a/n: kinda a songfic, or just heavily inspired, with a few lyrics sprinkled here and there. this song has been stuck in my head for the last few days and it ended with me writing this! because of course mark is all lovey-dovey and makes you feel SICK with his love lol.
also YAY finally my *first* Mark fic!!! (and yes it's brat green and yes i know those are two different albums thank you very much)
and a big big thank you to @cheeyan and @queen-of-gotham for helping me out with this cute little thing!
The coffee maker drips slowly into the pitcher, filling your tiny kitchen with the smell of freshly brewed magical morning drink. You're at the table, face resting heavily in your hand, eyelids still thick with sleep, your cereal already soggy as you swirl the spoon lazily in the bowl.
You should eat, but you can't—not with the terrible tummy ache you've been having the last couple of weeks. And you shouldn't feel this way, no. It's not your cycle, too old leftovers or any virus, it's even worse—it's… love.
You cringe and frown at the word, all neon and pink in your mind, hearts and rose petals falling down like some stupid confetti at a child's birthday party. To make matters worse, your phone buzzes once, twice, twirling on the table. Then it lights up again and again. Your stomach tightens even more, threatening a projectile vomit.
Whatever is left of your breakfast lands in the drain along with the cold coffee that didn't cut it like it usually does. You don't check your phone, you don't have to. You know who is blowing up your DMs, it's always the same person. The one you always watched from afar, wondering when he'll bloom, turning from a dorky, shy boy into a testosterone oozing, wall of muscle man.
Mark Grayson.
Your patience paid off—the day you saw the change in his demeanor, you wasted no time and walked up to him on the campus, your hips swaying side to side a little bit more than usual, knowing it was your chance to get lucky.
"Hi there!" You chirped, giving him your best smile, sitting closer than necessary on the bench. "Mark, right?"
"Oh! Yeah, it's me. Hi—" he stuttered at your name, eyes darting everywhere but your face. He still needed some care to open his petals up, so you did what any flower needed—showered him with compliments.
"You've been working out, huh? You look big and strong." Your head tilted to the side, gentle fingers ran along the line of his bicep. Mark gulped, words stuck in his throat, red painting his high cheekbones. You did everything in your power not to giggle, otherwise you'd scare the boy away.
"By the way," you continued after some buzzing silence, "I saw you did really good on the last essay with Mr. Brown. What's your secret?"
"I, uh, don't know—just did some research at the library…" The black-haired boy chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. Terrible non-answer, but it didn't discourage you. You leaned in, resting your forearm on his shoulder, your other hand landing on his thigh, definitely higher than acceptable. Mark tensed at the boldness of your touch
"How 'bout a study date?" Your tone was casual, the question innocent on the surface. But you knew it was far from that, and Mark must had known too, when his whole face went scarlet red, blush creeping down his neck. "You could show me your sources."
"Yeah, sure. Why not?" He finally locked eyes with yours, and there it was, that glimmer of awkwardness and hope. "I mean—of course. When do you—"
"Tomorrow at 6, my place?" You cut in, your body buzzing with excitement. "I live nearby campus."
Next day couldn't come faster, hours dragged torturously slowly. But when Mark finally showed up, 5 minutes before the set time, you both lasted maybe half an hour before ending up on your bed, legs and tongues tangled.
To your dissatisfaction, that was all that happened that night. But you knew he was inexperienced, and needed to be courted a little more. And so the whole dance begun, you chasing that closeness, yet trying to remain respectful; and Mark… Mark was courting you as well. Maybe even too much.
Meeting in public places—cafes, local cinema, dorm parties. Whenever things got a little heated, it was short and sweet, like he was stopping himself. Which, you really didn't have that issue before. Any guy you ever seduced, was more than happy to get naked in a matter of minutes. But not Mark. Mark was sending you flowers with little notes, each making you double-guess your own feelings for him.
You were just trying to get into his pants.
So you endured endless calls and texts, long walks, cuddling without going further. When one afternoon, he called and said he wanted to do something special tonight, you almost screamed into the phone. Whole time getting ready, your lower parts were buzzing, heat pooling between your legs, pressure building up and ready to snap any moment.
At the restaurant, he took your coat without being asked. It shouldn't mean anything, yet that weird feeling in your stomach came back. It started some time ago, and you were ignoring it as much as possible. But tonight was different.
