silkliingerie

[silkliingerie]

“A” 4 EFFORT ! | MARK GRAYSON X FEM READER

warnings: 18+. nsfw. nerd ! mark grayson, bimbo! bully! reader. mark is a dork n i love him idc. boob job, blow job. marks a virgin. usage of puppy. spit. indecency in a storage room. whimpering. he cries. college au. no powers. pet names, corny nick names but it’s used in a degrading way. degradation. praise. he’s obvi a lil ooc.

summary: mark, smart, awkward, and far too soft-hearted, made the mistake of doing one too many assignments for you. a bully in heels, unhinged and relentless, you’ve taken a liking to him in the worst way possible. wc: 4.0k-ish

an: minors n ageless blogs dni. i scraped n rewrote this idea like 3 times b4 finally finishing it. whoops.

Mark is hiding—yes, literally hiding—curled up like some sad, oversized hermit crab shoved into the mildew-scented dark of the campus storage closet. Knees pulled to his chest, hoodie bunched over his head, the flickering overhead light doing nothing but throwing sad little shadows across his hunched spine. He’s tucked into himself like if he folds small enough, maybe you won’t find him. Maybe you’ll just assume he’s dead and move on.

He did your assignment again. Like always. Like clockwork. Like the stupid little pet you keep on a leash of guilt and half-smiles and flirty threats. But this time? He tanked it. On purpose. Slipped in the wrong citations, fudged the formatting, “forgot” a conclusion. Got you a solid C-minus. Barely scraped the bottom of passable. And now he’s sitting here marinating in dread, picturing your reaction—the dramatic sigh, the tilt of your head, the sharp, sweet twist of your mouth when you’re disappointed. Or worse, unamused.

He’d tried to convince himself it was a smart move. A soft rebellion. Maybe if you bomb once, you’ll stop throwing your workload into his lap like it’s part of his tuition. Maybe you’ll get the message without him having to look you in the eye and say no.

But now he’s here, heart doing that ugly fluttery thing like it’s trying to crawl up his throat, every footstep outside the door sounding like you in your usual stormcloud mood. Sharp clacking shoes. Soft voice. That sugary venom in your tone when you call his name like you own it. His phone buzzes. A small sound, pathetic even, but it might as well have been a gunshot for the way it ricochets through the cramped silence.

Mark jumps, a sharp, startled twitch of limbs against concrete and metal shelving, knocking into a box of dusty paper towels with a soft thud. His heart nearly claws its way out of his ribcage, frantic and feathered, wings beating uselessly against bone. With a hand that barely feels like his, fingers cold and trembling, he drags the phone out of his pocket. Screen cracked, brightness low. It lights up his face like an omen. One message. From you.

“I will find you.” That’s it. No smiley face, no punctuation. Just four words, typed clean and sharp like a promise. His blood turns into static. Because he knows you. Knows the games you play, the way you turn hide-and-seek into warfare. This isn’t a bluff. You will find him. You’ll crawl through every hallway, knock on every door, whisper his name down every corridor until he’s backed into a corner with no exit and no excuse. He swallows hard, breath caught halfway in his throat.

The knob fumbles. A weak, clumsy twist. Mark freezes, every nerve pulled taut like snapped violin strings and watches it turn in slow, gut-wrenching motion. And then you’re there. Grinning like you already won. Framed in the doorway like sin incarnate, all legs and ruined decency.

Your skirt’s a joke, barely there, riding high enough that he catches soft glimpses of plush skin, the smooth curve of your thighs glowing beneath the low hallway light. Your top’s slouched off one shoulder, bra strap peeking out. Lips glossy. Shameless. Entirely too much. Mark feels his soul leave his body. He should’ve picked somewhere with a lock. A church, maybe. A different continent.

“Well, well,” you laugh real pretty, like this is a game and you’ve already decided the ending. He wants to crawl into the mop bucket.

“Why do you look so scared, Marky?” Your voice is syrupy sweet, sticky with fake concern. A pout on your lips, mock-sincere, but your eyes give you away, glinting, bright, sharp like broken glass.

Mark flinches again, visibly, like the nickname itself has claws. He hates that name. You know he does. He’s told you, multiple times, in that tight, awkward voice like he’s trying not to snap. And still, there you go, dragging it out like gum on the sidewalk.

His skin prickles, goosebumps crawling up his arms like your words live beneath them. “I don’t bite,” you add, stepping forward, one slow click of heel against floor after another. But you do. You bite and chew and leave bruises just from talking, and he’s not sure what’s worse, the way your words twist around his spine or the way his traitorous heart jumps every time you say his name like it belongs to you. He doesn’t answer. Can’t. His mouth’s too dry.

He stands up. God knows where he finds the nerve, maybe somewhere between survival instinct and dumb luck but he pushes off the stack of old textbooks and stands on shaky legs, spine straightening like a man preparing for war.

Too late. You’re already on him. The door clicks shut behind you, soft but final, like the last nail in a coffin. You don’t even give him room to breathe, step right into him, cut off his air, your chest pressed flush against his. He feels everything. The soft weight of your tits against his ribs, the heat of your skin soaking through his hoodie, the sweet, toxic scent of your perfume curling into his lungs.

There’s nowhere to look. Nowhere to run. And God, he wishes he wasn’t so aware of the way his heart’s pounding like it’s trying to punch through his sternum.

“L-look…” His voice cracks halfway through, eyes darting to the dusty shelves, the light fixture, anywhere but you. “I’m really sorry… I didn’t do it on purpose.” A lie. Such a bad, obvious, choking lie. It clings to the back of his throat like smoke, bitter and foul. He can feel your smirk before he even sees it

Your face hovers just inches from his, the space between you nothing but shared breath and tension so thick it could choke. Your plum-glossed lips linger just over his, not quite touching like a threat, like a dare. You’re pretty. Pretty in a way that feels curated, intentional. Glossy and shallow like a magazine ad come to life. It makes his ears burn, dusted pink at the tips. He looks like he wants to disappear into the wall. You look like you’d pin him to it for fun.

“Awe, Marky, you’re being so mean to me, you know that, right?” Your voice dips low, not soft, not gentle, but lush and poisoned, the kind of sweetness that sticks in your teeth and leaves a burn going down.

You pout like you’re heartbroken, big eyes all shiny, lips pushed out in that perfect little curve, and jab a single manicured finger into his chest, firm and unforgiving. He doesn’t move. Can’t. It’s like you’ve nailed him to the floor, body locked up, breath hitched.

Your long nail presses into the fabric of his hoodie, right over the solid thrum of his heartbeat. He’s trembling under you, not visibly, not like a coward, but in that subtle way only you notice. The kind of tremble that starts in the hands and climbs up the neck. The kind that comes from being caught.

“I trusted you,” you add, voice dropping just a little more, breathy and laced with mock hurt. “And you went ‘n sabotaged me? After I've been soo nice to you?”

He gulps. Loud and shaky, Adam’s apple bobbing like it’s trying to make a run for it. Poor thing.

“Sweet puppy’s grown a backbone now, has he?” you coo, tilting your head, voice dipped in amusement that’s just short of cruel. You don’t pull away. Of course you don’t, instead, that impossible closeness tightening like a noose.

His shoulders hit the shelf behind him with a soft thud. He can’t back away any further. Your chest presses against his, soft curves molded against hard muscle, and you feel it—feel everything. The way his breath stutters. The way his hands twitch at his sides like he’s trying not to grab you.

And lower, the real betrayal. He’s half-hard, thick and aching, tenting his pants like a loaded secret he can’t tuck away. You smile, slow and lazy, eyes flicking downward, then back to his face.

“Cute,” you murmur, almost fond. He wants the ground to swallow him whole.

You slide a hand down. Deliberate. Slow. Like you’ve got all the time in the world to ruin him. Fingers trail over the thick line in his pants, heat trapped beneath the fabric, swollen and straining—and you wrap your hand around it through the material, squeezing just enough to make him suck in a breath. His hips twitch. His jaw clenches.

