#mark grayson x reader

[jupisloveletterz]

was it straight buns or what

[jupisloveletterz]

.✦ ݁˖ SECRET ADMIRER

pt. 3 . read pt. 2 here!

pairing: Mark Grayson x spider-woman!reader

summary: your mistake of not acting sooner has you working alongside heros like Invincible, and results in you both becoming vulnerable..

tags: fem reader, reader has spidey powers, cat noir and ladybug type pinning, a bit ooc, reader lowk getting their ass beat, reader being hard headed, protective Mark, reader and Mark finally use their brains.

notes: I'm ngl guys I'm honestly not super proud of this one..I was unsure of how to go about writing this chapter but it was stressing me out not having anything else out. #burnmeatthestake

You examine the threat as you begin to jump into action. You watch as the man you saw earlier shoot at civilians, which once hit in the head were quickly turned into grotesque, violent creatures of themselves.

 Their muscle and bone structure rapidly change at a speed that their skin cannot adjust to, causing their flesh to erupt out from their skin as they become transfigured. You watched in horror as you saw those who were once people begin to destroy everything in their path with their new found strength. 

The crazy man laughs as he watches. “Look at them go! If only you gave me more time to perfect it, then you’d really be able to see what they can do…” he announced angrily before shooting again. 

That strange feeling creeps up your neck, sending all your senses on high alert as you see one of the creatures running straight towards you. A thick pink wall appears in front of you and you hear the sound of a familiar voice. 

“Didn’t think you’d show up today.” You quickly shoot up into the air as you watch Atom Eve create a weapon from thin air and launch it at the creature. You shoot her a look, giving her a nod as a thank you for saving my ass. 

“Wasn’t planning on it… but it’s partially on me…” You mumble the last part quietly. 

“We’re trying to get that weapon out of his hands without turning into whatever it is he turned these people into. Be careful.” Eve says with caution as she armors herself. 

You sigh as you look to see where the man is now, trying to look for a potential opening. “Trust me, I got this.”

You sling from one building to another as you watch heroes like Monster Girl, Robot and Rex Splode take care of the issues on the ground while you try to get closer to the main threat. 

You get closer to the ground as you watch people run from the danger; a woman weakly runs up to you with her body bloody and beaten. “Help me…please..” she gurgled as she shook violently before letting out a loud scream as her body burst into something larger. Her eyes grew red as she lunged at you.

 You quickly moved out of her way as you shot them with webs, using them to slam her into the ground. Though it seemed like her body was just adjusting to the impact as it grew in size, the creature got back up seemingly unfazed. It let out a screech as it began to attack again. 

“What the fuck kind of injection is this shit?” You spat as you grabbed another creature and launched it at the other one, making them crash.

You hear a nearby explosion, and you see Rex attempting to blow these creatures up without getting torn apart or shot by whatever turned these people into monsters. “It’s like they’re on evil steroids. I’ve been consistently hitting the gym for years and I’m still nowhere near the size of these fuckers,” Rex groans as he throws his explosives at the creatures. 

You snicker at his comment as you punch at the creatures open wounds and sling off the building as you launch a hard kick. “What purpose would you getting super swole even serve? All you do is blow shit up,” you laugh under your mask as you dodge attacks. 

He scoffs at you as he throws his punches and lets off more explosions. “First of all, if I get extremely jacked I’ll be able to reach my ultimate sex symbol potential,” he exclaimed as he used two of the metal poles around his waist to stick into the mouth of the creature he was fighting before letting it explode, blowing the head off. “Second of all, I don’t just blow shit up; I blow shit like this up, which is very useful unlike a humanoid spider that just slings around,” he boasted with a cocky smirk before taking on another one. 

You rolled your eyes underneath your mask as you got onto one of the bulky monsters before wrapping your webs tightly around their limbs to keep them restrained as you do with the next. “I don’t just sling around. I literally help keep buildings from falling and crushing everyone whenever you guys get too reckless. Not to mention I’ve literally helped save your asses before?” you corrected as you restrained the angry ball of muscle beneath you.

Rex looked you up and down, unamused before crossing his arms and looking at the mutated people fighting to get out. “Right, and tying people up in kinky positions with stuff that comes out of spiders asses helps a ton…” 

“That’s not even-“ Once again, you get a familiar tingle on the back of your neck when your body senses danger before you can even see it. You look over to see the man pointing his device at you with a maniacal smile as his finger squeezes the trigger. 

Before you properly react, your body is suddenly hit by a large mass as it moves you out of the way behind the wall of a nearby building. 

