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Latest Posts by mvnsonzz - Page 3
STILES STILINSKI Teen Wolf | 4.05, I.E.D.
Season 5, Episode 9 "Lies of Omission" TEEN WOLF (2011–2017)
TEEN WOLF 2.09 | Party Guessed
I remember everything I did. And the worst part is, I remember liking it. Because I felt powerful. I felt fearless. And most of all, in control. But when I came through it, I learned something else... Control is overrated.
Dylan O'Brien as Stiles Stilinski TEEN WOLF — Season 4
━ HC superhuman strength in bed? what could go wrong? (18+)
( main!mark grayson x girl!human!reader )
HEADCANON: mark grayson showing off his strength in bed AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is something SOOOO different to what i usually do (write tim bradford fics from 'the rookie') but this idea has been so stuck in my mind i had to write about it! i'm up to the last episode of s3 wish me luck BAHAHA enjoy this headcanon and let me know how i went! am also open to any requests you guys have but just currently for main!mark/invincible please xoxo MDNI FOR THE SAKE OF YOUR OWN INNOCENCE!!
All that's been racing through my mind since watching the series is how strong Mark would be while in bed with you.
It's frightening and arousing just how much control it takes Mark to not physically hurt you when he has the absolute capability to do it. But you both know Mark would never dare to hurt you like that. Sure, his hands are big and strong but he's so careful with you.
Of course, he isn't abusive with his strength where you're left screaming in pain. Hell no, it's the type of strength a girl can only dream of when it comes to being manhandled and put in their place.
Mark, with his rough calloused hands gripping either side of your thighs as he eats you out. His hold on your thighs are too strong you couldn't close them even if you dared to try. In fact, he's so pussywhipped that he'll spread your soft flesh even further apart so he has more access to that pretty pussy, your bedroom light reflecting off the glistening of your juices as he takes a fleeting moment to pull back and admire his work.
And oh, will Mark enjoy every bit of your writhing as he takes nice, long strips from your dripping hole, through your folds and up to your clit where he'll flick and circle your overstimulated clit. Your pants, gasps and moans only fuel his neediness as he continues to eat you out.
"Fuck- Mark! 'S too much!" You moan out, your breath hitching in the process as your grip on your bedsheets tighten.
"You can take it, baby," He murmurs, only to then drag his tongue down from your clit and into your hole, thrusting his tongue deep inside of you as he tongue-fucks you. It's so good, too good that you cum so fucking hard from it.
But Mark isn't one to leave his girl waiting.
Because you won't even have finished orgasming when he pulls away and plunges a finger inside of you, his digit mixing in with the warmth of your walls and your juices that just tried to leak out of you. You'll choke, immediately melting into ecstasy as he makes 'come here' motions with his finger to reach that fleshy part of your g-spot.
The good thing about his strength? He can last for fucking hours. His stamina and endurance is incredible, especially when he's fucking you with his fingers.
Magic hands, they say...
Mark will milk out orgasm after orgasm from you until you're a crying mess. He can be a tease- some days he'll have three fingers inside of you, the next, only one. And you can't get away either, not when one of his hands is holding onto your waist, pushing you into the bed so you can't get away from his abuse on your pussy.
The best part, however, is when he fucks you.
You remember the first time you had sex together; you, naked, sitting on Mark's unclothed lap. And you're giggling while Mark was blabbering about how he was worried he was going to hurt you.
"Oh, Mark, you aren't gonna hurt me," You chuckled, your fingers tracing up to the nape of his neck.
Like walking on eggshells, Mark hovers over your waist as if touching you at all would leave bruises, "But...but what if I do? God, I'll feel so bad!"
And he wouldn't shut up, so, like any woman would do, you leaned down, your lips just grazing his ear as you whispered, "It's okay, I like it rough."
Mark hasn't looked back since that first day.
Especially not now that he can manhandle you in all sorts of different positions to his liking, his cock pounding into you like there's no tomorrow.
The good thing about his strength is you can be as much of a pillow princess as you want- he just does all the work for you.
Pinned up against a wall? Riding him mid-air or as he's carrying you to the bed? He just makes it so easy.
Even while you're riding him, he'll help make the rhythm you've started more rough and deep. He'll lift you up so effortlessly until your pussy is just coating his throbbing tip, and then he'll push you all the way down just in time for his thrust to meet up with you.
