#soft!mark

[alive-gh0st]

❝Always You❞

Mark Grayson x Childhood Friend!Reader ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

-ˋˏ❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀ˎˊ-

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

❀ summary: you showed up uninvited, made his dad question all his life (and facial hair) choices, and never left. now you’re older, hotter, still annoying—and mark? very much in love. congrats.

❀ contains: sfw. childhood friends to lovers. slow-burn vibes. emotionally repressed!reader. soft!mark. reader has a difficult home life. light trauma but make it casual. fluff, banter and comedic tension. mark grayson being stupid-in-love.

❀ wc: 1899

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: first time posting just to feed y’all some mark grayson fluff.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You don’t remember exactly how you ended up in the Graysons’ house that first day.

You’d only just moved in next door, and your mom was already yelling about boxes. The man she was with—this week’s guy—smelled like beer, sweat, and no patience.

So you left.

Well… not really, but something along those lines.

You wandered down the sidewalk barefoot, dragging your backpack behind you, until you spotted a house that looked safe. Lived-in. Rich. You rang the doorbell like it owed you something.

Debbie Grayson opened the door, took one look at your face, and smiled. “Hi there, sweetheart. You okay?”

You didn’t answer. Just walked right past her like you belonged there.

Mark was on the floor with a comic book. He looked up, mouth half-open.

You pointed at his dad. “Is that mustache glued on, or is it a punishment?”

Nolan nearly dropped his coffee. Debbie choked on a laugh. Mark blinked, unsure whether to be offended or amazed.

You were five.

By the end of the day, you were sitting cross-legged on their carpet, eating cookies like you’d always been there. You told Nolan he “sounded like a guy on TV,” which earned another chuckle from Debbie and a long sigh from the man.

By the end of the week, you were staying over so often Debbie started keeping a toothbrush for you.

By the end of the month, you were helping Mark build Lego towers in his room—then immediately yelling at Nolan for knocking them over “on purpose.”

(He did. He 100% did. Nolan Grayson, Earth’s strongest man, had personal beef with a five-year-old and no shame about it.)

And before long, Mark couldn’t remember a life where you weren’t in it.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Being around you was chaos wrapped in kindness.

You’d stick your tongue out at Mark and Nolan the second Debbie turned her back, then curl into her side during movie nights like you were her own kid.

You terrified Nolan with the things you said—adult questions in a child’s voice, bold and unfiltered. Like asking, “If you flew into space too fast, would your brain explode?” Or, more memorably: “Do aliens poop?”

“Enough,” Nolan muttered one night after your fifth question. “You’re worse than a Pentagon interrogation.”

“But I’m cuter,” you argued, and Debbie nodded like that settled the matter.

You were nine when you figured out Omni-Man’s identity.

You’d been watching the news over cereal, Mark beside you, both in matching Grayson hand-me-downs.

With squinted eyes at the screen, you groaned in disbelief. “Seriously? That’s your dad’s disguise? I can recognize that ugly mustache from space.”

Mark froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Wait, what?”

“Dude, it’s so obvious.”

You didn’t even flinch when Nolan walked in seconds later, fully suited up but holding his slippers like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Morning,” you said sweetly. “Nice cape.”

Nolan grunted and turned on the coffee maker without a comment.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Debbie adored you. Nolan, surprisingly, respected you—maybe because you always challenged him without fear. And Mark? Mark had someone who understood him without even trying.

Your home life, though, was never something you talked about.

It wasn’t bad, not technically, but it didn’t feel like a home. The yelling never stopped. The guys came and went. You learned early not to ask questions, and that silence was safer.

So you stopped asking.

But one night—when you were eleven—you showed up at Mark’s window with bruises on your arms and dirt on your knees. You didn’t say anything. Just climbed inside and curled up next to him on the bed.

He didn’t say anything either.

He just pulled the blanket over you and let you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

After that, the Graysons stopped asking if you were coming over. It was just assumed.

That’s how it always was.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

By middle school, the two of you were inseparable. You walked to class together, bickered over who got to name the group projects, and ganged up on anyone who tried to mess with either of you.

One day, in the cafeteria, some eighth grader bumped into you hard enough to knock your tray.

“Watch it,” he sneered, clearly expecting you to back off.

You looked him dead in the eyes while tilting your head innocently. “Try that again and I’ll make sure you’re crapping Jell-O for a week.”

The kid blinked.

Mark stepped in beside you. “She means that in a… non-lethal way.”

“Do I?” you asked.

Mark turned to you, deadpan. “Can you not threaten to rearrange someone’s insides with pudding in front of the lunch monitors?”

You gave him a shrug. “No promises.”

People thought you’d grow apart in high school. That Mark would change. That you would change.

But you never gave him the chance to drift. You clung—stubbornly, fiercely—like you knew if you let go, something in you would unravel. And Mark never wanted to be anywhere else anyway.

High school didn’t change you much. If anything, you just got bolder.

Mark got taller. You got sharper. People asked if you were dating. You both said no.

But neither of you looked too convinced when you did.

You still wore his hoodies. He still shared his fries with you without asking. You stole his blankets. He carried an extra charger in his bag just in case you forgot yours.

He never forgot your birthday. You never missed a single one of his baseball games.

It wasn’t just friendship. Not really.

Not with the way you rolled your eyes at affection from anyone else but melted instantly when Mark laid his head on your shoulder.

Not when you’d fight with him one minute and be curled up against him the next, hoodie sleeves too long, fingers grazing his under the blanket.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Mark watched you far more than he should’ve.

He noticed the way your laugh cracked just a little when you were too tired.

The way you hugged too hard, like you were making sure someone stayed.

The way you’d stand between him and anyone who dared to mouth off—like you were the one with superpowers.

He didn’t need to know the exact moment he fell in love with you. For him—it was always there, he just hadn’t been smart enough to understand.

Maybe it was that one day when you were watching cartoons on the floor, and Mark was pretending not to stare at you. You turned to him, grinning, and said something dumb like, “You’d probably get beat up in a real fight.”

But your eyes were soft.

He smiled back, and thought, God, it’s always been you.

But he never told you. Not really.

Because every time he almost did, you’d turn away. Or laugh. Or call him something close enough to a slur and throw popcorn at his face.

Maybe that was your armor. Or maybe it was his fear.

Either way, the words never made it out.

So he held onto them in silence. Carried them like bruises from a fight—but these ones never quite healed. Let them bleed out slowly over the years through lingering glances, soft touches, and unspoken understanding.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You were sixteen when he nearly told you.

It was late. You’d been watching horror movies with you curled up against him, almost half-asleep.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Mm?”

“You know I—I really—uh, care about you, right?”

You cracked one eye open. “Mark, if this is your weird way of trying to tell me you love me, just do it.”

His breath hitched.

You snorted. “Relax. You’re too chicken to actually say it.”

“Am not.”

”Then say it.”

He paused.

You reached over, poked his cheek, and mumbled, “Didn’t think so.”

And then you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder, blissfully unaware of how badly his heart was racing.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Even now, sitting in his room, you’re stretched across his bed with a random comic forgotten beside you, legs tangled in his blanket like you own the place.

(Because you kind of do���not that he’d give you the satisfaction of knowing that.)

Mark watches you from his desk chair, ’Seance Dog’ comic in hand, but he’s not reading a word.

“You’re staring again,” you mutter from his bed, cheek half-squished against his pillow, voice muffled and judgmental.

“I am not,” Mark lies—incredibly unconvincingly.

You glance over with one brow raised. “You always stare when you’re thinking something gross.”

“It’s not gross!”

“So it is something.”

“…Maybe.”

You sit up, stretching your arms overhead with a dramatic yawn. “If you’re about to tell me you’ve been in love with me since we were, like, eight, just say it. Don’t do the weird broody stare like you’re in some CW drama.”

Mark blinks. “I mean… okay, not since eight. But maybe since… twelve?”

You blink at him.