As you adjust your eyes, you begin to make out the thing that’s wrapped around you. The familiar dark hair, large white eyes along with a yellow mask covering some of their face.

“Are you hurt?” They ask with concern as they hold you close, brows furrowed and heart racing as they examine you for any wounds. 

It’s Invincible. Of course. 

You pry yourself out of his arms and brush down your suit. “I’m fine,” you state bluntly. “I was just caught off guard,” you sigh as you begin to climb on the wall of the building.

“You need to be more careful. You could’ve turned into one of those things,” he said with worry as he flew to your side.

You weren’t in the mood to get lectured by anyone, let alone Invincible of all people who is constantly getting himself hurt. 

“I told you I was fine. I would’ve been able to get out of the way in time. I don’t need you flying down to come save me,” you groan as you peek over the wall to search for an opening. 

“Really? Cause it looked like you were too distracted bothering Rex to notice,” he said with annoyance while letting out an exasperated sigh. 

“Oh my god, are you jealous?” you snap as you turn your head to look back at him. He seems taken aback as he began to stumble over his words while he searched for a response. 

“Can you guys go talk this out later when we’re not trying to prevent more people from dying? And though I’m flattered, personally I’d like to know who it is exactly that I plan on hooking up with unlike Invincible over here,” Rex shouts as he looks up at you both, giving Invincible a teasing smirk.

You stare down with offense as you squint your eyes at him. “As if…you look nothing like the sexy guy I’m plotting on,” you fake gag at Rex, but Mark snaps his neck at your response with his mouth ajar, ready to shoot out questions.

“Do you know how many people are dying to just even get a taste?”

“I’m sure Invincible would love to take a chance.”

“He’d be lucky.”

While you and Rex stare each other down, Mark is bright pink as he’s biting his lip trying to silence himself from saying something stupid. Rex was right. He'd love to.

You peek back over the wall before swinging off to a closer building nearby. You observe the man closely before acting on your next move. He runs into a nearby building to run away from his own creation. You need to act fast before he gets more people infected. Invincible appears next to you as he too watches.

“I’ll get him,” you both say in unison before snapping your heads to look at one another. 

“It would be easier if I go, I can literally use my webs to snatch the device away from his hands.”

“Yeah, but what if he makes more of those things and you end up getting ripped apart— or uses them to catch you off guard before shooting?”

“You act like you can’t end up getting shot either?”

“Robot says it only works on human DNA, and I’m only half so maybe it cancels out? Pemdas?” 

“I know what I’m doing,” you growl before making your way into the building, crashing in through one of the windows. 

You look around to see it’s an office with scattered papers on the carpeted floor. You see someone dart across the room in your peripheral vision, shooting out a dart.

 You quickly dodge, making the dart go past your head as you crawl to hide near a cubicle. You shoot up to the ceiling before seeing the man huddled in the corner of the room. 

You both make eye contact but before he shoots, you snatch the device from his hands as you let yourself land onto the floor, and you shoot webbing onto him to prevent him from moving. 

You toss the device far behind you as you walk over to him slowly, stretching out your shoulders as you do.

“I should’ve went after you when I had the chance. Can’t believe my evening with a cute guy got ruined because of some old loser,” you sigh as you crouch down to look at him. 

He laughs with his head down; he’s laughing like he just heard the best joke in the world. You stare at him confused as he lifts his head to look back at you. “My apologies for the inconvenience, though you were never supposed to come play hero,” he says with a big smile as he looks at you menacingly. 

You shrug as you let out a long sigh. “That’s kinda my job.”

His face twitches as his body starts to tremble, the veins on his neck growing prominent. “Though I’m glad it’s you that gets to watch my last experiment…because I’m going to enjoy tearing you apart.” 

You stand up quickly as you watch his eyes turn into that shade of red you saw earlier in that lady. He laughs as he begins to throw his head back to hit the wall. When he puts his head down, you realize he had stabbed himself behind his neck with some purple injection that he’s pushing in deeper. He must’ve injected himself when you hid. 

“Speeding…the process…slower….when…it’s..” he grunts before letting out a pained scream as his body twitches and bursts, slowly breaking out of his restraints in the process. You step back as you watch the monstrosity forming in front of you. Unlike the others, he seemed much stronger. His spine popped from his back as he hunched over before letting out a bellowing roar. 

“Invincible…” you yell out as you start to move before the massive creature lunges itself at you. It pins you down, your webbing barely doing anything as you try to restrain it and your hits having little to no effect. You try to free yourself, only for the strong creature to lift you from your head before throwing you back into the ground. 

