soapy, and you drag your nails along his scalp one last time, before you’re reaching for the showerhead, and covering Mark’s eyes with one hand, while the other rinses away the suds.

And he sighs, thumb pressing circles into your thigh and you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to stifle the squeak that threatens to spill.

And Mark peers up at you, a perfect brow raising and he hums.

“What’s wrong?”

You know damn well.

“Nothing.” You answer, still chewing on your bottom lip as you rinse his hair. “Just hungry.”

That’s not exactly a lie either.

You’re not too hungry. Well, not hungry enough to be considered hungry but you can eat.

“Big back.” Mark whispers under his breath.

“I’ll drown you.” Your eyes narrow. “Don’t test me.”

You try not to focus on how the scalding waters make his skin flush so prettily, how the light of the bathroom dances on his features and makes the flecks in his iris look golden. And you try not to notice that the smell of him, him and him alone, is mixing with steam and your body wash, and your shampoo.

And you think that having sex with Mark might smell like this.

Heady, sweaty and refreshing. Sweet and musky. Calloused hands pressing your thighs apart, soft lips pressing at your erratic pulse and the way he’d breathe you in like you’re his next lungful of life. The thought makes your skin prickle and you feel an empty ache between your thighs that you’ve never quite felt before.

Your mind drifts to the way his lips would ghost over your ears, the way his biceps would shift to pull you closer, the way a veiny hand would wrap around the base of his swollen, leaky cock, lining him up at your messy cunt before—

“Your heartbeat’s getting fast.” Mark comments. “What’s that about?”

“I’m thinking about holding your head underwater.”

And a smile stretches across your lips.

Under your waters.

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Why do you have so many T-shirts from elections?” Mark questions, rifling through you drawers before settling on one. He pulls it overhead, and you watch the way the muscles of his back flex beneath his skin, and you pull the covers up, over your chest.

And Mark look down at his T-shirt.

“They’re not even all from the same country.” He snorts, muscular legs carrying him over to your bedside before he creeps beneath your blankets, tugging them up to his neck and he presses his face against your shoulder.

Inhaling the scent of your skin, the scent of the sheets he hasn’t been wrapped up in for far too long and he throws an arm over your waist, tugging you into his orbit before pulling you into his chest.

The worn fabric does nothing to tamper with the furnace that Mark’s become, claiming your title as the warm one, and you feel the way he melts against you. Legs entangling with yours, and his nose brushes against the nape of your neck. Calloused fingertips slip beneath the edge of your shirt, tracing along where the ribbed elastic waistband of your shorts cuts into the plush of your hips. Fingers draw patterns on the soft pudge and you turn into a puddle when his lips brush against your pulse.

He's so gentle. Drawing little flowers around your navel, hearts on your lower belly and his fingertips trace along your ribs.

You don’t know how long you’re laying in his arms.

Feeling warm breath fan across the curve of your neck, feeling even warmer fingertips clutch at you like you’re his whole world and for the first time, in a long time, it doesn’t feel like you’re second choice. Not to Eve, not to Amber, not to anyone or anything.

The world quiets down until it’s just you and him. Mingling breaths in the comfort of your bedroom, the soft thud of raindrops hitting the ground, slightly louder when they patter against your windows. And you shift in his grasp, turning to face him instead.

Mark’s heart stutters when your arms wrap around his midsection, your legs following and wrapping around his thighs, your face pressing into the slope of his neck. The ball of your nose is cold, icy almost, he feels the way your lashes flutter as you shut your eyes, and he can hear the steady thrum of your heartbeat.

His hold tightens, chin resting on the crown of your head, feeling the way strands tickle at his face, and Mark inhales. Deep enough until you’re settling in his lungs, fingers clutching at your T-shirt and he curls his body around yours.

And there’s a silence that settles in the room, only interrupted when Mark’s voice breaks it, quiet and so, so very boyish.

“So, are we gonna talk about you peeking through my window, yet?” He whispers teasingly, his hand shifting to the back of your neck where he traces patterns on your nape, the action ticklish enough for you to act on impulse. Tucking your neck, and you peer up at him with narrowed eyes.

“Are we gonna talk about the panties you stole yet?” You bite back, a brow raising and you watch Mark’s lips purse.

“No, we are not.” And he ushers your face back to his neck, his cheeks burning a bright red when e feels your hushed giggles against the sensitive flesh and he breathes out. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’m a gaping asshole.” You correct. “Respect my truth.”

And Mark laugh. Loudly, and you hear that breathy little hitch in his voice, peeking up at him to watch the corners of his eyes crinkle, to watch the way pink lips part and reveal pearly teeth and you linger on his canines. Before moving over to his dimples, to the rosy apples of his cheeks and finally, you drink him in as a whole.

Damp raven strands that fall over his forehead in perfect strands, a sharp jaw and you feel the way his muscles flex as he readjusts his grip on you.

“My bad.” Mark huffs out a snort. “My bad for mischaracterizing you. How can I fix it?”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“This isn’t what I meant.” Mark grumbles, muscles flexing with each movement as he continues to fold, and bend different articles of clothing, brows scrunched into a furrow as he organizes your closet.

“Yeah, but it’s what I want.” You respond with a snort. “An besides, you should be comfortable handling my clothing. You know, since you’re like, half-Korean.”

Mark stares at you, watching the way you take another bite of your cookie. His expression is blank, lips falling open in shock at the easiness of what you just said.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Mark’s brows bunch and you can tell he’s not offended, so much as confused and trying not to laugh.

“You know,” You shrug, “Koreans tend to open dry cleaners.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s like… Family Guy, they go to a Korean dry cleaner. In American Dad, when Stan opens a dry cleaners with a bunch of strippers, he complains about the Koreans. It’s a statistic.”

Mark’s lips twitch and he curls them inward, trying to stifle the laugh.

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“You folded more than half of my closet in like, 15 minutes. It’s in your DNA. The D stands for—” “If you say dry cleaning, I’m gonna hit you in the mouth.”

And your lips purse.

And you take a slow, and loud bite of your cookie. And he shuts his eyes, letting out an even breath.

“I hate you so much.”

Mark goes back to folding before he lifts one of the shirts. And he gasps. “You dick, you never gave this back.”

“You kinda left me on a building, so you know.” Your lips purse and Mark winces at the memory. Before looking almost sheepishly ashamed, brows scrunching and his lips tug downwards into a frown.

“I’m sorry about that.” Mark murmurs.

“It’s chill, I got a happy meal out of it.”

He tosses the Seance Dog T-shirt at you. Pretty brown eyes focused on the way you catch the fabric like it’s something precious, holding it to your chest.

