tearvls

[tearvls]

Everytime I see Prisoner Mark's shiny bald head, I want to lick it SO bad. I feel like a moth attracted to a bright light—it's distracting me. The urges man, the urges.

@l0s3rd0wnt0wn you understand right? We all wanna do this and think this 24/7🌹❤️‍🩹 anyway this a shit post bc I needa get this outta my system.

[tearvls]

—100 Follower special!!—

Thank you all!! I'm actually shocked I got to 100 followers this quickly omg!

—Invincible Variants sucking Dick/eating Pussy

AFAB! Reader + AMAB! Reader x invincible variants

—Sinister Mark

AFAB:

Sinister Mark would eat you out like it’s an act of ownership — ruthless, merciless, hungry. He’d shove your thighs apart without a word, pinning you open with a bruising grip, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. His tongue would be relentless, dragging heavy, wet strokes over your clit until you’re twitching, only to wrap his lips around it and suck sharply, forcing a cry from your throat. He’d hum low in his chest when you moan, deliberately letting the vibrations make you grind against his mouth. Every time you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure, he’d growl and yank you back down onto his face, nose buried deep, tongue fucking you with obscene, punishing precision like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else.

AMAB:

Sinister Mark would suck you off like he’s trying to destroy you — slow at first, dragging the flat of his tongue along the underside of your cock just to hear you beg. His eyes would lock onto yours, dark and unblinking, as he pushed your length deep into his throat with no hesitation, groaning when you hit the back. His hands would clamp onto your hips, holding you in place as he bobbed his head, messy and loud, spit dripping down his chin. Any attempt to move would earn a sharp glare and a punishing suck that made your legs shake. He’d pull back just to slap the tip against his tongue, smirking when you whimper, before swallowing you down again, intent on milking every broken sound out of you like it's his personal victory.

—Mohawk Mark

AFAB:

Mohawk Mark would eat you out like a fucking challenge — reckless, aggressive, messy. He wouldn’t even bother teasing; he'd shove you down onto something hard, tearing your clothes aside like he’s in a rush, then dive in with a brutal lick from your dripping hole up to your clit. His hands would bruise your thighs, nails digging in, keeping you spread while he tongue-fucks you rough and deep. He’d growl against you when you moan, nipping your inner thighs just to hear you squeal before latching onto your clit and sucking so hard it’s almost painful. He wouldn't stop when you cum — if anything, he’d double down, shoving two fingers inside you to stretch you open while he keeps his mouth glued to your clit, determined to leave you wrecked and shaking, a cocky, breathless laugh rumbling against your core.

AMAB:

Mohawk Mark would suck you off with filthy confidence, like he knows he’s the best you’ll ever have — and he wants to prove it. He'd grab your cock without warning, give it a few rough strokes just to see you twitch, then smirk before shoving it into his mouth in one swift, wet motion. He’d bob his head fast, messy, no fear, spit pooling at the corners of his mouth as he deep-throated you again and again, daring you to cum faster. His hands would roam greedily, squeezing your thighs, palming your ass, dragging his nails down your skin just to make you jolt. He’d pull back only to slap your cock against his tongue with a lewd, challenging look, daring you to fuck his face — and when you gave in, he’d moan shamelessly, taking it harder, like he lived for the feeling of you breaking above him.

—Maskless Mark

AMAB:

Maskless Mark would suck you off like he’s addicted to you — wrapping his lips around your cock, his whole body pressing closer like he couldn’t get enough. He’d start slow, savoring every inch, tongue tracing every vein with aching care — but the longer he had you in his mouth, the rougher he’d get, bobbing his head faster, sloppier, lost in it. His fingers would dig into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, trying to anchor himself as he swallowed you deeper with each thrust. His eyes would glisten with need, pleading without words, and every time you moaned or twitched in his mouth, he’d let out a desperate sound like he was the one being fucked. He wouldn’t stop until you finished — and even then, he'd stay latched on, licking and sucking like he physically couldn’t let you go.

—Full Mask Mark

AFAB:

Full Mask Mark would eat you out with terrifying precision — methodical, relentless, like he’s studying every twitch and moan you make and calculating exactly how to tear you apart. He’d spread your legs wide with an iron grip, holding you still like struggling was never even an option, then lower his mouth to you with an eerie, slow focus. His tongue would move in devastating patterns: long, slow licks followed by sudden, cruel flicks over your clit, leaving you gasping. He wouldn’t say a word — the mask would stay on, pulled up to his nose, heavy breathing echoing through the room while he ravaged you like a machine built for this. When you started to cum, he’d clamp his mouth down harder, sucking sharp and rough, drawing it out until your thighs shook violently against his unyielding hold.

AMAB:

Full Mask Mark would suck your cock like it was a controlled experiment — a slow, meticulous destruction, with no escape. He’d fist your cock firmly, angling you perfectly before taking you into his mouth in one slow, maddening pull, dragging his tongue along every inch until you were shuddering. He wouldn’t close his eyes, wouldn’t lose focus — just stare up at you through the mask with cold, unrelenting hunger. His pace would stay steady even as drool spilled down his chin, never faltering, never letting up — a slow, devastating rhythm designed to wear you down completely. Any attempt to thrust would earn a punishing squeeze to your hips, forcing you to surrender to the merciless drag of his lips and tongue until you finally broke, and he swallowed every drop without a word.