You can't help but let your eyes roll to the back of your head.
Mark also loves to fuck you when you're on all fours with your ass up, admiring how his cock fucks into your pussy so perfectly. He can get pretty lost in his strength too, the bed's probably broken, the walls might have cracked, and he's panting and groaning like a fucking animal too.
Beneath him, you're fucking shaking, letting out moans with each matching thrust as he sets a relentless pace, "Mark, please! So good, so- Mmh!" As he pushes your head into your pillows.
"Fuckin' taking it so well, aren't you?" He groans out, his hands gripping your ass so tightly that they'll bruise- along with that red handprint from when he slapped your ass not too long ago, "Gonna- holy shit, gonna cum, baby."
And as he should, it's been three hours since Mark started to begin to foreplay on you. As much as you love a man who can last as long as your boyfriend does, your pussy can't keep up with his superhuman strength.
Mark's empathetic to allows days for you to recover, knowing you won't be able to walk properly for the next few days.
Also, his aftercare is just as good as when he's fucking you senselessly.
Once he notices all the bruises on your thighs, he freaks out. He completely does a 180 in emotions and turns into the most softest boyfriend ever. He'll apologise profusely, pressing loving kisses everywhere on you and cuddle you close until you fall asleep.
DYLAN O'BRIEN as TOMMY
——–THE MAZE RUNNER; THE SCORCH TRIALS; THE DEATH CURE——–
TEEN WOLF 5.19 The Beast of Beacon Hills
Mal's TeenWolf rewatch: Motel California (3x06)
Teen Wolf 3.24 | The Divine Move
I remember everything I did. And the worst part is, I remember liking it. Because I felt powerful. I felt fearless. And most of all, in control. But when I came through it, I learned something else... Control is overrated.
Dylan O'Brien as Stiles Stilinski TEEN WOLF — Season 4
TEEN WOLF 2.09 | Party Guessed
nogitsune!stiles (11)
STILES IN EVERY EPISODE OF TEEN WOLF SEASON ONE, EPISODE FOUR — "MAGIC BULLET"
ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤUGLY LOVEㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱
☆ PAIRING : Yandere Mark Grayson x Fem Reader Part 1
☆ SYNOPSIS : Mark loves you. He loves you so much. But you don't. And yet you agree to go out with him. Maybe because no one else wants you. Maybe because you were lonely...
☆ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!
You remember the first time Mark Grayson asked you on a date.
It was embarrassing.
Not for him, no. For you. Because he did it in the middle of the school hallway, right when you were already feeling like shit, surrounded by people who immediately turned to stare like this was some kind of rom-com moment. Like you were supposed to blush and giggle and say yes because Mark Grayson was the loser who somehow still managed to be well-liked.
And you? You weren’t special. Not in any way that mattered. You weren’t pretty enough to turn heads, not hot enough to make guys stumble over themselves. You weren’t the girl anyone fell in love with. So when Mark fucking Grayson—big smile, nervous hands, that stupid blue-and-yellow jacket—asked you out, you just blinked at him.
"Are you serious?" you had asked, voice flat.
His expression faltered for half a second before he recovered. "Yeah! I mean, I think you're really pretty, and, uh, I'd love to take you out. Like—dinner, movie, whatever you want."
You wanted to say no. You really did. But then you thought about it—about how the guy you actually liked barely knew you existed. How you were always the afterthought, the last pick, the option. No one was lining up to take you out. But here was Mark, all bright eyes and open hands, so eager, so desperate.
So you said yes.
Dating Mark was easy. And awful.
He was in love with you.
Not in a normal, lovesick puppy way. No, Mark was something else. He looked at you like you were air and he was drowning. He texted constantly, always wanting to know where you were, who you were with, if you were okay. He remembered everything you ever said—your favorite color, the way you hated cold weather, that one time you mentioned wanting to try some random Thai restaurant downtown. It was suffocating.
And the worst part? You liked it.
Not him, though. Just the way he needed you. The way he worshipped you.
You let him hold your hand even though his palms were always a little too warm. You let him kiss you even though he always lingered too long, like he was memorizing your lips, like he thought you’d disappear if he stopped. You let him call you pet names that made your skin crawl—"baby," "angel," "my girl."