Mark doesn’t glance away as you turn your back to him, hands reaching for the edge of your shirt and you pull it overhead. He stares at your back, the curve of your spine, the way your waist curves and suddenly, he’s hiding an erection behind a Pinocchio T-shirt, eyes locked on the way your back flexes as you pull the Seance Dog shirt on, and he watches the fabric fall just below your ass. Fleshy globes only obscured by your ridiculously short cotton shorts and Mark swallows.

Gaze flitting up to meet yours.

“Looks g-good.” He nearly sputters, hands fisting the fabric of the top in his lap and your eyes lower to the veins that bulge at his hands and forearms.

“Did Pinocchio’s nose always look like that?” Your brows furrow.

Mark begins to sweat, droplets forming at his neck and disappearing behind the neckline of his shirt.

“Yeah.” Mark lies. “You got this at that 3D shirt place, remember? You wanted his nose 3D so it looks like you could poke kids in the eye.”

And while you can’t remember, that does sound like something you’d say.

And you plop into your bed, wriggling beneath the covers before you peer at Mark, watching his muscles shift as he continues and you sigh at the sight, bottom lip wedged between your teeth. And your lips part to make a quip, most probably something offensive but you’re interrupted by Mark’s phone, buzzing incessantly and you glance towards the screen.

And it’s the superhero equivalent of Hailey Bieber.

Your lips purse at Eve’s contact, eyes narrowing and you’re already shifting in bed, internally readying yourself for a brief ‘gotta go’.

Mark’s shoulders stiffen as he shifts, his body nearly throwing itself across yours as he reaches for his phone, swiping at the red button. And he turns his phone off, crawling beneath the covers alongside you and his body blankets yours. His face nestles in the curve your neck, his arms tuck themselves beneath the small of your back and he holds you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

And right now, it feels like it is.

For the first time, in a long time, Mark feels… Complete.

Complete and very, very hard. Cock straining against his boxers, precum staining the stretched fabric and he takes a deep breath, inhaling the smell of you. God.

“You’re so warm…” Mark whispers against your skin, his body shifting and your gaze flicks up to your ceiling, and you’re gonna bite off your bottom lip at this point. Every hole of your body is clenched, your mind is working overtime to commit every sense you’re feeling to memory.

You swallow hard when you realise Mark’s hips are wedged between your thighs, layers of fabric doing nothing to make him feel less of the heat between you, and Mark presses his lips against your pulse. The ball of his nose brushes against your earlobe, his hips press against yours and you’re feeling all of him and simultaneously not enough.

Mark’s pressing sweet kisses against your neck, a low sound leaving the back of his throat when he feels the way your head tips back, exposing the supple flesh of your throat. And Mark sighs against your skin, dragging his tongue up your jugular before lifting his head, shifting until his face is above yours.

Lashes fluttering and his head dips.

Mark’s lips meet yours in a soft kiss. Uncoordinated, so unpracticed, and so, so hot. Mark’s lips move against yours in the sweetest way, hands pawing at your waist, pulling you closer and he loves the way your thighs press against his waist, soft. Inviting.

And so warm.

He loves the way your fingers sink into his hair, nails dragging and carding through his hair, strands slipping from between your fingers. The covers keep the two of you entangled, and Mark can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be than here.

With you.

In your dimly lit room, while your TV plays as background noise. Unable to drown out your sighs, Mark’s hums and the way your body feels against his. He can feel the way your nipples harden beneath that oversized T-shirt, and with each shift of his chest, he hears that whine you let out.

And he swallows your syrupy sweet whines, your tongue tastes like cookies and he feels the way your thighs tremble at his sides.

“Wrap your legs around me.” Mark breathes out. “Please…” His breaths are so hot, fanning against your neck and his hands shift, grasping at your hips with so much want that the action alone has your panties clinging to your cunt.

He lifts his head, soft eyes focused on the way your cheeks are burning even hotter than his, your lashes fluttering and your legs are following his command, wrapping around his waist and he nearly moans at the feel of your heels digging into his lower back, bringing him closer.

And Mark’s head falls against your shoulder.

His hips roll against yours, messy and so unpracticed. You feel the way his cock presses against you, and you nearly whine.

Swallowing hard when he speaks softly. No... Not speaks.

Begs.

“Can I fuck you?”

T🌼A🌼G🌼L🌼I🌼S🌼T

@lucky-beheaded ; @queen-of-gotham ; @coldvirginbitch ; @wittyjasontodd ; @a-n-a-n-a1 ; @dearlyya ; @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha ; @jasontoddswhitestreak ; @daydreams-and-peace ; @misstyy12 ; @fruticake ; @httpstes ; @waterflowersblog ; @glowinthedarkjellyfish ; @vm4879bb-blog ; @monaekelis ; @radlovesfics ; @allycat4458 ; @bigbodycity ; @feral010 ; @anesthesia-4rizzle ; @princesstrunkz ; @blackfox774 ; @sh1d0uryus31 ; @your-lovely-rose26 ; @slugstarzz ; @ripcolel0l ; @strawbiemilk420 ; @verysynical ; @kikiiguess ; @missam ; @luvvfromme ; @luvvcharxo ; @alma-ru3 ; @mxvoid26 ; @urfriendlyfrog ; @the-good-kooshe ; @troublesome-nara ; @secretaccountlol ; @syubseokie; @atanukileaf ; @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere ; @i-love-frensh-fries ; @love3vivian ; @boyofroyo1 ; @tamaranblaze ; @supersecretxreadersideblog ; @etphonehome0623 ; @markgraysonlover ; @icanmeltanigloo ; @itzmeme ; @buckturd

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼wc. 2052🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆

“I want my panties back.”

Mark’s pretty sure your words rank up there with Nolan calling Debbie a pet.

You’re standing in front of him, arms crossed over your chest, glossy lips pursed and he’s surprised by the fact that you found the energy to put lipgloss on when he spent the entirety of last night screaming into his pillow, sobbing, choking on spit and ransacking his closet for his passport because he felt like he needed to leave the country and change his name.

Shit, he still feels like that.

The hard part being, he doesn’t think he could pull off any other ethnicity.

Maybe a pale half Asian, half Latino?

No. He doesn’t have the hips for it. Or the rhythm. The K-Pop gene completely skipped him.

“Markus!” You hiss, frown lines deepening into an adorable pout and you tap your manicured nails along your cotton-clad bicep. “Give me my underwear, or I’m telling your mom you’re having premarital sex and you’re a sex pervert.”

“I’m not having premarital sex!” He hisses defensively. “You should know that, considering you saw me….” Mark trails off, lips curling in cringe as he tries not to think about the fact that he came so much more when your eyes were on him.

“Sex pervert still stands.” You argue and he huffs, shifting on his feet, before he grabs your wrist, tugging you into the house and out of the 8AM morning light. And Mark presses you against the door, your back against the redwood, and his hands brace on your shoulders, head lowered to your level and he keeps his eyes on yours.

Which is hard.