You let out a pained groan as you fell through the floor, your body aching from the fall, but you needed to move fast.

You shot your webs to the other side of the room to move you away as the creature slammed through the opening trying to get to you. You break through the window, making it back outside as you notice Invincible taking on a few along with Atom Eve. 

You try to call after them but the giant creature throws itself out the window, landing on the ground below it. The sound attracts a few wandering creatures which makes them run towards you. 

Invincible looks over to see that you’re hurt and a whole crowd of those monsters was making their way towards you. He flies over as he takes out the ones coming after you while Eve tries her best to take out the disgustingly large creature, only making it more agitated. 

“It’s stronger, I think he injected himself with some other bullshit,” you yell out to Eve as her weapons don’t do much to stop it. 

It looks back at you as you try to get yourself to higher ground. As you shoot your webs, the creature tightly grabs your leg before slamming you down.

This version seemed a lot more sentient than the rest. It’s bulky figure continuously punches you into the asphalt, making you spit out blood at the brute force. 

Your body grows weak from all the blows. The creature places its firm hand over your chest as it holds you down. Its nails dig into your suit, piercing your skin as it leans down closer to your face. Its other hand is used to slash open your mask, a large scratch running from the side of your face, tearing away at some of the fabric near your eye and completely ripping the lower half. “I…want..see…face…when…you…die,” the creature’s rough voice says above you, slowly as it looks you in the eyes. 

You stare back at it, ears ringing while panic really sets in as you’re completely at his will. That is until you remember that you have the ability to release venom. You don’t like to use it, but in life or death situations like this, you have no choice. 

As the creature goes to reach for your head once more, you muster up the last bit of your strength to throw yourself up to retract your fangs and bite down into its wrist. It lets out a pained wail as you inject yourself into its veins, the nails in your chest digging in deeper as the creature tenses before loosening its grip. 

When you feel like you’ve been able to get enough toxins into its bloodstream, you let your head fall back as you wait for your venom to work its course.

The burning sensation from their wrist soon becomes numb, losing the ability to move it. Invincible flies into the creature, sounding like he’s taking care of the rest as you lay there helplessly on the ground. 

Not soon after, you’re picked back up by him. He places you softly on top of some smaller building, your back resting against the parapet. He frantically checks on you; the gash on your chest, your mask torn to show your face bloodied and beaten, makes him panic. He gently grabs your face as he tries to figure out how deep the scratch is across your face.

“You should’ve just let me take care of it. I don’t know why I let you go,” he grumbles with his brows furrowed.

You retract your fangs back in as you stare at him with annoyance. “You let me go because you knew I could’ve handled myself, which I did. I told you I got it…” you bit back as you tried to sit upright before hissing at the pain in your chest.

He places his hand on top of yours as you place it over your chest, while his other hand gently settles behind the small of your back to sit you down more comfortably. “I know, I know…you did, like you always do,” he replies softly. 

You narrow your eyes at him, taking his care as pity. “I don’t need your help… I’ve got this,” you say weakly as your body aches. 

“I let you have the other one now let me have this..” he sighs as he brings his hand to wipe some of the pavement off of your face with his thumb. He gives you an apologetic smile, a familiar smile; one that makes your heart skip a beat, but you can’t seem to remember where it’s from.

The sound of Rex calling out his name makes him jolt and suck his teeth with annoyance. He softly moves his hands away before looking over the ledge then back down at you. 

“I’ll be back. I promise,” he says, standing up before taking off again. 

Your ears start to ring again, your head throbs as your vision grows blurry. You blink slowly before it all goes black.

You wake up to the sound of monitors beeping. The sterile smell fills your nose as you begin to wake. You look around to find yourself in a familiar room. You were placed into the care of the GDA once again.

You looked around the plain silver room letting out a pleased hum that they remembered to keep the curtains in your room drawn, while a nurse was writing something down on their clipboard. Their brows raise as they give you a small smile. “Glad to see you’re awake , Ms. L/n.” 

You sit up a bit, body sore from the fight. Your head throbs, making you throw a hand over your face, allowing you to feel the bandages on your face. You look down to see your chest wrapped in gauze, doesn’t look as bad as you thought. 

You watch the nurse as they come to check on your vitals, your eyes still adjusting to the light. “How long have I been out?” your voice raspy as you ask.

“Just two days, nothing severe. Your injuries are minimal beside a small concussion, but we were just waiting for you to wake up to make sure,” they state calmly as they hand you a glass of water.