You never called him anything but Mark.
Then, of course, came the worst part.
The superhero bullshit.
The time he told you, it was supposed to be some big moment.
He sat you down in his bedroom, looking at you with this nervous excitement, like he was about to give you the best news of your life. Then he told you.
"I'm Invincible."
You blinked. "...You're what?"
He grinned, all proud, like an idiot. "Invincible! You know, the new hero? Yellow suit?"
Oh. Oh, that was him?
The guy flying around looking like a blind bee?
Invincible. What a stupid fucking name.
You had so many questions. None of them were good.
"You're telling me you willingly wear that suit?" you said instead, voice dripping with disgust.
His smile faltered. "I—I mean, yeah, it's kind of cool, right?"
You stared at him. Stared at the boy you were dating, who was apparently running around in an ugly-ass yellow and blue suit with those stupid fucking goggles like he was actually blind.
"You look so dumb," you muttered.
His face fell. "Wait, what?"
"Yellow? Seriously? Who the fuck told you that looked good?"
"Babe—"
"And the goggles? Are you blind? No, actually, are you?"
He looked heartbroken. Like you had just kicked a puppy. It was honestly kind of funny. But then he smiled again, weaker, like he was trying to brush it off.
"You’re not... mad?" he asked hesitantly.
Oh. Right. That was what he was expecting, wasn’t it? Screaming, crying, breaking up because oh no, my boyfriend is a superhero, it’s too dangerous, I can’t handle it!
You just shrugged.
"Why would I be mad?" you said. "Not like I actually care what you do."
He just stared at you for a long time. Then he smiled.
Too wide. Too happy. Like you had said something perfect.
God, he was pathetic.
Mark loved you too much. And you let him.
Every date was his idea. You never asked. He was always the one picking you up, texting first, clinging to you like he was afraid you'd disappear.
You tested him constantly, just to see how much he could take.
Ignored his texts? He sent more.
Canceled a date? He rescheduled immediately.
Made fun of him? He laughed, like it was endearing.
You let him kiss you, let him touch you, but never too much. Just enough to keep him hooked. You never said "I love you." He said it all the time, and every time you just looked at him, blank, and let the silence stretch until he got uncomfortable and changed the subject.
And god, he never gave up.
He looked at you like you were the fucking moon. Like you hung the stars in his sky. Like he needed you just to breathe.
You hated it.
You loved it.
Because you could never have what you really wanted. No one had ever loved you like this before. So you let Mark do it.
Even if you could never love him back.
Mark never noticed when you looked at someone else.
Maybe because he didn’t want to notice.
Or maybe because, in his head, you were already his. Permanently. Like he had claimed you the second you said yes in that stupid high school hallway.
But you noticed.
You noticed him. The guy you actually wanted.
He was everything Mark wasn’t—cool, confident, effortlessly charming. When he walked into a room, people turned. Girls actually wanted him. They laughed at his jokes, flipped their hair when he talked, hung onto every word. He could have anyone he wanted.
But he didn’t want you.
That stung. Even though you knew it shouldn’t.
You had Mark. Mark, who worshipped the ground you walked on. Mark, who held your hand like it was the most precious thing in the world. Mark, who would probably die if you asked him to.
And still, you wanted someone else.
You tried. For a while.
It happened on a random night—Mark was picking you up from class, his stupid yellow goggles shoved into his pocket, hair still messy from whatever dumb hero thing he had been doing earlier. He grinned at you, all excited like always.
"You hungry? We could get that ramen you liked."
You weren’t in the mood. Not for him. Not for his stupid, endless happiness.
But then you thought about it.
You thought about how it would feel if he—the one you actually wanted—looked at you like that. You thought about how you were being handed something most people dreamed of. Unconditional love. A boy who would do anything for you.
So you tried.
You smiled—tight, forced. Let Mark hold your hand as he walked with you. You let him talk, rambling on about some new villain he fought, how he was getting better at flying, how his dad was actually talking to him about superhero stuff now.
You nodded at the right times. Gave him a few mhms and oh, really? Like a normal girlfriend would.
But it didn’t last.
Because Mark wasn’t what you wanted.
And because you were fucked in the head.
It always came out of nowhere.