He’s trembling now, a little, but it’s there. A ripple under your palm. You look him right in the eyes, eyes wide and glinting with something unholy. Your thumb strokes once. Soft. Cruel.

“Did me callin’ you a puppy make you hard?” Your voice is low, a velvet drawl, wrapped around mockery like it’s a love song.

“You’re, uhh… too close…” He whispers it. Barely. Like maybe if he says it soft enough, the words won’t count. His whole body is stiff, locked up, trying not to think about your hand wrapped firm around his bulge, the heat of your palm, the way your thumb had moved.

But it’s impossible. You’re too close. Too close. You’re all over him, heat and scent and lips a breath away, voice curling into his ear like silk and fire. And his brain? It’s white noise. He swallows hard, again, like maybe that’ll push the shame back down. Like maybe it’ll kill the way his dick pulses helplessly under your grip. But it doesn’t. Nothing helps.

You can feel it too, the way his body betrays him, twitching under your hand like he’s trying so hard to behave, to not give in. It’s adorable, You think.

You half-smile, head tilted, lip gloss catching the light like temptation bottled up. “Let’s make a deal,” you hum, voice flat and casual, like you’re discussing lunch plans, not unhinged propositions. “I’ll suck your dick, and you do my work properly.”

He chokes. Not metaphorically, he literally chokes, breath catching mid-gasp like his lungs betrayed him. His face flushes immediately, that soft, pale pink crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears.

“W-what… what do you—” His voice breaks, small and high and strangled, as if saying it out loud would summon lightning. You roll your eyes so hard it’s almost theatrical, exasperation oozing off you like perfume. “What’re you actin’ dumb for?” you snap, grip tightening just a little around his cock, enough to make his hips twitch again.

“You’re already hard.” Your words hit him square in the gut, shame blooming behind his eyes, his mouth working silently like he wants to say something, protest, maybe—but all he manages is a sound. A low, broken exhale that sounds suspiciously like surrender.

He’s not pulling away. And he’s not saying no. You notice. And he’s cute, you think so now. In a nerdy, helpless, needy kinda way. The flushed ears. The twitchy hands. The stutter in his voice like he’s not used to being handled. It’s charming. Pathetic. A little funny.

So really, it’s a win-win. He gets to feel the touch of a woman—maybe for the first time, if you had to guess, and you get guaranteed grades for life. Straight A’s and a warm mouthful of praise every time you strut past your professors. Everyone’s happy.

You lean in, your nose brushing his, lips brushing the shell of his ear now, soft enough to be dangerous. “You gonna be good for me, Marky?” you whisper, voice sticky and slow.

“I’m a real good fuck, actually,” you say, so breezy, so matter-of-fact it’s almost cruel. Your smile’s all teeth and glittering pride as your knees bend, thighs spreading just a touch as they kiss the cold linoleum floor. He looks down at you, eyes blown wide and lips parted like he’s watching a dream and a nightmare crawl into his lap at the same time. You tilt your head, all smug satisfaction and sweet venom.

“You got lucky,” you hum, palms sliding up the inside of his thighs now, thumbs hooking the waistband of his pants like a promise. And he knows it. Knows he’s in over his head. Knows you’ve got him right where you want him.

You make a show of it. Fingers slow and precise, unbuttoning him like you’re unwrapping a present you already know you’ll like. The zipper drags down with a lazy hum, and his breath stutters. He clenches the fabric of his hoodie like it might anchor him.

You tug his pants down just far enough, and then the boxers. He twitches when the cold air hits him, body jerking like he wasn’t ready, like he should’ve been, but wasn’t. And yeah. He’s big. Your lashes flutter. A slow, lazy grin curls on your lips like sin itself is stretching out to get comfortable. It’s better than you expected—thick, flushed dark, heavy where it hangs, and already leaking like his body’s ahead of his brain. Small pearls of pre ooze from his slit, leaving a slimy trail all the way down to his heavy balls and a light dusting of hair.

You glance up, just to watch his expression twist, poor boy, caught somewhere between pride and terror. His mouth parts like he might say something, but nothing comes. You look back down and press a soft kiss to the tip, soft and sweet. The mess sticks to your gloss, shines faintly when you pull back just an inch.

He whispers something—barely, like even his voice is too embarrassed to say it out loud. But your hand’s already moving, slow and deliberate, working him up with lazy strokes that make his legs twitch. You tilt your head, smile playing soft on your lips like you don’t know he’s on the verge of breaking.

“What’dya want, baby?” You purr it, like honey slipping off your tongue, like he has any real say in the matter. A mercy, letting him speak at all. He stutters, Red all the way down his neck now, lip caught between his teeth as his voice cracks.

“Y-your tits…” A breathless pause. “Wanna… feel them.” His hands hover, fingers twitching mid-air like he’s too scared to ask properly, like he’s afraid you’ll laugh.

You blink once, then laugh anyway—not mocking, more amused, indulgent. You lean forward just enough for your chest to brush against him, soft and warm through the thin fabric of your top.

“You wanna feel these?” Your voice drips slow, the words curling at the edges, soft like something wicked in silk. He nods before you’ve even finished the sentence—frantic, desperate, practically drooling like a mutt starved for affection. It’s pathetic. It’s adorable. It’s everything.

You bat your lashes, long and thick, gaze dipped half-lidded as your fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt. You tug it up slow, just to watch the hunger flicker in his eyes, then reach behind your back, a quick flick, and the bra slips off like it was never really meant to stay on.

They bounce free, soft and full, skin warm and glowing under the harsh closet light, and his breath catches so sharp you swear he might choke on it. You cup them lightly, just enough to make them spill between your fingers, teasing him without saying a word. Then, voice dropping lower, sweeter, with a tenderness that makes it sting:

“You wanna feel ’em with your dick… or your hands, puppy?” You watch his brain short-circuit, like he doesn’t know what’ll kill him faster. He doesn’t answer —can’t. His mouth opens like he wants to speak, but no sound comes out. Just a shaky breath and a helpless look, red-faced and wide-eyed, every ounce of his nerve short-circuiting all at once.

So you make the choice for him. You lean in, slow and deliberate, gaze fixed on his like you’re daring him to look away. One hand slips between your tits, the other trailing down with intention, You press your breasts together again, as his leaky ‘n throbbing cock slides in between them.

His knees nearly buckle. His breath comes in short, desperate little bursts, hands twitching at his sides like he doesn’t know where to touch, if he even can.

You tilt your head. “Feels good, huh?” Voice velvet-soft now, syrupy and slow. “Bet you’ve never had anything close to this.” And he hasn’t, And he knows it. Your slick, glistening breasts slide along his throbbing cock, coated in his warm precum. As you glide them up and down, your tongue flicks deliberately at his sensitive tip, teasing with slow, hungry licks. Mark’s body trembles, his muscles clenching with every shuddering breath. He ruts eagerly against your soft, yielding tits, like a dog in heat lost in the overwhelming pleasure. Nothing he’s ever fucked—his hand, a pillow, a toy—comes close to the wet, enveloping warmth of your breasts and mouth.

Your tongue swirls and laps at his pulsing cock, wet slurps and soft gags echoing through the room, mingling with the rhythmic slap of his balls against your slick, heaving tits. Mark’s groans are deep, guttural, his chest rumbling as you gently squeeze his balls, sending a jolt through his trembling frame. “You’re pretty big,” you coo, voice dripping with praise, “such a shame it’s attached to a dork who doesn’t even know how to use it.”

Mark lets out a desperate whine as you guide his throbbing shaft into the tight, wet warmth of your throat, deepthroating the length not already enveloped by the soft, plush fat of your tits. His cock throbs with every bob of your head, slick and warm in your throat. Mark’s in bliss, thinking if he died now, he’d go out happy, his dick devoured by such a pretty girl. Your soft pants, warm puffs of air teasing his sensitive tip, push him closer to the edge. His balls tighten, hips jerking as he feels the surge building, ready to unleash his pent-up load across your face and dripping tits.

“Hah—‘m gonna cum,” Mark chokes out, voice shattered, breathless, like he’s unraveling at the seams, pleasure swallowing him whole. You hum, low and smug, a wicked edge to it, and double down. Your head bobs faster, throat clenching around his pulsing cock, gurgling slurps and wet gags filling the air—loud, obscene, a filthy symphony just for him. Your tits, slick with spit and precum, squeeze his shaft tight, a perfect, plush vise. His dick’s buried in heaven, warm, wet, yours to ruin.

His legs quake, thighs trembling like they might give out. Head thrown back, it thumps against the wall, his only anchor as he falls apart. You catch the way his fingers claw at nothing, fists white-knuckled, and that pathetic, broken whimper slipping from his lips? It’s fucking music. His balls tighten, hips jerking erratic, desperate. He’s a mess, sweat-slick, eyes glassy, whimpering like he’s never been touched before.

“Poor Marky,” you say with a pop, voice dripping with mockery, using your hand to finish him off. “Thought you could handle me. Big cock, no clue how to use it.” Your pace doesn’t falter, lips slick, hand relentless, tits bouncing with every move. “Gonna blow already? Such a shame.”

And with that little remark, that teasing curl of your lips, that tone too smug to be anything but wicked, he falls apart. All messy ‘n sloppy, big fat load creating a warm and wet mess all over your breasts and dirtying your pretty face. A few stray droplets kiss your cheek, cling to your lashes. You blink slow, licking your lips like it’s nothing. Like this happens all the time.

You blink slow, all lazy-lidded and smug, the corners of your mouth twitching like you’re holding back more laughter—the kind that would make him shrink even further if he had anywhere left to run. But he doesn’t. He’s stuck there, looking absolutely devastated by his own body, like his soul left him mid-spill and hasn’t come back yet.

“Tears?” you croon, voice dipped in honey and mockery. “You cryin’ over this? Oh, baby.”

You reach up and swipe your thumb across the corner of his eye, not gently. It’s teasing, purposeful, like you want to see if the contact will shatter him completely. And it nearly does. His breath hitches and his eyes flutter closed like even that’s too much. His lashes are damp. His cheeks hot. He’s blushing so hard it looks painful. Shame clinging to him like a second skin.

“Don’t tell me that was your first time gettin’ off with someone watchin’,” you murmur, tilting your head, lips twitching again. “God, that’s actually so cute. I could eat you alive.”

And he doesn’t answer—just stands there, stiff and red and broken open in the prettiest way. You lean in close, your voice a whisper now. “Bet you’ll do anything I ask now, won’t you?”

He nods, slow and small like he’s ashamed of it — like even that’s a surrender too humiliating to admit out loud. But it’s there. Clear as day. He’s yours now. All soft eyes and trembling hands and a brain melted to mush. You smile, bright and sweet like you didn’t just break him down into dust.

Your fingers trace lazy circles on his bicep—featherlight, affectionate, like you’re rewarding a pet after a trick well done. And your tone? Cheerful. Too cheerful. Like you’ve moved on already.

“Great!” you chirp, lips popping on the G. “You can resubmit that assignment for me.” He stares, chest still rising and falling like he ran a marathon, lips parted like he wants to protest—like he’s got dignity left in some corner of his soul. But he doesn’t speak. Just swallows hard and looks away.

“Don’t look so gloomy, Marky,” you purr, already turning to adjust your skirt, unfazed. “You came, I smiled, we both got something outta it. Now go on. I want that A.”

You wink over your shoulder. He’s still standing there, stunned, pants around his thighs, wondering how the hell he ended up in this situation when he was trying to get out of it the first time.

[silkliingerie]

[silkliingerie]

[silkliingerie]

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ — 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

Mohawk mark x f!reader ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

✉️ | MDNI! 18+

WARNINGS. female genitalia ノ thigh riding ノ orgasms ノ squirting ノoral fixations ノ teasing n dirty talk ノ finger sucking ノ twisted dynamic (can't write this man nicely) ノ degration ノ daddy kink ノ nicknames [bunny, baby, slut.] ノ Little bit of praise.

"Nice and wet already, huh, bunny?" Mark says from above you, your pretty cheeks flushing over with warmth as his hands come down to grasp your hips.

The sounds of your whines and moans echoing in his throne room, Your heart hammering in your chest, your eyelashes batting rapidly, your hands frantically holding onto his shirt. It feels wrong - so, so wrong to be naked atop of him, especially when he's fully dressed in his hero suit. You're so bothered - so embarrassed that you actually look like you're going to cry, your doe-eyes glistening with tears.

"You gonna cry, baby? You gonna cry when you cum all over daddy's pants?" His tone drips with mockery, and he has the audacity to laugh at you when you breathe out shakily, your hands trembling as you grip tighter onto his suit. "So patheic."

“Please stop,” you whimper as he grinds your hips for you roughly, his suit stimulating your clit shamefully. “It - it feels weird,”

"It feels good, you don't like it," mark interrupts plainly, his fingers toying with your lips, letting out a quiet hiss as your mouth instinctively wraps around them to suck. "That's my girl. My little bouncy bunny, bouncing up and down her daddy's thighs. Feel's good, doesn't it?"

Shamefully humming in agreement, you dip your head slightly, your mouth still wrapped around his fingers, sucking carefully. Perhaps it's because there's so much of him that you can't hold back. The elastic skin tight fabric of his suit press against you smoothly, the fabric stimulating your clit, and you pathetically whine against him.

Mark smirks, leaning back slightly to take you all in. He presses his fingers against your tongue, satisfied with just how well you're taking him - how you're grinding against him despite the shame and guilt that comes with it. "Come undone all over my thighs, baby. I want everyone to see what a dirty little slut you are."

As you gasp against him, your little hips desperately rutting on his thighs, squirting all over him like you have no shame, "ffuckk thats it, good job." he lets out a gentle low groan, You're going to do this all over again until you're an even more crying, weeping mess on his thighs.

Leaving a mess on his throne..

[silkliingerie]

invincible 🔥

[silkliingerie]

BEABADOOBEE - BRITS

[silkliingerie]

Patience.

MINORS DNI ✶⋆.˚ ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝.ᐟ

🖥 | cecil x f!reader

Summary: you have to keep quiet while cecils doing his work, while his cocks inside you.

WARNINGS: Semi Public sex ノ office sex ノ sexual content ノ smut ノ cockwarming ノ age gap? (Readers slightly younger)ノ dom cecil ノ sub reader ノ small hint of daddy kink (couldn't help myself)

Reblogs and likes are appreciated, babe ◜ᴗ◝

Silence beats through the air for a second - an innocent pause. you breathing in deeply through your mouth, small whimpers slipping through your lips. It’s hard to ignore the throbbing of cecils girthy cock as you clench around him. It consumes you, drowns you like an alarming wave, and you whimper as he shuffles slightly, his hand holding you in place while his other hand rummaged through files and papers.

There’s a shuffling of hips, followed swiftly by quiet grunts of frustration and the feeling of cecils fingers digging into your thighs.

“Can- can I move now? Please?” You wimped behind him. Your hands gripping on the collar of his shirt, clenching around him in desperation. "Pleaseplease I need it,"

He sighed dramatically, “No, how many times do I have to tell you?"

"Now you need to stay quiet until I am done,” he scolded, putting a firm tight grip on your thighs.

"Now you need to stay quiet until I am done,” he scolded, putting a firm tight grip on your thighs.

“Sorry, ‘ts just hurting.”

You involuntarily clench around him again when he slides his finger on your puffy clit. Cecil tuts, his hot breath heavy against your neck. You’re so tight. so fucking tight. your cunts restraint on him so constricting it feels like you’re trying to milk him again.

And maybe you are. “fuckk." Cecil groaned from the overwhelming pleasure, leaning back slightly on his office chair. On the inside, he was grinning to himself as you mewl and readjust your legs. There’s a dull pain which is numbing your senses - perhaps it’s caused by the antagonizing throbbing of his cock inside of you every few seconds.