Then before he can overthink like always—you let out a long, theatrical sigh and flop back dramatically again. “Ugh. Finally.”

Mark startles. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me.” You shoot him a lopsided grin. “Do you know how annoying it is being the only one aware of the mutual pining in this room? I’ve been carrying this ship on my BACK.”

Mark’s mouth opens. Closes. “Wait—you like me?”

“I’m literally lying in your bed, wearing your hoodie, and insulting you in front of your anime figurines. What do you think?”

“…Okay, that’s fair.”

You pause. Then smirk. “So… now what?”

Mark thinks for a second, then shrugs. “I mean, I could kiss you, but I’m 99% sure you’d just roast me for it.”

You hum. “Depends. Are you going to do that thing where you hesitate awkwardly and make a weird-ass face?”

Mark throws a pillow at you.

You cackle, catching it midair. “I’m kidding, dumbass. Come here.”

And when he does—grinning like a total idiot, heart thudding like he’s about to leap off a building for the first time—you tug him forward by the collar of his hoodie and kiss him first.

It’s warm, a little clumsy, way too long overdue.

And when you pull back, breathless and smug, grinning against his mouth—whispering, “Took you long enough, Grayson.”

Mark laughs, his cheeks tinted pink.

His fingers are still in your hair.

And for the first time in years, his heart feels lighter than air.

Because he’s always been watching you.

But now, finally—you’re looking back at him the same way.

Later, as you both lay tangled in blankets and shared warmth, Mark breaks the silence.

“…Do you think my dad knew?”

The question lingers in the air, and your mind drifts back to the old days—the easier ones—before your eyes open.

You blink up at the ceiling. “That you’re in love with me? Yeah. He always knew.”

Mark groans. “Debbie probably has a betting pool going.”

“She does,” you say without hesitation. “Amber’s in on it too. I think William’s the bookie.”

Mark gapes at you. “Are you serious?”

You grin, smug. “Dead serious. I’m pretty sure I just made someone twenty bucks.”

Mark buries his face in the pillow. “God.”

Patting his back, mock-comfortingly, you snort under your breath. “Don’t worry. You’re still the last one to find out.”

“…That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It wasn’t supposed to.”

And somewhere in the house, Debbie smiles to herself in the kitchen, sipping her wine like she didn’t just win her own bet.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[chropyl]

Sometimes, agents under Dr. Robotnik's employ die from "casualty"

[femmeftal]

﹒`₊ 01  ┆︎  EMPEROR.

.   ݁pairings : emperor!mark x reader

.   ݁warnings : 18+ soft sex, pet names, biting, fem!reader, breeding, ( p in v ) mating press

EMPEROR!MARK who is bigger than all those years you have been together, muscles outlined in the new outfit that he is acquired to wear His new look made many viltrums look up to him finally claiming the title emperor finally successfully conquering

EMPEROR!MARK who is so much different behind those closed doors of your shared adorned bedroom, colors reminding you both of your old apartment you both had before all of the events placed. barely seeing that place from being booked with so much places to save, helping others, etc .

EMPEROR!MARK that is seen as a big scary ruler but truly is just a man who wants to protect his woman, to make her proud, make her worries go away just like how any other man would feel about theirs. of course he would want to make his queen safe .

EMPEROR!MARK that is always seen with his beautiful smaller mate, you looked so smaller than him when you guys stood next to each other. you didn’t mind one bit and sort of finding it attractive, your red tinted cheeks appearing every time that his arm wrapped around your waist to shield you.

EMPEROR!MARK whose libido starts to rise, brushing it off as just an hormonal thing and not bothering to take care of it. he didn’t want to bother his precious queen for stupid issues like this, when there could be more worse problems to take care of than just sex

EMPEROR!MARK that offers to take his queen to a space trip, wanting her to see how beautiful this galaxy truly is. smiling every time you guys star gaze at the multicolored sky, tinted with purples, blues, and harsh pinks. if he could store the galaxy in a jar for you he’d have done it so many times just to make you oh so happy.

EMPEROR!MARK who gets you a pet, chuckling when the puppy like creature jumps into your arms and licks your face covering it with sticky saliva. finally coming up with a name for the red creature, gaéya.

EMPEROR!MARK that goes away for atleast a day, handling missions to expand the planet viltrum. sending his wife messages on how much he misses her every single second, minute and hour and has a big surprise for her when he returns back to her.

EMPEROR!MARK when coming back has a big bouquet of flowers for you, exotic looking flowers being different color patterns than each others the wild colors colliding with the others. the scenery of the flowers being beautiful soon placing them into a decorated glass vase for flowers.

EMPEROR!MARK who wants to start a family with you, no matter how much children you give to him he would be so grateful for what he receives, being hesitant to bring up the subject he waits until the time is extremely perfect when your hormones are acting up again. he knows when too.

EMPEROR!MARK who finally talks to you about it in bed, your Lacey night gown revealing your soft beautiful skin. caressing your glowing face those eyes even looking up at him while he speaks his mind, you looked so.. sexy to him he couldn’t help but to release his stress onto you everything unwinding when your lips collide kissing.

“ my beautiful women.. my queen “ speaking between the breath taking kisses your tongues fought each other for dominance the taste of you reminding him back of your guys first time with each other, flipping you over to be on top of him he finally broke the kiss. the trail of saliva following you both soon seeing you lick your plump lips, the lewd scene made his soft member start growing erect under you. your sultry giggle egged him on the feeling on your nails massaging his chest “ oh emperor, if you were this hungry for me why wouldn’t you just take me then and there? “ your words were like a porn scene, you could feel your husbands hands trailing underneath your night gown raising it up to access your rear.

“ mm i’ve waited so long~ “ slowly reaching to the curve of his neck you began to place your kisses against the muscle of his neck, the remaining saliva that had sat on your lips smeared against his skin. softly sucking on the desired area you choose, you knew it wouldn’t do anything but the thought had count and that was all that matters. “ tell me when you want to do to me emperor “ whispering in his ear and tempting him, his grip on your ass slightly tightened and so did his pants he wore for sleeping, the space between you and your soulmate faltered soon only being entangled into each others body “ i want to do so much to you, give you my kids so little me’s would be running around “ hooking his rough fingers around the hem of your panties, wiggling your hips to help him achieve his goal of removing your panties. finally you felt the air hit your bare glistening cunt, gasping from the cold sudden air mark began his attacking on your neck making it his payback for yours. mewling the sensation had distracted you from the rustling of pants being undone, biting your bottom lip you’d slowly rock your hips against marks

“ mm..please emperor i need you to fill me”

the slap of his hard member had surprised you, feeling the skin on skin contact with his fat cock against your sopping pussy had you shying away. eyes slightly squinting from the sensational feeling of mark’s member sliding between your wet pussy lips making soft audible wet sounds, you and mark haven’t had intercourse in forever. so the exercises and yoga you’ve been doing in your free time when your lovely ruler was away has tightened you up, pressing your hips down to at least inter tip inside you could feel marks hand pulling you right back up trying to pry you away from his cock

“ wait for me princess, you can wait for me yea? “ his question sent you overboard trying to wiggle your hips back down, no way in hell you were gonna get blue balled from him trying to be all patient with you.

getting flipped over again on your back, the soft cushions bouncing you up and down vaguely. watching him stroke his cock made your patients fly out the window your eyes following the movement of his hand. precum trailing down his tip and sliding down all the way down to his base where he was slightly trimmed. “ mark.. do not tease me like this pleaase.. need you so badly my king “ your eyes were filled with desperation and lust.

he knew what he was doing making you watch him jack off to atleast prep himself before entering you, after what felt like minutes you could see him reach for your legs pulling them back to your shoulders you could feel your muscles stretch making it be slightly uncomfortable, you and mark

had made eye contact except his eyes had dominance filled in them his cock being painfully hard, every single time his member had pulsed it slapped against his lower abdomen. “ tell me you’re ready and prepared for me. “ he said softly the glimse in your eyes said everything, trying to stutter out a response oh so quickly “ m ready! just put it in please.. i want to mother your kids! “

grabbing onto the base of his cock and leading the tip between your folds, it had took multiple times to at least enter his tip inside of you. mark knew he was above average from the moment you told him he was, squealing when you guys last had sex.