Shit. Two days extra of having to make up work for your classes. You don’t even want to know what your phone looks like right now. 

You flinch as you pull your IV out as you begin to move out of the bed. Your nurse stares at you in shock as you find your footing and start to stretch. “Wh-what are you doing?” 

You crack your back with a hiss before looking back at them. “I have important stuff to take care of. I don’t wanna waste more time being here than I already have,” you say while downing the glass of water that was given. 

“But Ms. L/n you’ve just woken up? We need to make sure you’re in the right condition before we let you go-“

“You said it was nothing severe right? I feel fine, and if anything I’d actually prefer to rest at home than here,” you fussed as you walked around the room searching for some clothes.

The nurse sighs as they search through the drawers before pulling out a ziplock bag with a few clothes. “Invincible stopped by and dropped these off for you, since we weren’t sure who to call.”

They hand over the bag and you see a seance dog tee on the top along with what appears to be grey sweats underneath. You raise your brow at the odd gesture but you smirk also because it reminds you so much of Mark. It’s strange.

You change into the oversized tee, the scent awfully familiar and you slip on the sweats that fit a bit loose around your hips. The hospital provides you with a pair of fresh socks and some janky old slides that you swear you lost over a year ago but you couldn’t care less to ask questions. 

You walk towards the front to check yourself out and get your suit back, leaning against the desk as you wait. Suddenly a quick flash pops up beside you, all you notice is a grey sweater in your peripheral. “Sorry- How is she? Has waken up yet? Is she okay or..”

Your face twists at the sound of the familiar voice, a voice you definitely shouldn’t be hearing here.

You slightly turn your head to you see Mark running his hand through his hair as the lady at the front seems to once again repeat that she only knows as much as he does. 

Your heart drops, and your eyes widen in shock because why the hell would Mark Grayson of all people be here? Does he know someone who got injured in the incident? Does he know a hero here? 

“Mark..?” you hesitate calling his name, your voice small as you stare at the boy next to you. 

He gives you a quick glance with an apologetic smile, that same smile you know you’ve seen before. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle…”

You startle him, matter of fact you both startle one another as you get a good look at each others faces. He looks puzzled, his mind racing with the same questions you had as he looks at you. 

That is until he really takes a good look at you and realizes your face is bandaged up, and you’re wearing his the clothes he brought over to provide for Spider-Woman for no specific purpose. 

Both of your mouths fall open in disbelief at the conclusions your both drawing. You feel yourself begin to sweat as you stare back at him, silently panicking the longer you stare. 

You don’t say anything. You guys are both awfully silent while you both reach a realization. Despite not saying anything, you both share a look of, I know who you really are. 

The lady at the front awkwardly stares at you both before handing you your belongings. “Have a good evening Ms. L/n…” she says placing it in your hands while you continue to stare at one another. 

Mark doesn’t even know what to say. His mouth begins to move and he tries to make sound but none of his forms any coherent sentence as he stumbles. 

You break eye contact as you quickly grab your stuff before making your way to the elevator feeling embarrassed.

You’re trying to leave as fast as possible. There’s no way it’s taken you this long to realize that Mark is literally Invincible and that Invincible has been the one you’ve been thirsting over. 

“W-wait,” Mark goes after you as he grabs ahold of your hand. 

Your face runs hot at the contact, he stares at his hand holding yours almost in disbelief with himself before you pull yourself away, speed walking down the hall.

“Please! Can we- can we just talk?” He pleads as he follow you, tripping over his own feet in the process.

“I think I’d rather die,” you said under your breath as you frantically search for where the hell this elevator is again. Once you find it, you continuously press the button to get to the first floor, praying the door closes faster before he can get in. 

Mark practically teleports beside you making you jump as the door closes and begins to go up. You feel like curling up in a ball and throwing up. 

“It’s just- I never thought that…it was YOU. I can’t believe I didn’t notice when I saw your face on that rooftop,” his face is bright pink as he puts both of his hands on his head in disbelief while you stand in the corner avoiding eye contact. 

“Yeah well imagine how I feel? You literally show part of your face and I was too stupid to realize that Invincible was literally YOU. Mark fucking Grayson, the guy I’ve been-“

You stop your rambling before you dig your grave even deeper as you let out a whine, covering your face in your hands. 

You’re both unsure of what to even say next. Both feeling embarrassed and overly vulnerable as you both panic. The door finally opens and you shoot your webs down the halls to quickly get yourself out of there. 