—Omni Mark

AFAB:

Omni Mark would eat you out like it’s his god-given right — rough, overwhelming, unstoppable. He’d lift you up with ease, tossing you onto a surface like you weigh nothing, then shove your thighs apart and dive in without hesitation. His tongue would be devastating: strong, fast, punishing, dragging over your clit with raw force, making you scream for him in seconds. He’d growl when you moaned, the sound vibrating against your pussy as he sucked hard enough to make your vision blur. If you tried to pull away, he’d slam your hips down and keep going, forcing orgasm after orgasm out of you like he was training you to only cum for him. His hand would sometimes slip up to choke you lightly — a reminder of just how much control he had, even when he was buried between your thighs, devouring you like a starved animal.

AMAB:

Omni Mark would suck you off like he owned you — rough, dominant, and unrelenting. He’d shove you against a wall or pin you down with one hand easily, forcing your cock into his mouth in one swift, deep thrust. No teasing, no buildup — just heat, pressure, and absolute control. His throat would flex as he swallowed you whole, not even gagging, like his body was made to take you. His fingers would bruise your hips as he held you still, bobbing his head at a brutal pace, spit and precum slicking everything between you. His brown eyes would burn into yours the entire time, daring you to cum — demanding it. And when you did, he wouldn’t let up; he'd stay latched on, drinking every drop down like it was fuel, growling low and satisfied around your sensitive cock as he milked you dry repeatedly.

—Bug eye Mark

AFAB:

Bug-Eye Mark would eat you out with frantic, obsessive hunger — like he couldn’t get close enough no matter how deep he buried his face between your thighs. His hands would tremble slightly as he yanked your legs open, pushing your knees back so he could see everything, his warped eyes fixated and unblinking. He’d lap at your folds with quick, desperate flicks of his tongue, sloppy and relentless, moaning into your cunt every time you gasped or whined. His breathing would be erratic, almost panicked, like he was losing his mind from how good you tasted. He wouldn’t stop even after you came, fingernails digging into your thighs to hold you down while his tongue kept abusing your overstimulated clit, his messy noises filling the room as he practically devoured you alive.

AMAB:

Bug-Eye Mark would suck your cock like he was possessed — desperate, messy, and completely shameless. He’d whimper as he wrapped his lips around you, bobbing his head too fast from the start, drool spilling out almost immediately. His eyes would stay wide and frantic, never breaking eye contact even as spit slicked your shaft and dripped onto his chin. He’d shove you deep down his throat, gagging noisily but loving it, the sounds he made obscene and raw. His hands would scrabble over your hips, clutching you hard enough to leave scratches, pulling you closer like he physically couldn’t let you go. When you started to cum, he’d choke on it with a broken, eager whine — but he wouldn’t pull away. He’d take everything, shaking with the effort, like getting your cum down his throat was the only thing that mattered anymore.

—Sheisty Mark

AFAB:

Shiesty Mark would eat you out like he’s showing off — cocky, greedy, but full of praise between every filthy lick. He’d throw you back onto the bed, grip your thighs with rough hands, and dive in face-first like he’s starving, but he'd talk through it, his voice low and slick with heat. “Fuck, baby, you taste so good... you’re perfect for me, y’know that?” he'd groan against your pussy, tongue plunging into you between words. His mouth would work you over sloppily, switching between messy, wet sucking and slow teasing flicks against your clit just to hear you beg. Every time you moaned or cried out, he’d hum proudly against you, mumbling how good you are for him, how fucking pretty you look falling apart. When you came, he wouldn’t stop — he’d grin against your pussy and keep licking, determined to wring another orgasm out of you just because he could.

AMAB:

Shiesty Mark would suck your cock with that same cocky, shit-eating grin — but there’d be real worship under it, pure hunger for you. He'd start by stroking you lazily, teasing you with featherlight touches, before finally licking a fat stripe up your shaft and chuckling when you shuddered. “Damn, baby... you’re so fuckin’ perfect for me. So good...” he’d mutter, almost reverently, before swallowing your cock down in one fluid, sloppy motion. His mouth would be hot and wet, tongue swirling around the head, moaning like he was getting off just from the taste of you. He’d keep one hand gripping your hip tight, thumb rubbing circles into your skin while he sucked you harder, rougher, needing to feel you fall apart. Every time you twitched in his mouth, he’d praise you again — “That’s it... that’s my good boy, gimme all of it...” — voice low and hoarse, desperate for more.

—Prisoner Mark

AFAB:

Prisoner Mark would eat you out like he’s dying — starved for touch, desperate to feel you, to taste you. He’d grab you rough, fingers digging into your hips with bruising force, dragging you toward his mouth with no patience, no hesitation. His tongue would be reckless, messy, sloppy — shoving deep into you, then dragging up to flick your clit with quick, desperate strokes. He’d groan brokenly against you like he was the one being wrecked, the vibrations making you sob. Every time you cried out, his grip would tighten, nails scraping your skin as he pulled you harder against his mouth, grinding his face into you like he couldn’t get enough. He wouldn’t stop until you came — and even then, he’d keep licking, keep sucking, like he was trying to survive on the way you taste, addicted beyond saving.