You both suck at eye contact.

“How do you feel about maybe, I don’t know, going to Germany? Or Switzerland? You like chocolate, right?”

“Listen Willy Wonka, emphasis on Willy.” You huff. “I don’t wanna talk to you. I just want my underwear and then, I’m gonna go home. End of story.”

Mark chews on his bottom lip.

“No.”

And you stare up at Mark, brows scrunching into a confused, and puzzled frown. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘no’?”

And Mark winces at your tone, bringing a hand up to push messy raven strands out of his face, before letting out a heavy breath.

“I said no. You already have so many pairs, just give me that one.”

“Mark, it’s mi—”

“Please. Please. Please. I’m actually willing to go on my knees.”

“Markus Sebastian Grayson, you are arguing to keep my fucking panties that you stole—!” You nearly yelp when Mark clamps his hand over your mouth, the warmth of his hand smearing your lipgloss just enough for you to be conscious of it.

And instinctually, your lips part and your warm, wet tongue slides across Mark’s palm, and in the back of your mind, it clicks that you definitely shouldn’t have done that. Not to either of his hands.

But when your gaze flicks up to Mark’s, and you see the way puppy-ish brown eyes widen, his breath stilling in his throat. And he bites the inside of his cheek, the act causing his jaw to pull taut in that way that would always have you drooling just a bit.

And you’d be stupid to not exploit him.

So, gathering all the pussy you can muster, you rest back against the door, your tongue laving at Mark’s palm lines and you watch the way his perfect brows twitch when your tongue peeks between his fingers. Your hands wrap around his wrist, thumbs pressing against his erratic pulse and you tilt Mark’s hand, dragging your fingers up his middle and ring finger, before taking them into your mouth.

“Oh…fuck.” Mark breathes out as you suck his fingers, adorning his digits with the attention he knows would have him painting your face in less than a minute and you pull away, your tongue cleaning up the slick sheen of your saliva from his fingers.

His chest is heaving, his cheeks are so fucking rosy and he’s letting out sweet breaths from between his parted lips, and his tongue brushes across his bottom lip. And he steps closer to you.

Mark’s chest brushes against yours, his forearm braces on the door above your head and he pushes those fingers back between your lips, pressing down on your tongue.

Don’t gag, don’t gag, don’t gag, don’t gag.

“Even if you had to walk around ass naked, I still wouldn’t give you those panties.”

You’re forced to peer up at Mark while he stares at your lips like they hold the answers to everything because right now, they just might. His eyes watch the way the soft tissue purses each time he fucks his fingers into your mouth, he feels the soft suction of your mouth and he’s so painfully hard in his sweatpants that he feels like a gust of wind could make him cum.

And then, footsteps.

Mark’s pulling his fingers out of your mouth, swallowing away the husk in his voice and you watch, mouth agape, as he licks your spittle from his fingers before wiping his damp digits on his sweatpants.

“Oh, Mark, I didn’t know you were awake.” Eve’s voice is stupidly airy in the morning, gingerish hair hanging past her shoulders and you know damn well her tank top could qualify as a sports bra. Shorts cling to her hips, and you’re pretty sure they come from BabyGap with how tight they are.

“Uh— yeah, my friend came to say hi.” Mark speaks sheepishly, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck and he glances towards you as you watch Eve. Eyes slowly narrowing and he watches the way your face screws up when she meets your gaze, before continuing to ignore you.

“Oh, that’s so sweet.”

Your lips part to say something, but Mark’s hand is pressed over your mouth before you can even call Eve a soulless and disrespectful brat.

And you huff, pushing Mark’s hand away before you make your way up the stairs.

“Oh my god, can anyone just walk into your house like that?” Eve gasps, green eyes focused on where you’re moving up the stairs.

And Mark runs his tongue along his teeth, stopping at his pointy canines before he breathes out.

“She’s not just anyone.”

And Debbie’s voce rings out, unusually chirpy for the morning.

“Get in, get in, I’m watching Grey’s.”

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“So, Mark fingerbanged your mouth? I thought we hated him?” William questions, his attention focused on where your manicured hands are kneading dough, rings discarded into a nearby saucer, and you’re trying not to sob into the dough.

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit.” You huff. “I saw him send you a message on your gamertag thingy.”

“I’m guessing you don’t know what it’s called?” William snorts.

“I’m sorry that I have an actual life.”

“Because flicking your bean and sleeping is so much better than gaming.”

You dust more flour onto the countertop, coating the rolling pin as you begin to flatten out the cookie dough, and you’re pressing down hard enough to cause the veins on your hands to peek out. And you’re chewing on the inside of your cheek, brows bunching into a frown and you let out a low whine.

“His fingers were so gentle, but so rough and like, his eyes. Oh my god, his eyes.” You groan. “It was like he was looking into my soul.”

“I didn’t think you had one of those.” William comments, shoving a spoonful of sprinkles into his mouth before looking at you, noting the way the corners of your mouth twitch upwards and your cheeks burn rosy at the memory of Mark.

“I do. It’s in a wooden box in the basement.”

“Next to your grandpa’s Playboy’s?”

“Yeah.” You snort. “Why do you remember those?”

“It was a moment of self discovery for me.” He shrugs, before shifting, his attention moving to where the screen of your phone lights up with a news update, and William reaches over, before clicking on the article.

His eyes skim over it before his brows raise and his lips purse.

“What?” You question.

“There’s a massive lizard monster terrorizing Tokyo.”

You bring a hand up to your mouth, bottom lip quivering and you feel your eyes sting with the laughter that you refuse to let slip.

“No fucking way.” You breathe out. “Turn on the TV.”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Look at Mark.” You whistle. “Facing his fears.”

“Mark’s half Korean.” William snickers, slumped on the sofa as he continues to shove spoonfuls of sprinkles into his mouth.

“Rice is rice.” Debbie takes a sip of her wine glass, nonchalant as she takes a bite of another cookie, and your mouths collectively fall open at her comment, before you stifle a snicker, hiding your face in your hands.

“I don’t know how to follow up on that.” William murmurs, his voice soft as he shifts closer, his cheek pressing against Debbie’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, you can laugh.” She snorts. “It’s not racist when I say it.”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“So, you lost your friends because you wanted to hang out with me and Eve?” Rex questions, biceps bulging as he continues to lift weights, emerald gaze shifting to watch as Mark continues to huff out breaths, attention focused on the ever increasing speed of the treadmill.

“Pretty much and like, me and William are on… good-ish terms now, but the other one…” Mark trails off. “We were gonna be on really good terms if Eve didn’t walk in.”

The frustration is evident in the way Mark’s jaw clenches, hands fisting at the metallic handlebars of the treadmill, veins bulging beneath the surface and Rex’s eyes narrow. The metal cracks under his grip, raven strands fall over Mark’s forehead and rivulets of sweat trickle down the delves of his muscle.