The conversation flowed easily, alcohol going straight to your head, and you were drunk, not on the wine, but on him. Whenever he laid his brown eyes on you, you felt lightheaded, and you hated it. Every time you laughed, he did that puppy face that you should despise, yet it makes your heart skip a beat.
The night was beautiful, sky clear and full of stars. Candlelight swayed gently with the evening wind, laughter slowly dying down, until it was quiet. And there it was again, that warm gaze in his eyes, his hand close to yours, but not touching.
So it took you by surprise, when he lifted it and brushed your hair to the side.
"You're so pretty, you know that?" Mark murmured, his thumb swiping your cheek.
Oh God, here it was again, that cramping in your stomach, threatening to go up your throat. But it was a false alarm, as the only thing that rushed up to your head was your blood, your cheeks burning at his words.
You took one deep breath in, then another, trying and failing to calm down. Somehow, you were now the one who couldn't peep a word. So you did what you do best—crashed your lips with his, hoping he'd finally get the memo.
A little less than an hour later, you two were at your place again. Thankfully, Mark's chivalry was gone the second the doors closed behind him. He was at you so fast it seemed impossible, but you blamed the alcohol for your fucked up perception.
"I was waiting for this moment," Mark mumbled in between kisses down your neck. Was he now? You wanted to reply something snarky, but only soft gasps spilled out your mouth.
"God, you're s'beautiful, s'perfect…"
This time there was no warning. You pushed Mark away and ran to the bathroom, mere seconds away from retching all over the floor. Shame coursed your veins along with alcohol, and in a blink of an eye, there was a large, warm hand gathering your hair, the other smoothing down your bare back.
"God, why y'do this t'me?" You rasped in between salves of vomiting, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand instead of the tissue your date was holding out for you.
When you were done emptying your stomach, he already had an aspirin and a glass of water ready. You mumbled something about needing a shower, but you could barely sit, let alone stand. So a few minutes later, Mark was undressing you with the utmost care, hands gentle on your limp body, lights dimmed in order to keep up appearances of modesty.
You never were shy about nudity, but this felt different, and you were feeling bashful, covering yourself and blushing, asking him not to look. And he didn't. Instead, to make things even, he undressed himself as well and got into the shower with you, holding you in his strong arms.
The rest is a blur—Mark taking your make up off with a cloth, washing your hair with the perfect pressure, gliding wash gel over your skin in slow, circular motion. You didn't realize how you get into your bed in your softest pajamas, Mark's chest flush with your back.
He stayed over despite your stubborn pleas for him to leave, but he didn't listen. Sun was starting to rise when he whispered apologies and sweet goodbyes into your ear, leaving you alone at last. With an aching emptiness of the spot where he held you, without his weight dipping the mattress behind you.
And that's how you ended up here, ashamed and hangover in your kitchen with your phone blowing up. It's been only a few hours since Mark has left your place, and he was already marking his presence without your permission.
When Mark calls you again, you put your phone on silent and decide go outside. Some fresh air will do you good. Otherwise, you're a lost cause.
Only a few steps outside your apartment building, there he is, pacing in circles, mumbling something under his nose. You want to turn on your heel and run, but Mark notices you and is by your side before you can flee.
"Hi, I'm so, so sorry I left you alone in this state—" he stops, his face goes white, and starts stuttering again, which is something you unfortunately came to adore, "—I mean—how are you feeling? Do you need anything? I can—"
"Mark." You try to remain calm, your tone sharp and measured as much as possible when feeling like you were thrown into a blender.
"Yes?" His shoulders rise up to his ears, his eyes flicking from your face to your outfit—oversize hoodie thrown over your pajamas and… slippers. You couldn't bother changing.
With a loud sigh, you cross your arms over your chest and take a good look at him. Unlike you, he's unscathed by the night, smelling like fresh laundry and that cologne you suggested he buys.
"Why are you here, exactly?"
"You weren't answering my texts and calls, so I got worried, and—" Mark stops mid-sentence again, mouth open, realization dawning behind those beautiful—No. Just brown eyes. "Shit. I see it now." His gaze drops to the ground, his hand finding its usual place on the back of his neck. Another quirk you hate to love.
"See what?" You ask after a few beats pass in awkward silence.
He gestures vaguely, but you only raise a brow. So he lets out a defeated exhale, his shoulders sagging low. "How it looks. That it might seem… controlling. Which—I'm not. Controlling you. I just… I care about you."
And when he looks at you again, it hits you. That concerning feeling in your tummy that has nothing to do with the amounts of alcohol you drank yesterday. Warmth seeping from his dark chocolate eyes almost burns you.
"Like, a lot," he adds, quieter now.
You speak before you can stop yourself, building up your walls high enough he'd never be able to jump over them.
"Then stop."
"…Excuse me?"
"Stop going all lovey-dovey on me!" You raise your voice, ignoring the ringing in your ears, the blood traveling to your head. "You put me on a pedestal, and I don't deserve it. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, and now—" This time, you bite your tongue in time, just second away before slipping into something you won't be able to take back.
Mark comes up closer, and you don't move, don't flinch away when he wraps his hand around your arm, touch soothing and electrifying all at once.
"Now what?" He asks, voice warm and no hint of sarcasm there. Not like he ever was sarcastic.
"It's all… Serious!" You almost cry, pushing his hand away. "And I'm not supposed to feel this way! You don't understand—it makes me such a hypocrite!"
But Mark is not the one to give up easily. He steps forward again, even closer than before, and takes your face into his strong, warm hands and smiles at you like you hung the moon.
"Why?"
Your mouth opens, then closes, throat thick with words that threaten to spill. And when Mark rests his forehead on yours, and whispers, "Tell me," you crack open.
"Because I care too! And I wasn't supposed to! I never care!"
There it is. The dreaded silence. You've spilled your guts in more ways than one over the last 12 hours. The truth lies heavy between Mark's grounding presence and your unruly heart doing back-flips in your chest.
"You care about me?" The boy murmurs, his thumbs caressing your temples with gentleness that you certainly do not deserve.
"Yes, Mark! God damn it, quit looking at me all sucky!" You try to push him away, but he doesn't budge, as if he was made of stone and weighed a tonne. "You're supposed to be furious with me!"
"I can't. Not when you're all red like a tomato," Mark chuckles, bringing you even closer, your chests fitting against each other like missing puzzle pieces. "And when you just admitted your feelings for me."
"I—I didn't—Fuck."
You let your shoulders drop, body go limp against his.
"C'mere." Mark wraps his arms around you and lift you bridal style, like if you weigh nothing. "Let's get you back home and watch your comfort movie, together."
Your arms curl around his neck, and you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, letting yourself for once, without any remorse, get high on his incredible smell.
"…but only if we order some greasy take out," you mumble, your cheek squished on his shoulder.
Mark chuckles and plants a soft kiss on the crown of your head.
With three movies to compare between, I really appreciate how each Knives Out movie explores justice from a different thematic angle, not based on the murder that was committed but based on the cruelty that led to that murder.
In Knives Out, a compassionate, ethical young woman treats everyone around her with generosity, and the people around her repeatedly try to take advantage of her kindness to force her into losing the fortune that was gifted to her by a dear friend. There, justice means that she keeps the fortune and decides that actually, she doesn't have to be kind and giving to people who've proven themselves assholes.
In Glass Onion, a woman loses her sister to a gang of wealthy, successful people who've sacrificed their principles for the sake of ambition and ego. There, justice means that everyone involved will be made notorious: whatever their other accomplishments, they will forever be known for being complicit in the burning of the most famous painting in history.
In Wake Up Dead Man, the church takes advantage of a young girl's loyalty and faith to place her under a lifelong burden and fill her with guilt, shame, and hatred. Justice means helping her understand what was done to her and the women around her, and giving her compassion so she can find peace.
This is cool because it means the movies contradict each other! The compassionate justice of Wake Up Dead Man would be totally misplaced in Knives Out, and so would the toppling-monuments justice of Glass Onion. And because each movie has something different to say, they all stand on their own and feel fresh.
This is also why Benoit Blanc is the uniting figure but never the protagonist of these movies. He's an agent of legal justice in that he's the detective and it's his job to figure out whodunnit, but the protagonist -- Marta, Andi and now Jud -- is always the character who delivers thematic justice.
I love that everyone in Cobra Kai is in a different genre.
Daniel and Johnny are in a homoerotic buddy-cop comedy, Tory is in a Saw trap, Miguel is in a coming-of-age movie, Kenny is in a coming-of-rage movie, Hawk and Demetri are in a BL sports anime, Sam is in a teen drama, Robby's in a reboot of a hit movie from the 80's, Chozen is literally just there, Kreese and Silver are in a psychosexual thriller, Amanda is in a sitcom, Kyler-
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