Mark obviously follows you outside, flying behind you as you try to figure out where the hell you can swing from to get away. 

“I know it’s awkward, but let me take you home. Nobody will see your face and it’ll be a lot faster.” he says appearing beside you.

“I’ll just have someone from drop me off. You don’t need to-“

He appears right in front of you, his chest inches from your face. “Please,” he begs, his face softening as he looks down at you with those puppy dog eyes.

Your face grows hot, you look up at him to see his cheeks dusted pink, brows furrowing as you stare back at him.  He’s staring at you like an inpatient puppy waiting for you to say yes. You sigh as you look off to the side before back up at him, face softening as you do. “Fine,” you mutter as you hold onto your bag of clothes tightly. 

He gives you a satisfied smile as you both awkwardly adjust your positions before he picks you up, his hand around your side while the other holds the back of your thigh as his arms support you up. You yelp as he begins to lift off the ground, your arms instinctively wrapping around him for dear life. He laughs at your reaction as he slowly takes you up into the air. 

“I’m kinda heavy so don’t drop me,” you squeak. Shooting webs in one thing, you’ve definitely been up high or swung down from them but flying above the clouds and above the whole city is completely different.

“Who do you think I am? You weigh practically nothing in my arms,” he gasps with faux offense as he does a little spin which makes you grab onto him tighter.

“Okay well don’t drop me!” You shout as you try your best to not notice how far up you both are right now.

 His grip tightens around you, a soft smile appearing on his lips as he stares at you. “I’d never,” he reassures as he takes off. 

tags : @houseofperfecttaste@ @maraaaa105

[annlyticalarchive]

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Growing Pains

”You will be different, sometimes you’ll feel like an outcast, but you’ll never be alone”

Mark Grayson X Kryptonian/Clark Kent! Reader

Masterlist | Previous | Next

w/c: 7.7k

a/n: woo boy this is a long one! And it was meant to be even longer! In all honesty, I’ve had this particular smut scene planned for a while, like beginning of STS while. And am very glad I swapped where I write my chapters otherwise it’d either be a whole lot shorter or a no plot chapter— I still am not confident in my abilities, but hey, practice makes perfect. And I only proof-read this once, and it’s nearly midnight is I post this, so if you see any mistakes? No you didn’t.

c/w: The assumption that the Reader can fit in Mark’s clothes, use of the nickname baby, AFAB!Reader, brief shower sex (or handjob), handjobs, grinding, PiV sex, cowgirl, hickeys/biting, protected sex, (if I missed any, tell me and I’ll add them!)

The flight back to Mark’s place was quiet.

Though you really didn’t expect anything different. Mark had a tendency to stew in his own silence before the dam finally broke and he started talking.

He grabbed his bedroom window and pushed it open, floating aside so you could climb in first.

“You sure you want me here?” you asked softly.

Mark pulled off his mask and rubbed at his face with a heavy sigh.

“I can just go—”

“No. It’s okay.” He fumbled with the rest of his suit, sounding exhausted. “Tonight just… tonight sucked.”

You could only nod.

A tired smile tugged at your lips as you watched him struggle out of the top half of his suit. The material caught on his nose, leaving him momentarily trapped.

Despite everything, a small laugh escaped you.

“Don’t.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You laughed.”

Mark groaned as you reached over and helped pull the stubborn fabric free.

“There.”

“Thanks.”

“Let’s take that shower,” you said. “You still have gunk in your hair, and I’m pretty sure we’ll both feel better once we’re clean.”

“Probably.”

Mark crossed the room toward his dresser and dug through a drawer before pulling out a pair of gray sweatpants.

Then he paused.

Slowly, he turned toward you with what could only be described as an embarrassed grimace.

“I, uh, don’t exactly have any of your clothes for you.”

You rolled your eyes and reached into the open drawer, plucking out a pair of boxers. “I’m sure I’ll survive.”

Mark huffed out the faintest laugh.

Taking your hand, he led you into the adjoining bathroom.

The shower curtain rattled as he pulled it aside. Reaching in, he twisted the knob until water began rushing from the showerhead.

“How hot?” he asked, holding a hand beneath the spray.

You hesitated.

Then, slightly embarrassed, admitted, “I can’t exactly tell the difference.”

Mark glanced over his shoulder. His expression immediately twisted into confusion. “Really?”

“Really.”

“But you have, like, super senses.”

“I do.”

“Then how do you not know?”

You shrugged. “I guess my body adjusts too quickly. Cold water feels cold for about half a second. Hot water feels hot for about half a second.”