“How good were the terms gonna be?” Rex’s eyes narrow in question. And Mark stops, letting out a heaving breath.

“Really good.” His voice cracks the tiniest bit. “Like… life-changing.”

And Rex winces.

“Eve’s a grade A cockblock.” Rex hums. “When I was with Kate—”

“Weren’t you cheating on Eve?” Mark interrupts.

And Rex’s lips purse, eyes narrowing. “Perhaps.”

And Rex lets out another huff, setting down his weights before reclining.

“Just go see her later.” He shrugs. “What’s the worst she can do? Say no?”

And Mark stares blankly at Rex.

“Have you ever had your spirit murdered? Because that’s what she does.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“She doesn’t say ‘no’, she says ‘ew’. Her job isn’t done until you’re fetal.”

Rex grimaces. “That’s… God, that’s fucked up.”

“She could make Omni-Man question his life’s decisions. Fuck, she has.” Mark deadpans. “I remember, we were fifteen and she asked him like, ‘oh, does that make you feel like a big man’, and he went to Italy for the rest of the day.”

“Oh… Shit. But just, trust me. Look a little bit like a loser, chicks love that shit.”

And Mark huffs.

“She’s not dumb enough to fall for that.”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼🌺🌻୧₊˚⑅⋆

For the rest of the day, Mark’s brows are scrunched in contemplation. Is he really the kind of person who would trick his best friend into a little bit of shared intimacy? Maybe a bit of gentle touching?

And besides, you’re not that easy, are you?

Mark needs to have tact. He needs to be smooth.

He needs to finesse it.

Hovering above the Eiffel Tower, Mark’s lips purse, fingers drumming on his biceps as he looks over the bistros and outdoor cafés, streetlights that look like lanterns, cobbled walkways and fountains. Pastel rose bushes and he hums.

Not enough.

He spends the better half of his evening flying all over the world, looking for any place that could distract you enough from the fact that he’ll definitely be fumbling his words. He’ll definitely be sweating and the front of his suit’s gonna show his boner because you’ll be glaring at him for making you leave your house past 9PM.

Mark’s so distracted that he barely notices the massive sea beast that rises off the coast of Mexico, clawed feet and a spiked tail and Mark’s lips purses.

“...huh.”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Mark, get off my wind—”

“I really need you right now.... please..”

T🌼A🌼G🌼L🌼I🌼S🌼T

@lucky-beheaded ; @queen-of-gotham ; @coldvirginbitch ; @wittyjasontodd ; @a-n-a-n-a1 ; @dearlyya ; @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha ; @jasontoddswhitestreak ; @daydreams-and-peace ; @misstyy12 ; @fruticake ; @httpstes ; @waterflowersblog ; @glowinthedarkjellyfish ; @vm4879bb-blog ; @monaekelis ; @radlovesfics ; @allycat4458 ; @bigbodycity ; @feral010 ; @anesthesia-4rizzle ; @princesstrunkz ; @blackfox774 ; @sh1d0uryus31 ; @your-lovely-rose26 ; @slugstarzz ; @ripcolel0l ; @strawbiemilk420 ; @verysynical ; @kikiiguess ; @missam ; @luvvfromme ; @luvvcharxo ; @alma-ru3 ; @mxvoid26 ; @urfriendlyfrog ; @the-good-kooshe ; @troublesome-nara ; @secretaccountlol ; @syubseokie; @atanukileaf ; @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere ; @i-love-frensh-fries ; @love3vivian ; @boyofroyo1 ; @tamaranblaze ; @supersecretxreadersideblog ; @etphonehome0623 ; @markgraysonlover ; @icanmeltanigloo ; @itzmeme ; @buckturd

Mark Grayson my beloved AAAAAH

Mark knew he'd mess up his chances at some point. He wasn't prefect. In he fact he was always messing things up for himself.

But did it have to be now!?

Right now when you were sitting oh so closely on his lap, kissing him breathless in a way you hadn't before. God, he could spend days here, hands squishing you softly as you pushed him back onto the bed. You were so warm, and you smelt so good, tasted good. Everything was just so good about you. He hoped you thought the same about him.

Wait, what was that? You were saying something. He's not sure what though.

But he knew he liked that thrill running through him as you whispered in his ear, kissing sweetly down his neck, hand dragging down his chest.

His eyes were shut, smile steady as he took deep breaths. He couldn't get enough of this feeling.

You grabbed the hem of his shirt, kissing his lips once more, sucking in a way that had him unconsciously gripping the sheets.

This was heaven. This was what he was gonna remember right before he dies. This was ... this was amazing.

You hand was under his shirt, rubbing the second layer cloth separating his skin from yours and laughed breathily. God that laugh ....

You pulled back, saying something again before lifting up his first shirt.

He raised his arms to help you out.

Hm? Wait ... did you stop? But why? You were so close ...!

"Hey, what's wrong?" He breathed out, looking at you finally.

You were looking down, hands still holding up his shirt to his chest. You looked ... shocked?

Why? What'd he do?

"Wha-"

"You're Invincible."

He froze.

"Wh-what?"

"You're Invincible." You iterated again, meeting his eyes. "You're the Invincible!"

Uh oh ...

He quickly pulled his shirt back down to hide that familiar suit of blacks, blues, and yellows. He had completely forgot that he wore the damn thing underneath all his clothes.

"What? No, no, I'm not. It's just uh ... uhm ... I-I'm just a big fan! Yeah ... yeah. But I'm not Invincible!"

His voice had reached an embarrassing falsetto in some points. Face pink for different reasons now.

You grabbed his chin, forcing him to look back at you. Your eyes were wild with ... well, he's not entirely sure what. But he hoped it wasn't something bad.

"Yes, you are!" You exclaimed.

Then you took your other hand and raised it up to cover the upper part of his face.

"Yes you are!" You insisted. "Where's your mask? Lemme see!"

He sighed. Guess the best thing he could do was just tell you the truth and hope you'd understand.

Much to his disappointment, he guided you off his lap, stripped -in a not so sexy way- and put on the final piece of his costume.

"Listen, I know it's kind of a big secret to have kept from you, but please try to understand why I did it. There's so much that people don't know goes on with heroes and I just ... I couldn't ... I didn't want to risk you getting caught up in it ... I ...."

He was being his most sincere. Prepared to say more to try and convince you to forgive him, to give him a chance.

But you didn't really seem to be listening. Covering your mouth with both hands as you stared at him.

"Mark." You said.

And he felt himself deflate, like a puppy about to get reprimanded by his owner. He opened his mouth to say something else.

But you cut him off with a grin, giving happy little hops before running up to circle around him.

"Mark! Do you have any idea how cool that is? You're Invincible!"

He held a finger to his lips, brow sad and worried behind his mask. "Don't say it so loud."