AMAB:

Prisoner Mark would suck your cock like it was the last thing he’d ever get to do — rough, frantic, utterly consumed. He’d shove you back hard, fall to his knees without a second thought, and swallow you down so fast you’d choke on your own breath. His mouth would be hot, sloppy, spit leaking down his chin almost immediately, but he wouldn’t stop — bobbing his head fast, desperate, needy, like he was trying to make you cum as quickly as possible just to feel you lose it for him. His fingers would dig bruises into your thighs, holding you like a lifeline, like if you pulled away he might break into pieces. He’d moan around your cock, loud and wrecked, throat flexing as he forced himself to take you deeper, ignoring any discomfort because he needed you more than he needed air. And when you finally finished, he’d suck you through it, gasping and messy, like he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to.

—Viltrumite Mark

AFAB:

Viltrumite Mark would eat you out like a conquest — calculating, unrelenting, and almost cruel in his focus. He wouldn’t bother with teasing, just immediately diving in, tongue cutting through you with the same precision he’d use in battle. His hands would force your thighs wide, holding you open and staring down at you like you’re his to take. Every movement would be deliberate, the pressure from his mouth suffocating and relentless. He wouldn’t stop when you came; he’d keep going, driving his tongue deep inside you and flicking your clit hard, forcing multiple orgasms from you until you’re sobbing and begging for mercy. “You were made for me,” he’d growl against your dripping core, “No one else will ever have you like this.”

AMAB:

Viltrumite Mark would suck your cock like it was a task — cold, calculated, and merciless. He wouldn’t waste time; he’d take you into his mouth roughly, swallowing you down without a second thought, eyes locked onto yours, unwavering and dark. His movements would be fast, almost brutal, pushing you to the edge without a care for your comfort — just pushing you closer and closer to the breaking point. His hands would squeeze your hips until they ached, nails digging in, making sure you couldn’t escape him. When you tried to thrust, he’d grip you harder, keeping you still, and every time you moaned, he’d intensify his sucking, forcing your cock into his throat until you’re shuddering beneath him. When you finally cum, he wouldn’t pull back immediately. He’d swallow every drop, eyes burning with the knowledge that you were his — and no one else would ever get to claim you like this.

[tearvls]

HI I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!!!! IF ITS POSSIBLE, CAN YOU PLEASE MAKE A MARK FIC WHERE HE GETS JEALOUS OF THE ATTENTION THE READER GIVES TO THE OTHER MSRK VARIANTS

"Jealousy Jealousy"

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Mark Grayson Variants x GN! Reader

Featuring: Sinister Mark, Mohawk Mark, Full Mask Mark, Shiesty Mark, Prisoner Mark, Viltrumite Mark, No Mask Mark

Synopsis: You find yourself caught between Mark's many very desperate variants.

The sky above the prison cracked and churned, smoke and screams threading through the thick, choking air. Around you, the ground was littered with rubble and fallen inmates, some groaning, some eerily still. You barely registered it anymore, too focused on dragging an injured guard to safety behind a broken wall.

Above, he was fighting.

Mark. Your Mark.

His fists flew in vicious arcs, trading blows with a wilder, meaner version of himself — one with a mohawk and a wicked, wolfish grin that made your stomach turn. Each punch sounded like a thunderclap, shockwaves blasting the debris outward. Mark slammed Mohawk Mark into the ground hard enough to crack the concrete, and for a second, everything seemed like it was under control. You exhaled, steadying yourself against the wall— And then a screaming rush of wind nearly knocked you off your feet. Before you could react, another Mark — this one maskless, his hair a little longer, his face desperate — barreled straight into you. You gasped as his arms wrapped around you in a crushing hug, lifting you clear off the ground

"Oh my god," he breathed against your ear, his voice trembling. "I finally found you. You're even more beautiful than I remembered. I thought I lost you... I thought—" He pulled back just enough to cradle your face in his hands, staring at you like you were some kind of miracle he barely dared to touch. You opened your mouth to speak — "Wait—" — but the words stuck in your throat.

The moment shattered like glass

.

From behind, Sinister Mark appeared like a black storm, his expression twisted into something feral. Without a word, he grabbed you by the waist, ripping you bodily out of Maskless Mark’s arms with a brutal yank. "Back off!" Sinister Mark snapped, holding you so tightly against him you could feel the shudder of restrained violence under his skin.

Maskless Mark stumbled forward, face contorting in fury. "You son of a—!" He lunged — but Sinister Mark backhanded him so hard Maskless Mark went skidding across the rubble. "I said," Sinister Mark growled, voice dripping with venom, "back off!"

You barely had time to process the shock when another figure crash-landed nearby — Full Mask Mark, his dark visor flashing as he immediately stepped between you and Sinister Mark. "Release them," Full Mask Mark ordered coldly. "They're safer with me."