“Huh.” Mark considered that while testing the water himself. “I’ve never thought about it.”

“I barely do.”

A comfortable silence settled between you.

The kind that only happened when you knew someone well enough not to fill every gap in conversation.

Eventually, Mark moved away from the shower and leaned against the counter.

His eyes found the floor.

And there it was. The dam cracked.

“I keep seeing it.”

Your smile faded. “The future?”

Mark shook his head.

“Immortal.”

The bathroom seemed smaller all of a sudden.

“He wanted me to do it.” Mark swallowed. “He begged me to.”

Mark’s shoulders slumped.

“But every time I think about it…” He rubbed at his eyes. “I just remember how scared he looked.”

You moved closer until your shoulder brushed his. “Mark.”

“I killed him.”

The words came out small and raw.

You looked at him for a long moment before answering. “You stopped him.”

Mark shook his head immediately. “That’s not the same thing.”

“No,” you admitted quietly. “It’s not.”

That earned a surprised glance. His lips twitched like he wanted to sneer.

“I think if I told you not to feel bad, you’d know I was lying.”

Mark let out a weak laugh through his nose. “Yeah.”

“So I’m not going to.” You leaned your head against his shoulder after you wrapped your arms around his waist. “What I am going to say is that you’re allowed to hate what happened.”

The room fell silent again.

“You’re allowed to wish there had been another way.”

Mark stared ahead.

“And you’re allowed to be upset that someone put that choice on you.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Mark rested his head lightly against yours.

Eventually, he sighed. “We’re definitely watching the new season of Seance Dog after this.”

A laugh escaped you immediately.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” you told him as you busied yourself with taking off your own clothes. “Now let’s take a shower before all the hot water is used.”

“I thought you couldn’t feel it?”

“I can’t.” You gave him a gentle shove as you shimmed out of your pants. “But Jimmy complains when it’s too cold, so I don’t want you to have to suffer through one.”

Mark let out a soft laugh under the spray. “I can handle a cold shower, you know.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you said lightly, tugging at a stubborn piece of fabric. “I shouldn’t have assumed we should cap the date with a hot shower instead of a freezing one.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat to it anymore. Just warmth underneath the exhaustion.

“I have the feeling you’re not talking about water temperature anymore,” he muttered, turning to reach for the bottle of what looked like two-in-one shampoo and conditioner.

The moment he did, you stepped closer.

Just enough that the space between you disappeared into steam and warm water and something softer settling in your chest.

Your arms slipped around his waist from behind.

Mark froze as your hands pressed against the tense muscles of his lower abdomen.

Then, slowly, his shoulders eased.

He didn’t turn right away.

He just stood there for a second, letting the water run over both of you while your hands rested lightly at his stomach, grounding him in something real after everything that had tried to pull him apart tonight.

You placed your chin on his shoulder with the intent of continuing to talk, maybe press a kiss against his jaw, but another sight had your brain completely toss that aside.

“You know,” You began softly, “If you want, I’d say this would be a good way to end a horrible date.”

Mark let out a low groan, your name sounding more like a plea than anything, head tilting back to rest close to yours. “You don’t have to—“

You didn’t let him finish. Your hand slid lower, fingers tracing the damp trail of hair that led down from his navel until they brushed the base of his cock, already growing hard as it slowly stood to press against his abdomen.

It twitched at your touch, the head slick and flushed, and a soft noise escaped you as you wrapped your fingers around the base, feeling the throb of his arousal against your palm.

Mark’s breath hitched, his hips shifting forward instinctively into your grip as your chin stayed nestled against his shoulder.

He murmured your name again, breaking into something raw and needy.

His shoulders had fully relaxed now, the tension melting under the steady cascade from the showerhead, leaving only the heat of his skin and the way his muscles flexed beneath your free hand where it rested against his abs.

You stroked him slowly, softly, fingers pressing against the sensitive underside of his cockhead with each pass, the friction hopefully eased by the running water and the beads of precum that leaked from him. 

He turned his head slightly, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hand came up to cover yours, not stopping you but guiding, encouraging.

“God— Just like that,” he rasped, the words vibrating through his chest and into your own.

Your bodies pressed closer under the spray, your nipples grazing his back with every movement, sending sparks of pleasure straight to the growing ache between your thighs.

His cock throbbed in your fist as you pumped him, the wet sounds of skin on skin mingling with the spray of water and his low, appreciative groans.