you were already a moaning panting mess just from the tip, so when mark had started pushing his cock into your gummy velvet walls you were lost and brain dead. mouth opened to be agape into a “ O “ like shape preparing to mewl even more mark finally pushed in the most he could, not trying to break you from entering all if his inches into your small pussy. it was so nasty how he just stared down at your messy face, you could already feel the swell of tears blinding your eyes. “ ohh.. fuck it feels shoo good “

seeing you pant like a dog in heat had flipped a switch in mark like something told him to start pounding into you, and so he did grabbing onto your delicate frame giving it a grip that would atleast help with keeping you in place. pulling his hips out to atleast get his cock all the way out until the tip, he slowly but steadily pushed himself back in, grabbing anything he could that was on your body. caressing your soft plump breasts and imagining how soft and round they would look when your milk would produce for your heir that you’ll give him.

his hips would roll in a circular motion to hit all the spots he could find, it was effortlessly the best sex you’d ever had with him. he would ruin you for every man but him breaking you down just to build you up .

“ mm.. markk ouu mhm keep going.. “ your small mains and pleads encouraged him to continue his slow yet hard pounds, his sack meeting your wet plump cheeks. being covered in your messy arousal, marks torso bent down making your mating press get deeper. all for him to latch your nipples into his hungry mouth, sucking them like he was trying to pry milk from them. giving both of your breasts attention he left your legs hanging up to you, using his hand to tease and twirl your nipples in his fingers sometimes even squeezing then while he focused on pounding your pussy. “ mark m gonna cumm.. please god “ this was true love making, feeling your the middle of your chest having a wet patch of saliva getting licked all the way to your neck also sucking on it leaving small red marks that’d would be there for weeks. “ cum for me.. we will both … hughh fuck we will both cum “ he said groans and whimpers catching up to his words, the thrusts of his hips speeding up to chase you and his orgasm. quickly pulling you into a kiss he would grab your arms holding your delicate wrists, practically feeling the way his cock was getting squeezed by your tightening walls had indicated you were close. taking the opportunity to make you cum, the continuation of his hips circling made the band in your stomach snap and so did his, moaning into each other’s mouth you both came. mark still thrusting from his stuttering hips “ ohh.. markk “ his heavy body slightly collapsing onto yours to give each other a break.

all work owned by @femmeftal , requests open

[florihaei]

• ౨ৎ ────────── 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 ₊ ˖ ་.

엔시티 드림 ꒰ 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮

• ( 1010 ) est.relationship 𓂃 bf dreamies! + kissing, pet names, suggestive / ( FLORIHAEI VALUT )

reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!, phtots are not mine!!, credits to the rightful owner!!( there’s a rich joke in”haechans” and I don’t like it that much so sorry in advance!! florihaei taglist ୨ৎ

MARK LEE !

mark insisted on carrying everything, even your tiny purse. “babe i got it” you say reaching for your bag. he pulls it away with a grin, easily slipping the strap over his shoulder. “nope, to heavy for my baby girl”

you narrow your eyes at him, placing your hands on your hips. “mark baby.. it’s literally lighter than your phone”

he tilted his head, pretending to think. “hmm, it doesn’t matter, what if your body gets sore?, what if you get tired baby?” his voice was laced with amusement, but the way he tucks you under his arm and pulls you close has you smiling

“you’re ridiculous..” you muttered, though you don’t pull away.

“ridiculously in love with you” he corrects you, as he presses a soft kiss to your temple. “now let me be a good boyfriend and spoil my baby yeah?”

you sigh dramatically but you end up smiling even wider when he gives your cheek a squeeze.

-

HUANG RENJUN !

you reach for a cup on the top shelf, standing on your tippy toes and stretching as far as you could. beofre you could even get close, renjun appears behind you , easily grabbing the cup and placing it in your hands.

“what would you do without me?” he teases, resting his chin on your shoulder

“survive” you reply, turning to glare at him playfully

he scoffed, looping his arm around your waist. “doubt it baby, you’re too small and fragile”

“im not fragile” you argued, but he just hums, clearly he was unconvinced.

“mhm sure , but i would rather not risk my pretty girl struggling” his voice is soft as he titled her chin up. his thumb grazing over your jaw before pressing a lingering kiss to your nose. “besides, it’s cute when you try”

you swat at his chest, but the warmth spreading through you was impossible to ignore.

-

LEE JENO !

jeno watches as you struggle to open a bottle of water, your hands twisted at the cap, but with no success. before you can even consider asking for help, he grabs it from your grasp effortlessly, cracking it open with one hand

“jeno.. baby..” you huffed, reaching for it. “i could’ve done it”

he lifted the bottle higher, out of your reach, a playful smirk on his lips. “mm, but why should i when i can just do it for you baby?”

you pout, the smirk softened as he takes your chin between his fingers. “pretty.. i like taking care of you” he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss to your lips before finally handing the bottle to you. “so let me, okay?”

you take a sip, trying to hide your smile, but he sees right through you.

-

LEE HAECHAN !

your standing in the kitchen, trying to wash the dishes, when haechan suddenly wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you off the ground

“you shouldn’t be doing this sunshine” he whines, carrying you away from the sink and placing you gently on the couch. “my pretty baby doesn’t need to be doing chores”

you cross your arms. “and who’s going to do them then?, you?”

“uh no?, that’s why rich people hire maids for” he says. “and since im not rich, ill do it because i love you”

you blink “wait did you just…?”

“shh” he cuts you off, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before rushing to the kitchen. “no more questions sunshine, just sit here and look pretty for me”

your heart feels like it’s doing somersaults, but you’ll just pretend you didn’t hear the way his voice cracked

-

NA JAEMIN !

you’re in bed half asleep, when you feel jaemin shift beside you. he carefully tucks the blanket around your shoulders, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“nana… where are you going?” you mumble, reaching for his hand before he can move.

jaemin chuckles softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “i was just gonna get some water baby”

you let out a sleepy whine, tugging at his hoodie. “no… stay”

he smiles, lying back down and wrapping his arms around you. “you’re too cute you know that?” his voice is a whisper against your ear warm and comforting.

you nuzzle into his chest as he kisses the top of your head. “okay, okay i’m staying” he murmurs. “not like i’d ever leave my pretty girl alone anyway”

-

ZHONG CHENLE !

you’re running around the house, trying to grab something from the other room, when chenle calls out from the couch. “slow down baby, you’re gonna trip”

“i won-” your foot catches on the rug, and before you know it you’re stumbling forward.

chenle is up in an instant, catching you before you can hit the ground. he steadies you as his hands firm on your waist. “what did i just say baby?” he sighs, shaking his head before pulling you into his arms.

you groan. “okay okay.. you were right”

he smirks, rubbing circles onto your back. “of course i was, my baby is too clumsy for her own good”

you pout up at him, and he kisses your forehead with a chuckle. “from now on just let me do everything baby okay?”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t complain when he picks you up bridal style just to take you back to the couch.

-

PARK JISUNG !

you’re sitting on the floor, playing a video game when jisung suddenly scoots closer and pulls you into his lap.

“jisung baby?” you say, looking at him in confusion.

he wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “just let me hold you for a bit”

your heart melts. “you’re so clingy” you tease, but you lean into him anyway.

“yeah, yeah” he mumbles, tightening his grip. “you’re my baby so deal with it”

you smile, placing your hands over his. “okay but you better not complain when i call you baby back”

he groans, but you catch the way his ears turn pink.