"Sorry. But Mark!" You were sparkling.

And that really confused him.

You started going on and on about something or other about his heroic side. While he was preparing himself for that switch, for the prank to come in, the sting of your anger and hurt for lying to you for so long.

That never came though.

Just a gasp followed by a, "Can I try it on?"

What?

"I'm sorry? Should ...? Shouldn't you be like ... planning to dump me or something?"

"Why would I do that? If I said you were stuck with me before, I really mean it now. I got a superhero boyfriend!" You whisper yelled the last part.

Then you gasped again, running over to the book shelf, pulling out some comic, flipping through the pages and pointing to the images.

"We should totally act out this scene at some point!"

What?

"You're not ...? Mad?"

"What? No! Why would I be? Mark we should totally do this scene too!"

You went on and on, explaining some other thing the hero did after their partner got saved.

Your enthusiasm would've been quickly picked up and drawn out by him had this been a different time. But he was so ready for the worst reaction, he was a deer in headlights after getting the best.

"You're ... not messing with me right now?"

"Huh?" You watched him for a moment, seeming to notice his reaction now, then went over with a soft smile.

You put the book down then took off his mask. "Mark, if you think your gonna give me the biggest surprise ever and think I'll be upset, then you got a few screws loose in there."

You ran your fingers through his hair, the action causing him to close his eyes and lean into you. "Sure, there could've been a better time to have told me, but I would've been excited either way. I mean, how often do you think I get the chance to be the hero's love interest? Never! Wouldn't you be happy too if I said I was a hero to my ordinary boyfriend?"

"Yeah ... I would." He murmured.

He rested his chin in your shoulder, arms wrapping around your waist in a familiar motion. It was a comforting action that always made his worries melt away. He smiled, taking in that nice scent that he knew belonged to you.

"Exactly."

You stood there for a moment, quiet and content under the streaking moonlight coming from beyond the curtains.

He couldn't have asked for a better you. Maybe now he wouldn't have to feel so guilty for needing to reschedule all of your plans. And since you know his secret, there's no reason he can't use his powers to surprise you even more. Maybe now he could fly you out to that niche little shop in that far off country you've been talking about this weekend. And maybe you could start acting out all of those romantic scenes you two read about.

"Mark?"

"Yeah?" He loved when you weren't mad at him.

He felt your fingers tracing along his hips. "Don't you think you should still take this off though?"

... Woah ...

Maybe he didn't ruin his chances tonight after all.

love when fanfic writers include mark’s geek tendencies ( and even more so when they do it for the variants too ) like he’s not a hot man that used to be a nerd he’s a nerd that just happened to be hot 😚😚

imagine him talking reader’s ear off about that silly little dog comic, voice only wavering when her fingers began to play at the waistband of his pants

but he continues like nothing happened at all, despite turning all fucking red, i’m obsessed ..

Press your space face close to mine, love

Pairing: Mark Grayson (Invincible (2021)) x f!reader

Summary: sweet, clumsy, giggly sex with your best friend

Notes: No use of Y/N, reader is into comics, reader wears earrings, reader is somewhat quiet during sex (not counting talking), reader wears makeup

Cw: cunnilingus, penetrative sex

Tw: mention of (fictional) sex trafficking

“No, it’s just, like, they can’t bring up sex trafficking and let the buyer fuckin’ get away with it?” you laugh incredulously, tracing the outline of the Alice in Wonderland-esque girls on the page of your Robin: Year One comic. You turn the page, re-reading the foreign president’s claim of diplomatic immunity. “Fucking insane. Where’s the justice?”

Mark hums, his chest rumbling slightly from underneath where your cheek is pressed against his clothed sternum. His large, warm hand is settled loosely on your hipbone, his thumb dipping under your shirt and swiping across your skin. The pads of his fingertips have become rougher with the years of superhero work—no longer soft and delicate like in his childhood.

“Don’t you think that’s on purpose?”

You tut, glancing up at him.

“That’s stupid,” you grumble. “Screw Chuck Dixon.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s realistic,” Mark laugh softly, pressing a totally platonic kiss to the crown of your head. “But it’s your own fault. I told you to go for Frank Miller instead.”

“I heard he’s a weirdo,” you counter, rolling your eyes.

Mark snorts.

“What? He’s a legend. He did The Killing Joke.”

“No, he didn’t?” You laugh, shuffling around to grin up at him with your chests now pressed against each other. “That’s Alan Moore, doofus.”

You’re met with a sheepish, crooked grin. Mark shrugs.

“You’re the DC geek, not me. I stay loyal to my GOAT.”

“Oh, Seance Dog, huh?” You giggle, playfully digging your fingers into Mark’s ribs.

He laughs, grabbing onto your wrists with his warm and slightly clammy hands, tugging them away.

“Cut it out,” he says, wrapping his arms around you tightly in a caging embrace. He squeezes gently, ever careful not to hurt you with his superhuman strength, but still enough to immobilize you. “I’ve got you now.”

“Mark!” You shriek, wiggling in his grasp but to no avail. You laugh, dropping your head into the crook of his neck with a huff. “Oh— oh, real funny. Let me go.”

“Nuh-uh,” he teases, blowing a raspberry at you. “Apologize.”

You continue to laugh softly, lifting your head. The tip of your nose brushes against his jaw, then up to his cheek. It’s incredibly unsexy how the overly sensitive pickup of his old record player jumps at your ministrations in bed, making a shuffling noise over his speakers before skipping from the beginning of David Bowie’s Soul Love to somewhere in the middle of Moonage Daydream.

Still giggling, you press a lingering kiss to his cheek alongside a muttered apology.

“No— no worries,” Mark murmurs, smiling softly at you. The moment is quiet, save for the hum of the electric guitar, saxophone, and pennywhistle of the Ziggy Stardust version of the song playing. He reaches up, his fingers gingerly brushing across your brow-bone.

“Is Bowie having an influence on me or are we having a moment?” He asks with a wry smile.

“I think that’s actually the body’s natural reaction to hearing David Bowie and looking someone deeply into the eyes,” you whisper-giggle, nudging the tip of his nose with your own.

“A-ha,” Mark says, smiling back at you. “You’re so smart. Did I ever tell you that?”

“Mhm,” you hum, “but I like hearing it.”

At some point, Moonage Daydream becomes Starman, and you can’t help but let out another laugh.

“That’s you,” you say, still laying half on top of him. “Starman. From the stars. An alien—“

“Comedic genius we’ve got here,” he laughs with a grin, moving you fully on top of him with his hands planted on your ribcage. He sits up, tugging you closer easily and leans in to kiss you. His lips are thin but soft, experimentally capturing your bottom lip. The touch is lingering, and he only lets go after a few long seconds, then awaits your reaction.

Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips as you consider the kiss. It was nice. Really nice. You can’t remember the last time your heart beat this fast.