Your fingers tightened just slightly around the base of his cock as the last of his words faded into the steam, your palm gliding upward in a slow, deliberate stroke that drew a shudder from deep in his chest.

You trailed your nose up and down his neck, breathing in the clean scent of him mixed with the faint trace of what you assumed was cologne that the shower hadn’t yet washed away. You let your free arm slide fully around his waist, pulling your bodies flush so the curve of your breasts pressed against his back.

Mark’s hips rocked forward again, pushing his cock through the circle of your fist with a low groan that vibrated straight into your bones.

“You sound so pretty,” You couldn’t help but murmur into his skin. “I should do this more often.”

The moan that left him in response was downright pornographic, “You have no idea how good that sounds…”

You had to press your thighs together instinctively, feeling the slick evidence of your own arousal. You nuzzled closer, lips brushing the damp skin of his neck as your strokes grew firmer, twisting gently at the head with each upward pass.

You pressed a lingering kiss to the side of his neck, feeling the rapid flutter of his pulse beneath your lips as your strokes lengthened, your fingers gliding from base to tip with a slick twist that made his dick twitch in your palm.

Mark let out a soft groan as he reached forward, pressing a hand against the wall of the shower. His free hand reached back to grip your thigh, pulling you even tighter against him as he exhaled a shaky breath.

His cock just looked so pretty, the head flushed deep and leaking steadily as you worked him with increasing purpose, your thumb pressing firmly into the sensitive slit on each upward stroke.

“Ngh— Shit,” he breathed again, your name rolling off his tongue, and his hips began to move slowly, rolling with your hand, thrusting through the circle of your fingers.

You nuzzled deeper into the crook of his shoulder, one arm locked around his waist while the other maintained its steady rhythm, the wet sounds of your joined movements blending with the hiss of water.

Every glide of your palm sent sparks through you both, his arousal feeding yours until the ache in your core became nearly unbearable, your thighs desperately pressing together in search of relief.

“Baby, please,” he gasped, the words ragged and desperate, his hips jerking forward in short, frantic thrusts. “Fuck, I’m so close, I can’t—“

His pitch rose with each syllable, echoing faintly against the tile, and you felt the late hour pressing in around you, reminding you that silence, at least being as quiet as can be, was essential.

Your free hand slid up without hesitation, palm pressing gently over his mouth to muffle the sound, fingers splaying across his cheek as you leaned in closer.

“Shh,” you whispered against his ear, the command soft yet laced with heat, your strokes slowing slightly despite a whine. “It’s late. We need to at least try to be quiet.”

His breath came hot and ragged against your palm, eyes fluttering shut as he nodded faintly, the plea still vibrating through his body while you worked him with deliberate, twisting glides that made his thighs quiver.

You kept the rhythm steady, your own arousal slick between your thighs as you pressed the question into the damp skin of his neck.

“Would you rather finish here,” you murmured, giving the weepy head of his cock a testing squeeze, “or in your bed?”

Mark’s muffled reply came hot and urgent against your palm, his hips jerking once more through your fist before he reached out blindly, fumbling for the shower handle.

The water cut off and a sudden rush of cooler air, as he rasped, “Fuck. Bed. My bed.”

He then muttered softly to himself, “You were so shy last time, barely let me touch you with all the squirming.”

A soft chuckle escaped you, the sound vibrating against his neck, and you eased your hand from his mouth only to feel him twist in your arms, already stepping toward the door with his cock still rigid and glistening.

Water dripped from both of you in heavy trails as he nearly bolted for the bedroom, but your fingers caught his wrist, tugging him back.

“Not yet,” you said, reaching for the towel on the rack.

You dried him slowly. Ruffling his hair, dragging the soft fabric over the hard lines of his chest, down the tense muscles of his stomach.

He groaned, half-laughing, half-frustrated.

“You’re mean,” he muttered, voice rough.

You looked up at him through damp lashes, lips curving. “If I was mean, I would leave you to deal with this by yourself.”

Impatience finally snapped through him. Mark’s hands found your waist, lifting you effortlessly against his chest, your legs wrapping around him on instinct as he carried you out of the bathroom and down the short hall to his bed. The mattress dipped under your combined weight as he sat you down, his mouth already seeking yours.

As his lips slid against yours, you made the move to straddle him. A welcome move if the way Mark’s hands immediately grabbed ahold of your hips were anyway to go by.

Mark whimpered as you nipped at his lower lip. Hips jerked underneath yours as he began to try to guide your hips in a messy, urgent rhythm.