[beeandthescreen]

Mark Grayson x Fem presenting Reader Sketches just because I can

I’m also going to start holding Ao3 author’s hostage because there are like less than 30 Mark fics. What crime do I have to commit to get a 200k slow burn l, angst filled, yearning, 30 chapter bedtime story

[rafeyssugar]

sunkissed

doe reader x rafe cameron

rafe’s obsessed. like, actually obsessed.

and he doesn’t even try to hide it.

because y/n comes back from a beach day, all golden and glowing, and the second she steps foot in his room, he’s on her.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, tugging her closer, hands already gripping at her waist, fingers tracing over the contrast between sun-kissed skin and the untouched, paler slivers hidden beneath her bikini.

she lets out a soft laugh, eyes twinkling. “what?”

“you know what,” he murmurs, gaze dragging over her, drinking her in like she’s something holy. “you’re tryna kill me, angel.”

she rolls her eyes, feigning innocence. “it’s just a tan, rafe.”

but he’s not hearing none of that. not when she looks this good. not when her skin is warm under his touch, smelling like coconut sunscreen and salt, like summer itself.

his fingers ghost over the delicate line of her shoulder, dipping lower, following the curve of her tan lines like they’re a map leading straight to his undoing. “nah, see… this isn’t fair,” he hums, voice dropping. “you go out, get all pretty in the sun, and then expect me to act normal? not happening.”

she giggles, the sound soft, teasing. “you’re being dramatic.”

but then his lips are on her shoulder, pressing against the line where sun-darkened skin meets untouched flesh, and the teasing dies on her tongue.

“am i?” he muses, trailing his lips higher, up her neck, lingering just below her jaw.

her breath hitches, fingers tightening where they rest against his arms. “rafe—”

but he’s already tilting her chin up, already pressing their mouths together before she can finish, swallowing whatever protest she was about to make.

and she melts into it, into him, her hands sliding up to thread through his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

his hands roam, palms flat against her back, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt like he needs to feel more of her, needs to touch every inch of golden, warm skin.

by the time he pulls back, just barely, they’re both breathless.

his lips brush against hers as he murmurs, voice low, full of something possessive and heady, “yeah, i think i need to mark you up, too. even it out a little.”

[castiel]

hoodie ⤷ Jensen Ackles as Mark Meachum in Countdown S1E5

[sincerelyneo]

grow old with you | l.mk

"i want to carry you around when your arthritis is bad"

💿now playing: grow old with you by major league

❯ summary: Mark never really thought much about the future—until he met you. And now, you’re sort of, kind of, changing all of his plans….

❯ pairings: mark x gender neutral!reader

❯ genre: fluff, domestic!au

❯ words: 0.7k

❯ tags: tooth rotting fluff, domesticated fluff, swearing, a marriage proposal, literally just mark having an inner monologue about you being his future.

an: i rewatched the wedding singer today and remembered this song exists…also paige writing fluff??? someone check my temperature…

Mark never really gave much thought about the future—he was a live in the present, focus on the now kind of guy. In his mind, people spent way too much time chasing what could be and ended up missing out on what is.

And yet…

As he watches you from the sofa, your laughter bubbling out at some scene from the movie he let you choose, lips twitching in amusement, he can’t help it—he thinks about the future and what could be. What he could be—for you. 

He’d never thought that way about a partner before. But with you, everything was different. You felt like an extension of him, so effortlessly woven into every corner of his mind that there was this constant pull. The thoughts he never used to entertain, now taking up permanent space in his mind.

He pictures it so clearly sometimes, it almost scares him—soft mornings and quiet evenings. Your head resting on his shoulder, a cluttered house filled with the comfort of a million family photos. You’d still get to choose the movies at night, and he’d still pretend not to mind. Then, like always, you’d fall asleep against him, and he’d carry you to bed, careful and slow, because you’d never quite lose that habit he loves so much.

He can’t help it. Ever since he fell in love with you, he’s spent every living moment thinking about all the ways he could make you smile when you’re sad, all the meals he wants to cook for you, all the quiet, domestic things that come with forever.

And he wouldn’t mind—not one bit. Because he’d do anything to make you happy. Anything to make sure you feel just how deeply he loves you, how much he needs you. He’d give you his coat just to keep you warm, run to the pharmacy if you so much as sniffle. He wants to watch you laugh until your stomach hurts, get tipsy at dinner, and then carry you to bed when you’ve had one too many glasses of wine. He wants to kiss you when you’re grumpy, and kiss you when you’re happy. 

Hell, he’d even promise to do the dishes every night from now until forever, if that’s what it took to keep you.

And maybe it’s that thought—that dizzying, soul-deep want—that has him blurting out: “Marry me.”

Your eyes snap from the screen to him, wide and stunned. Your boyfriend doesn’t look nervous. His lips aren’t twitching, his ears aren’t red—he’s not joking.

“W–what?” you breathe, like the word knocked the air out of you.

“Marry me,” he repeats. 

And Mark knows it’s not the best proposal in the world—not even close to anything you actually deserve. No ring, no speech, no grand romantic gesture. Just him, blurting it out on a random evening with a movie playing in the background. Because that live-in-the-moment personality of his doesn’t come with a filter.

You stare at him, still stunned, your heart thudding and your cheeks flushed. You can’t help but blink once, twice, and then—“Are you serious? You... want me to marry you?”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t waver.

“Yes, Y/N, I want you to marry me.”

Your mouth is dry, and you’re barely breathing as you blink again. Your heart stumbles in your chest, and you ask the only thing your dazed brain can manage: “Why?”

“Why?” he echoes, a little breathless himself, like he can’t believe you even have to ask. He shifts on the couch, eyes locked on yours, and exhales slowly. “Because I can’t imagine a future where you’re not in it.”

You shake your head, a disbelieving laugh slipping out. “You don’t think about the future.”

That makes him scoff. Then a crooked smile tugs at his lips. 

“Okay, how about this?” he says, leaning in slightly. “Every time I close my eyes, you’re there. When I try to stop thinking, I can’t—because it’s you. It’s always you, Y/N. Your laugh. Your eyes. Your fucking face is etched into my mind so deep, I swear I see you even when I blink.”

“Mark—”

“I’ve never been able to picture the future because I hadn’t met you yet,” he continues. “But now that I have? I want all of it. Everything. Coming home to you. Grocery runs. Bills. Sunday laundry. The quiet. The kisses. The fights. I want the whole damn lot, as long as it’s you I’m doing it with.”

He pauses, breath catching in his throat.

“So yeah... I’m serious. I want to marry you.”

And he means it. Because somewhere along the way, without even realising it, Mark stopped just loving the now and started wanting the always.

He wants to grow old with you.

[skitskatdacat63]

GUYS GUYS OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

[alive-gh0st]

˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

…..ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨..ـ...

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

⛨ summary: you’re not sure what’s worse—his fake injuries or the way he keeps looking at you like he means it. like every visit is a reason to linger. like he wants you to see past the bruises and the bad lies and into something soft he’s trying to hide. he keeps showing up. you keep letting him. and eventually… one of you might break.

⛨ contains: sfw. slow burn tension at an all-time high. hospital flirting™. jealous glances. workplace drama. late-night phone calls. hand-hovering intimacy. emotional constipation (again). patch-up scene of doom. reader being flustered over a waist. mark being a tease. romantic yearning disguised as sarcasm. supply closet violations (almost). contact name crimes.

⛨ warnings: mild language. blood & injury treatment. bruises. longing. accidental touching. slow descent into horniness. future boyfriend antics. emotional walls. one almost-kiss. reader going feral over abs. mark’s v-line. reader’s vices.

⛨ wc: 4808

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: i fear reader is down bad in ways that violate at least three hospital policies and one moral code. but like… have you seen mark’s waist? i wouldn’t have survived either. chapter four will be worse—stay safe out there.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You’ve seen a lot of stupid injuries.

People impaling themselves with forks. A guy who tried to ’karate kick’ a vending machine. That one time someone walked into the ER because he thought his left eyebrow felt ’possessed.’