“You okay?” He whispers, bringing one hand up to your cheek. “We can stop.”

You shake your head.

“I liked it,” you whisper, smiling. “You’re a good kisser.”

He grins cockily, the hand on your ribcage sliding down to the small of your back.

“Oh, baby, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

You snort, giving him a gentle and playful shove against his firm chest.

“Cut it out, loser,” you laugh before leaning in to kiss him again. “You’re so stupid. I hate you.”

“Uh-huh,” he hums in between soft, tender kisses. “Love you, too.”

He lowers his back onto the bed and you follow, placing a hand down on the bed for support when—

“Fuck!” You laugh, quickly shifting your weight to the other hand now planted on his chest. You scramble for the trade paperback you just crunched underneath your hand. “No! My baby!”

“I thought I was your baby,” Mark laughs, helping you move the slightly creased comic off the bed. “Here, c’mere.”

He lifts you into his arms, his hands planted firmly underneath your ass as he allows you to place the book back into its box set case. Then, as he walks back toward his bed, he trips over a discarded Seance Dog figurine with pointy ears that dig into the sole of his foot. He yelps, stumbling forward but retaining his grip on you as he turn around mid-air, catching himself with the internal center of gravity that allows him to float.

You shriek, laughing as you smack into his chest.

“Careful!” You laugh, kissing the corner of his slanted eye. “You’re gonna drop me!”

“I’d never drop you,” he laughs, turning his face to kiss your cheek. “I got you. Yeah? Always got you.”

He settles the two of you back into the bed carefully with you on your back and him on top of you. Something seems to click in his mind as he suddenly begins to shift your position.

“Sorry, you’ll probably not want me on top—“

“Mark,” you laugh softly, stopping him. “No, stop. You’re overthinking it. I like it.”

“Yeah?” He whispers with a shy grin, sliding in between your legs as he leans down. “Don’t know why we’ve never done this before.”

“Never thought I was your type,” you respond, brushing his inky hair back. “You’ve always gone for, like… cool, capable types. Uh, serious types, I guess.”

He raises a brow.

“Are you implying that you’re not cool and capable? ‘Cause that’s just not true.”

“Alright, alright,” you chuckle, leaning up to kiss him again. “You know what I mean. I didn’t think you saw me as, like…”

“I do,” he says, his smile softening. “Very much. Always have. If anything, I didn’t think you thought I had the potential. I thought you saw me as this annoying brother—“

“Nuh-uh, no way,” you stop him. “Too weird.”

“Understood,” he chuckles, capturing your lips once again. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw as he gently pries your lips apart. His experience isn’t vast, but he makes do with what he has. Warm, fresh blood pumps through your blood vessels as your heart beats faster and you feel flustered. It’s all too much and not enough as he kisses you slowly, only to end up breaking it because he’s unable to contain his smile.

“You are… unbelievably beautiful,” he whispers, peppering your face with soft, almost chaste, kisses. “Not to mention fucking cool. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“You’re awfully sweet,” you breathe out, your chest rising and falling with your quickened breath. “But you always have been, I guess.”

“Nothing compared to you,” he exhales, trailing his lips down the column of your throat. “Sweet girl. Pretty girl.”

He laughs softly against your warm skin.

“Sorry. I’m being corny.”

A weak grin tugs at the corners of your lips, only held back by your breathlessness.

“I like corny,” you whisper, the words softer and more tender than you mean for them to be.

“You do?” Mark asks uncertainly. Something tugs at his heart as he’s briefly reminded of a time long ago when Amber dismissed his attempt at a pet name (baby) (totally reasonable and fair! People have their preferences, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bring him down a little).

“Yeah,” you laugh softly, fingers threading through his hair. “It’s sweet. None of that pornified dirty talk.”

“What? You don’t want this big cock?” He asks, slotting himself against your hips and purposefully lowering his voice and pushing his chest out comically. “Bet you’ve never had a real man, sweetheart.”

You snort, exploding in a flurry of giggles as you push his shoulder (gently).

“Shut the fuck up,” you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he continues in the voice. “Choke on my huge fuckin’—“

You laugh, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Mark smiled warmly, unable to contain his own laughter.

“Too corny?” He asks.

“Too porn-y,” you correct him, wiping the mirthful tears that have escaped your eyes.

He laughs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Okay. Sorry, sorry.”

His fingers dip underneath the bottom hemline of your shirt, splaying out against your skin.

“Hey, can I— can I take your shirt off?” He asks, biting the inside of his cheek. His skin is flushed, tinted red, and he looks down at you with so much happiness in his eyes.

“Yeah— yeah, okay,” you breathe out, adjusting yourself on the bed as he clumsily begins tugging your shirt up. It gets stuck at multiple points—below your back, in your earrings, but amidst both of your giggling, Mark manages to get it off. He glances down at your exposed torso with a small grin.

“Nice,” he whispers to himself, nodding.

“Shut up, dork,” you laugh, tugging on his sky blue t-shirt that fits wonderfully snugly around his biceps. “Quid pro quo.”

“Oh, you wanna get me naked, huh?” He laughs, briefly letting go of you to tug the shirt over his head, only for the crew neck to get caught on his nose.

Sitting up with a laugh, you reach up to help him get untangled.

“My hero,” he sighs blissfully, wrapping his bare arms around you again as he leans in to kiss you. The shirt is discarded somewhere on the floor now, but your focus is solely on the feeling of his warm, broad chest pressed against your own.

Your hand trails down his chest, then further down across his abdomen. The muscles below your fingertips tighten, and Mark smiles into the kiss. You meet the waistline of his jeans, finding the edge of an elastic band peeking out along the periphery. Teasingly, you pull it out and let it snap back against his skin.

“Hey!” He laughs, nipping at your jaw. “I’m supposed to do that!”

“Too little, too late, lover boy,” you snort, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. Your hand still rests on his lower abdomen, your thumb swiping down from his navel and over the beginning trail of dark hair.

He sighs, reaching up with both hands to cup your face as he deepens the kiss. With your bottom lip between both of his and the occasional bump of noses or clash of teeth, he tilts your head back and lets his tongue dart out against yours—briefly, tastefully.

“Hey,” he pants softly, “are we—?“

“Yeah?” You murmur in between kisses. “If— if you want to—?”

“I do, I do,” he laughs, kissing your cheek. “Very much so. Should we discuss the, uh, implications?”

You’re still laughing softly alongside him, nudging his nose with yours.

“I… I like you,” you admit. “If you want more, that’s… great. If not, that’s cool, too. I’m fine either way.”

“Okay,” he says with a smile. “I mean, I… very much would like something more.”

“Great,” you say, your smile widening. “I was totally downplaying my feelings by the way.”

“No, I know,” he laughs, reaching down to tug your bottoms down. “Hips, please.”