Then — as if the gates of hell had opened — more figures started descending one after another. Shiesty Mark vaulted over a wall with a cocky grin, landing next to Full Mask Mark and immediately trying to tug you free. "Come on, baby — you know you wanna get outta here with me."

Another Mark crashed down — Prisoner Mark, still in his grey jumpsuit, bruised and bloodied but smirking as he wiped blood from his lip. "Tch. You're all pathetic. They want someone real. Someone like me."

And then Viltrumite Mark floated down gracefully, arms crossed, looking eerily composed as he assessed the scene. "Clearly," he said mildly, "they’re overwhelmed. I'll take custody of them."

It was like a bomb went off.

Suddenly every single Mark was grabbing at you, shoving each other, snarling, punching — they swarmed over you like feral animals fighting over a single toy, claws out, snarling and snapping. You were jostled from one to the other — Sinister Mark’s brutal grip, Full Mask Mark’s iron hold, Shiesty Mark’s arms sneaking around your waist — each yanking you back and forth like you were the only thing keeping them alive. You could barely even get a word in — your mouth kept opening, but all that came out were tiny choked sounds as hands grabbed and pulled and voices screamed over each other:

"Let go!"

"They're mine!"

"You’ll just get them hurt!"

"They don’t want you, they want me!"

"Enough — or I’ll kill you all right here."

The prison yard was falling apart — debris raining from the sky, concrete cracked like broken glass under Mark's boots. He drove his fist into Mohawk Mark’s gut, sending the variant crumpling with a grunt of pain. Another hit, another grunt — just like every other fight before it. Mark pulled back, ready to finish it —but something caught his eye. Across the battlefield — past the smoke, past the rubble —

you.

You were struggling, trapped between a mob of familiar faces — faces that wore his own features twisted in desperation. His blood went cold. You stumbled back as Sinister Mark yanked you toward him, one gloved hand firm around your wrist. Maskless Mark barreled into him a second later, prying you free and holding you like you were something fragile. Then Full Mask Mark ripped you from Maskless, dragging you close with tense, gloved fingers. Shiesty Mark laughed and twirled you around into his arms, only to be tackled by Prisoner Mark a heartbeat later.

They were fighting over you like feral animals.

Like he wasn't even there. Mark froze, breathing hard, a deep roar clawing its way up his throat. Then he launched into the sky, fists clenched, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

"I'm coming—!"

He blasted toward you, faster than a bullet—

—but halfway there, a blur of motion smashed into him. Viltrumite Mark. He grabbed Mark by the collar and yanked him sideways mid-flight, spinning him out of control. "Stay out of this!" Viltrumite barked, shoving him hard. Mark growled and threw a punch, knocking Viltrumite back — only for Mohawk Mark to slam into his back next, driving them both into a spiraling dive. Before he could recover, Full Mask Mark was there, throwing a fist at his face. Shiesty tackled him around the waist, laughing.

"Welcome to the party, loser!"

Mark twisted free with a furious snarl, throwing them off — but by the time he looked up again, you were even further away, trapped between four desperate variants clawing and dragging at you. He could see you — wide-eyed, overwhelmed — getting pulled one way by Maskless, then the other by Sinister, then another as Prisoner Mark ripped you free. Mark roared and blasted forward again, elbowing through the chaos, getting grabbed and yanked every direction. Hands — all his hands — shoved and clawed and punched. Each Mark screaming over the other:

"They're safer with me!"

"You can't protect them like I can!"

"They don't love you the way I do!"

Mark finally got a hand on you — pulling you close — only for Shiesty to tackle him low, sending both of you tumbling. He barely kept you in his grasp, spinning midair, his arms locking tight around you. "I got you—!" he gasped — only for Sinister to crash into him next, ripping you from his arms with brutal force.

It was a mess. A storm.

Everywhere he turned, another version of himself was grappling, shouting, grabbing at you like you were the last star left in the sky. Mark groaned, shoving Full Mask Mark off his back, ducking under Shiesty's swinging punch, grabbing you again and getting yanked right back into the chaos by Maskless and Prisoner Mark clawing at his arms. You flailed, trying to keep your footing, groaning as you got pulled back and forth like a living tug-of-war rope. Mark gritted his teeth, chest heaving, blood pounding in his ears. This wasn’t going to be a clean save. This wasn’t going to be fast. He tightened his grip on you, glaring at the sea of versions clawing for you with wild eyes.

And through gritted teeth, he muttered: "This is gonna be a long fight."

[tearvls]

Ughshhdhx I got 2 requests I gotta do till then but what should I write next y'all

DAMN 438 votes?! 😭 y'all desperate but I guess I'll get the writing the sex begging Mark soon. Lit was a tie between Sex begging Mark and Viltrumite Mark oml

[tearvls]

Hello mᥡrk . Could you please do main mark with a male reader that has powerfull shape-shifting (like am talking shape-shifting into anything , mystical, normal animals , people , and objects while also being able to mimic their powers and sounds) . So like the scenario can be that his powers are disrupting his sense of self and making it difficult to maintain a consistent identity. The constant transformation has been leading to a feeling of being a chameleon, constantly adapting to fit in, and struggling to define a true core self.

How would main mark comfort male reader who feels like that .