But this?

This is getting ridiculous.

Because standing in front of you—again, for the third time in two weeks—is him.

Mark Grayson.

Wrist wrapped in a pitiful excuse for an ice pack, wearing a hoodie that probably used to be gray but now lives in that existential space between ‘charcoal’ and ‘regret.’

And offering you the same crooked, annoyingly charming grin you’re starting to see in your sleep.

He lifts the ice pack with a wince. “I think I sprained it.”

You blink.

Then you blink again—slower this time.

You don’t even respond at first—you just grab the chart, grab the gloves, and hope no one notices the way your jaw clenches so tight it could crack.

“Room four,” you say.

He follows you.

Of course he follows you.

“Doesn’t really hurt that much,” he says casually once you’re in the room, like that’ll make it better.

“I mean, I can still move it a little. Mostly came in to make sure it’s not, y’know, falling off or something.”

You give him a look that should legally count as malpractice.

He shrugs, sheepish. “Okay. Bad joke.”

You ignore him. You’re professional. Clinical. Efficient. The exact opposite of how your heart is acting right now—beating like it just clocked into overtime.

The glove snaps around your wrist with more force than necessary.

“Left wrist?” you ask flatly.

He nods, holding it out like a peace offering. You take it—gently, despite everything—and start checking for swelling, bone displacement, range of motion.

You do not notice how warm his skin is under your fingers.

You do not notice how his eyes are watching you the whole time, like he’s waiting for you to laugh at his pain or say something sarcastic.

You do not notice how close he is.

How human he looks. How normal he acts, even though every part of your gut screams that he’s something else entirely.

Still. You say nothing.

Instead—

“How’d it happen?”

Mark pauses.

Too long.

“Uh… tripped. Over a… rug. At a friend’s house.”

A beat.

You raise an eyebrow. “A rug.”

“Yeah. Big one.”

Your stare is surgical. “Right.”

He clears his throat. “You probably had to be there.”

You don’t laugh. Not even a smile.

But your lips twitch.

You hate him.

The chart says ’minor sprain.’

Your notes say ’watch for re-injury.’

Your brain says, he’s lying through his teeth.

You hand him the discharge slip and turn to leave, already planning your lunch break that will now include exactly two Tylenol and one existential crisis.

But then—

“Thanks, by the way.”

You pause. Glance over your shoulder.

Mark’s still sitting on the exam bed, eyes soft. Voice softer. “For not yelling at me this time.”

You look at him. Really look at him.

His smile is lopsided. Wrist still slightly swollen. Hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows like he’s trying to look more pathetic.

You exhale. “Next time, make it believable.”

He grins. “That a promise?”

You’re already walking away.

You don’t see it—but Mark watches you leave like he wants you to look back. Like he’s hoping one of these visits will make you stay just a second longer.

Maybe next time.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

It happens again.

And again.

And again.

At this point, your coworkers don’t even ask for his name. He walks in, waves a little, and someone—usually Nurse Carla, with a look that says you owe me lunch—just hands him a clipboard and sends him your way.

“Room nine,” she tells you one night, like it’s the weather forecast. “Your favorite repeat offender’s back.”

You don’t look up. “What is it this time? Terminal idiot disease?”

“He says shoulder strain. Won’t shut up about a ‘kitchen incident.’”

You sigh. Loudly. Aggressively.

And go.

“Let me guess,” you say before the door even finishes clicking shut behind you. “Rug attack again?”

Mark’s seated on the exam bed, hoodie sleeves rolled up, one hand gingerly rubbing at his shoulder. He perks up when he sees you.

“Oh, hey. Nah, kitchen accident this time.”

You squint at him. “Did the fridge try to fight back?”

“I slipped on a rogue piece of ice. Could’ve died.”

You stare.

He grins.

You want to throw a scalpel.

You don’t. Mostly because there’s paperwork involved. And prison.

Instead, you grab a pair of gloves and walk over like you’re not already halfway spiraling.

The diagnosis is, once again, technically valid. Nothing torn. Just overuse. Strain.

But the frequency is… suspicious.

Mark Grayson is either the most accident-prone civilian on the planet or—

No. You’re not going there.

You’re not paid enough to unravel the chaos behind that stupidly warm smile and suspiciously nice arms. You’re here to treat the shoulder and move on.

That’s it.

So you press a little harder on the muscle and maybe enjoy it a little when he winces.

“Sorry,” you say, not sounding sorry at all.

He hisses. “Revenge?”

You tilt your head. “For what?”

“For existing.”

You pause. “That’s not a denial.”

He smiles again. “If this is your version of flirting, it’s medically inadvisable.”

You blink.

And then you’re laughing—short, sharp, a little horrified.

He lights up like it’s the first time he’s ever made you laugh, and it’s Christmas morning.

That’s when it hits you.

He’s not coming back because he’s hurt.

He’s coming back because of you.

And that’s a problem.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Everyone knows.

It’s not subtle. It’s not secret. It’s not even slightly professional.

Mark Grayson has been in this hospital more times than the janitorial staff this month, and everyone has noticed.

Receptionists wave at him like he’s a returning sitcom character.

Orderlies call him “Crash Boy” behind his back (and sometimes to his face).

The lab techs have started taking bets on what his next injury will be.

You don’t participate.

You’re above it. You’re focused. Clinical. Efficient.

Totally not spiraling.

Totally not hearing the group of nurses whispering near the vending machines with wide eyes and hushed giggles like they’re in a goddamn K-drama.

“She’s totally into him.”

“Did you see the way he smiled at her?”

“If that was my patient, I’d fake a fall too.”

You walk faster.

You’re fine.

You’re great.

You’re professionally ignoring it like any emotionally stable adult would.

Even Carla’s in on it.

And she doesn’t say a thing.

Just watches. With those all-knowing eyes. That judgmental smirk. The silence of someone who is absolutely clocking your entire life.

You’d honestly prefer if she just made fun of you. That would be less terrifying.

But the worst moment?

The moment that breaks you?

It happens at the nurse’s station on a Tuesday.

You’re just finishing up paperwork when he strolls in. Casual. Bright-eyed. Smiling like he belongs here.

He chats with a few nurses. One of them—you don’t know her name, she’s new, she’s probably still in school—laughs too hard at something he says.

Her hand lingers on his forearm. She tosses her hair. Her scrubs are—unfairly flattering.

You’re not looking.

You’re definitely not glaring.

Okay, maybe you are.

But then—she slips him a piece of paper. Probably with her number. In front of you.

You nearly rupture a blood vessel.

Mark looks confused at first. Then a little smug. And then—he looks over.

Sees your expression.

The twitch in your jaw. The vein in your forehead. The pure murder behind your eyes.

And he chuckles.

Chuckles.

Like some teenage fanboy who just realized you’re jealous.

You want to disappear. Or commit a minor crime. Or both.

You choose to dramatically slam a clipboard and walk away before you punch something.

You do not look back.

(You do.)

And he’s still watching you. Grinning like he just won a game you didn’t know you were playing.

You hate him.

So much.

(You don’t.)

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Your day off is sacred.

It’s the only time you can collapse onto your couch, wear pajamas that should be considered a war crime, and pretend your job doesn’t exist.

So when your phone buzzes mid-coffee sip, you glance at the screen with the enthusiasm of a corpse.

✆ Unknown Number:

hey. quick q—how long is soreness supposed to last after a shoulder strain?

You blink.

Stare.

Frown.

Then sigh like you’ve just aged thirty years.

Because of course it’s him.

A few seconds later, another text follows.

it’s mark btw. grayson.

didn’t wanna bother you but i also don’t wanna die of arm failure sooo

You roll your eyes. Hard. So hard, your soul might’ve left your body for a second.

You type back.

That depends.

Did you slip on another ice cube or fight a blender this time?

There’s a pause. Then—

wow.

harsh.

i’ll have you know the blender and i are in a good place now.