One second, you’d be fine. Barely tolerating him, but fine. The next, something small—something stupid—would set you off.
Like tonight.
You were sitting in his room, scrolling through your phone, only half-listening as he went on about his superhero bullshit again. And then he said something—some dumb, innocent comment.
"I know I’m not, like, the coolest guy around, but—I dunno, sometimes I wish you’d talk about me the way you talk about him."
Him.
You froze.
Slowly, you turned to face him. Mark looked nervous, like he regretted saying anything. Good.
"What?" Your voice was sharp.
Mark hesitated. "I—I mean, I know you think he’s, like, really handsome and—"
"Are you seriously bringing this up right now?"
He blinked. "I—"
"No, really, Mark, really? Jesus Christ, I can’t have one fucking conversation without you getting all insecure?"
Mark flinched. Like you had actually hit him.
And fuck, that only pissed you off more.
"You always do this," you spat, voice venomous. "Always. Acting like I’m the fucking bad guy when all I do is put up with your bullshit, your stupid works, your pathetic little—"
You stopped.
Because Mark was looking at you like a kicked dog.
Like he had just realized something awful.
And fuck.
You felt sick.
The guilt hit fast.
You pressed a hand to your forehead, exhaling sharply. "Fuck."
Mark swallowed. "I didn’t mean to—"
"Just—just shut up, okay?"
You didn’t want to hear him apologize. Not again. Not after this.
You weren’t a good person.
And Mark wasn’t good enough to fix that.
— MASTERLIST ☆
— NEXT ☆ Part 2.
— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆
ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤUGLY LOVEㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱
☆ PAIRING : Yandere Mark Grayson x Fem Reader Part 2
☆ SYNOPSIS : You didn't love him. You couldn't. No matter how much you try. And yet you didn't leave. It's toxic. It's bad. But it's all you have...
☆ WARNINGS : Explicit sexual content (consensual but emotionally heavy), emotional distress during intimacy, crying during sex, guilt, toxic relationship dynamics, unhealthy love. This is not a happy love story.
☆ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!
"I don’t love him."
You say it easily. Like it’s not a big deal. Like it’s just a fact.
You were too honest with your friends.
Maybe because you knew they wouldn’t judge you. Maybe because you wanted someone to tell you that what you were doing was fucked up.
Maybe because you just wanted to say it out loud.
Your friends looked at you.
"You mean like… you’re falling out of love?" one of them asked hesitantly.
You huffed a dry laugh. "No, because I was never in love."
They exchanged glances, unsure what to say.
"I can’t stand the sight of him sometimes," you continued, feeling your own words sink like stones in your chest. "I mean, he’s cute, I guess. But everything else? Nah."
One of your friends frowned. "Then why are you still with him?"
You don’t answer right away.
Because you don’t want to.
Because you don’t want to say "because no one else will love me like that."
Because you need it.
"He’s obsessed with me," you say instead, voice dry. "Might as well let him be."
Another laugh. Another joke. The conversation moves on.
But then—
A shadow.
A flicker of movement in the corner of your eye.
Your stomach dropped.
Slowly, you turned—
And there he was.
Mark.
Standing just a few feet away, looking right at you.
For a second, everything froze.
You stared at him. He stared at you.
He had heard. He had to have heard. You were so sure of it, your heart hammering in your chest, a sick knot forming in your stomach.
And then—
He smiled.
Like he hadn’t just heard you rip him apart.
Like nothing had happened.
"Hey, babe!"
Then he walked up to you, all smiles and warmth, hands casually in his pockets. His dumb jacket was unzipped, his hair still a mess from whatever bullshit he had been doing.
You were shaking.
Because there was no way he hadn’t heard.
But he was already kissing your cheek, leaning in close, like nothing was wrong.
"Sorry I’m late," he said, pulling out the chair next to you. "Got caught up with something."
You stared at him.
Nothing in his face gave him away.
Maybe… maybe he hadn’t heard.
Maybe—
"So, what were you guys talking about?" he asked, grinning, grabbing the menu.
Your throat felt tight.
One of your friends cleared their throat. "Uh, just… school stuff."
Mark nodded, seemingly unbothered. Then he turned to you, eyes bright, warm. "You ready to go? I made reservations."