"Who are you?"

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Male! Shape shifting! Reader.

Synopsis: You can become anything–but no longer do you know who you are. Mark is the only thing keeping you grounded.

Warnings: Identity dysphoria, emotional distress, existential themes, mild dissociation, superpower-related mental strain

You weren’t supposed to end up like this.

This power—your gift, your curse—it was supposed to be cool. Amazing. A dream. You could turn into anything. Birds, lions, fire itself. You could become people. Take on their powers. Their voices. Their faces.

And at first, it was fun. Funny. Useful.

Until it wasn’t.

Now, you can’t stop. You shift without thinking, without meaning to. Sometimes your skin itches like it’s begging to change. Your voice comes out as someone else's. You catch your reflection and have no idea who you’re looking at.

The rooftop is quiet. Cold. You sit with your knees drawn to your chest, breathing in the city air, trying not to disappear again.

Your fingers flicker—skin to fur to scales to nothing. Your arms twist and reform. You shift shapes like most people blink. Too fast. Too often. Too much.

Your body can be anything.

Except still.

You don’t know what you are anymore.

Then—soft footsteps.

You know them before you look.

“You’re up here again.”

Mark.

He sounds tired, but not annoyed. Just… worried. He walks across the rooftop slowly, like he doesn’t want to scare you off. Like he’s approaching a wild animal that might run at any second.

You almost shift into one.

But you hold it back.

Barely.

“I’m not here to make you talk,” Mark says, sitting beside you. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… didn’t want you to be alone.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I don’t know how to be anything but alone.”

Mark is quiet for a second. Then he says softly, “That’s not true.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first. Your throat feels tight. Raw.

You stare at your hands. They change again. Skin to fur. Fur to feathers. Then stone. Then mist.

You clench your fists. “I can’t stop.”

Mark watches, calm. Not scared. Never scared of you.

“I know.”

“I don’t even mean to,” you say, voice cracking. “It just… happens. My body doesn’t feel like mine. My voice isn’t mine. Sometimes I hear myself talk and it’s not even me. It’s someone I saw on TV. Or someone I passed on the street.”

You feel your face change. Eyes widen, then shift shape. Your mouth stretches, shrinks, reshapes.

You feel like clay. Melting.

“I don’t know who I am,” you whisper. “I don’t know.”

You expect silence. Or pity. Maybe fear.

But Mark scoots closer.

“You’re you,” he says firmly. “You’re always you.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah? What does that even mean? I don’t have a real voice. Or a real face. Or a real anything. I just copy. I reflect whatever’s around me. That’s all I am. A mirror.”

Mark shakes his head. “No. That’s not all you are.”

“You only say that because you want there to be something real here. But what if there isn’t? What if I’m just made of bits and pieces of everyone else? A mix of noise. Of shapes.”

He looks you dead in the eyes. “Then those pieces still chose to care about me. Still stayed up late to listen when I needed to talk. Still held my hand when I thought I was going to break. That wasn’t them. That was you.”

You stare at him, heart thudding in your chest. Or what feels like your chest.

“But what if I forget who I am completely?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “What if I shift too much and I can’t get back?”

Mark doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he moves even closer. Carefully. Slowly. Then—he wraps his arms around you.

You tense at first. You're not used to being touched when you feel like this. When you're half-you, half-everything else.

But his grip is warm. Solid.

He holds you like you're not broken. Like you're real.

“If you ever get lost,” he says quietly, “I’ll find you. I promise.”

You feel something burn behind your eyes.

“I don’t want to be a monster.”

“You’re not,” Mark says immediately.

“You don’t know what I’ve become.”

“I’ve seen it,” he says. “I’ve seen the fire. The wings. The creatures you don’t even have names for. But none of that scared me.”

“Why not?”

He looks at you with so much honesty it hurts.

“Because it was still you.”

Your breath hitches.

“You’re not the things you turn into,” Mark says. He pulls back just enough to look you in the face.

“You’re the only person who makes me feel like I can breathe. That’s what’s real. Not your shape. You.”

You blink hard. Your form flickers again—but you fight it. For once, not out of fear.

You want to stay. To be you.

With him.

Your hands stop changing. Your voice settles.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” you say. “I don’t know if I ever will.”

Mark brushes your cheek with his thumb. “Then don’t do it alone.”

You let yourself lean into him. His warmth seeps into your skin. It grounds you.

“You mean that?”

He nods. “Always.”

You stay like that, pressed against him, as the sky darkens above. The city still buzzes far below, but it feels quieter up here. Like a pause in a song. Like breathing in.

Like being real again.

Just for a little while.

[tearvls]

Viltrumite mark and GN! Reader drabble I shit out my ass because I need to post

Smut!!

Viltrumite Mark is an absolute monster underneath his bottoms. The first time you saw him, it was a shock. I mean, you didn't even know if it would fit! He's absolutely questioning your reaction since every male on Viltrum is this size. It’s his first time with a human—give him a break. How would he have known his dick size stood out compared to most human men?

Viltrumite Mark is the type of guy to cum everywhere on you but inside you. On your face, chest, legs, feet, hand—he doesn't care. He’ll gladly cover you with his cum just to get that shocked reaction out of you, and a quick scolding with a steel “Seriously, Mark?!” It gets him going every time.