You shake your head, but your fingers move before you can stop them.

ice it 20 mins on, 20 off. stretch it lightly.

if it starts throbbing, go in for imaging.

A pause.

so you do care

You close your eyes.

unfortunately.

That’s how it starts.

Little check-ins. Random questions. Half-medical, half-ridiculous.

✆ Unknown Number:

is it normal to be this tired after walking up stairs?

or am i dying

✆ Unknown Number:

asking for a friend—what happens if you take tylenol on an empty stomach but also 3 gummy worms

✆ Unknown Number:

totally unrelated but like

hypothetically

if someone wanted your coffee order

what would that be

You don’t save his number.

You don’t need to.

You know it now—by the rhythm of his texts, the way he never uses caps, how he spells “definitely” wrong every single time.

He’s just there.

Sitting quietly in your phone like a secret. A quiet, buzzing, annoying little constant.

And maybe…

Maybe you start looking forward to it.

Even when you pretend you don’t.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

It starts with a simple text.

✆ Unknown Number:

you up?

No context. No greeting. No injury.

Just that.

You stare at it for a long minute, thumb hovering, debating whether to throw your phone across the room or call 911.

Eventually, you settle for the less dramatic option.

You call him.

The line clicks. He answers on the first ring.

“Hey.”

His voice is soft. Like he didn’t expect you to actually call. Like he’d already braced for rejection and is now wildly unprepared.

You roll your eyes. “If this is about a medical emergency, I swear to God—”

“It’s not.” A pause.

“I just… couldn’t sleep.”

Your mouth opens, then closes again.

You’re in your kitchen. Hoodie. Slippers. Lights off. Phone pressed to your ear like a lifeline.

“What do you want, Grayson?”

He breathes a laugh. “Dunno. Talk? You don’t have to, obviously. I just—thought of you.”

Silence.

Then—“…You always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Say things like that. Like you’re not trying to ruin someone’s night on purpose.”

He chuckles. “Only yours.”

You’re going to kill him. Slowly. Lovingly. Maybe with a pillow.

Still—you don’t hang up.

You lean against the counter instead, phone wedged between your cheek and shoulder, arms crossed over your chest.

“What did you do today?” you ask, voice quieter than you want it to be.

He hums.

“Got yelled at by a coffee machine. Ate cereal with a fork. Thought about texting you like eight times before actually doing it.”

You snort.

“Your turn,” he says.

You shrug, even though he can’t see it.

“Saved some idiot’s leg. Again. Almost killed Carla with a clipboard. Avoided committing a felony.”

“Proud of you.”

A breath.

Then another.

You don’t talk for a while after that.

Just… exist. Two quiet people sharing the same silence. The same phone line. The same heartbeat pacing slow and low under your skin.

He breaks it first.

“You always sound tired,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

You close your eyes.

“You always sound like you’re hiding something,” you say back.

That shuts him up.

Not in a bad way. Just… in a way that says he wasn’t expecting that. That maybe you’re both too honest right now.

Or maybe not enough.

The next thing you know, your head’s on the pillow.

The phone’s still pressed to your ear.

His breathing is slow. Steady.

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until you wake up the next morning and see the call log.

Call ended: 4 hours, 57 minutes.

You stare at it.

Then lock your phone.

You don’t say anything.

But the next night?

He texts you again.

✆ Unknown Number:

up?

And somehow, it’s already part of the routine.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You don’t see his name on the intake board.

Which would be great.

Except—he’s here anyway.

Mark Grayson. Not limping. Not bleeding. Not holding an ice pack or pretending to have an invisible concussion.

Just… standing.

In the waiting area.

Smiling at the front desk like he owns the place.

You spot him during a chart pickup and physically pause. Like your body’s buffering. Like your brain is trying to update to the latest version of What the Hell Is He Doing Here 2.0.

He catches your stare instantly and waves. A little too enthusiastically. Like this is a surprise party and not a professional workplace.

You approach slowly. Warily. Already drafting an internal HR complaint in your head.

“You’re not even bleeding this time,” you say by way of greeting.

Mark shrugs, like you’ve just asked him what he had for lunch.

“I was in the area. Thought I’d stop by. Y’know—check on my favorite doctor.”

You stare at him.

“This is a hospital,” you say flatly. “Not a Starbucks.”

He gasps. “Wow. You wound me.”

“I’ll do more than that if you don’t get out of my hallway.”

He grins.

You really hate him.

(You don’t.)

All you can try to do is simply ignore him.

Really, you try to do so.

But he’s too tall. Too warm. Too smug. He somehow makes the break room coffee smell good, which should be physically impossible.

He chats with a nurse his age. Then another.

You watch it unfold over the rim of your clipboard with all the restraint of a saint and the rage of a woman one bad laugh away from murder.

One nurse touches his arm.

Another giggles—like really giggles.

You swear one of them actually twirls her hair.

And that’s it.

You corner him in the supply closet six minutes later.

Mark blinks as you slam the door shut behind you.

“Okay,” he says slowly, “this is new.”

You don’t even let him finish.

“You can’t just hang around here like this is a date,” you hiss.

“A… date?”

You wave a hand at the closed door.

“Talking to people. Smiling. Giggling—God, someone giggled. Do you know how hard it is to get people to even smile around here?”

Mark blinks again.

Then says, “Are you… jealous?”

You short-circuit.

“No,” you say too quickly. “Obviously not. That would be insane.”

“Right. Totally insane.” He nods, mock-serious. “Because it’s not like you dragged me into a closet or anything.”

You open your mouth. Then close it. Then try again.

“I’m trying to keep this professional.”

Mark takes a step forward.

You immediately take one back.

He keeps going.

Another step. Then another. Until your back hits the shelf and he’s right there. Not touching. Not crowding. But close.

Too close.

His arms cage around you—not touching, just braced on either side of your head. Heat radiates off him like a furnace.

His voice drops to something low. Steady.

“I didn’t come here for them.”

You don’t breathe.

His eyes scan your face, softer than you’ve ever seen them. “I’m only here for you.”

You want to say something.

Something scathing. Something sarcastic.

But the words fumble on your tongue and disappear altogether when his gaze drops to your mouth—just for a second.

Just long enough to make your pulse stutter.

You hate him.

So, so much.

(You don’t.)

This is completely unprofessional. Entirely against hospital policy.

And for some godawful reason?

You don’t want him to leave.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Mark’s been a lot of things lately.

Tired. Sore. Bad at lying. Worse at staying away.

But mostly? He’s confused.

Because this—you—were never supposed to matter this much.

It started as curiosity. That’s what he tells himself.

Just some random hospital visit. He hadn’t been hurt, not really. Just enough to limp in as a civilian and sit through the fluorescent light misery like everyone else.

You’d been there.

Sharp. Efficient. Not a hint of softness in your tone. Told him to sit down and shut up like you hadn’t even noticed his face. Like you didn’t care.

He’d been hooked instantly.

You didn’t even blink.

And Mark couldn’t stop thinking about it.

So… yeah.

He came back.

The first fake injury had been dumb. He knows that now.

Sprained wrist, lame excuse. He’d tried to play it cool. He’d tried to be casual.

You didn’t buy it for a second.

But you also didn’t call him out. Not really.

You examined him like a puzzle piece you weren’t quite sure how to hold. Cold hands. Precise words. Steady fingers on his skin.

He’s never had to try this hard just to be noticed.

And it’s not even about the attention.

It’s about you.

He loves the way you frown at your clipboard. The way your voice drops when you’re tired. The way you say his name like you’re chewing on it, like you’re deciding whether it’s worth swallowing.

You think he doesn’t notice, but he does.

Every time your stare lingers.

Every time your fingers hover a little longer than they need to.

Every time your lips twitch when you’re pretending not to laugh.

It drives him crazy.

But there’s a problem.

You don’t know who he is.

You know Mark Grayson. College kid. Chronic klutz. Occasional insomniac.