It takes you a second to register his request, but then you’re shifting your weight back against your shoulders and pressing into the bed as you lift your hips. With a slight struggle (technical, not physical. He could’ve ripped them off you easily, but he knows you’re fond of your clothes), he manages to shrug them down and leave you in your underwear.

“Cute,” he comments, running a hand up your hip.

“Thanks,” you respond. You hook your fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and tug. “Your turn.”

He grins, fumbling with the button for a moment before unzipping, floating above the bed as he scrambles to get his jeans down past his knees.

“Socks off, too, you freak,” you laughs watching him curl around himself to disrobe.

“I don’t know, I think socks-on is kind of sexy,” he jokes, lowering himself to the bed again as he crawls over you.

You lean up to kiss him.

“Gross. Never ever express your personal opinion again.”

He snorts, giggling as he leans into the kiss. His lips trail down your throat and collarbone, then further down over the curve of your breast. He fumbles to discard your personal choice of bra style before hesitantly glancing up at you.

You nod, smiling encouragingly as you run your fingers through his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp.

He sighs blissfully, capturing your nipple between his lips in a soft, brief kiss before continuing down the underside of your breast. His hand comes to gently press against your other breast, his thumb running over the summit of your areola where your nipple peaks.

Continuing his descend, his lips trail down your stomach all the way down to the edge of your underwear. He shifts in bed, slipping his arms around your thighs as he lowers himself, his nose pressing into your clothed clit as he gingerly mouths at the (slightly) soaked material.

You inhale sharply, tensing up slightly.

“You know what you’re doing?” You croak out in an attempt at being playful.

“Yeah,” Mark responds confidently, then falters and grins sheepishly. “Kind of? I think?”

“You think,” you repeat with a soft, breathless laugh, letting your head fall back against his pillow (which smells just like him; fresh and soapy and something vaguely Mark).

“Just let me try,” he laughs, tugging your underwear down. “Tell me if it’s too horrible.”

“I guess I’ll sacrifice myself,” you giggle, smiling up at the Seance Dog poster above his bed.

“How noble of you,” he giggles before experimentally licking up the underside of your clit. The pressure is weird and sharp even though it’s vaguely pleasurable and you make a disgruntled noise, shifting slightly away.

“Wha—? Not good?” He asks, looking up at you with wide eyes.

“No,” you respond carefully, not wanting to discourage him but also not wanting to lie. “Uh, weird. The angle is… I don’t know.”

“Okay,” he responds, cheeks slightly red with embarrassment. “Okay, no, sure. I can take criticism. I’ll— let me try something different.”

He tilts his head down slightly while moving up, suctioning on your clit but this time from above and pressing down. His tongue swipes side-to-side to the best of his ability.

Dropping your shoulders, you feel your body become less tense. You sink into the bed, sighing as you thread your fingers through Mark’s hair.

“Better?” He murmurs, licking down to your opening before returning his attention to your clit.

“Yeah,” you laugh softly, smiling blissfully. “Maybe you do know what you’re doing.”

“Hey, female anatomy is different on every woman,” he laughs, continuing to kiss your clit while now slipping a singular finger into your entrance. “It’s not like there’s a guidebook, and you’d rock my shit if I used porn as my inspiration.”

“Duh,” you sigh, humming softly. Your eyes are closed, and the only indicator that you’re being pleasured is the warmth to your skin and your slightly labored breathing. “It’s an exploitative business that preys on marginalized women.”

“You’re so sexy when you care about the state of the world,” Mark laughs softly, hesitantly prodding with another finger. “This okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum, wetness lubricating you enough to allow for both his middle and ring finger to slowly slide inside you. The actual penetration itself does little for you, the main pleasure deriving instead from his attention on your clit, but the feeling of having Mark—your Mark—so close is comforting and adds to the sensuality of the experience. You sigh, shifting your hips slightly. “S’nice.”

“Just nice?” He asks softly with a small smile.

“You know what I mean,” you laugh softly, your breath hitching slightly as you feel yourself approaching an orgasm. “Really nice.”

“I aim to please,” he hums, sliding his fingers deeper into you as he licks into your sex.

“When do you not?” You ask breathlessly, smiling down at him. Your eyes meet and he squeezes your thigh gently, appreciating the understanding you always seem to have for him.

He continues to gently but eagerly eat you out, and by the time you’ve hit the 2-minute mark and you haven’t come, you start feeling guilty.

“You don’t have to continue,” you murmur, a foreign shame and sensation of self-disgust and greed hitting you. “We can move on to—“

“Baby, I’ve got a superhuman jaw and tongue,” he says playfully while smiling reassuringly up at you. “I can handle this. And you need to get out of your own head. You’re the one always talking about how male-centered sex is and how misogynistic it is that anything female-centered is considered foreplay.”

You grin softly.

“So you do listen to my rants.”

“Are you kidding me?” He laughs. “I love hearing you talk. And, you’ve got great points. I learn something new every day.”

With that, you allow yourself to be selfishly pleasured. You allow yourself to let the focus, the attention, be solely on you for no other reason than the fact that Mark wants it to be on you. A few moments later, your breathing becomes more shallow, your hips more restless as you buck up against Mark’s mouth, your grip on his hair tightening.

“Mh— ah,” you whisper, brows furrowed together. “Oh.”

Mark grins victoriously, your reaction renewing his energy.

“Close?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, laughing softly as you raise yourself to your elbows. “Mmh…”

Mark focuses his attention on your clit, a dedicated concentration used as he continues to mouth at you until finally, you inhale deeply, your grip on his hair tightening. You tense up, curling up into his touch and stilling for a moment before shaking lightly, your hips bucking upward a few times. The quietest of whines escape you.

Slowly, you relax back against the bed, your fingers uncurling from his now slightly damp hair.

“How’d I do?” He asks, coming up with a bright puppy-like grin.

“Good,” you exhale, your skin pulsing with the rush of fresh blood throughout your body. “Really good.”

He leans down to kiss you deeply—sloppily this time, less controlled. More saliva is exchanged given his previous excessive use of his tongue which has clearly activated the salivary glands, but it’s sweet and tender nonetheless.

You pant softly against his lips for a few moments, catching your breath before you speak.

“Let me repay the favor—“

“Not a favor,” Mark interrupts, kissing your forehead. “My pleasure. We could also just stop now if you’re not up for more.”

His words are sincere, but the firm outline of his dick against your thigh tells you that he would very much enjoy continuing.

“C’mere,” you murmur, tugging him down for another kiss. You hesitantly bring your hand down to rub over his bulge, amused by how it feels both hard and soft at the same time.

Mark exhales shakily, dropping his head down into the crook of your neck.

“Mmh… that’s nice.”