Viltrumite Mark is absolutely into rough sex. He’s from Viltrum, a planet raised to conquer—a violent planet. How could you not expect him to be into biting and clawing? He loves when your nails dig into his back and scratch it up as he pounds into you ruthlessly. And he absolutely loves biting. He doesn’t care if it’s you or him—he loves biting you all over. Neck, shoulders, lips, nipples—he doesn’t give a damn. He just wants to mark you.

Viltrumite Mark enjoys foreplay. It could be you or him, he won’t mind. He likes getting you all riled up and desperate before he deals with you. It’s the same thing every time. At first, he didn’t get the concept. All sex, no need for extra—that was before he realized how good it felt. The first time he tried foreplay, he almost came apart immediately.

Viltrumite Mark isn’t used to the concept of sex without mating. He doesn’t get the point of a condom. If he wants to cum inside you, he should be allowed with no risk. Viltrums were made to mate with each other only to produce more offspring, not for the sheer pleasure or enjoyment.

Viltrumite Mark loves aftercare. He was foreign to it when you first started cleaning him and yourself up after sex. Soon, he understood that it was an important part of sex life, and now he lives for it. After each fucking, he’s cleaning you and his dick off, starting up a warm bath for you both, while pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your skin—even if he was just rough beforehand.

[tearvls]

Bratty power bottom! Rex and GN reader smut drabble

Bratty Power Bottom Rex! Who makes it his personal mission to piss you off all day long—just for fun. Whether it's the smallest teases or full-on flirting with the nearest hot guy or girl, Rex makes sure you're watching every second of it. He’ll lean in too close, laugh too hard, let his hands linger just long enough to get your blood boiling. And when your jaw clenches or your eyes darken? That’s his favorite part. He lives for it.

Bratty Power Bottom Rex! Who will yank you away from whatever you’re doing, claiming it’s an emergency—only to shove you into the nearest empty room, lock the door, and drop to his knees like he’s starving. He’ll pull your pants down like it’s a race against time, stroke you just right, just fast enough to get you twitching at the edge… then stop. With a mischievous little laugh, he’ll lean up and whisper, “Sorry, babe,” like he didn’t just commit a crime. And before you can catch him, he’s gone—bolting out the door, giggling like a damn schoolgirl, leaving you hanging and pissed as hell.

Bratty Power Bottom Rex! Who gets exactly what he wanted when you finally snap. He’s biting into the pillow, muffling his own moans as you pound into him like it’s a punishment. And maybe it is. He gasps and begs for you to slow down, says he’s sorry, swears he’ll never tease you again—but you’ve heard that line before. He’s said it the first time. And the second. And the third. But the moment he can walk straight again, he’s right back to pushing every one of your buttons with that cocky little grin.

Bratty Power Bottom Rex! Who always seems to have one last round in him. You’ll collapse beside him after wrecking him good, thinking he’s finally done… until he pounces. Like a damn tiger. You never figured out how the hell he has the stamina to keep going, but somehow he does (three rounds is his limit, you’ve tested it). He’ll straddle you, dragging his fingers across every inch of your skin—everywhere except where you want him. He’ll twist your nipples just to watch you twitch before he starts grinding down, fucking himself on your cock—or strap on—while begging for you to touch his aching, untouched dick. Whining, panting, still so greedy for your attention.

[tearvls]

You're mine now

Pairing: Maskless mark x Male Reader

Synopsis: He's obsessed with you.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, kidnapping, obsession, blood, non-consensual kissing, threats of violence, emotional manipulation, blood licking

You don’t know what woke you. Maybe it was the whisper of the wind outside, or the groaning pipes in the wall. But when your eyes blinked open, heart already beating a little too fast, you were hit with the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong. Off. Too quiet.

Then—boom.

The front door exploded off its hinges like it had been punched by a truck. Wood splinters shot across the room like shrapnel, and you barely had time to scramble off the couch before a shadow was already in your doorway, a shape standing in the settling dust.

Blood. That was the first thing you saw. Blood all over his hands, smeared along his jaw, drying in thick flakes on the fabric clinging to his body.

And then the face.

Your heart stopped.

It was Mark. It looked like Mark. But not your Mark. Not the one who smiled awkwardly when you caught him staring. Not the one who helped you carry groceries once or stopped a falling beam during a city collapse. Not the Mark who flushed red when you brushed his fingers and called it an accident.

No. This Mark was raw, unmasked, and wrong.

His eyes found you and widened—like you were the answer to every prayer he’d been screaming into the void. He stepped forward slowly, like if he moved too fast you might vanish. His lips trembled. There were scratches on his neck. His knuckles were busted. He looked like he’d torn his way through hell.

"You…" he whispered. His voice cracked on the word. "You're alive."

You took a step back instinctively. “Mark…?”

“I thought—” He broke off, chest heaving. “He killed you. My dad. You were just trying to protect me, and he—he didn’t even hesitate. I held you. You were so cold.”

You shook your head. “I don’t know what you're talking about—”

But then he lunged.

