#... get it? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lazy-ahh · 1 month ago

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HI !!!! >:3

Before I proceed with my request, I just wanted to say how much I LOOOOOOOVE your work. It's actually chefs kiss. I CONSTANTLY GIGGLE WHILE READING SHDBJANDKENDJDBD

ANYWHOOOO, I wanted to ask if you could make one where Mark is accompanying the reader in the library since the reader has to do some research for homework, Mark would normally be bored out of his mind but since he's with the reader he's more than happy to be here.

I guess this could work with an established relationship, but its up to you

HOPEFULLY THIS MAKES ANY SENSE LMFAOOO, ANYWAY I LOVE UUUUU !!! >:3

OVERDUE FEELINGS

pairing mark grayson x gender neutral reader

in which you’re just trying to finish your damn homework, but mark keeps being distractingly… mark. (leaning into your space. bumping knees under the library table. accidentally reciting love poems like they’re about you.) it’s fine. you’re fine. (you’re not fine.)

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

the library is quiet, the way you like it—just the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional creak of a chair. sunlight streams through the tall windows, painting golden stripes across the wooden tables. you’re hunched over a thick textbook, scribbling notes with a furrowed brow, when a familiar voice whispers right next to your ear.

"you’ve been staring at that page for, like, ten minutes. either you’re really into 18th-century poetry, or you’re zoning out hard."

you jump, nearly knocking over your highlighter, and turn to see mark grayson leaning over your shoulder, grinning. his dark hair is slightly messy, like he’s just flown in (which, knowing him, he probably has), and his golden viltrumite emblem glints under the library lights.

"mark!" you hiss, swatting his arm lightly, your voice barely above a whisper. the sound still feels too loud in the hushed library, and you glance around nervously, half-expecting a librarian to materialize and scold you. "you can’t just sneak up on people in a library. there are rules."

he flinches a little at the swat—not that it actually hurt him, viltrumite durability and all—but he looks genuinely apologetic as he sinks into the chair beside you. "s-sorry," he mumbles, rubbing his arm like you actually managed to sting him. his cheeks are faintly pink as he leans in closer, voice dropping to a sheepish whisper. "i just... saw you over here and, uh. wanted to say hi?" he fidgets, fingers tapping against the table. "you looked kinda stressed. i thought maybe... i could help? or just. be here. if that’s okay."

there’s something unbearably sweet about the way he’s looking at you—like he’s both desperate to stay and terrified you'll tell him to leave. his knee bumps against yours under the table, and he jerks back like he’s been shocked, muttering a quick "sorry, sorry—" before awkwardly folding his hands in his lap like he doesn’t trust himself not to fidget.

you should probably scold him for distracting you, but the way his fingers nervously drum against his own wrist is weirdly endearing. and the way his eyes keep flicking between you and your textbook, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s actually helping or just getting in the way—it makes your chest feel warm.

for a while, you both settle into a comfortable silence. the library hums softly around you—pages turning, distant typing, the occasional cough. mark rests his chin in his palm, watching as you highlight passages with careful precision. he doesn't seem bored at all, just... content. like there's nowhere else he'd rather be than this quiet corner with you, surrounded by old books and golden afternoon light.

eventually, he scoots his chair closer, the legs scraping softly against the library floor. the movement is tentative at first—just an inch, then another—until his shoulder presses firmly against yours, warm and solid through the fabric of both your sweaters. you can feel the faint rise and fall of his breathing, steady and calming despite the way your own pulse suddenly kicks up at the contact.

he leans in, his temple nearly brushing yours as he follows the lines of text. you catch the faint scent of his shampoo, something clean and subtly sweet, mixed with the crisp paper-smell of old books. it's distracting in the best way, making it hard to concentrate on the words in front of you when all your senses seem hyper-aware of him.

as you turn the page, his focus never wavers. you can practically feel him absorbing each poem alongside you, his quiet intensity making the mundane act of studying feel strangely intimate. then—his finger darts out, sudden but gentle, tapping a verse near the bottom of the page. the tip of his finger hovers there, just barely touching the paper, as if afraid to smudge the ink of something so precious.

"i like that one," he murmurs, voice hushed but earnest.

you follow his gaze to the lines: "i would recognize you in total darkness, not by touch or sound, but by the quiet way my soul settles when you're near. heaven, if held in hands, would wear your face. what is happiness, if not your name written in gold ink upon my ribs?" your breath catches sharply between your ribs, the air suddenly too thick, too warm. it's the kind of verse that curls around your heart and squeezes—painfully tender in its honesty, the sort of devotion that makes your fingertips tingle with the urge to reach out.

your pulse flutters like moth wings against your throat, so loud you’re half-convinced mark can hear it. the words on the page blur for a second as you imagine the poet speaking them—not to some abstract beloved, but to someone real, someone who stole their breath the way mark steals yours. and then, stupidly, impossibly, the voice in your head shifts. it’s not the poet’s anymore. it’s his—rough at the edges but unbearably tender, like he’s reciting the verse just for you, like he means it.

your breath hitches when you notice his thumb brushing the edge of the page, right beneath the most devastating line. the calloused pad of his finger traces the paper so lightly, like he’s afraid to smudge the ink but can’t help touching it anyway. something hot and hopeful coils behind your ribs, tight enough to ache. around you, the library dissolves—the rustle of pages, the distant tap of keyboards, even the sunlight pooling on the table fades into static. all that’s left is the way mark’s holding his breath, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks as he stares at the words. like if he moves too fast, this moment might collapse. like he wants to live in it forever.

when you glance up, mark's already looking at you with this soft, wondering expression—like he's seeing something precious. your heart skips traitorously as you wonder, just for a second, if he was thinking of you when he pointed it out.