“Just nice?” You murmur, mimicking his own previous words. You try to get a feel for the shape of him, but as he begins to slowly rock his hips into your hand, a nicer, less teasing side of you takes over and you tug down his boxers.

Much like the rest of him, he’s pretty. Just above average in length, slender, the same fair color as the rest of him but with a reddened, uncut tip. The base is covered in a well-groomed layer of dark hair.

“Don’t stare at my dick, you weirdo,” he laughs, capturing your lips in another kiss.

“You just spent the last five minutes between my legs, I’m allowed compensation.”

He scrunches up his nose, snorting.

“When you put it like that…”

He hooks his hands under your knees, lifting slightly as he hovers above you. He grabs onto his dick, gently stroking it before nudging the tip against your soaked pussy, slowly easing the inches inside.

“You okay? Tell me if you’re not okay,” Mark says softly, worry lacing his tone despite his eager outward appearance.

You nod, feeling the slightest of stretches, though he’s spent so long working you open that it’s little more than a pinch.

“I’m okay,” you whisper, letting out a breathless laugh.

“Good, good,” he laughs softly, groaning as he bottoms out. He takes a second to just settle inside you, his nose pressed into the dewy skin of your neck. He breathes slowly, his hands running up and down your sides. Still not moving, he peppers soft kisses up your neck.

“Wait, fuck!” He laughs, pulling out of you and scrambling toward his bedside table drawer. “Condom!”

“Oh, my God,” you laugh, covering your face with your hands as you giggle.

“Safe sex. Hell yeah,” Mark says, ripping open the package. He fishes out the condom, fumbling slightly as he pinches the slippery tip before rolling it down. “Don’t worry, babe. I got this. Basically a pro.”

“You’re such an idiot,” you laugh, smiling lovingly at him.

“All part of the appeal,” he laughs softly, gently re-entering you. “Still good?”

“Uh-huh,” you say softly. “Babe, huh?”

“Do you hate it?” He ask, cringing. “I can—“

“No,” you interrupt with a soft laugh, leaning up to kiss him again. “No, I like it. I like all the corny nicknames.”

“Yeah?” He asks, perking up. “Cute-pie. Sweetie. Gorgeous. Pretty, pretty girl.”

Steadily, he begins to rock his hips against you, exhaling shakily as you squeeze around him.

You hum softly, curling your hand around the back of his neck as you let him build up a rhythm. Your legs wrap around his hips, your own hips lifting with every slow thrust to meet him halfway. The penetration feels slightly strange, too intrusive and filling, but Mark’s reassuring smile has you smiling back and feeling comfortable. Once again, you don’t feel much pleasure from the friction inside you, but you find yourself enjoying being close to Mark.

He reaches down with one shaky hand, his finger coming down to press firmly against your clit while swiping against it.

“It’s hard to keep the pace actually,” he laughs softly, struggling with his finger. “It’s very slippery.”

“You’re doing just fine,” you laugh softly back, leaning up to kiss him.

Mark continues his pace, his thrusts short and slow as he kisses you back. It’s sweet how he kisses you, entirely focused on the sensation of lips against lips. His breathing becomes shallow and he groans quietly into your mouth.

“You’re so quiet,” he pants softly. “I feel like an idiot next to you.”

“No, no, don’t,” you whisper, peppering his face with reassuring kisses. “I like hearing you. And I feel really good, noise just doesn’t really come easily to me, y’know? But it feels good.”

“Okay,” he pants softly, followed by a whine. “I trust you. I believe you.”

You smile, kissing him again. Turns out you really like kissing him.

Soon enough his hips stutter against yours and he hides his face in the crook of your neck as he groans lowly, thrusting loosely into you as he comes. He stills, though his fingers continue to rub against you until you follow with a quiet, hitched gasp moments later.

You grab onto his hand, pressing it against your sex for another moment until the pressure is relieved and you can stand coming down from the intense stimulation.

Mark slumps down on the bed next to you, fumbling with unrolling the slippery latex around his dick before he can toss it in the trash can.

“Oh, man,” he laughs softly, rubbing a hand across his dewy, pink face. “That was insane. You’re insane.”

He turns, resting on one elbow as he leans over to kiss you.

“You’ve ruined me, I think. Like, permanently.”

You laugh softly into the kiss, reaching up to caress his face.

“There’s that sweetness again,” you murmur.

He grins, kissing the tip of your nose.

“You’re even prettier now,” he says, reaching up to smudge out the mascara stains on your eyelids. “Pretty girl.”

“Pretty boy,” you counter playfully.

“Got nothing on you,” he laughs, wrapping his bare arms tightly around you. While squeezing, he presses slow, languid kisses down the side of your face and neck. “Prettiest girl in the world.”

You smile, relaxing in his strong grip.

“Always got you,” he murmurs softly. “Except for now. You should go avoid a UTI.”

You laugh again, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before reaching down for your shirt.

“As long as I don’t meet your mom on my way to the bathroom, I’ll be fine.”

You stand up, stretching out your limbs before climbing back into your bottoms.

Mark let’s out a teasing purr from where he’s lying in bed, the covers only pulled up halfway across his hips.

“Come here often?” He asks, winking at you.

“I sure hope so,” you say with a soft chuckle, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

Mark smiles lovingly up at you,

“Is it super dorky and loser-like if I say I think I love you?”

“Yeah,” you say with a small grin. “But I guess that’s part of your appeal.”

“Right?” He laughs, locking his hands behind his head as he stretches out.

“I love you, too, dummy,” you laugh softly before slipping out of his bedroom and down the hall toward the bathroom.

⋆⑅˚₊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

@lucky-beheaded ; @queen-of-gotham ; @coldvirginbitch ; @wittyjasontodd ; @a-n-a-n-a1 ; @dearlyya ; @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha ; @jasontoddswhitestreak ; @daydreams-and-peace ; @misstyy12 ; @fruticake ; @httpstes ; @waterflowersblog ; @glowinthedarkjellyfish ; @vm4879bb-blog ; @monaekelis ; @radlovesfics ; @allycat4458 ; @bigbodycity ; @feral010 ; @anesthesia-4rizzle ; @princesstrunkz ; @blackfox774 ; @sh1d0uryus31 ; @your-lovely-rose26 ; @slugstarzz ; @ripcolel0l ; @strawbiemilk420 ; @verysynical ; @kikiiguess ; @missam ; @luvvfromme ; @luvvcharxo ; @alma-ru3 ; @mxvoid26 ; @urfriendlyfrog ; @the-good-kooshe ; @troublesome-nara ; @secretaccountlol ; @syubseokie; @atanukileaf ; @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere ; @i-love-frensh-fries ; @love3vivian ; @boyofroyo1 ; @tamaranblaze ; @supersecretxreadersideblog ; @etphonehome0623 ; @markgraysonlover ; @icanmeltanigloo ; @itzmeme ; @buckturd