You screamed and ducked, but he was faster—hands catching you around the waist, dragging you against him in a crushing hug. His arms were trembling, but strong. Too strong. Blood smeared from his fingers to your shirt, soaking into the fabric. You squirmed, struggling to shove him off, but it was like trying to move a mountain.

“I buried you,” he whispered into your neck. “I dug a grave myself. I kissed your forehead before I covered your face. I told myself I’d never love anyone again. I meant it. I meant it—until I found you again. Here. Whole. Breathing.”

You tried to twist away, but his fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face up to look at him. There was something feral behind his eyes. Unblinking. Hungry. He wasn’t seeing you—he was seeing the ghost of you. The version he lost.

“You're not going to die again,” he said. “Not this time. Not ever.”

“Mark, you’re scaring me,” you breathed. “Let go—”

He kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, unhinged, wet and violent. His mouth crashed against yours like he was trying to breathe you in, like if he kissed hard enough, he’d convince himself this was real. Blood from his lip smeared onto yours, the metallic taste sending bile up your throat. You shoved at him with both hands, twisting your head, but he just followed you, licking into the corner of your mouth.

You slapped him.

Hard.

His head jerked sideways. For a heartbeat, he went completely still.

Then he started to laugh.

It was small, breathless. Almost a sob. “You still have that spark. I missed that. I missed everything. The way you talk back. The way you try to be brave. I used to think about it every night—what I’d give to feel you one more time.”

His thumb swept under your eye. He didn’t seem to realize his hands were still slick with blood.

A thick, red streak dragged across your cheek.

He froze.

His eyes locked on it—then, slowly, almost reverently, he leaned forward and licked it off.

You whimpered. You couldn’t help it. It was hot and wet and wrong. His tongue dragged along your skin like he was savoring it, breathing you in through his nose, eyes fluttering shut.

“You taste just like before,” he whispered.

Your legs buckled. “Please,” you said. “Please stop this—whatever this is. You’re not him.”

He shook his head. “No. He’s not me. He let you slip through his fingers. He still has you and he doesn’t even know what you’re worth. I had you once. I lost you. I’m not making that mistake again.”

You lashed out. Your elbow connected with his gut—not that it did much. He grunted, more surprised than hurt, but your struggle only made him hold tighter. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them to your chest as you squirmed, his breath hot and erratic against your ear.

“I killed to get here,” he whispered. “Do you know how many versions of me tried to stop me? How many people stood in my way? I don’t care. I’ll kill them all. I’ll kill him if he tries to take you back.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Him—?”

“Your Mark,” he snarled. “He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t know what he has. You think I don’t see how he lets you walk home alone? How he forgets your favorite things? I watched him through a rift. I saw every second he wasted.”

“You were watching me?” you gasped.

“Every night,” he admitted. “I couldn’t help it. I needed to know you were safe. But I couldn’t just watch anymore. I couldn’t. Every time I saw you smile at him, I wanted to rip his heart out.”

You flinched. “You’re insane.”

He tilted his head, almost hurt. “I’m in love. You think love is sane? You think losing you and clawing through dimensions just to hold you again doesn’t leave marks?”

You whimpered, twisting against his grip. “You’re hurting me.”

“I’m saving you!” he shouted suddenly, voice cracking. “Don’t you get it? I already lost you once. Your neck snapped so fast I couldn’t even scream. I carried you for hours. Your blood soaked through my suit. You died, and I couldn’t do anything—but now I can.”

He yanked you toward the door.

“No—no, wait, please—!”

He didn’t listen. His arms wrapped around you like a steel trap, dragging you step by step toward the gaping hole in your front wall. The night air outside was sharp, cold, endless. You kicked at his shins, screamed for help, but he just kept walking.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe,” he murmured. “We’ll be together. No one will find us.”

“I don’t want this!”

He didn’t even blink. “You didn’t want to die either. And look what happened.”

You clawed at the wall. At the doorframe. At anything. Blood from his hands smeared across your neck, your arm, your mouth. He kissed your temple again and again like it was a prayer.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you. I love you. I love you—”

And then you were airborne.

The wind screamed in your ears as the ground vanished beneath you. He held you against his chest like you were something holy and broken. You sobbed into the night air, kicking, punching, but it didn’t matter.

He wasn’t letting go.

Not again.

Not ever.

[tearvls]

୨⎯ 𝖿ᥲᥒძ᥆m! ⎯୧

іᥒ᥎іᥒᥴіᑲᥣᥱ!

⇢ ˗ˏˋ ᥕһ᥆ і ᥕrі𝗍ᥱ 𝖿᥆r! ࿐ྂ

іᥒ᥎іᥒᥴіᑲᥣᥱ: mᥲrk grᥲᥡs᥆ᥒ, rᥱ᥊ s⍴ᥣ᥆ძᥱ, ᥆mᥒі-mᥲᥒ, ᥲ𝗍᥆m ᥱ᥎ᥱ, sһrіᥒkіᥒg rᥲᥱ

mᥲіᥒᥣᥡ: і ᥕіᥣᥣ mᥲіᥒᥣᥡ ძ᥆ mᥲrk grᥲᥡs᥆n but feel free to request anyone above

𝖿ᥱm, mᥲᥣᥱ, gᥒ, 𝖿𝗍m, ᥲᥒძ m𝗍𝖿 іs ᥲᥣᥣ᥆ᥕᥱძ! і ᥙsᥙᥲᥣᥣᥡ ᥕrі𝗍ᥱ mᥲᥣᥱ ᥆r gᥒ ᑲᥙ𝗍 rᥱ𝗊ᥙᥱs𝗍 ᥲᥒᥡ ᥆𝖿 𝗍һᥱsᥱ і𝖿 ᥡ᥆ᥙ ᥕᥲᥒ𝗍!