And before you could react, before you could even breathe, he took your hand and pulled you out of your seat.
Took you out the door.
Took you on your fucking date.
Like nothing had happened.
Like you hadn’t just ripped his heart out and stomped on it.
You sat stiffly in the car, eyes flicking to him, trying to gauge anything.
Had he really not heard? Had he somehow walked up after—
No. No way. He have super hearing.
So why?
Why was he acting like this?
You opened your mouth—
Then closed it.
Because for once, you had no idea what to say.
You should’ve ended it.
You tried to end it.
It was late. Mark was in your room, lying on your bed like he always did, scrolling through his phone, waiting for you to come sit with him.
You stood near the door, gripping the hem of your shirt so tightly your fingers ached.
This wasn’t healthy. For either of you.
He was a good person. You weren’t.
You weren’t going to magically wake up one day and love him.
You took a deep breath. "Mark."
He turned immediately.
And then—
That smile.
That fucking smile.
Eyes wide. Face bright.
Like you had just said the most wonderful thing in the world.
"Yeah?" he asked, hopeful.
You hesitated.
The words sat on the tip of your tongue—I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t love you. I never have.
But you couldn’t say them.
Because he was looking at you like that.
Like you were the center of his universe. Like there was no world without you in it.
That was all it took.
Your throat closed.
Your heart sank.
And instead of saying what you needed to say, you just smiled.
"Never mind," you muttered.
Mark grinned, opening his arms for you. "C’mere."
And you went. Because it was easier to just let him hold you.
It started the way it always did.
Mark touched you like you were his.
Because in his mind, you were.
His hands, warm and careful, traced over your skin with something close to reverence. Like you were something precious, delicate—something he didn’t deserve but was grateful to have anyway.
His lips were soft as they pressed against your neck, down to your shoulder, lingering, inhaling deeply, like he wanted to memorize you.
"You're beautiful," he whispered against your skin.
You stiffened.
Because you weren’t.
Not in the way he saw you. Not in the way that mattered.
But Mark never saw the truth.
Or maybe he did, and he just refused to acknowledge it.
You let him undress you slowly. Let his hands roam, let his mouth worship. You didn’t push him away, didn’t roll your eyes, didn’t sneer at him like you wanted to.
You just let him.
He hovered over you, his breath shaky, pupils blown wide as he looked at you like you had hung the stars in the sky.
You swallowed, your throat dry. You shouldn’t be doing this.
You didn’t love him.
You never would.
But you had already given so much of yourself to this stupid relationship, so what was one more thing?
So you smiled, because that’s what you were supposed to do.
Mark’s breath hitched, and his lips were on yours again. His touch was desperate but restrained, like he wanted more but was afraid to take too much.
"It’s okay," you murmured, and that was all he needed.
The weight of him pressed down against you, warm, solid, real. His skin against yours, his hands mapping out every inch of you like he needed to memorize you, like this was the only proof he had that you were his.
And then—
Pain.
A sharp, tearing ache as he pushed inside you, slow, careful, almost reverent. Mark was shaking, his forehead pressed against yours, whispering apologies against your skin.
"You okay?" His voice was strained, breathless. "I—fuck, I can stop—"
You shook your head. "No. Just… keep going."
Mark groaned softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. He moved slowly, like he wanted to savor every second, like this was something holy to him.
It wasn’t holy to you.
It was just another thing you had given away.
But to him, this was love.
For him this was enough.
And so in the dim light of his bedroom, with his body pressed against yours, you pretended.
Pretended you wanted this.
Pretended you could love him.
Maybe if you acted well enough, you could convince yourself.
Maybe if you closed your eyes, you could imagine someone else.
But then—
"I love you."
Your eyes snapped open.
And it hit like a slap.
Mark was inside you, forehead pressed against yours, hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go.
His eyes—God, his eyes.
They were soft, devoted, desperate.
Like he would burn the entire world down just to make you love him back.
And that’s when it happened.
The dam broke.
Your chest tightened, your stomach twisted, and before you could stop it—
You started crying.
Not quiet, delicate tears.
But ugly, broken sobs.
Mark froze immediately. "Hey, hey— what’s wrong?" His voice was pure panic, hands cupping your face, eyes wide. "Did I hurt you?"
You shook your head violently, but the tears wouldn’t stop.
Because no, Mark hadn’t hurt you.
You had hurt yourself.
You had hurt him.
And now there was no taking it back.
Mark kissed the tears off your cheeks, his hands running soothingly down your sides, whispering, "It’s okay, it’s okay, I love you, I love you so much," over and over again like some kind of prayer.
And that just made it worse.
Because he meant it.
Because he would always mean it.
Even when he shouldn’t.
Even when you didn’t deserve it.
You curled into him, pressing your face against his chest, letting his arms wrap around you, letting his warmth swallow you whole.
And for the first time—
You didn’t push him away.
Because you were tired.
Tired of fighting him.
Tired of fighting yourself.
So you stayed.
And Mark held you like you meant it.
Like you would never leave.
You sat there, wrapped in the sheets, knees pulled to your chest.
You weren’t crying anymore.
But the tears still lingered, drying on your skin, the occasional sniffle betraying the fact that you had completely fallen apart just moments ago.
Mark was moving around the room.
Not chaotically, not frantically—just with purpose.
Like making sure you were okay was the most important thing in the world.
You watched from the corner of your eye as he grabbed his shirt from the floor and pulled it over your shoulders before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. His touch was so gentle—as if he was afraid you might break.
Then, he left the room.
You heard the sink running. A cabinet opening. Footsteps.
He came back with a glass of water.
"Here, drink something," he said softly, kneeling in front of you.
You didn’t move.
Didn’t reach for the glass.
Didn’t even look at him.
Mark hesitated, then gently took your hand and placed the cup in it, his fingers lingering over yours before he pulled away.
"You should drink," he urged again.
So you did.
Not because you wanted to.
But because you knew he wouldn’t stop worrying unless you did.
You took a few sips, enough to satisfy him, and set the glass on the nightstand.
Mark smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear before standing up again. "I’ll be right back, okay? Just… just sit tight."
You stayed curled up under the sheets, staring at the wall, deep in thought.
Because this was it.
You had crossed the final line.
It was your first time.
It was his first time.
And yet, all you could feel was emptiness.
Not because it had been bad.
It hadn’t.
Mark had been perfect. So careful. So gentle. So impossibly sweet.
And that just made it so much worse.
You had nothing to give him. No love. No devotion. Not even the barest hint of affection.
You had just let him have you.
And in return, he had given you everything.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t right.
But it was too late now.
You swallowed hard, tightening the sheets around your shoulders as Mark returned, holding a small plate of food.
"I made you something," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling as if nothing was wrong. As if he hadn’t just given himself to someone who didn’t love him back.
You glanced at the plate.
A simple sandwich.
Your throat tightened.
Because of course he would do something like this.
Of course he would take care of you.
Even when you didn’t deserve it.
"You should eat," Mark encouraged, nudging the plate closer to you.
You didn’t move.
Didn’t say a word.
You couldn't even look at him in the eyes.
You just sat there, curled up in the sheets, sinking further into yourself.
Mark’s smile faltered slightly.
"...Was it bad?" he asked suddenly, hesitantly.
Your eyes snapped to him.
He looked so unsure, like the thought had just crossed his mind, like maybe you had regretted it.
Which you had.
Just not for the reasons he thought.
You forced yourself to shake your head. "No. It wasn’t bad."
Mark studied your face for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached out, brushing his fingers against your cheek.
"You’re still shaking," he murmured.
You hadn’t even realized.
Before you could respond, he was already moving—pulling the sheets tighter around you, rubbing slow circles against your back, trying to soothe you.
"It’s okay," he whispered. "You’re okay."
You didn’t say anything.
Didn’t react.
Just let him love you.
Because you had no idea what else to do.
— MASTERLIST ☆
— NEXT ☆ Part 1.
— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆
INVINCIBLE 1x01 “It’s About Time”
"I need to do more! I can save lives!"
Mark Grayson/Invincible, voiced by Steven Yeun in Invincible (2021-) Season 2
You have no idea what I’ve been through, how much I have been holding back.
Invincible S03E03 - "You Want A Real Costume, Right?"
daechwita boy
241202 Mezamashi TV Interview - Felix ᡣ𐭩
Raw || August 12 - 2024
Raw || August 12 - 2024