Aliciasolosuu - Alicia

BETTER — mohawk! mark grayson x reader

WARNINGS: mention of mass homicide, implied sex.

The second you stepped into your apartment, you knew something was off. The air felt too still, the shadows stretched too long, and then—

“Damn,” a voice drawled from the darkness. “Even in a different universe you still look hot.”

You jumped, heart slamming into your ribs as your eyes snapped to the figure lounging on your couch.

Mark. Or at least, he looked like Mark.

But your Mark didn’t have a wicked smirk stretched across his face, and sure as hell didn’t have a mohawk.

You blinked, trying to process what you were seeing. “Mark…? What the hell did university do to you?”

That smirk widened, and he tilted his head like a predator toying with its prey. “Oh, sweetheart, wrong guy.” he chuckled, voice dripping with amusement. “If this Mark was anything like me, he’d have staked his claim on you years ago.”

You froze, a prickle of unease running down your spine.

“…What?”

He stood, slow and casual, stretching his arms over his head before cracking his neck like he had all the time in the world.

Your mind raced. This had to be some kind of joke. Right?

Your Mark had been distant for years, wrapped up in his double life and his relationship with Amber. But this guy—this thing—was looking at you like you were a meal he was about to devour.

He took a step forward. You instinctively took a step back.

His smirk grew. “Oh, come on,” he whined, pouting exaggeratedly. “Don’t look at me like that, babe. We go way back.”

Something about his tone sent alarm bells ringing in your head. Your hands clenched at your sides. “Where’s Amber?” you asked carefully.

His expression flickered—just for a second—before amusement overtook it again. “Who?”

You stared at him. He laughed.

“Oh my God,” he wheezed, doubling over. “You really thought I’d waste my time on some other girl? That’s adorable.”

Your stomach twisted. This wasn’t your Mark. The realization settled over you like a cold weight.

He caught the exact moment it clicked in your head, because his grin sharpened into something almost gleeful.

“There it is,” he purred. “That little moment when the gears in your head finally start turning.”

Your breath hitched. “You’re not my Mark.”

His response? A mocking gasp, hands flying to his chest in fake offense. “Wow. Ouch. That hurts, babe.” Then, faster than you could react, he pounced.

You barely had time to gasp before you were slammed onto the couch, his weight pressing you down. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, trying to brace yourself—but the moment you did, he grinned.

“Ohhh,” he crooned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Didn’t know you wanted me that bad.”

Your face burned, rage bubbling up beneath the panic. You opened your mouth—to snap at him, to tell him to get the hell off—but he cut you off.

With his lips. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claim. Teeth nipping, tongue demanding, his hands gripping your hips like he owned you. You whimpered before you could stop yourself.

He pulled back just enough to watch your face, eyes bright with wild amusement. “Shit,” he laughed. “You like this, don’t you?”

You gasped, shoving at his chest. “I—”

And then— The TV blared to life beneath you, your body crushing the remote.

The news anchor’s voice filled the room:

“Mass destruction—cities burning—multiple Invincible variants attacking—millions dead—”

Your blood ran cold. You turned back to him, horror creeping into your voice. “You’re one of them.”

His smirk widened, eyes practically glowing with sadistic glee.

“I’m better, babe.” Then he kissed you again.

You struggled against him, your hands pushing at his chest, but he didn’t budge. He just laughed against your lips, like this was all a game to him. Like he enjoyed the way you squirmed.

The news continued to blare behind you—footage of cities burning, of Invincibles tearing through skyscrapers like paper. Screams filled the speakers, desperate and terrified.

Your stomach twisted. This wasn’t just some alternate Mark. He was a monster.

And he was here, pressing you into the couch like he belonged there.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “You—” Your voice was shaking. “You killed people.”

His lips stretched into a slow, lazy grin, eyes glinting with something wild.

“Yeah,” he said, dragging the word out like he was waiting for you to react. To break. “A lot of ‘em.”

His fingers trailed down your arm, feather-light, like he was savoring the shiver that ran through you.

“You should see what I did to my dad.”

Your stomach dropped. Omni-Man.

Your Mark’s father was bad enough, but the way this Mark was speaking—gleeful, almost giddy—you could only imagine what he had done.

He must have seen something in your face, because he tilted his head, studying you.

“Scared?” he cooed. “C’mon, babe. Don’t tell me you’re one of those weak little humans who can’t handle a little fun.”

A cold shiver ran down your spine. This wasn’t your Mark. Your Mark was kind. Your Mark cared about people, even if he’d grown distant from you.

But this Mark? He had no empathy behind his eyes. No restraint in the way he touched you, in the way his fingers dug into your skin like he had already decided you were his.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as his hand slid lower, toying with the hem of your shirt. His smirk widened at the way your breath hitched.

“I knew you’d be like this,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “In my world, you used to act all innocent, too. Like you didn’t want me.”

He leaned closer, lips brushing against your ear.

“But you did,” he whispered. “And you still do.”

Heat pooled in your stomach before you could stop it.

No. No, this wasn’t real.

But your body didn’t seem to care about that. Not with the way his weight pressed against you, the way his voice dripped into your veins like poison, pulling something dark out of you.

“You don’t know me,” you snapped, voice trembling.

He laughed—cackled—his head tilting back like this was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“Oh, babe,” he grinned, eyes gleaming. “I know you better than he ever did.”

His grip tightened, dragging your hips against his.

“You think I’d let you go?” he taunted. “Think I’d let some other guy touch you?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Nah. You were mine.”

His fingers traced circles on your inner thigh, deliberate, taunting.

“And the fact that he didn’t take you?” His smirk sharpened. “Just means I hate him even more.”

You sucked in a sharp breath.

Your Mark had Amber. Your Mark had never even tried to have you. But this one? This one was furious that another version of him had let you slip through his fingers.

Your throat tightened. “So what? You think you can just take me?”

His eyes darkened.

“Yeah.”

Then he kissed you again, rougher this time, hungrier, like he wanted to prove it.

And the worst part?

Somewhere, deep down in the part of you that had always wanted Mark—you weren’t sure if you wanted to stop him.

You hated him. Or at least, you wanted to hate him. But his grip on you was firm, fingers digging into your thighs as he pressed himself between them, his lips devouring yours like he was starving. Every part of him—his touch, his voice, his overwhelming presence—made your body react in ways you wished it wouldn’t.

Because he wasn’t your Mark. Your Mark wouldn’t have touched you like this. Wouldn’t have spoken to you with that cocky, arrogant lilt in his voice, like he was mocking you even as he pinned you beneath him.

But this Mark? He was dangerous. Unhinged. And the worst part?

You liked it. You liked the way he took what he wanted, without hesitation, without fear. You liked the way he spoke about you like you were his, like there had never been another option.

And you hated that you liked it.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. His smirk curled against your lips, like he could feel your hesitation.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “Let it out, babe. Stop pretending.”

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him even as your breath came in uneven gasps. “Pretending what?”

He tilted his head, that smug, infuriating grin never leaving his face. “That you don’t want this.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers digging into his suit. “You don’t even know me,” you snapped, hoping your voice didn’t sound as breathless as it felt.

His grin widened, eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

“I knew you.”

His hands slid up your sides, slow, teasing, like he was savoring every inch of your skin beneath his fingers.

“In my world,” he continued, voice low and taunting, “you didn’t play this little good girl act with me.” His grip tightened. “You wanted me.”

Your breath hitched as he pressed his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“And you still do.”

A shudder ran through you, heat pooling in your stomach.

No. No, this wasn’t right. You weren’t supposed to like this. But your body betrayed you, your thighs tightening around his waist, your lips parting just slightly as his breath fanned across your face.

His smirk deepened, like he felt your resolve slipping.

“That’s what I love about you,” he murmured. “You act all sweet. All innocent.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “But deep down? You want someone like me.”

A breathy laugh escaped him, warm and mocking. “You just needed someone to take you.”

Your stomach twisted, heat and anger warring inside you.

“You’re insane,” you whispered. His grip on you tightened, his smirk turning feral. “Yeah,” he breathed. “And you like it.”

Then, before you could even think of a response, he moved—grinding his hips against yours, dragging a strangled gasp from your lips.

And God help you, but you couldn’t tell if it was from shock—or pleasure.

His laughter was breathless, triumphant.

“That’s my girl.”

Your phone buzzed violently on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

William Calling…

You gasped, your dazed mind snapping back to reality. Your hands flew to Mohawk Mark’s chest, pushing against him—not that it did much. His body barely moved, still pressing you down, his smirk never faltering.

His gaze flickered to the phone, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Ohhh,” he drawled, voice dripping with mock concern. “Looks like your little friends worried about you.”

Your breath was still shaky, your mind racing as you reached for the phone, but Mark was faster.

Much faster.

Before you could even blink, he snatched it off the table, holding it just out of your reach. He raised an eyebrow at the name flashing on the screen, then let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

“Oh, wait,” he snickered. “This is William, isn’t it?”

Your stomach twisted.

You lunged for the phone again, but he only smirked and held it higher. “Gotta say, babe,” he teased, tilting his head, “I’d be real jealous if I didn’t know he had no interest in you.”

Your heart pounded as he casually scrolled through the notifications, scanning the long string of frantic texts.

William: Hey, are you okay?

William: I just saw the news—Mark, are you home??

William: Pick up the damn phone, dude, you’re scaring me.

William: Y/N?? Please tell me you’re safe.

Your throat tightened.

He was worried about you. He didn’t know.

Didn’t know that the man pinning you to the couch wasn’t the one he thought he was. Didn’t know that your Mark might not even be alive anymore.

Mark let out a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “Aw, would you look at that? He’s so worried about you.”

His eyes flicked back to yours, his grin turning razor-sharp. “Wonder what he’d say if he saw you right now.”

Your face burned with humiliation, with anger, with the wrongness of all of this. You tried again to snatch the phone, but Mark easily dodged, still holding it just out of reach.

“Mark—”

“That’s me,” he corrected, his smirk widening. “The better one.”

You glared up at him, frustration bubbling over. “Give me the damn phone.”

His eyes darkened, something gleeful dancing behind them.

“…Make me.”

You froze, a cold shiver running down your spine. He was toying with you. Enjoying the way you squirmed, the way you reacted to him. And that scared you more than anything else.

Your stomach churned as the phone continued to vibrate in his grip, William’s concern practically radiating from the screen.

You swallowed hard.

“Please,” you tried again, softer this time. “He doesn’t know what’s happening.”

For a split second, something flickered in his expression.

Something dangerous. Then, without warning, he hit decline—and crushed your phone in his hand. You gasped. “Mark—!”

He tossed the broken pieces aside like they meant nothing, his smirk curling as he leaned in close, his nose brushing against yours.

“Problem solved,” he murmured, voice smug.

You stared at him, your chest heaving, horror creeping into your veins. He had just cut you off. No way to call for help. No way to let anyone know what was happening. And from the way he was looking at you—so smug, so pleased—it was clear that was exactly what he wanted.

Your breath came in quick, uneven gasps as his fingers traced slow, taunting circles on your thigh. “Now,” he murmured, his grin widening, “where were we?”

Night art 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

🩷🩷Drew the Variants because of the edits and the fanfics🩷🩷 (featuring my oc 'Invinci-Pinks' bahaha!)

...got no time to draw these days..(comms are open tho👀)

[No reposting on other sites pls]

Tedd during the invincible war

Losing control

Invincible!MohawkMark x reader smut

MDNI 18+

Warning: 🔞 Explicit Content, Breeding Kink, Rough & Possessive Smut. This chapter contains graphic sexual content, intense dominance, overstimulation, and a heavy focus on breeding kink. Read at your own discretion.

The moment the bedroom door shut, you felt it—the shift.

Mark had been holding back. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his fists tightened at his sides, the way his golden eyes darkened with something dangerous, something primal.

He wasn’t just stressed.

He was starving.

“You have no idea,” he exhaled, shaking his head, his voice low, strained, barely controlled. “How long I’ve been waiting for this.”

And then—

You were against the bed.

Your back hit the mattress, Mark already between your legs, ripping your clothes off with no patience, no hesitation. His strength made it effortless, fabric tearing under his hands like it was nothing. His mouth was everywhere—biting, licking, sucking, claiming, leaving bruises you’d wear for days.

His fingers dug into your thighs, spreading you open, exposing you, and the low groan that rumbled from his chest at the sight of you?

Filthy.

His tongue ran along his bottom lip, his breathing heavy, uneven. “You’re already so wet,” he muttered, voice rough. His fingers teased through your slick folds, spreading the mess. “You been thinking about this? Thinking about me filling you up?”

Your breath hitched.

He smirked. “Yeah. I can tell.”

And then his mouth was on you.

Hot. Wet. Messy.

He devoured you—tongue deep, lips sealed around your clit, sucking, drinking you down like a man dying of thirst.His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you pinned, keeping you spread, his fingers sinking deep, curling inside you just right.

It was too much.

Your body jerked, squirming, writhing, shaking, but there was nowhere to go.

Mark just groaned, his grip tightening, keeping you trapped, keeping you still, forcing you to take it. His tongue flicked over your clit faster, rougher, relentless, pushing you higher, higher—

Until you shattered.

Your orgasm hit so fast, so hard, your thighs clamped around his head, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down. If anything—he got rougher. His fingers worked you through it, pushing deeper, curling, stroking, making you shake, making you sob.

“Mark—!”

But he didn’t let up.

Not even for a second.

His fingers thrust faster, his tongue dragging slow, pushing you right into another orgasm, forcing it out of you, making you gush all over his fingers, his tongue, his face.

You could barely breathe.

You begged.

And Mark just grinned.

“Not done,” he murmured, voice thick, hoarse, wrecked. His fingers left you, and before you could even process it—he was on top of you, his cock lined up, pressing against your soaked entrance.

And then—

He slammed inside.

Your back arched, your breath caught, your nails dug into his arms—

And Mark snapped.

His pace was brutal—deep, hard, unrelenting. Your legs wrapped around him, ankles locking at his back, but he wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t gentle. He was fucking you like he was trying to break you, ruin you, claim you.

His grip was everywhere—fingers wrapped around your throat, holding you down, hand fisting in your hair, pulling, forcing you to look at him.

His golden eyes burned.

“You take me so well,” he groaned, his teeth sinking into your neck, leaving marks, bruises, a possessive, permanent claim. “Like you were made for me.”

Your moans were helpless, breathless, broken, your body already shaking from overstimulation.

And Mark just chuckled—low, dark, cocky.

“You can take more.”

And you did.

Positions?

He had you every way he wanted.

- Face down, ass up – He gripped your hips, pulled you back against him, thrusting so deep you saw stars.

- Legs on his shoulders – He folded you in half, his cock hitting that perfect spot, making you scream.

- Reverse cowgirl – He held your waist, forcing you down, grinding, groaning, watching you bounce.

- Juno style? He lifted you, hands under your knees, fucking up into you, deep, sharp, merciless.

And every time you came, he didn’t stop.

Because he wasn’t done.

His thrusts got sloppy, desperate, his breathing ragged, his grip bruising.

And then—

He growled.

His arms wrapped around you, his hips snapping, his cock pulsing, throbbing—

As he came inside.

Thick, hot, deep.

He collapsed on top of you, breathing heavy, pressing kisses into your skin, panting against your ear.

His fingers traced over your stomach, smirking.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, voice low, rough, wrecked.

He kissed you—slow, deep, filthy.

“You’re gonna look so good carrying my baby.”

And fuck—

Your body shuddered.

-

Your body was still trembling, pussy throbbing, stuffed full of his cum, when Mark rolled you onto your stomach.

Your breath barely caught before he was pressing down on your back, his bare chest flush against you, trapping you beneath him.

“You thought I was finished?” he murmured, voice dark, teasing, filthy. His breath was hot against your ear, his cock still hard, still thick, still pulsing against your drenched entrance.

His fingers dragged down your spine, slow, deliberate, tracing every curve, every dip, every inch of skin he had already claimed.

"You’re still twitching, baby," he chuckled, his cock teasing your entrance, dragging against your swollen, used clit.

"Sensitive?"

Your breath hitched.

He smirked. "Too bad."

And then—

He shoved back inside.

Your moan was wrecked, broken, and Mark groaned.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he hissed, filling you up all over again, stretching you out around his cock. “Guess I need to fix that.”

And he did.

His pace was deep, slow, controlled, dragging it out, making you feel every inch, every vein, every thick, throbbing pulse.

And then, just as you started adjusting—

He snapped.

His grip tightened, his hips slamming into you, fucking you into the mattress, into the sheets soaked with sweat and cum.

And you took it.

Your breath stuttered, your fingers fisted the sheets, your moans turned to screams—but Mark just grinned.

“Gonna cry for me, baby?” he taunted, slapping your ass, gripping it, spreading you open so he could watch himself disappear into you.

Your body shuddered.

"Mark—!"

His fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back, forcing you to arch.

“Say my name again,” he growled, breathing heavy, wrecked, desperate.

Your walls clenched around him, your body already so close, so fucked out, so overwhelmed.

And Mark felt it.

His smirk was filthy, cocky, possessive.

“Yeah, that’s right," he groaned. "Go ahead, baby. Cum for me again.”

And fuck—

You did.

Hard.

Your vision blurred, your legs trembled, your body spasmed, writhing beneath him, clenching down on his cock like you never wanted to let go.

Mark groaned—deep, guttural, animalistic. His hips stuttered, losing rhythm, fucking you through your orgasm, chasing his own.

And then—

He shoved deep, holding you down, grinding against you, filling you to the brim.

His breath shook, his arms trembled, his cock twitched—

As he came inside.

Thick. Hot. So much.

His weight sank onto you, panting, pressing soft, sloppy kisses into your shoulder, into your neck.

His hands smoothed down your sides, warm, tender, possessive.

And then—he laughed.

"You’re not walking tomorrow."

And the worst part?

He was right.

first episode in and immediately getting to see rex’s fine ass IN THE NEW ANIMATION has me slushing everywhere ohhh my gosh

and to top it all off he gets his ass beat and looks even hotter , rex fangirls are eating sooo good

mark grayson is so boyfriend I’m going to put him in a jar and keep him there

im trying to cope, wait up you guys😔

i see your “reader dies in every other universe” trope, and i raise you “reader doesn’t exist in any other universe” with the alternate marks

Mistaken Devotion

The scent of sizzling garlic and onions filled your kitchen, blending with the upbeat rhythm of your favorite song. Barefoot, swaying slightly as you stirred a pan of rice, you hummed along, completely lost in the moment.

Cleaning, cooking, and vibing—it was the perfect way to unwind.

You barely registered the soft whoosh of movement behind you. The air shifted, but you didn’t think twice.

"Hey, babe," you called over your shoulder, grinning. "New suit again?"

No response.

That wasn’t weird, though. Mark could be quiet sometimes, especially after patrols.

You turned, leaning against the counter, finally taking him in. His suit was…different. The yellow lenses on his mask made it impossible to see his eyes, and the fabric covered his whole face.

But you didn't question it. Of course this was your Mark.

You crossed the room easily, reaching up without hesitation, fingers curling around the edges of the mask. He let you.

Gently, you tugged it up—just enough to expose his lips. You smiled, cupping his jaw.

"Missed you," you murmured before pressing your lips to his.

He stiffened. Just for a second.

Then, just as quickly, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in—tighter than usual. Like he was starving for the contact.

His lips lingered, pressing back with a need that made your stomach flip.

You pulled away slightly, laughing softly. "Okay, okay, I get it. You really missed me."

Still, he said nothing. Just stared.

You brushed a hand over his chest, oblivious to how rigid he was. "I made food. If you're hungry, let me know, and I'll serve you a plate."

A beat of silence.

Then, a nod. "Okay."

Something about his voice was off.

You blinked, tilting your head. "You okay?"

Before he could answer, the TV droned in the background, the upbeat music dipping just low enough for a newscaster’s urgent tone to cut through:

"Breaking news—multiple Invincibles have been spotted across the city, attacking civilians. Authorities urge everyone to seek shelter immediately—"

You didn’t notice.

But your phone, resting on the couch upstairs, buzzed twice.

Mark: Baby, where are you? Mark: Hide. Right now. Please tell me you’re safe.

The man in front of you—not your Mark—glanced toward the sound, fingers curling against your back.

You still hadn’t seen the news. You still had no idea.

And as you beamed up at him, brushing a hand over his jaw, he held you even closer.

"I missed you," he murmured.

And this time, you felt the weight in his words.

But you didn’t understand it yet.

Not yet.