[tearvls]

────୨ৎ──── rᥙᥣᥱs!────୨ৎ───

𝖿ᥱm, mᥲᥣᥱ, 𝖿𝗍m, m𝗍𝖿, gᥒ rᥱᥲძᥱr!

ᥕᥣᥕ ᥲᥒძ mᥣm іs ᥲᥣᥣ᥆ᥕᥱძ 𝗍᥆᥆!

⍴ᥣᥱᥲsᥱ ᑲᥱ kіᥒძ ᥲᥒძ rᥱs⍴ᥱᥴ𝗍𝖿ᥙᥣ 𝗍᥆ mᥱ ᥲᥒძ ᥆𝗍һᥱrs

ძ᥆ᥒ'𝗍 sᥱᥒძ rᥱ𝗊ᥙᥱs𝗍s ᥕһᥱᥒ 𝗍һᥱᥡ ᥲrᥱ ᥴᥣ᥆sᥱძ ᥆r і ᥕіᥣᥣ ᥒ᥆𝗍 ძ᥆ 𝗍һᥱm!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ძᥒі── .✦

ძᥒі і𝖿 ᥡ᥆ᥙ ᥲrᥱ 𝗍rᥲᥒs⍴һ᥆ᑲіᥴ, һ᥆m᥆⍴һ᥆ᑲіᥴ, sᥱ᥊іs𝗍, rᥲᥴіs𝗍, like incest, sᥙ⍴⍴᥆r𝗍 ᥲᥒіssᥲ.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆᥆𝗍һᥱr rᥙᥣᥱs⭑.ᐟ

і ᥕіᥣᥣ ᥕrі𝗍ᥱ smᥙ𝗍, ᥲᥒgs𝗍, ᥲᥒძ 𝖿ᥣᥙ𝖿𝖿!

ᥲᥒgs𝗍 rᥙᥣᥱs: ძ᥆ᥒ'𝗍 rᥱ𝗊ᥙᥱs𝗍 sᥲ, һᥱᥲ᥎ᥡ ᥲᑲᥙsі᥎ᥱ ᑲᥱһᥲ᥎і᥆r, ᥆r rᥲ⍴ᥱ

smᥙ𝗍 rᥙᥣᥱs: і ᥕіᥣᥣ ᥕrі𝗍ᥱ ᥲᥒᥡ kіᥒk 𝗍һᥲ𝗍 ძ᥆ᥱsᥒ'𝗍 іᥒᥴᥣᥙძᥱ һᥱᥲ᥎ᥡ ᑲᥣ᥆᥆ძ, ᥆r ᑲ᥆ძіᥣᥡ 𝖿ᥣᥙіძs (ᥣіkᥱ ⍴іss ᥆r s⍴і𝗍)

᥆𝗍һᥱr 𝗍һіᥒgs і ᥕіᥣᥣ ძ᥆: һᥙr𝗍 ᥒ᥆ ᥴ᥆m𝖿᥆r𝗍, һᥙr𝗍 ᥕі𝗍һ ᥴ᥆m𝖿᥆r𝗍, ᥲᥒgs𝗍 𝗍һᥲ𝗍 ᥣᥱᥲძs 𝗍᥆ smᥙ𝗍, 𝖿ᥣᥙ𝖿𝖿 𝗍һᥲ𝗍 ᥣᥱᥲძs 𝗍᥆ smᥙ𝗍, ᥱ𝗍ᥴ, ᥱ𝗍ᥴ. ᥡ᥆ᥙ gᥱ𝗍 𝗍һᥱ ȷіg.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ᥱ᥊𝗍rᥲ

і gᥱ𝗍 ᥲᥣᥣ mᥡ һᥱᥲძᥱrs ᥲᥒძ ძі᥎іძᥱrs ᥆𝖿𝖿 ⍴іᥒ𝗍ᥱrᥱs𝗍! s᥆ і𝖿 і ᥙsᥱ ᥆ᥒᥱ ᥲᥒძ ძ᥆ᥒ𝗍 һᥲ᥎ᥱ ᥴrᥱძі𝗍s 𝖿᥆r і𝗍 і'm s᥆rrᥡ :(

[tearvls]

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥[𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆] 𝑯𝒆/𝑯𝒊𝒎, 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝑴𝒚𝒓𝒌, 𝑰𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑨𝒄𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕, 𝑮𝒂𝒚, 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑷, 𝑪𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒏, 𝟗𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ [𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒍𝒔] 𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔! .. іі. 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝑰 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 + 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎!

𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒂 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈..