#masked mark

Omnivincible is more skilled than most of them. I just feel like he's got a mature approach and wouldn't just mindlessly delve in like some horny teenager.

He'd take his sweet time, enjoying himself without necessarily wanting something in return. In general he takes great pride in causing you pleasure. Is also pretty creative. After all his strenght allows him to eat you out in positions you didn't even know were possible.

Thought you can only come once at a time? He'll prove you otherwise.

Movincihawk constantly brags about his 'superior technique' but at the bottom line he's not all that good at it, sorry.

It's not like he isn't skilled, but he's pretty selfish and impatient. Any kind of foreplay is not a priority for him in general, he likes to go straight to the point.

Fucks pretty well to make up for it though.

Sinister Mark acts like he's doing you a favor, but with how eager he buries himself between your legs it's evident to say he enjoys this as much - if not even more than - you.

This man pins your thighs apart and eats you out like a man starving. Your taste drives him fucking crazy, so yes it could happen that he bites down harder than he intended to.

Likes to eat you out on your period. No I will not elaborate.

Striped/Target Invincible is super vocal during the whole thing. His grunts and groans vibrate against your folds, he doesn't even notice the effect you have on him.

Hope you're ready for the whole range of dirty talk, mostly degrading but occasionally throwing in words of acknowledgement. Tells you how this is your place - beneath him, completely at his mercy.

Uses his fingers better than his tongue, but is fairly good at both. The combination will send you straight to heaven.

No Goggles Invincible is probably the biggest tease on the entire planet.

This man will push you to your absolute limits, reducing you to a whining, moaning, begging puddle of lust. But he's got no mercy, prolonging your sweet torture for as long as he can - you're only allowed to cum if he says you're done.

With him the thin line between pain and pleasure is blurred into a mixture of pure overstimulation, but goddamn it's worth it.

Viltrumite Mark isn't familiar with earth's customs of intimacy. In their culture, canonically, they solely have sex for procreation. Though we never saw Debbie complaining about Nolan either, so I'm confident he can learn.

Gets the hang of it pretty fast, and quickly grows insateable with this new form of closeness he never got to experience before. He's an absolute mess, almost breaking the bedframe as he pathetically humps the mattress, wanting more more more of you.

Needs lots of cuddles and to be told he did a good job afterwards, pretty please.

Prisoner Mark was in solitary confinement for over a year - prepare to be destroyed. R.I.P.

He'll dive in between your legs and won't leave this place until he's got his fill of you, which could take him a while so get cozy.

Not an inch of your body is left untouched, as if he intents to memorize every detail, just in case you'd slip from his grasp once again.

Be prepared to cum until your body gives up. Man's got to make up for the time he spent away from you.

Unmasked Mark is very gentle, almost cautious in his efforts as if you were a fragile flower one needed to properly care for or it'd wither. He still can't fully believe you're here with him, so he's extra anxious about doing something wrong.

You'll slowly and sensually be guided towards your orgasm, his eyes never leaving yours as he reverently observes your every reaction.

Expect some premium aftercare!

Fully Masked Invincible knows you inside and out, has memorized all the weak spots that make you sing for him. He is completely and utterly devoted to your pleasure, maybe even a little too eager in his efforts since he tends to forget himself in the process.

To him your body is a temple meant for worship, so you'd relentlessly get showered in praise and compliments while he explores your body.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Mainstream Mark You try to play it cool and act like you’re just walking into the kitchen to kiss him, but your hands suddenly slide to his hips. Mark’s mid-sentence when he freezes, eyes narrowing with mild confusion and a flush creeping up his neck. He chokes on air. Like, actually makes a startled noise because he doesn’t expect it—you lifting him?! “Wait—woah—are you trying to lift me right now?? Babe??” He ends up doing a little hop to help you, laughing nervously, and then sitting there grinning while you kiss his nose like you just won a prize. And you do it! You actually manage to get him up there with a grunt and a full-body lift. That’s enough to make him freeze in awe, stammer a protest, and then immediately try to take over. He's bashful but secretly really into it. His legs swinging like a kicked puppy who just found out he’s got a hot girlfriend with strong arms and intentions. He keeps glancing down at you, smiling like he’s trying not to make it a Thing™… but he’s definitely thinking about it during sex later. Internal Monologue: She’s… trying to lift me? She’s actually—wait, she’s serious. Okay. Okay, don’t make a sound. Don’t ruin it. Act casual. Act like this isn’t the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you. Is it weird if I help? No, don’t help, she might stop. Holy shit—she’s strong. I’m marrying her. We’re already married. Is it weird if I say thank you? I’m gonna say thank you. Oh my god, I’m hard—how am I already hard?! FOCUS.

If You Can’t Pick Him Up:

Mark immediately tries to help you. Like, sweet-boy trying to do a little hop into your arms. When it doesn’t work, he laughs, wraps his arms around you, and says, “You trying to carry me or climb me?” And then he picks YOU up, kisses you stupid, and places you on the counter instead like the princess you are. You’re upset, but this is less embarrassing than the way your knees knocked when you tried.

You two doom-scroll until you’re caught up on the latest trends, his camera roll is FILLED with videos.

｡𖦹°‧ No Goggles Mark You don’t even get a chance to lift him. The moment your hands settle at his hips and you square your stance, his head tilts slowly, lips curled into a "what the fuck are you doing?" grin. He stands there like a little shit, just barely helping, making himself heavy on purpose so you struggle. When you get him halfway and grunt in frustration, he’s already giggling. “Oh no, my weak little arms, I’m too precious to be carried—” BUT he lets you do it ABSOLUTELY. And sits up there all relaxed, legs dangling, eyes wide like you’ve just unlocked a new level of hotness he wasn’t prepared for. He’s biting his lip, watching you like you just grew a second head.  “Dude… that was so hot, I think my dick twitched. No, wait, it definitely twitched.

”You finally get him up there and he melts. Full on spreads his thighs, hands braced behind him, eyes half-lidded like he’s beckoning you to challenge him. He leans in all cocky, asks if you’re manhandling can be a daily occurrence, he strives to irritate and entice. Internal Monologue: Oh my god. Oh my god, she’s doing it. She’s gonna lift me. This is it. This is the moment I fall in love again. God, I love this woman. Look at her face—so determined. So serious. She’s feral. She’s hot. I should say something gross. No, worse. Feral. Say something feral. Should I ask her to grip me while she’s at it? No, wait—what if I fake being heavier so she gets mad? Yeah. Yeah, this is peak romance.

If You Can’t Pick Him Up:

He laughs, obnoxiously loud, and then says, “Okay, wait, no no—do it again. I swear I’ll behave. Kind of.” When you give up through bated breaths, he leans down, “You know what happens now, right?” Then he just drops to his knees, palms on your hips, mouth already moving toward your inner thigh. Failure means nothing. He's thriving.

凸( •̀_•́ )凸 Mohawk Mark You don’t ask or warn, more or less appearing like an apparition to try. The second you do, he plants his feet and makes it difficult on purpose. “The hell are you doing?” he mutters, brow arched, not moving an inch. He’s gonna make you work for it. Full smirk, arms crossed, with an amused gleam in his eyes. He wants to see if you’re serious. “You think you can move me? C’mon, then. Show me.”  If you get him even halfway up? He’s shocked—but laughs.

The second you groan, he grins and not in a mocking way, but like he’s daring you to earn it. Eventually, you throw your full weight into it and manage to boost him up, and he lets out a sharp exhale like he wasn’t ready to be dominated like that. But now? His eyes are locked.

“You trying to flip the script on me, babe?” he mutters, grinning. “That’s cute.” He doesn’t move. Just pulls you between his legs, forearms on your shoulders, already hard from the show of strength. He loves when you challenge him. His chin nuzzles within the splayed hairs of your mohawk, utterly plotting. Internal Monologue: Ain’t no way she’s trying this. There’s no way. She knows I weigh like 180, right? All muscle? What is she—wait, is she gritting her teeth? Oh shit, she’s serious. Okay, hold on—do I let her? Nah, make her work for it. Just a little. Play it cool. Act smug. Maybe flex a little. She likes the fight. And when she gets me up there? Game on. She’s gonna regret this—in the best possible way.

If You Can’t Pick Him Up:

He stares down at you with an amused smirk and doesn’t budge. “Oh, babe. You're adorable.” Then he scoops you up like you’re nothing, walks you over to the counter, and spanks your ass as he sets you down. A genuine cackle crawls from his throat as he watches you squirm. Somehow in that amount of time you produced a bucket of sweat.

This is now free rein for you two to begin mischievous plots together. ദ്ദി/ᐠ｡‸｡ᐟ\ Omni Mark 

He blinks… slowly, then squints. He knows what you’re doing the second you square your stance. And he lets you try with a silent but palpable curiosity, his expression unreadable. “Are you lifting me?”

Your hands slide to his hips. You push and grunt once before he finally eases up just enough for you to get him seated. He lets you do it, but there’s a heavy pause—like he’s trying to figure out why it’s affecting him so much. He’s used to being the strongest, but this? This little moment of tenderness?

He ends up gripping your waist. Staring at you for a few long seconds with that haunted, love-struck look. Then says, very softly: “Again. Do it again.” He almost uses this as a form of training, his quiet ego making him believe you shouldn’t be able to lift him even an inch, but you’ve made him grow soft… so much so, that he’s willing to give into you. Internal Monologue: Is this a power play? She's reaching for my hips—intentionally. No hesitation. That’s bold. I like bold. Is she trying to prove something to me? Or to herself? It doesn’t matter. She's close now. She's warm. Her heartbeat’s fast—excited. Not afraid. That’s… rare. God, she doesn’t know what this is doing to me. I haven’t felt this way in decades. Don’t moan. Don’t grab her. Don’t break the counter. If You Can’t Pick Him Up:

He watches you try and fail with an unreadable expression. Then he slowly smiles. “You tried,” he murmurs, brushing hair from your face. Just what did you expect? He's almost pure muscle and you quiet after a few seconds. “Let me show you what that earns you.” And then he lifts you onto the counter as if you weigh nothing but touches you like you’re everything.

ूाीू Sinister Mark There’s two possibilities: He sits himself up there the second you try, smirking the whole time and watching you like prey. Or… your lucky latter where you catch him off guard. You make your move when he’s lounging, of course. And of course, he lets you. Because Sinister Mark? He wants to be put on the counter. Not because he’s submissive, but because it means he gets to lean back, legs spread, hands behind him, smirking down at you like you just set a trap for yourself. “Go on, then,” his expression says. “You touched me first. Let’s see how far you take it.” “Make it worth it,” He says with a cocky drawl. He’s already hard before he sits. And the moment your fingers wrap around his waist, the moment your breath hitches, he’s watching you unravel with strain and loving every second.

And once he’s up there? He stares at you like you just became his favorite obsession all over again. He taps his thigh like it’s an invitation. Come kneel, sweetheart. You started this. Internal Monologue: Ohhh. Look who wants to play alpha. That’s adorable. She really thinks she can lift me? She doesn’t even know what this is gonna awaken in me. Look at her go. Little grunts. All that effort. Shit, it’s hot. Alright, I’ll help her just enough. Give her the win. Let her think she’s got the power for a minute. And then? I’ll spread my legs and watch her come undone trying to handle it.

If You Can’t Pick Him Up: He’s smirking the whole time. He won’t help AT ALL. Just watches you strain with a low, lazy look like “You’re adorable when you try.” Your teeth grind together and just as you’re about to blow the lid, your hands droop to your sides.

And when you give up? He instantly grabs your neck, walks you back three steps, and lifts you to the counter with one smooth motion. “See? That’s how you take control.” Then he spreads your legs. Your plan just backfired beautifully.

♛ Viltrum Mark You’re subtle about it... or so you think.

But before your fingers even graze his hips, Viltrum Mark’s gaze locks on you. He doesn’t move, not even the quirk of his facial expression. Just tilts his head like he’s already dissected your plan six moves ahead. It's usually unnerving, but somehow endearing during displays of affection. He lets you try, but every motion is being filed away with every tug.

You lift, push, and egregiously strain. And finally, he helps, just barely, so you can get him onto the counter. He sits there, legs open, gaze cool, and an imperceptive smirk. Like he’s letting you play at control while deciding how long he’ll indulge you.

But there’s something in the way his knees tighten around your hips… the way his fingers graze your wrist just a little too slow. He’s not mocking you, he’s considering you… and that's somehow scarier. You walked in thinking this was a game. Now you’re between his thighs while he decides whether to devour you or play the long game. Internal Monologue: ...She’s making contact. Hands on my hips. Interesting. Is this an attempt at dominance? Or flirtation? Or both? She knows she’s mine, right? She knows touching me like that wont work, right? And she’s still doing it. God, I want to ruin her. She’s lifting me. She’s lifting me? I should snap her in half. I should worship her. I should bend her over the counter instead. No—I’ll let her have this. It’s killing me.

If You Can’t Pick Him Up:

He watches you strain and your muscles flex as your arms tremble with visible veins. And when you fail, he just steps closer—silent—gripping your jaw like a warning, leaning in until his lips barely brush yours. “Try again,” he’d whisper if he ever needed to speak. But he doesn’t, he’ll wait and let you squirm. Then push you back against the nearest surface and remind you who the apex predator is.

He’ll indulge in these silly trends just to see your reactions.

ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ Shiesty / Hooded Mark

Lets you with a raised brow, hands relaxed at his sides, like he’s judging your form but not stopping you. He wants to see how worthy you are, after all, you’re dating him. The second your hands touch his hips, he knows. He doesn’t help you either, just stares, obviously amused. His eyes showing faintly beneath that veil, teeth flashing beneath the smirk he’s not bothering to hide.

Once you do it, he leans forward, forearms on his knees, staring right into your eyes. “You always this bold?” He rasps, “Mmh. You wanna show off, huh?” he’d say if he were feeling generous. But instead, he just stares until you squirm under the weight of his limp body.

You get him up there—eventually, with him purposefully being deadweight. And now he’s fully manspread, head tilted, fingers tugging on the hem of your shirt with teasing violence. “You wanna be in charge?” his body language says. “Then do it. Impress me.” Internal Monologue: Is this foreplay? It feels like foreplay. It feels like she’s trying to do something reckless and pretend it’s casual. Mm. She’s touching me like she thinks I’ll just let her. Should I let her? Nah. Not yet. Gotta make her work for it. Look at her muscles flex. Look at her face. God, she’s hot like this. If she gets me up there? I’m flipping this whole kitchen upside down. She wants dangerous? I’ll show her dangerous.

If You Can’t Pick Him Up:

You’re frowning before you know it, staring up at him as if this is his fault for instigating. He absolutely lets you fail. Then he chuckles before grabbing the back of your neck and dragging you flush against him, whispering against your jaw like a threat and a promise. “What a shame. You started this, too.”  He loves that you think you have control. He’s about to take it back too.

He totally endorses testing out strength related trends, this starts a series of public embarrassment of him carrying you.

(╥‸╥) Masked Mark 

He lets you and he actually melts. He tries not to show it, but the moment your arms wrap around him and you lift, even just a little— His cheeks flush. You don’t even make it to his hips before he starts getting nervous. Not scared, just flustered, like his brain short-circuited the moment he realized what you were trying to do.

He says nothing but sits there, blushing, fists clenched on the counter beside his thighs. Like if he says one word, he’ll start whimpering. He’s obsessed with being handled like that, or even, the idea that you want him, even like this? It wrecks him in the softest way possible. His fingers grip the edge of the counter as he stares down at you with a pleased and light chuckle. He watches you like you’ve become something dangerous and perfect.

Internal Monologue: She’s… she’s touching me? Oh my god. She’s trying to lift me. That’s—it’s cute. It’s hot. I don’t know what to do. Should I help? Should I just melt? I don’t want to mess it up. Her hands are so warm. She’s so confident. She’s going to break me. This is embarrassing... I think I’m in love again. I want her to ruin me. I want her to carry me into the sun. Oh god—I’m gonna lose my mind if she grips me again.

If You Can’t Pick Him Up:

He sees you try and panics—“Wait, no no, don’t hurt yourself—” He laughs. He looks down, ashamed. But when you kiss him? Tell him it’s okay? He drops to his knees, hands shaky, mouth open, ready to serve. “I can’t be lifted,” his body says, “but I can worship you just fine.”

A/N: let's be real... everyone's a freakzoid with how much Mark and Eve get it on in the show.

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ SCRIPT FLIP - What if the reader doesn't struggle at all?

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Mainstream Mark 

You wait until he’s brushing his teeth, humming some tune, and mumbling to you. You're mid-convo while he's rambling about something innocent, maybe a new spare costume from Art, maybe breakfast—and you just… scoop him. You sidle up behind him, say nothing, and just lift him, legs tucked under your arm, shift your hips, shoulder to his waist, like a perfect Olympic carry. Before he knows it, you’ve hoisted him over your shoulder like a sack of sex-starved potatoes.

“Wha—babe?? I—I can fly???” He’s flailing a little, holding onto your shoulder like “why is this working???”  He can’t believe this is happening. He doesn’t resist. He doesn’t know how. “You can’t just—! I mean, you can, obviously, but—holy shit."

You set him on the counter like you just bought him for sale at a warehouse, and his jaw drops. His face is beet red. His muscular thighs press together instinctively; shocked, SOMEHOW fully hard and ashamed but proud. His fingers run over his eyes, sighing to himself before staring at you through his lashes.

“...Okay. That was kind of hot. Are we gonna talk about it, or…?”

He’s not okay, no, he’s better. You’ve just revealed a strength kink he didn’t know he had. You lean in, hands on the counter beside his hips, and smirk. He’s speechless, eyes wide, trying not to let you see how turned on he is. He fails as his head turns at lightning speed to rinse his mouth in the sink, he returns to his place on the counter like a good boy before his hands roughly reel you in, his minty fresh tongue prodding your lips without hesitation.

His Inner Monologue: Okay, okay, don’t panic. She’s strong. She’s insanely strong. I didn’t know that was possible. I mean, I guess I always suspected but like—DAMN. Is it weird that I’m into this? No? It’s fine. Totally normal. Don’t get a boner. Don’t—oh god. Okay. Smile. Play it cool. Act like you didn’t just get bench pressed like a cheerleader. CONTROL YOURSELF. Everything about her is so… Sweet boy is on his phone the second it’s over, scrolling TikTok with you, stammering the entire time. “I mean, I guess… I didn’t know that was a thing? But yeah, yeah—it’s kinda cool. Cool-cute. Cute-cool. Shut up.”  He’s red in the face. Can’t stop thinking about it.  Absolutely let's you do it again. He now peers over your shoulder whenever you scroll social media. He isn’t sure whether he should prepare himself mentally or physically…or even at all for the charades you might pull. He’s playfully terrified, but oh so enthralled.

｡𖦹°‧ No Goggles Mark

He clocks it instantly, and his head tilts, mouth quirking into a suspicious grin—like a cat who knows he’s pretty. Of course, he would. It's lensless Mark, and let's be honest… he's definitely pulled pranks and made memes out of your reaction to send you during arguments.

You just walk up like you’re on a mission. He doesn’t move when you grab him, in fact, he makes it harder—just to be a shit with no assistance. Just a dry, "this oughta be good" look on his face. But then… his grin falters. “Wait—what are you—Dude. Babe. Babe. You’re not gonna—OH MY GOD—”

You lift him like ITS NOTHING, one arm under his knees, one across his back, like some twisted bridal carry—but halfway through, you grab him by the waist and shoulder, and in one powerful motion, you toss him over your shoulder instead. You sling him easily like you’re about to carry a sack of bricks to hell. He loses his mind. “Oh my god. Okay. This is real now. You’re actually carrying me. I—I think this is working??? I might be in love.” “THIS IS A CORE MEMORY.” “Dude. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I need you to do that again. Take me.”

He’s laughing and moaning and definitely trying to grind against your back simultaneously. Even spitting out things he KNOWS will irritate you. It's like he’s short-circuiting, fighting the urge to beg you to spar with him and wanting to grind himself into a puddle. You drop him on the counter, and he just stares at you—eyes wide, hair tousled, pupils blown.

Inner Monologue: Holy shit. Dude. DUDE. I’m being carried, like, full hoist. I should be fighting this. Or saying something hot. But I’m close to whimpering. Is this what being prey feels like? I like it. I hate it. No, I love it. This is love. This is lust. This is spiritual. Am I about to propose? God, I’m so gone. She’s gonna use this against me forever. ...I hope she does.

You give him a smug once-over, hands on your hips like you just completed a flawless routine. He’s already panting, fingers twitching against the counter, legs spread instinctively. You lean forward, close enough to feel his breath hitch. “Still think I’m too soft to handle you?”

He groans really loud “Okay, wow. That was weirdly hot. That’s it. You’re coming home with me.” He goes full gremlin, and I mean more than usual. He teases you relentlessly about it for a week and starts fake-limping like you injured him. But secretly? He’s watching his back. “Dude, next time just say you wanna dom me. I’ll throw myself into your arms, easy.” He’ll search “dominant girlfriend lifting boyfriend trope” on Tumblr at 2am.

凸( •̀_•́ )凸 Mohawk Mark 

He’s posturing, arms crossed, smirk heavy. You wait until he’s talking shit. He’s leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, mouth mid-rant about something some other variant did wrong. Probably threatening violence or about to call you a smartass.

Something about how you couldn’t handle him and about your “cute little arms,” and how he’d break you before you got the chance to try anything bold. That’s when you step in close, hands sliding around his waist, a dangerous little smirk on your lips.

“You gonna try to lift me again?” he asks, almost with an amused gleam but something that encourages you regardless. 

You don’t give him time to finish. You grab him by the thighs, shoulder into his stomach, and he’s airborne before he can blink. He hits your shoulder with a grunt, eyes wide, palms on your back. He was hauled as if you’d done this a dozen times before.

“The fuck—HEY—what the hell?!”

He yelps, yes, Mohawk Mark yelps. The way his hands grab at your back says he hates how much he likes it. You walk him across the room and drop him on the kitchen counter like he’s not 180+ pounds of alien muscle and attitude. His ass hits the granite with a thud, and he stares at you with a raised brow.

And then he grins, obviously impressed. You were always his favorite version of you. “You really gonna manhandle me like that?” He snorts, licking his lips. “You better fuck me after this, or I swear—”

Inner Monologue: No way. No fucking way she just did that. You let one woman pick you up and suddenly your dick’s got a mind of its own. Nah. Hell no. That’s hot though. Shit. Look at her face—like she didn’t even break a sweat. Damn. Okay. This is happening. Don’t get soft. You are not the prey. You’re the damn predator. You’re just letting her win. For now.

You stared down at him as if granting yourself a tribute. You lean forward, slide your fingers under his chin, and tilt his face toward you. His pupils blow wide. His smirk twitches, more like slants, very obviously. “And if you don’t… I’m gonna rail the shit outta you for that,” he mutters, already half-hard.  “...And I’m still gonna let you do it again.” Acts like he’s over it, but you catch him doing push-ups in the middle of the night. He keeps testing you: “Bet you can’t do it again.” Immediately gets hard when you can. He doesn’t need to search trends when he already knows you unlocked something for both of you.

♛ Viltrum Mark

He’s mid-mission debrief, completely in control, arms crossed, expression unreadable, per usual. You step into his space like you’re going to kiss him. He’s used to your usual distractions, you’ve grown awfully bold recently. As much as he decline to admit, intimate gestures made by you have grown more meaningful.

And then you hoist his royal Viltrumite ass over your shoulder. He freezes and you can feel every muscle in his body go tense. The carry was truly your best efforts. Your hands locked, body braced, hefted over your shoulder before he realizes what’s happening. He’s fully rigid against you.

He doesn’t say a word, but his cock twitches with a jolt . Its sudden, so much that he’s internally disappointed in himself. His hands tighten on your back, his jaw tensing in silence. You’ve just short-circuited centuries of dominant, imperial Viltrumite wiring in one motion.

You sit him down, but still, he stays silent. Watching you and almost… burning? She lifted me. She LIFTED me? You set him on the counter, slow and casual, and step back like it was nothing.

Oh, man. You don’t know what you’ve just awakened in him. “You touched me. You lifted me,” his stare says. “And now I’m going to touch you back—and not gently.”

He says nothing. But he’s hard. Breathing slower. Eyes darker. You’ve just violated the natural order and he wants more.

Inner Monologue: This is impossible. This is unacceptable. This is the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to me. She has no idea what she’s done. She touched me like I was hers. She moved me like I didn’t weigh more than her car. I should punish her. I should worship her. I should bend her over the counter she dropped me on and rut until I forget my name.

You lean in to speak—but he grabs your throat, lips hovering just an inch away. He hust stares, his eyebrow jumping slightly as he scrutinizes you under his gaze. His lips suction to yours as his strong hand keep you tucked away against his chest. And claims you an hour later. He doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t acknowledge it. But from now on, anytime you walk behind him he tenses. Like you might strike again. He lets it happen once… maybe twice. By the third time, you’re the one on the counter.

Don’t push the boy too far, okay?

ദ്ദി/ᐠ｡‸｡ᐟ\ Omni Mark

You lift him without warning. Not because he didn’t expect it, but because you did it so easily. One moment he was standing, the next he was over your shoulder, dead silent. He doesn’t resist, but rather watches you as if anticipating your shenanigans. You approach and grab his hips. You lift him over your shoulder, and his eyes flicker, barely, before going wide behind you.

You carry him like a queen dragging her knight back to the throne. Set him on the counter, legs spread, hands braced behind him. 

“...Impressive.” “You know that wasn’t necessary.” His voice drops an octave. Something seductive, maybe even dangerous. “...Do it again.”

It’s not just desire, it's a curiosity, like he’s testing what else you’ll do. More like, what else he’ll let you do. What it means to let go. He killed his father, he continued his mission, and yet you test his patience daily with the full confidence he won't harm you. And he knows… he could never bring himself to. Every day you prove another reason to be useful, even in smaller ways like now. You set him down, and he doesn’t speak. His face simply quirks into something more lighthearted, an amused huff leaving his nose as his arms cross over his broad chest. Rather, he just stares for a long moment.

Inner Monologue: She lifted me. Effortless. Like I wasn’t the most dangerous thing on this planet. I’ve never allowed this. Never wanted this. But with her… I crave it. Her hands on me. Her strength. Her boldness. It makes me feel something primal and unfamiliar. Something terrifying. Something I don’t want to end.

You don’t say anything. You just rest your hands on his thighs causing his muscles to twitch and his breathing to stutter. His voice drops an octave and his eyes are blown wide. He’s calm, so calm its scary. And the way his hand settles on your hip as you walk away? He’s basically obsessed.

He reaches for your wrist and pulls you in. And finally lets go of his inhibitions. He now sits in chairs you can’t reach from behind. He’s not afraid, but every so often, he says—dead serious— “You’re going to do it again. Aren’t you?”

ूाीू Sinister Mark

He knows, you haven’t even touched him yet and he’s knows. That twitch in your fingers, the way your eyes narrow with a plan, or the barely-concealed grin trying to ruin your face.

“You’re thinking about something dangerous,” he hums, not even looking up as he leans back against the counter. “That little face you make when you’re frustrated? Precious. I love that look.” Your funny prank suddenly became something to prove. His eyes followed the line of your jaw, watching as it tensed. “Look at you. All attitude and no plan. It’s honestly impressive how consistent you are.” You don’t answer. You just step forward, plant your hands on his thighs, and hoist him up—full shoulder carry, deliberate, not asking for permission. He doesn’t flinch when you grab him and doesn’t blink when you lift him like a plaything. He lets you as his arms relax, cock already hard against your shoulder.

He doesn’t struggle, albeit he’s surprised, but his all-masking smile is like a customer service blanket from him raging internally. And when you drop him onto the counter like you’re mounting a prize, he stays still for a second. Just looking at you. Grinning slow. “Ohh… oh, sweetheart. That’s dangerous.”

He chuckles in your ear. Voice low. Teeth sharp. “I hope you know what you’ve just done.”

“You lift me. I break you. That’s the new arrangement.” His eyes read, are you trying to start something or finish it? You don’t respond, only smirking, which is worse.

His hands slide behind him on the countertop. Legs part, slow and lazy, welcoming but a trap nontheless. He tilts his head, studying you like you’re a riddle he already solved—but wants to hear you tell it wrong.

“C’mon then. You had all that confidence when you picked me up—let’s see what you do with me now,” he murmurs, gaze growing heavier. Then, smiling, “I like my toys begging and breathless.” You really thought he’d let you get away without consequences? You start, and he finishes; that’s usually how this goes. You were so pretty when you pouted at his light jeers. He was afraid you’d grown boring, yet every interaction pulled something new, something worth taking. He finds this all adorable, but is honestly... kind of a chatty brat during the whole ordeal. Not for long anyway.

Inner Monologue: Oh, she’s bold today. I like it. She wants to flip the script? Let her. Let her think she’s got control. I wanna see how far she takes it before she starts shaking. God, her hands feel good. Confident. Dangerous. Maybe I’ll let her think she won. She didn’t… did she? No. ...Then I’ll pin her down and make her beg to lose again. He lets you lift him again. Why? Because he knows where it ends. If you ever approach him with another trend, expect it to end covered in sweat and tears. It seems you’ve gotten the roles confused on who’s dominant... or did you? (PEG THAT MAN)

ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ Hooded Mark

You wait for the exact moment when he’s halfway into a smug line, something like “You always act brave before you break”—and then you grab him mid-smirk. You two are constantly at odds over who’s stronger without the use of powers. The obvious answer is him, sure, but your ego doesn’t allow you to submit. He doesn’t flinch, but you can feel the slight hitch in his breath as you hoist him over your shoulder, one arm under his thighs, the other bracing his back.

“You’re not—” whoop “Shit—okay.”

He lands on your shoulder upside down and utterly speechless. He respects and resents you currently. Yet, he’s amused. “Oh, this is new. You better start prayin’ once you put me down.”

You drop him onto the counter, and he stays seated, head tilting, smirk twitching. “Fuckin’ hell. You strong now, huh? Pick me up once and suddenly you run shit?” His hand proceeds to keep down your lower back. You nod in response, proud of yourself. “Yeah? That supposed to scare me, babe? ‘Cause all it did was make my dick twitch.”

He doesn’t stop you, nor does he stop the raunchy gestures. Just grinds against you the entire time with lazy amusement. Your perseverance is something he never shies away from, even in the bedroom when you’re determined to match him. Something about it awakens something feral within him. 

When you set him down and he was already scheming. Already licking his lips. There’s a glint behind the lenses of his mask—something hot, wild, and very aware. “Alright. You win this round.”

He leans in, lips brushing your jaw.

“But just wait ‘til I’m on top next time.”

Inner Monologue: Okay. Interesting play. Sudden. Clean form. Surprising core strength. I respect it. She's trying to flip the power dynamic? Bold. Noted. But how far will she go? Is this a one-time power move or a recurring kink? …Is it mine now? I might make it mine. She doesn’t know what she’s started. She’s so hot when she doesn’t ask for permission. He’s acting normal, cocky and unbothered. But the next day, he’s straight petty. He’s watching his back… but he’ll never admit he kinda liked it. (He absolutely jerked off thinking about it.) After a while he accidentally conditioned this as a form of foreplay. Your bedframe is in danger.

(╥‸╥) Masked Mark

He’s mumbling something under his breath. Sitting on the edge of the bed, unarmored, quiet, vulnerable. Which makes it the perfect time to strike. You lift him without warning. You bend down, arms around his thighs, and hoist upwards. His breath catches, and he yelps, a soft and shocked sound, arms flailing for a second like he forgot what stability was. His body locks. “Wait—wait—you’re not really—oh my god.”

He melts physically, emotional… maybe even spiritually. You shoulder him effortlessly and strut toward the counter. He says nothing else. Just goes completely limp in your hold, like a captured princess with bloodlust.

You set him down gently. His fists clench against his thighs, his chest rises and falls like he’s panicking, but also… vibrating. You’re not even halfway done teasing, but he’s almost certain he’s pitching a tent. Sure, he loves you and all the qualities that come with but his body and mind can’t seem to communicate properly. He sighs, this isn't something to be hard about.

He looks up at you like you just saved his life before dropping his head in his hands. “No one’s ever done that before,” he whispers in his head. “Please do it again. Please do anything. I’ll let you. It doesn’t just have to be because of a trend. Deal?”

He doesn’t look up. But if you do, you’ll see the most pathetically hard, desperate expression he’s ever worn.

Inner Monologue: She touched me. She lifted me. I was off the ground. I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. She just manhandled me like I wasn’t dangerous. Like I was safe to touch. Like I was hers. Holy shit I’m gonna cry. I’m gonna cry AND cum. Can you do both? What if I sob into her shirt? Is that hot? Please do it again. Please do worse. Please never leave.