You don’t know Invincible.

Not really.

Sure, you saw him twice—that version of him. But you hadn’t seen his face. You hadn’t put the pieces together. And he hadn’t given you a reason to.

Because if he tells you—

If he lets you in—

You might leave.

You might stop talking to him. You might look at him like everyone else does—too bright. Too strong. Too alien.

You might stop smiling at him like he’s just a guy.

And he loves that.

God, he loves that.

He loves being just a guy with you.

Not a hero. Not a name. Just a stupid, reckless twenty-something who texts you too much and doesn’t know how to say what he’s feeling without turning it into a joke.

He wants more.

He really does.

But he wants this even more—the late night calls. The sarcastic banter. The look on your face when you think he’s full of shit but don’t hate him for it.

So he waits.

And waits.

And waits some more.

Because maybe, one day, he’ll tell you everything.

But for now?

He just wants to hear you say his name again.

Just Mark.

Just yours.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You don’t expect to hear your doorbell.

Not this late. Not on a night like this.

So when it rings—once, then again, a little longer—you groan from the couch, hoodie half-on, takeout half-eaten, dignity fully gone.

You don’t rush. Just shuffle toward the door like a zombie. Ready to murder whoever it is with a spoon.

But then you open it.

And—

Oh.

It’s him.

Mark.

He’s leaning against the frame, hood down, hair a mess. His face is pale. His lips are tight.

And there’s blood—real blood—trickling sluggishly down the side of his abdomen, soaking into his shirt.

“Hey,” he rasps, voice thin.

“Think I… might actually need medical attention this time.”

You stare at him.

Then blink.

Then stare harder.

“…What, no blender story?” you say automatically. Your tone is flat. A reflex. Something to hide the sudden weight in your throat.

He gives you a half-smile—weak, lopsided. “Didn’t wanna disrespect the blender.”

And then he sways.

You catch his arm before he can stumble. It’s instinct. It’s muscle memory. It’s terrifying.

“Jesus,” you mutter, hauling him inside. “You’re such a goddamn idiot.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, the faintest laugh. “But I’m your idiot, right?”

You don’t answer.

You just lock the door behind you. Lead him to the couch. Grab the med kit without thinking. Your hands are already in motion before your brain can catch up.

Because it’s not a joke this time. Not some bruised ego or imaginary fracture. It’s real.

He’s hurt.

And for some reason, that makes your chest ache more than it should.

You kneel in front of him, snapping on gloves with a sharp snap that sounds a lot more confident than you feel.

“Lift your shirt.”

Mark blinks. “Buy me dinner first.”

You glare.

He winces, lifts it anyway—slowly. Hesitantly.

And holy fuck.

It’s worse than you thought.

A deep gash across his side, jagged and angry and still bleeding sluggishly. Bruises blooming along his ribs in shades you don’t want to name. A few smaller cuts littered across his chest. There’s dried blood on his collarbone.

He exhales when your fingers ghost near the edge of the wound.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says quietly. “Didn’t want to go in. Not like this.”

You say nothing.

Because now? Now it’s not funny.

Not even a little.

You dip gauze in antiseptic, press it to the worst cut. He hisses.

“Sorry,” you murmur, but your voice sounds strange—tight.

Small.

Mark watches you. Watches your hands. The furrow in your brow. The tension in your jaw.

He doesn’t say a word.

You clean around the injury carefully. Work in silence. You try not to notice how warm his skin is.

How his breath stutters every time your hand brushes too close to his ribs.

You fail.

Utterly.

“You’re not the first moron to bleed in my hands,” you say after a long pause.

He huffs something like a laugh. “But your favorite, right?”

Your eyes flick up to meet his.

Mistake.

He’s looking at you—really looking at you.

His eyes burn into you like he’s memorizing you. Like he already has.

Something in your chest tugs.

You go back to patching him up like it’ll distract you. Like your hands aren’t shaking a little. Like your heart isn’t beating faster with every inch of exposed skin.

He closes his eyes briefly when your fingers graze a bruise. You feel his stomach twitch beneath your palm.

“Sorry,” you whisper again. Your voice is breathy this time. Too soft.

“You keep saying that,” he murmurs.

“You keep showing up like this.”

His lips tilt—not quite a smile. “Can’t help it. You make a damn good doctor.”

“Flattery won’t stop me from punching you.”

He opens one eye. “You’d patch me up after, though?”

You don’t answer.

You’re too busy staring at the cut. At the curve of his waist. At the way he breathes when you touch him.

You don’t mean to react. But God, he looks too good.

His waist—narrow and stupidly defined—tapers in like he was sculpted on purpose. Abs tight. Skin flushed. There’s blood, yes, and bruises, but all your traitorous brain can focus on is how good he looks like this.

Cut-up and pretty.

Which is horrifying.

You are a medical professional.

You are a grown woman.

You should not be getting distracted by the slope of some twenty-year-old’s V-line while he’s actively bleeding out in your living room.

But when his breath stutters under your touch, when his abdomen flinches ever-so-slightly with a soft, involuntary sound—

Yeah.

You absolute freak.

You try to focus. Really.

But your fingers keep brushing the edge of his hipbone, your eyes keep catching the way his chest rises and falls—and every time he winces, there’s a noise. Barely audible. Low and quiet and fuck, why is that attractive?

You press gauze harder than necessary.

He exhales sharply, jaw clenching. “You trying to kill me?”

“Stop making noises like that.”

“Like what?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Because now you’re flustered. Because now you’re too aware of the silence. The tension. The way your breath hitches in tandem with his. The fact that your hands won’t move away.

You’re not patching up just any idiot.

You’re patching him up.

And his voice? His waist? The heat rolling off his skin?

It’s all getting to you in ways it shouldn’t.

Not here.

Not like this

It’s too much.

Too quiet.

Too close.

Your hands still.

Your breath catches.

And suddenly, he’s looking at you again—like he’s about to say something. Like he’s about to do something.

The air goes heavy. Thick. Tense enough to cut with the scalpel you dropped ten minutes ago.

His eyes flicker down—to your mouth.

You feel it like a jolt. A pulse.

Your heart stutters.

You lean in—

He does too—

But just before your lips meet—

He pulls back.

So do you.

Silence.

You don’t know what to say.

Neither does he.

Mark exhales shakily. Pushes his shirt down. Winces when it brushes his side.

“I should go,” he says.

You nod. Even though part of you wants to scream don’t.

He stands. Slowly. Carefully. Walks to the door. But before he opens it, he turns back.

Eyes soft. Voice even softer.

“You always make it hard to leave.”

Then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him.

And you’re alone again.

You stare at the empty space where he stood. Unlock your phone. Open your messages. Type something out.

You okay? Text me when you’re—

Backspace.

Don’t be stupid next time—

Backspace.

I meant it. Don’t apologize—

Backspace.

You lock the screen.

Let it fall to the couch beside you.

And sit in the dark with your heart pounding, your hands still smelling like antiseptic and something else you can’t quite name.

Something you’re afraid to acknowledge.

And you know exactly what it is.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚❤️‍🔥˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌He sees it by accident.

Sort of.

Mark’s at your place. Fifth time this week. You said you only allow it because he brings ACTUAL food. Does he care? No.

He would bring you anything and everything if you only asked.

Right now you’re tossing your phone between hands while half-asleep on the couch, scrolling aimlessly as you mumble about discharge paperwork and Nurse Carla’s espresso addiction.

He leans over to look at something—your screen lights up, message preview glowing.

“Unknown: you up?”

And it’s his message.

He blinks. Frowns. Stares at it like it’s personally betrayed him.

“Wait—hold on,” he says, sitting up. “You still have me saved as… Unknown?”

You glance at him, unfazed. “What else would I save you as?”

“I don’t know. Mark. Grayson. Hot guy who keeps bleeding in your ER. Something with a little dignity.”

You shrug. “Didn’t feel like changing it.”

He gapes. “Wow. Cold.”

You just smirk, stretch like a cat, and toss your phone aside as you get up to grab water.

And that?

That’s your mistake.

Because the second you’re out of the room—he pounces.

Grabs the phone. Unlocks it with terrifying ease. Scrolls straight to his contact entry like it’s a goddamn rescue mission.

’Unknown.’

Unacceptable.

He deletes it on instinct. Then pauses, thinking. Fingers hovering.

What would annoy you the most?

What would make you roll your eyes?

What would make your heart do that little stutter thing he’s started to notice, way too often?

He grins.

And types—

’Future Boyfriend’

He stares at it for a second.

Then adds a heart.

Then deletes the heart.

Too soft.

Then adds it back anyway.

Perfect.

He sets the phone down just as you return with a glass of water, eyeing him suspiciously.

“What did you do.”

Mark smiles. Innocent. Almost saintlike.

“Nothing.”

You squint. Then pick up your phone. Check your messages.

Pause.

Your brow furrows. And when you tap into the contact?

Your whole face goes still.

“…Are you kidding me?” you mutter.

He shrugs. “Thought it was more accurate.”

You glare.

He beams.

You shake your head. But then—you sigh. And your fingers curl around the phone like you’re not actually planning to change it back.

Your lips twitch.

Just barely.

But he sees it.

And when you don’t delete it—when you toss your phone back to the table like it’s nothing, like he’s nothing, even though your ears are a little warm—

Mark just leans back, smug as hell.

Victory tastes a lot like your name on his tongue. Like your laugh. Like the future he’s trying so hard not to beg for.

And he’s starving for more.

For you.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ongoing TAGLIST: @pickledsoda @f3r4lfr0gg3r @bakugouswh0r3 @katkirishima @delusionalalien @bellelamoon @monaekelis @feminii @sketchlove @lilacoaks @cathuggnbear @forgotten-moon94 @lalana1703 @smikitty @barbare2 @sleepyzzz3 @sunspl0tionjuice @maki-rollsss @angelbelles @scarletdfox

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

taglist sign up: 𓉘here𓉝

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[remxedmoon]

something about touch…

(greyscale below!)

[loveisactivated]

[haobae]

˳ ׁ ♥︎̼ ❀ ۟ 天使ㅤྀ͟ ♥︎̼

　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❀꫶᳜᳝ᰭ✿⃨ 　　.　　　ﾟ✦　　⠀. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀.　　✚ ⠀.⠀⠀⠀⠀.    　  ֗  ۪    ❤︎᭮⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓈒 ㅤׂㅤ ࣪ 𓈒

❀꫶᳜᳝ᰭ✿⃨ Prince de Lumière

⠀⠀⠀ ✦　　.　　. 　 　.　　. ✦　　　

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀💧 ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ͓ ့ ◌๋

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

[softvalentines]

Saw your into invincible let's go!!! Can I request some with with mark grayson? Cam be anything just want to see your amazing writing for it

pairing: mark grayson x reader cw: smut, afab reader, somno, breeding, descriptive details of bodily fluid (cum)

thinking about just how thick mark’s cum is — syrupy, heavy, clinging to your insides in a way that makes your stomach flutter and your thighs stick together hours later.

it’s not something you thought about the first time you fucked him, back when everything was still awkward and hurried and too sweet. but god, it became impossible to ignore after that. especially when you learned just how easy it was to get him there. how sensitive he got, how his pretty brown eyes would glass over and his lips would part like he forgot how to form words, body made for it, bred for it.

viltrumite biology was a cruel, indulgent thing. built for dominance, for breeding, for passing down genes sharp and unrelenting. it meant mark got needy in ways you couldn’t quite keep up with, woke up in the middle of the night to the warm press of him between your thighs, tip leaking, cock rutting desperately against your cunt like he’d been chasing it in his sleep. and it wasn’t gentle, not when the heat of his body felt like it could melt right through you, not when he whined out your name, voice breaking on a moan the moment your hips tilted to meet his.

"fuck— fuck, i didn’t mean to—!" he’d pant voice cracking, teeth grazing your shoulder as his hips stuttered, thick ropes of cum spilling inside you so fast it made you gasp, made you feel full in an instant. "shit, 'm sorry, baby, you were just so warm, i— god, you smell so good, i couldn’t—"

and he’d keep talking, babbling out messy, breathless apologies, swearing he was gonna stop, that he’d pull out — but his hips never actually left yours. still grinding up into you in shallow, desperate thrusts, slick, filthy sounds filling the room with every movement. and you’d arch for him, already drunk on the feeling, on the way his cum dripped down your thighs and the stretch of him pressed so deep it made your vision blur.

it was always like that. a feverish need, an ache in his bones he could never quite shake. viltrumite instincts gnawing at him until he gave in. until you were pinned beneath him, your knees nearly up by your ears in a sloppy, possessive mating press, mark’s broad hands trembling where they held your hips down, his forehead pressed to yours, sweat-damp curls sticking to his brow.

"love you so much," he’d mumble, voice cracked and wrecked, "gonna fill you up, promise i’ll make it good, you’re so fuckin’ perfect for me—"

and you could only whimper, shivering under him as another thick wave of heat spilled into you, his body tense and trembling as he buried himself as deep as he could go, chasing the feeling like it was the only thing keeping him alive. and maybe it was.

because it wasn’t just about sex. not for mark. it was about claiming. about instinct, about some primal viltrumite urge that bloomed ugly and beautiful in his chest whenever he touched you. it was about need. and he had so much of it.

[diorcities]

  ⠀ ── ୨♡୧⠀ dream when they want to kiss you !

guys... library

jeno. “cute.” just kissing him and pretending to go back to your thing isn't gonna work with him. he already has his arm around your waist and his fingers exerting gentle pressure when he makes you abruptly retrace your steps to collide his mouth with yours. good luck next time.

jaemin. “kiss me again.” dazed, surprised, lethargic. has he imagined it? it happened so fast that he couldn't even take it in, just his cheeks getting hot and his hands going after you when you pull away because he definitely wants it to last longer, and this time, he wants to appreciate the shape of your lips with his.

renjun. aside from the fact that his gaze is fixed on your mouth as you speak, you're pretty sure he's not hearing a single word of what you're saying. he doesn't even hide it. yet you won't stop talking, huh?, maybe he can steal a kiss from you while you scold him that he's not paying attention to you, when the reality is, he can't see past you.

haechan. “c'mere.” can you blame him? he's just trying not to lose his composure, now it seems that he hasn't even flinched at all. he lets out a silly giggle. well, you look annoyed, and he can't help but chuckle; you look adorable. a little resistance is no opponent for him; he has that cool face you hate when he kisses you back, and now you know that's how you properly kiss someone.

jisung. “stop playing with me.” he's a fool. and a loser. why does he feel so defenseless with you? the way you grin after makes you look a little evil, are you playing with him? he doesn't know. oh, the big words he wants to pronounce. he just can't. you're not being sincere, are you? if he kisses you again if his hands are wrapped around yours and he puts them on his neck as before, if he brings his lips close to you, will he be able to know? will you know?

chenle. that little act that you play looking like you don't know what he means attracts him even more. you want to kiss him. badly. or maybe for the whole time, he's the one who wants to. he's dying for it. would he tell you? no. would he prove it to you? he honestly hoped that by having you so close you could hear what his heart is trying to say. but since it doesn't seem to be working, then his mouth says so. approaching yours. “kiss me. kiss me a lot.”

mark. “yes?” why do you look at him as if you're expecting something? probably a pretty bad joke he can't even think right now since he's nervous. you lean towards him and kiss his cheek. it would have been enough, don't you think? for the longest time, he's dreamed of this moment. but the more he thinks about it, the more it becomes clear. that it wasn't just his dream all this time, that him leaning over and pressing his mouth against your lips had been yours, always.

[fatboysoftie]

Fat pics and videos i took this past week🫶✨🫠

Enjoy:)