"you’re staring," you point out, fighting a smile.

mark’s entire face goes pink. he opens his mouth, hesitates, then snaps it shut again like he’s mentally scrambling for words. "i—uh. no i’m not," he mumbles, but the way his fingers twist in the fabric of his sweater gives him away. he’s never been a good liar.

when he finally risks a glance back at you, his voice drops to a whisper, half-embarrassed, half-hopeful. "...okay, maybe a little. but only cause you're—y'know. you." your stomach does a traitorous flip as he gestures vaguely in your direction, his fingers sketching clumsy shapes in the air like he's trying to capture everything about you in one motion. you watch his gaze flicker—from the furrow between your brows that always appears when you concentrate, to the way you're currently worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. you freeze mid-bite, suddenly hyper-aware of the habit.

"it's just. nice. watching you do… stuff. like homework. which sounds way creepier out loud, wow—"

you feel your face burn as his words sink in. part of you wants to tease him, another part wants to hide behind your textbook forever, but the warmth blooming behind your ribs wins out. you press your palms flat against the cool table, trying to ground yourself as he drags a hand down his face in mortification.

"ignore me. i'm gonna go melt into the floor now."

a surprised laugh bubbles up before you can stop it—too loud for the quiet library—and you slap a hand over your mouth. the librarian's sharp glare makes you shrink in your seat, but you can't bring yourself to care. you knock your shoe gently against his under the table, biting back a grin when he peeks at you through his fingers.

"too late," you whisper, voice trembling with barely-contained amusement. your chest feels strangely light, like you've swallowed sunlight. "i already saw you being all... weirdly sincere. no take-backs."

mark groans, slumping forward until his forehead hits the edge of your textbook. "this is worse than that time my dad caught me practicing compliments in the mirror," he mutters into the pages.

"wait, you—" you bite your cheek to stop another laugh. "you practiced? for... this?"

his head snaps up, eyes wide. "no! i mean—not just for—okay maybe a little, but—" he makes a strangled noise. "can we pretend i never showed up today? i’ll fly out the window right now. no witnesses."

you catch his sleeve before he can actually bolt. "don’t you dare," you say, softer than you meant to. "i... like your weird sincerity. even if it’s a little embarrassing. you're surprisingly adorable, markus."

mark freezes. his ears are practically glowing. "...yeah?"

"yeah." you let go of his sleeve, fingertips lingering just a second too long against the worn fabric before pulling away. the space between your hand and his on the table suddenly feels charged—just two inches of scratched library wood separating you from the warmth of his skin. you swallow hard. "but if you tell anyone i said that, i'm denying it." your voice wavers slightly, betraying you. not that it matters—william's already made powerpoint presentations about your "heart eyes™" every time mark enters a room, and even your cat seems to give you knowing looks when he visits your house. the only one oblivious is mark himself, currently blinking at you like you've just manifested a life-sized statue of seance dog for him.

his grin cracks wide open—all lopsided sweetness and crinkled eyes, sunlight catching the gold flecks in them. your stomach swoops like you've missed a step going downstairs. "secret's safe with me," he whispers, leaning in so close you catch the faint coffee-and-cinnamon scent of his breath. his pinky finger brushes yours on the table, feather-light. "but only if you let me buy you coffee after this." he clears his throat, suddenly fascinated by a chip in the table's varnish. "as, uh. bribery. for my... continued silence."

"that’s the worst bribery attempt i’ve ever heard."

"is it working?"

you pretend to consider it, tapping your chin with exaggerated thoughtfulness even as your pulse thrums wildly in your wrists. "...maybe." the word comes out suspiciously breathless.

mark's quiet victory fist-pump is absolutely dorky, complete with an under-the-table knee bounce that makes his chair squeak. you press your lips together so hard they tingle, but the grin still escapes—first as a tremor at the corners of your mouth, then as a full-blown smile that makes your cheeks ache. the homework in front of you might as well be written in alien hieroglyphs now; all your brain can process is the way mark's trying (and failing) to smother his own smile against his knuckles, his eyes crinkled with quiet triumph. you're so hopelessly gone for him it should be embarrassing, but right now, with golden library light catching in his lashes, you can't bring yourself to care.

AWWWWW thank you so much for all the love and support man 🥹 not gonna lie, i'm starting to experience that stage where writers start to feel self-doubt about their writing and stuff, but hearing you say all this is definitely very helpful and sweet, so thank you so much mysterious anon! i hope you enjoyed this one-shot <33 1.8k words full of awkward flirty dialogue between mark and reader and i was like sweating and wiping my forehead every 5 minutes as i struggled to think like, 'oh would a person actually say this?' 'does this seem awkward enough but would also work if a dorky cute loser (mark) said this to me?'

#lazy-ahh #invincible #mark grayson #gender neutral reader #invincible x reader #invincible x gender neutral reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x gender neutral reader #ngl i cooked with the title heheh right?#overdue feelings #get it?#cause when you have borrowed books that are overdue and they have feelings for each other and-#NEED THAT INVINCIDIH #are you sure?

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