It’s dreadful how his cum leaks out of your pussy so slowly. Dreadful how he watches, his thumb smearing his cum over your cunt, trying to keep it as close to your hole as possible. You moan in result, bucking forwards, your breath sharp as his cock presses wonderfully against the sensitive bud inside of your pussy.

Your head lulls against his chest. “I want more,” you whimpered desperately. You could feel his cock pulsate inside you, slightly twitching as you milk his cock. squirming against him, wanting to finish locking in place, eager to please him.

At this point, he didn't even care about his papers or the work he was doing anymore. His work can wait. It was gonna have to.

"Well, you're gonna have to wait until Daddy's done."

[silkliingerie]

Whatcha doin Shiesty?

[silkliingerie]

Rexsplode relationship headcanons ★

Rexsplode/Sloan x reader ✶⋆.˚

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

Sfw/nsfw headcanons

Reblogs and likes are appreciated `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

SFW HEADCANONS

★ He's soo stingy with his food and snacks, but he'll always share with you.

★ He never stops trying to impress you. Even if he fails, it's still so cute.

★ He'll get competitive with you just for fun. He'll make up dumb races and compitions. You let him win so you'll see him smile (and to shut him up)

★ whenever he sleeps, he's like a star fish. His legs and arms spread almost everywhere. The best you'll get is him wrapping around ur arm or ur entire body (AND HE SNORES.)

★ He likes it when you brush his hair and style it. But also hates it. He'd complain how you're too rough, not your fault his hairs tangled..

★ he gets so giddy when you pepper small kisses all over his face, especially if you wear lipstick.

★ this boy thinks you're an absolute goddess. Every time you wear new outfits and show him, his eyes turn into literal hearts.

★ says “again” or “one more, mama” after kissing you (you always giggle and grant his wish ofc)

★ always convinces you to do dumb shit with him, and if you’re already naturally a reckless person you’d just add to his fire. But if you're more mature than him, you'd try to talk him out of his reckless behaviors.

★ hates the people you hate, and if he catches them talking about you, you will be coming home to him with a bruised face.

★ will pick you up randomly and throw you over his shoulder/ carry you bridal style. Especially if you’re doing something and he wants your attention..

★ He's the typa guy to call you "mama" or "mamas" YK it..

★ his favorite names to call you are, babe, baby, mama, cutie, sometimes sweetheart.

★ he turns into such a baby when he’s tired. Poor boy will come home completely exhausted. He'd hurriedly take off his uncomfortable gear on his suit and pick you up and carry you to the bed, and he'd lay on top of you. You'd feel him smoosh his head into your chest.

★ would secretly learn all your favorite foods and make them for you.

★ always checks up on you. despite his arrogant self, He's so in tune with you’re emotions. He can tell what’s bothering you just by your body language and breathing.

NSFW HEADCANONS (mostly female)

★ He gets all cocky and arrogant, and he'll get fumbled IMMEDIATELY. Boys so subby.

★ Rex is so Eagar and messy. He wants to bury himself in your cunt/suck you off and never stop. Lapping at your folds/slurping on your precum. He'll stay there until you force him to breathe, showing off his face with your slick dripping down his chin.

★ dudes got a mommy kink. No questions asked.

★ he LOVESS being praised. Being called a good boy and you telling how good he's doing gets his gears grinding.

★ He's such a chatter box when he's in bed, especially when he's about to release or when being edged. Blabbering on as he whines and whimpers.

★ He's such a whiney boy when he's being edged or overstimulated. Whimpering and crying begging to cum.

"F-ffuckk, mommy, I don't think I can take it .."

"Can i please cum, pleasee mommy I've been a good boy"

"Your hands feel so soo good mommy.."

★ loves cowgirl and missionary, but mostly cowgirl. being able to look you in the eye as you take control. His hands gently holding your hips as you bounce on his cock. Mesmerized by your tits in his face and the sounds leaving your lips.

★ absolutely adores and worships your body.He loves how soft and squishy it is, especially your thighs and tits.

★ He loves doing the finger + tongue combo..

"You taste so good mommy.. so good."

"I can feel you getting closer mommy."

"Please cum for me mommy, please cum for your sweet boy,"

★ He's so eager to do anything you say, if you want him to lay down, he'll do it. If you want him to be on his knees for you. He'll do it.

★ God, the day you sit on his face, it's over. slowly grinding on him, his hands having a firm grip on your thighs. you can practically hear him moaning in your pussy, “mmm so good" or "more mommy I want more.." UGH

★ doesn’t really like quickies. He'd rather take his time with you. Having it being nice, romantic, and slow. His way to go.

★ This baby loves to take care of you and being able to spoil you, but he’s gonna be a bit clumsy. Stuttering and second-guessing himself.

[silkliingerie]

˙᭨ ⃟⃜ ཻུ۪۪. 𝑆INCERELY , 𝒮ugar ! ℋoney ! ℒove ! ၇͜ᩘ♥︎

[silkliingerie]

— Let me be your dreamer ✶ ᶻz .

𓈒 ୭ৎ ᥴᥲ𝗍s ᥱyᥱs 𝅄 🌷 ۪ ݁ 𓈒

ㅤㅤ ۪ 𝅄 ꒰ 태형 ꒱ ۪ ݁ 𝟷𝟷 : 𝟷𝟷 ݁ ۪ ୧

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

My names luka.    9teen.    she/they/her.   filipino.

SFW/NSFW blog. Invincible lover. ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

            ᄉ⠀     ☁️⠀⠀requests  →  closed  🤍⠀❜ 

⚘ 𝟏, M.LIST. (coming soon)

⚘ 𝟐,  RECENT : thighs riding w/ mohawk mark x reader (Smut)

⚘ 𝟑, RULES (coming soon)

(Last updated: June 23rd, 2025) ★

[silkliingerie]

Bitch this is actually driving ME CRAZY

Tags: [mlw][mdni][smidge of angst][boss/subordinate][no nudity][public sex][young cecil][standing sex][oral (f! receiving)][fingering][creampie][standing missionary][he's a lil' bit of a piner]

Cecil thumbs over the smooth surface of an aged picture, pulled out of the safe haven of his wallet. He feels the coolness of the image, weathered blue eyes lowering to his beaming face, dimples deep in his cheeks and the youth is so apparent. Beside him, you're wearing one of those childish plastic tiaras with fluff around the edges, arms crossed over your chest and pretty eyes narrowed into a scowl.

And Cecil swallows, a slender fingered hand moving to tug on the tie around his neck, loosening the loop until it hung lazily and his hand wraps around the crystal tumbler. He keeps his gaze on the picture, eyes softened uncharacteristically and heart panging with a sense of longing.

It's been at least 30 years.

30 years without hearing your snide remarks, without being told that he's a walking, talking advertisement for birth control, without being punched in the throat.

Cecil brings the glass to his lips, ice clinking around in the brown liquid, and he inhales sharply. The bittersweet scent clogging his mind for a minute and for once, he's not holding the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He simply holding your paperwork.

Cecil understood why you were always in such a bad mood. A permanent scowl etched onto your face, the way you'd rub at your temples and bark orders.

Assistant Deputy Director. That was your position.

Forced to do the work of those above you, and receive none of the credit. And Cecil's pure little heart couldn't help but pity you.

"I got that coffee you asked for." Cecil hums softly, setting the paper cup on your dimly lit desk, papers scattered and the sleeves of your shirt rolled up to your elbows, pens tossed haphazardly and you continue working.

"I didn't ask for coffee." You state, gaze remaining glued to the documents in front of you. Documents that were definitely above Cecil's pay grade but you couldn't be bothered to obscure them from his view. Not when he watches you with those pretty blue eyes, silently willing you to meet his gaze. Until you do.

"You didn't have to." He speaks softly and you let out a soft breath, fingers curling around the cup and bringing it towards your lips, palms heating up and you inhale the aroma. Strong and just the way you like it.

And you sigh.

"Oh, Cecilia. Where would I be without you?" You coo sweetly, before taking a sip. The coffee is scorching the inside of your mouth, but your training taught you to never show weakness so instead of 'hashafashasha'-ing your way into cooling the coffee, you simply swallow. Feeling the burn all the way down to your belly before setting the cup down.

"Was it hot?"

"Very."

Idle chatter flows like a river between the two of you, your hands continue to sift through the documents, signing, blacking out what needs to be erased and editting plans for various projects.

And Cecil hums quietly.

"You know, ma'am, I've never seen you do the birthday walk." He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, brilliant blue eyes trained on your features as

"My birthday's on a weekend."

"Which weekend?"

"That's classified." You dismiss him with ease, peeking up at him from beneath your brows and my God, do you wish you didn't.

Pretty blue eyes locked on you like you're the only thing in his world, lips looking so perfectly rosy, and blonde strands fall over his forehead, so messily majestic. And you swallow.

Before begrudgingly admitting the date.

"That's... Today." Blonde brows scrunch into a frown as he straightens up just a bit, his tie hanging limply down the front of where his shirt sits so snugly around his torso, tucked into the front of his pants and sleeves rolled up just enough to expose that classy wristwatch.

Gold. But it was too warm, in your opinion.

"What? No, that's crazy." Your sarcasm is layered on thick enough for him to know you're fucking with him, and if it isn't, the twitch of your lips give you away. And you let out a breath, before glancing at Cecil.

"If you sing, I'm calling you Cecilia for the rest of your life as well as making you clean latrines."

"I'm a high ranking agent."

"And you have arms and a nose. Essential for scrubbing shit stains from porcelain."

And Cecil grimaces. "Why do I need a nose for that?"

"I'd like for you to smell me abusing my power."

God. Cecil wishes he'd sang to you. He imagines the way your lips would've curled into a begrudging smile, the way the corners of your eyes would crinkle and the way your cheeks would flush, becoming heated.

He glances towards the framed picture that he usually keeps tucked in the locked compartment of his desk.

Aged and frayed, folds and disappeared pigment where the picture had been folded up so many times in so many different ways.

Flushed cheeks and hazy eyes stare back at him, kept pretty behind a glossy glass frame. And his fingers absentmindedly twist at the ring on his pinkie.

Your favourite metal, pretty and polished. Not a scuff in sight.

"This is ridiculous."

Carnival lights flicker in the emptiness of the night, the sounds of fun and laughter surrounding the two of you as you continue to walk between the various stands. A plethora of rides, of attractions, of snacks.

"If you can stop your complaining, miss, maybe you'll enjoy it." Cecil grumbles, before he feels the way your hand reaches for his, your pinkie wrapping around his so sweetly. And he glances down towards your interlocked hands.

"You look like the type of guy to get lost." You mumble. "Or touched."

Cecil can taste the cotton candy on his tongue, he can feel the warmth wrapping around his pinkie and he slumps into his seat, staring ahead into the emptiness of his office. He can hear the giggles that would slip past your lips whenever he'd lose at something.

He feets the lush grass beneath his shoes, he feels the cold breeze whipping at the back of his neck. And he swallows, bringing the Scotch back up to his lips, taking a mouthful.

"Win me a teddy bear."

You stare at Cecil with a blank, almost expressionless face. Watching him stare down at you with the sweetest expression and you let out a groan, handing your pretzel before you lick the sugary sweetness from your fingers.

And God, watching you lick your fingers felt like watching sin be born.

Your pink tongue dragging along the pads, lapping and sucking, until you deemed them clean enough and you stepped up.

Readying your eye at the scope, before aiming.

6 faux ducks in a row, and that gave Cecil the pick of the litter. And by natural instinct, he grabs the one that looks the most like you.

A frowning turtle.

"Doesn't it look like you?" Cecil hums, before angling the turtle towards you, allowing you a good look at the shoddy stitching and the mismatched cotton used for the body.

"Why d'you think it does?" You take another bire of your pretzel.

"Because you're turtle-y coming outta your shell."

Cecil smiles at the thought of how you turned to face him. So slowly.

Wind whipping at your hair, tresses framing your face so perfectly that he would've thought he was recalling painting, rather than a person. You were a sight for sore eyes.

The shitty joke had somehow managed to get you to let out a laugh. Melodious, sweet and so, so... Addictive. He'd instantly marked the sound of your laugh as his favourite sound. The cacophony of wheezes and breathless coughs had his heart clutching, even now.

And Cecil takes another swig.

This time, straight from the bottle.

"Shit..." Cecil's voice is breathy, lips pressed against your pulse, one of your thighs hiked around his hips. You remain pushed against the warping mirror, prisms of light dancing over your features and that goofy ass song that plays over the speakers is drowned out by your panted breaths. And he shudders when your manicured fingers sink into the golden strands at the nape of his neck.

His breaths are deep and shaky, hands grasping at your waist and thigh, anything to bring you closer to him.

Fuck, he has your picture tucked into his wallet already. He'd have to be fucking stupid to miss the signs you've been giving him all night.

Calling him 'Cecilia', telling him that he looks like a boyscout with the way his eyes twinkle so prettily at the different attractions. Not to mention the way you fingers slid between his when you pointed out the House of Mirrors.

Cecil's cock strains against the front of his slacks, his hips slotted between your thighs, and he shudders when he feels the way your nails scrape against his scalp. "Well shit..." He breathes out. "I like that..."

Cecil swallows, the back of his neck set aflame wth a deep blush, and he simply inhales through his nose.

And he's surrounded by silence. Delving deeper into memories that threaten to escape him with each visit.

Soon enough, Cecil found himself guiding your thigh to rest on one of his broad shoulders, meaty hands pawing at your thighs, lips pressing haphazard kisses along your hosiery-clad thighs, before he rips a hole into the nylon.

His knees dig into the cool linoleum tiles beneath him, but it does nothing to cool the flame that seems to be scorching just behind his flesh.

Cecil's hands paw at you, fingers tugging your panties to the side and his tongue drags through your sloppy folds, and he just loves the way your belly dips inward at the feel. And he groans. Your hand moves to rest on the crown of his head, nails scraping along his scalp, fingers disappearing between his blonde strands and you sigh.

Your breath stutters, head tipping back against the mirror, your bottom lip wedged between your teeth because sound travels. Especially when it's a high pitched moan because he has those perfect and pouty lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on it like it's a fucking treat.

This is definitely against the rules. This could be seen as an abuse of your power, but you can't really find the urge to give a shit. Not right now when his tongue's dipping into your spasming hole and definitely not when his nose is bumping at your clit so teasingly.

"Such a pretty pussy." He croons, diamond eyes glossy and chin coated in a slick sheen, and he slides one of his hands up your thigh, fingers tracing along your slit when his tongue goes back to lapping between your folds.

Your brain turns to a muddy puddle, threatening to leak out your ears when one of his long fingers are buried in you, all the way to the knuckle. And he curls the digit, a calloused fingertip presses against that gooey spot that makes your knees buckle.

"Holy sh-shit..." Your hands are cradling the back of your head, your lashes fluttering and your chest heaving, kiss swollen lips parted to let hot puffs of air escape your lungs And choked up throat.

Fingers fuck into your cunt, dragging against your insides with a skill that makes your toes curl in your heels, and you're so confused as to how you're even able to stand up.

Your body slumped and your breaths weak and whiny, staring down at him from below fluffy lashes.

There's something so earnest about the way he sucks at your cunt, lips finding purchase around your sloppy folds and eyes so glazed over, you're wondering if he's enjoying this more than you are.

His hips buck into nothing when you come. You spasm around his fingers, breathless gasps slipping from you with the ease that water slips through the cracks in stone.

And his free hand palms at his cock through his slacks, brows scrunching into a cute little frown before he pulls back, gossamers of your wetness clinging to his lips.

His eyes lower to where your slick drips down his palm and he licks his palm clean, pink tongue savouring the taste of you and he smears his saliva-coated palm along your cunt.

Before rising to his feet.

His breath stutters in his withered lungs, face burning a bright red at the memory. The dimness of his office is a weak consolidation, slumping back against Italian leather and he glances towards the ceiling.

He remembers the way you sighed when he pushed into you, clingy pussy immediately wrapping around him so snugly and he remembers the way your arms snaked around his neck.

And he takes another swig. The liquor burns on the way down but it does nothing to quell the fiery pit in his belly.

"Shit..." Cecil groans. "Too tight— m'not goin' anywhere, doll." He lets out a breathy laugh when he watches the way you hide your face in the curve of his neck, nails digging into his broad shoulders and you're barely able to stand up.

You're so warm, slick dripping down your thighs and soaking your pantyhose, your panties tugged to the side and your gooey walls fit him so snugly.

The sounds you make when his hips meet yours with each roll is downright nefarious. Breathing sweet sighs and moans into his ear, your nails leaving scratches along the back of his neck and your thigh hooked around him, bringing him closer.

He's not even pulling out properly, you won't let him. The blonde tufts of his happy trail grinds against your clit teasingly, the sensation making your lips part. Spit-slicked and rosy, and he can't not kiss you.

Cecil's lips press against yours with the kind of desperation no subordinate should have. Ever.

Tongue brushing against yours, and he's kissing you like he's trying to remember you forever. To remember the way you feel.

And he sighs into the kiss when you suck on his tongue.

Cecil's not looking down. He can't afford to. He doesn't wanna look at where your pretty cunt's wrapping around him like a fucking leash, where you're creaming around him and Cecil whines.

Panted breaths escape him and he hides his face in the crook of your neck, hands grasping the fat of your ass beneath your skirt, bringing you closer with each desperate fuck into you.

His flushed tip presses slick and messy kisses against your cervix, a perfect curve that hits that spongy spot with each sloppy thrust and he's damn near embarassed that he's rushing towards his orgasm with the speed of a freight train.

And he swallows. Hard.

"I can't pull out." He pants. "I just— I can't, I don't want to. Shit, 's so good..."

And he babbles. He's embarassed. But he's only been fantasizing about fucking you like this for the last 4 years.

Picturing how your tits would press against his chest in missionary, how he'd inhale that sweet perfume up close rather than just the ghost of it when you walk past him.

"Then don't."

Cecil takes a deep breath to clear his mind. He doesn't need to be painting the inside of his slacks with a load that's been aching to be emptied into you.

He glances longingly at the pictures of you. The expression on your face, the matching smiles you wore for the staff photos. And he glances at the ring on his finger, glinting in the light of his desk lamp.

"Keep this. In case I die." You hum softly, sliding one of your many rings onto his hand instead, picking his pinkie as the chosen digit.

You're supposed to go... Negotiate with some firebreather, Director's orders in hopes of assembling a team of heroes.

"You'll be fine." Cecil reassures, pressing a kiss against your palm, looking down at you with that adoring expression.

"Whatever, Cecilia."

He feels the way his throat burns at the memory. And he glances towards the watch on his wrist.

Roman numerals, silver with a black, leather strap. Worn and frayed, but still visibly well-maintained.

"Found this." Cecil stares down at the box in his hand. A sleek wristwatch, displayed on a tiny pillow. Silver, with black leather straps. And a barely visible 'C.S' engraved on the back.

And a tiny note.

'Always thought you'd look less faggy in silver.'

He remembers the way his body nearly went limp. The way his stomach dropped, the way his throat tightened and the burn that seemed to scorch the back of his eyes.

And Cecil glances towards the watch on his wrist, thumb brushing over the leather.

"You were right." He mumbles. "Silver looks better."

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@tamaranblaze 🐭

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷: All (exc. Damian)

@allycat4458 🪻: All (exc. Kyle)

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

@titchx0 🦆

@starski 🌃

@5lxt4u 🎻

@pariahsparadise 🏝️

@ilove-nsfw 🖇️

@milkstrawburie 🥛

@squigglewigglewoo 🪴

@hhjira 🌬️

@atanukileaf ☘️

@Calicocat-ina-tuxedo 🐱

@maliagurl 🐛

@munji-tunji 🦐

@ruu-bluu 💎

[silkliingerie]

[ nsfw ] fun and games

tags: groping and teasing + mark using his strength to his advantage and your entertainment

☆ ... biting off more than you can chew is always fun with mark.

it's a lazy afternoon. mark hasn’t heard from cecil in hours, and he intends to take advantage of the radio silence while it lasts.

he lets himself drift in and out of shallow sleep. feeling the high noon sun fall over one of his outstretched legs. only barely hanging off the edge of his mattress and deliciously warm.

you’ve effectively glued yourself to him without much effort. clinging to his side and murmuring about something he can’t quite understand. your stories usually reel him in, but because of the precarious (lazy and cozy) circumstances, he finds himself compelled to close his eyes and lie so still he can feel the earth rotating on its axis.

whenever he closes his eyes for too long, you run your hands across his body. squeezing and groping the sinew of his muscles— playful and ridiculously endearing.

mark doesn’t think much of your hands and the way they roam his body. featherlight and curious as you appraise every part of him. his biceps first, then his pecs and then down to his abs.

he jolts when he feels one of your featherlight hands skim across the edge of his boxers. a finger tracing a line over his waist back and forth. coyly lifting up the garter band before letting it snap down.

he catches your offending hand, “whatcha doin’ ?”

you purse your lips, trying not to smile but failing. a lip splitting grin spreading across your face as his hand only tightens around yours.

“just exploring,” you sheepishly smile up at him.

he snorts, bringing up his free hand to rub the short lived sleep from his eyes. “totally nothing you haven’t felt or seen, yeah?”

“oh shut up grayson,” you wriggle to get even closer like you aren’t plastered to his side.

he still hasn’t let go of your hand, and you aren’t exactly backing down either. your free hand attempts to continue fiddling with the garter of his boxers but he easily engulfs your hand with his again.

“yeah,” he smirks at you with half lidded eyes. “two can play at this game too.”

with little effort he flips both of you so that you’re totally flat on the mattress.

“mark!” you exclaim when you feel his hands cup the figure of your waist.

he doesn’t look back up at you, instead he slides his thumbs into your shorts and hooks them into your underwear. teasingly tugging downward which makes you squirm.

“hey i’m just playing along,” he laughs in your face. “isn’t this what you wanted?”

you stick out your tongue, “well you aren’t really playing fair are you?“

he shakes his head, but shifts upward to kiss you on the forehead and then on your lips. “nah, but it’s fun isn’t it?”

mark only laughs— an incredibly sweet noise —when you let him take off your shorts and underwear in one fluid motion. only then does he let you fully dip your hand into his boxers.

[silkliingerie]

GET YOU A THICKIE.ᐟ

❛❛If that nigga had a twin, I would let 'em run a train!❜❜

Synopsis: Mark teaches Mohawk Mark the joys of having a chubby cutie, especially in bed.

Pairings: Mohawk Mark x Chubby! Reader x OG! Mark

Warnings: Some spoilers from the comics! chubby fem! reader, porn with plot, mdom, threesome, masturbation, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), double penetration, perv! Mohawk Mark, voyeurism (Mark's a little freak), a little breeding kink, praise, teasing (It's Mohawk Mark, I don't have to explain shit), face fucking, fingering, squirting, edging if you squint.

AN: This actually took so long to write but so worth it. Anything for my babies 🤭 Mohawk Mark is referred to as Mohawk to avoid confusion between the two.

Word Count: 2.3k

You loved Mark, truly, you did. But sometimes this man could test your patience. “So, you’re telling me that we have to host an alternate version of yourself indefinitely because?” You currently sat before your boyfriend and his crazy alternative.

Mark cowered under your heavy gaze, “Angstrom sorta trapped him here. It’s just for a little while! Only until the GDA finds him a way home.”

 Your gaze flickered towards his variant. He reeked of dirt and grim, and the stench of death clung to him. Streaks of crimson, old and new, splattered across his skin, only adding to his dishevelled appearance. 

What was more unsettling was the haunted look in his eyes, unhinged with a sort of wildness that made her stomach churn. 

Especially once it locked on your plump figure, his face remained stoic, but his eyes told a different story entirely. It was predatory, sharp and crazed like a savage beast finally cornering its prey. 

It might have been the stupidest decision you've made in your life. This overtly brash counterpart made sure his presence was known, annoyingly so. 

Crude remarks that left you feeling exposed to his predatory gaze.

 “All that on you, I could practically eat you alive.”  “Jesus, you could probably crush me with one thigh, huh, Babe?”  “No need to feel embarrassed, sweet cheeks, it's just a fact.”

His heady leer only amplified the growing twist in your stomach. Carnal touch that was simple enough to be considered friendly but enough that would have heat rising to your cheeks. He was taunting you. Blatantly. 

What wasn't apparent was his borderline obsession with you. You were everything he wasn't: caring, soft, sweet. All the fluffy words ripped straight out of the dictionary.

In the reclose of the guest room, ear pressed against the wall and his length impossibly hard listening to his variant fuck your brains out.

He groaned. Your moans were sweet symphonies. His cock twitched in his hold, imagining your soft hand holding him instead of his calloused ones. 

You'd tease his tip, running the pad of your thumb over the slit. Would you whisper sweet pleas or reprimand him? 

Would you use your mouth, his cock twitched at the thought. Your pretty lips parted around his cock, spit dribbling down the corners of your mouth. Your eyes glossed over as you sputtered around his girth.

Mohawk hissed, fastening his languid strokes. You'd be sprawled out before him, thick thighs twitching as you melted under his touch. Your cute stomach, littered with kisses, was given the proper loving it deserved. 

Would you be embarrassed? Shy away from his hungry gaze as he rolled his hips against your core. Would you beg him to speed or slow down? Or would you be too cock drunk to care? 

Flushed silly as you were split open on his cock, too fucked out to conjure a single thought—babling incoherent pleas. 

You’d only think of him—his touch, his wet kisses and how well he fucked you. The way you cried out his name, like a prayer that only he could hear. 

He felt his balls tightening as he teetered on the edge. He knows You'd look beautiful cumming around his length—utterly lost in the current of pleasure that crashed on you. Warm walls surround him as you writhe beneath him. 

A deep low moan rumbled from his throat, a seemingly endless ropes of thick cum coat his hand and abdomen.

His chest heaved as his body grew limp. Your faint mewls dwindled as you reached your peak, your Mark fast approaching his orgasm. 

God, he was hooked and didn't feel a lick of shame at all. 

The next morning was a bleak as usual. “If you wanted a taste, you could have just asked.” 

Mohawk quirked a brow, a taunting grin. “Yeah? And why would I do that?” his voice wavered a tad.

Mark only stared, “You weren't particularly quiet you know.” returning his attention back to his comic. 

 It was undeniable. He wanted you. Bad. 

You currently sat in between the two on your shared bed. Tucked into yourself, you challenged their leering gazes. You gulped down your frayed nerves, glancing back at your Mark. “So?” 

“He promised to follow your wishes. So no pressure.” you hummed, a cool heat pooled in your stomach. 

You were nervous, how couldn't you be? One Mark was already more than enough to sedate your needs, hell, sometimes too much.

 Adding another, one with the same stamina, plus potential sadism, made you quake with a revered thrill. 

Mohawk only chuckled dryly, grinning from ear to ear, “I'm completely at your service, princess.” 

“Of course, only if you're comfortable with it!” Mark interjected. The last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable; your comfort was his top priority. 

You felt heat crawl up your neck under their heated gaze. You felt the familiar throb between your legs, you fiddled with the end of your shirt. “Yes…Yes, I'm okay with that.” 

That's all it took to release the dam of built-up tension. Mohawk's calloused hands were on your body within seconds. You gasped as he leaned his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent.

“Fuck, you smell better than I'd imagine,” he muttered, licking a long strip along your neck. You shuddered, hands instinctively flying to his broad shoulders. 

While his hands roamed down your body, putting every curve to memory, palming and squeezing your doughy flesh. It was predatory compared to the way your Mark touched you, each touch sent a surge of heat through your body.

 It felt wrong. The way he handled you with practiced care made your stomach twist. He was a maniac and a cannibal. You just prayed he didn't bite a chunk of you. 

Your eyes drifted to your sweet boyfriend, a flush painting his cheeks, eyes half lidded and shallow breaths. They lingered before roving over his body. He sat, legs spread wide enough for you to see a bulge straining against his slacks. He palmed himself, attention solely on you as you slowly unravelled like yarn under his variant. 

“Play with her tits, she loves it. Don't you, baby?” he cooed. He was enjoying this more than you had imagined. 

Mohawks hands found refuge on your tits, twisting and turning your pebbled nipples under your shirt. He tore through the fabric with ease, freeing them. 

You cried out. “Hey, you're right! Look at how big these things are. Jesus, you're soft. Never want to let go,” his hot breath fanned your face before claiming your lips in a searing kiss. You squirmed as his sharp teeth bit your bottom lip. 

You moaned into the heated kiss, the sloppiness of it paired with the stimulation from your sensitive nipples made your head dizzy. 

One his hands traced your stomach and dipped down into your cotton shorts finding your fat cunt making you mewl. “No panties? Filthy girl. ” His hand quickly found your clit, running taut circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

Your hips twitch, breathless moans falling from your lips. Mohawk only smirked, fastening his pace, bemused as you threw your head back in pleasure. 

“Aw, is my princess enjoying herself?” You nod, whimpering as the familiar band of relief settles in your tummy, threatening release. 

Mark pulled his cock from its confines, hissing against the cool air. The tip is an angry red with pre-dribbling freely down. Fisting his cock using your moans as an anchor; the way your face twisted with pleasure, how beautiful you looked crumbling apart.

Mohawk wasn't any better, cock straining against his pants. Enveloped in your scent, your softness, he never wanted to leave. The way you looked, eyes screwed shut, lips parted enough from whimpers made his dick twitch. 

Two fingers probed your entrance before thrusting in full force. You yelped, pushing your hips away from his hands. Mohawk only seemed to chuckle more, gripping the fat of your hip. “Is it too much for you, princess? C’mon, use your words,” he teased. 

You only cried out in response, shaking your head, feeling yourself teeter closer to the edge of release. “Please, wanna cum!”

“Could you say that louder f’me? Couldn't hear ya over how sloppy this pussy sounds,” he teased. For emphasis, slowing down his pace, the sickening squelch of your fluids around his fingers became apparent. “I mean, can’t you just hear how loud she is? Practically drooling.” 

You whined, rolling your hips meeting his thrusts, “Yes! Fuck, I wanna cum!” you babbled. His fingers grazed your G-spot deliciously, making you see stars. 

He hummed, “Yeah? Cum on my fingers.”  That's all the confirmation you needed to let go. Your vision became splotchy as the band of pleasure fully released, your fluids squirting out. 

Your essence dripped down his hands and your thighs, as your legs twitched from the staggering orgasm. 

Sheer sweat coated your skin, soft pants escaping your lips, and your vision was hazy. Mohawk whistled, “Shit, you squirted all over me baby. So hot.” Bringing his drenched fingers to his lips, licking up your essence 

You huff, heat crawled up your cheeks. Shame was nonexistent to this man. The small moment of respite quickly faded as large hands gripped your hips. 

The world tilted as you forced onto your stomach, back arched and ass tooted up. “ Your face is cute, but seeing your ass is even better. I mean, look at this thing.” A harsh stinging slap against your ass cheek making yelp.

 His hands fondled the globes of your ass, “It's so soft! No wonder you always have her in this position, man, this is awesome!” 

Mark only smiled sheepishly, “I didn't know you'd watch us too.” Taking his position in front of you, cock twitching with pre. 

Your eyes widened. There was no way you were built to take them both on. Not at the same time. You felt the head of Mohawks cock probe at your quivering hole. 

“Wait-” you were hushed at the sensation of his thick cock splitting you apart. A sinful moan escaped you, his length already kissing your cervix. Mark slotted his tip against your lips, urging you to open your mouth. 

Mohawk grunted, hips stuttering as your walls clamped down. “Shit you're tight, gripping me like a vice, baby.” You moaned around Mark's cock, causing him to groan. 

He drew his hips back, snapping at a brutal pace, angry red tip bruising your cervix. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips for more leverage, “Don't know why I haven't fucked a fatty yet, this is fucking amazing!” 

“It's great, isn't it?” 

“Fucking fantastic, gotta be the best pussy I've had yet.” 

You whimpered helplessly around Mark's cock, fat tears rolled down your cheeks. “C'mon, baby, you can handle this.” Wiping a stray tear from your face. 

His normal sweet praise made your stomach twist. Contrary to the fast snap of his hips, his tip kisses the back of your throat. Relentless in his pursuit of relief. “You're taking both of us so well…m'fuck keep doing that.” 

You felt the same building of pressure, your walls fluttered around Mohawk's length. “Bout to cum already? I thought you had more stamina than that princess.” his hips slowed their assault, into an agonizingly slow tempo.

You whined at the loss, hands fumbling to your puffy clit. Callous hands restrained your wrists, tugging them behind your back. The new angle sank his length impossibly deeper. “Impatient little thing, aren't you?” 

The lewd sounds of skin slapping echoed across the room. Heavy breathing fanned your molten skin, your mind was long gone. Dribbles of what remained could only focus on Mark's lidded gaze, filled to the brim with overflowing adoration.

 Babbling, I love you's through gritted teeth. His pace growing ever more sloppy, stuttering as the buzz of his climax drew near. Mark hissed, cocking twitching before shooting thick loads of cum into your abused throat. 

“Hah, just like that. I know you could take it. So perfect,” the pad of his thumb swiped the excess mix of cum and spit dripping down your chin. Swallowing the rest.

“You came already? Loser, couldn’t even wait for her to cum.” Mohawk grunted.

Mark tapped your swollen, parted lips,  “Can’t blame me, her mouth’s just amazing.” Mohawk growled in response, inhaling a shaky breath as your pussy clamped down.

 His mind fogged, only the sweet feeling of your warm walls spasming around him, keeping him grounded. His movements, still erratic, were losing their refined edge.  

Your voice grew hoarse, eyes screwed shut as your body threatened to fall forward. “Gonna breed this fat pussy. Shit, love to see you dripping with my cum,” he husked, one hand releasing your wrist, slithering between to where your bodies connected–rolling your clit just enough to have your vision turn blotchy. 

“Let go for me, princess, you can do it, wanna feel you cum around my cock,” he leaned over, lips ghosting your skin. Sloppy kissing your shoulder, nipping at your neck. The euphoric crash of your orgasm floods your system. Overwhelmed by the shock of pleasure  

“Hah, fuck…yes,” His moan was pornagraphic, his hips stuttered, cock pulsing sputtering thick ropes of cum into you. Mohawk's grip around you loosened, and you heaved forward, landing against Mark's sweaty chest. 

“How are you feeling?” his feather light touch caressed your damp skin, your eyelids grew lidded. “Like my body's turned into jello.” The whispers of slumber drew you closer. 

Mohawk pinched your side making you bolt awake, “Can't you go another round princess? I want to see the hype around that pretty mouth of yours.” 

You swatted his wandering hands away, grumbling curses under your breath, curling into Mark. “I'm spent, handle it yourself.” 

Mark massaged cool circles on your back, “Another round couldn’t hurt.” Your attention flickers back to him, feeling his dick twitch beneath you. 

You’re certain your pussy won’t be making it out fully intact.

[silkliingerie]

I finished these two sketches too!

[silkliingerie]

Mark grayson headcanons ★

ᯓ. Mark grayson/invincible x gn! Reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖🌀

Sfw+nsfw headcanons

(Small bit of female, but rest is gn! headcanons)

Reblogs and likes are appreciated ✶ ᶻz .ᐟ

divider by @/bbyg4rlhelps on tumblr💙

SFW ★

★ he always craves you, not even just sexually but physically, too. Just your smell, your vibe, your company. Just you.

★ hates seeing you sad, angry, etc. He thinks he might've done something to make you feel that way. So he does everything in his power to get you out of it.

★ such a cuddle bug, like my baby loves being touched and touching you.

★ this boy is soo clingy. He's always following you, holding on to your hand or sleeve.

★ loves hugs. Every time you're at a counter or a table, he always walks behind you and hugs you from behind.

★ you'd always let him babble away about his day or seance dog. Yk, nerd shit.. and he noticed how you'd genuinely listen and was interested in what he'd talk about. It made him giddy and happy.

★ Always gives you cheek kisses every time you guys hug or cuddle.

★ will always fly you anywhere you want, whether it's another city or country. Even if it's just going to the grocery store, he'll never let his princess walk.

★ very affectionate with you,he’s a man after all. He loves to show his gal how much he loves you.

★ if you guys are talking to the GOTG gang or yalls friends, just a lil hand hold or eye contact with you will have this man melting for you. He just loves you soo muchh.

★ SO MUCH PRINCESS TREATMENT WITH THIS MANN. he'll always open doors for you, breakfast in bed, and brushing your hair.

★ He likes taking showers with you, but not in a pervy way. He just likes it when you help scrub and wash his hair, and your hair too!

★ His favorite little nicknames to call you are baby, princess/prince , my love

★ always so quick to do anything for you. Want food? He already out the door. Cold? Blanket is already covering you. Need a hug? Immediately wrapping his arms around you and kissing you gently. He'll do anything for his sweet girl/boy to be satisfied.

Fem headcanons

★ always making sure you're prepared for when you're on your period, making sure you have the right medicine, pads, and snacks.

★ㅤ hates it when you get cramps, hates seeing you in pain. Always holding you in his arms, kissing your head as he cradles you.

"Sshhh.. it's okay, sweet girl."

"I know it hurts, baby.. I know.."

NSFW ★

(Mostly fem)

★ loves seeing how flustered you get by him just doing the smallest things, like when he flexes his arms or lowers his voice a little just to see your thighs clench and face blush red..

★ SHOWER SEX.

★ definitely a pleasure dom, he always puts your pleasure first before his.

★ Loves eating you out, you tasting so good to him. Your wet slick all over his face.

★ pushes your thighs back whenever he’s eatin it

★ his favorite positions are just the basics. Doggy, missionary, and... yk. 69.

★ he'll always make sure not to be too rough with you. He wants to be gentle with you.

★ always checks up on you when you guys make love, making sure you're comfortable with what he's doing.

"Tell me if it's too much okay?"

"I'll stop when you need me to baby."

★ absolutely adores your body. He loves how soft and squishy you are, especially your thighs.

★ he lovess it when you ride him in cowgirl.. holding on to your hips and thighs. Tits bouncing in his face. It's to die for.

★ HES A THIGH GUY. Don't get me wrong, he loves the rest of your body, but your thighs are his favorite.

★ he could never punish you or be rough with you.. you're his sweet girl.

★ But if he were to punish you, he'd go with edging. He loves teasing you as he edges you, seeing you being a whimpering whiney mess as you he pulls his fingers away.

"Not this time baby.. nuh uh."

"You wanna cum so bad huh? Just wanna cum for me?.."

"It's okay, pretty girl, you can take it. You're a strong girl.."

"Look at you shaking baby, you want it so fucking bad huh?"

"Fuckk you look so pretty like this."

★ tbh he's a switch, but mainly dom. (I'll have sun headcanons for him later.)

★ loves praising you, telling you how good your doing and how good you are for him.

A/N: SORRY if this is rushed babes.

[silkliingerie]

dividers by @bbyg4rlhelps & @enchanthings