“Just like that, baby.” He praises, which has your cunt clench against nothing, when you begin to move your hips along with him. “Shit—“

His hands began to roam freely once you got yourself into a rhythm.

Palms cupping and squeezing your breasts before sliding down to grip your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he rocked his rigid length against your slick folds, the head of his cock dragging over your swollen clit with every desperate thrust.

“N-not even the tip,” you murmured the warning against his lips between messy kisses. “You’re not wearing anything.”

Mark answered with a low whine that vibrated through your joined bodies, his plea ragged and breathless. “Aw, c’mon, please— My desk… Top drawer, please, I have condoms.”

You were slightly embarrassed at just how quick you slid off and dashed across the bedroom to riffle through Mark’s desk for the box. Though to say you were desperate would be a gross understatement.

Mark let out a small laugh as you were back on top of him in a second, open package in your hands as you pulled it out.

“What?” You frowned.

“Superspeed.” He said, his eyes focused on your lips as he leaned up. “Eager?”

“You aren’t?” You turned it on him, trying not to smile too big when he slots his swollen lips against yours.

Mark pulled back just enough to say against your lips, “If I’m not inside you soon I’ll cry.”

That pulled a snicker out of you as you had to pull back.

The two of you readjusted. Mark moved back to sit where his back was against the headboard, and where he obviously enjoyed the sight of you needing to crawl to straddle him again.

Rolling on the condom felt like it took way longer than the last time, but when it finally covered Mark completely he was quick to pick up where you two had to pause.

Mark’s hands found their spot on your waist, grinding you against him. Letting out a low, appreciative groan when you picked up your waist to grab ahold of his cock and guide it to your dripping cunt.

Sinking down was easier than you thought it’d be. Though you were thankful you didn’t need to wait to adjust to the stretch like last time.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Mark sighed out, his head lolling back as his eyes closed.

You rolled your own eyes as you leaned down to press your lips to the column of his throat. Deciding to try to suck a bruise to the surface, the taste of his skin on your tongue as you rolled your hips in a slow, deliberate grind.

Your slick pussy dragged along the thick length of his cock, lifting your hips just enough to where his tip was barely still in before sinking slowly back down, grinding a circle against his pelvis.

The motion sent sparks of heat radiating through your core while your teeth grazed the fresh mark you’d left.

Mark’s hands clutched at your hips as they trailed up and down your thighs, squeezing the skin there.

He let out a moan when you pressed down firmer and you could feel his hips squirm and thrust up from underneath you.

You hid your smile with another kiss.

Lower this time, your mouth sealing over the pulse point where his neck met his shoulder; you drew the skin between your lips and sucked until the mark bloomed dark and possessive.

A low groan vibrated against you, the sound muffled and hungry, and you answered by nipping at his collarbone, then soothing the sting with open-mouthed kisses that left a trail of reddened skin in their wake.

Mark’s plea broke free again, ragged and desperate, “Baby, please” as you claimed another spot just below his jaw, sucking until the red bruise stood vivid against his flushed skin.

You needed to lean back and brace your hands against his knees to be able to pick up the pace. The slow grind up and down turned into needy bouncing as you wanted to chase the high that you just couldn’t reach with that.

One of Mark’s hands trailed up your body before his fingers curled into the hair at the nape of your neck. Guiding your face back to him as a low groan vibrated against your lips.

A plea spilled out of his lips, ragged and breathless, as his free hand found your breasts, palms cupping and squeezing, thumb circling and plucking at your nipples.

The motion started slow, your thighs flexing as you lifted and dropped, the slick sounds of your bodies joining the creak of the mattress.

His grip tightened, the hand that was in your hair moving to grab onto your waist, fingers flexing as his grip squeezed when you ground onto him.

Leaning forward, you braced your palms on his chest, rolling your hips in tight circles that dragged your swollen clit against him with every thrust.

Pleasure coiled tighter in your core. You felt his cock twitch deep inside you with each rolling grind, the thick ridge of him dragging against that perfect spot that made your walls flutter and clench.

Mark’s low groan rumbled up from his chest, raw and desperate, his plea breaking free in a hoarse whisper. “Baby, please— fuck, I need it.”

His fingers dug into your hips, urging you on. Pleasure coiled tighter, your pussy pulsing around him as the last remnants of the ruined evening dissolved into the slick, urgent rhythm you built together, his thrusts meeting yours with growing urgency until the bed creaked beneath the force of it.

Mark’s back arched off the mattress, his cock swelling even thicker inside you as his plea turned into a broken moan muffled against your shoulder.

You leaned into the heat of him, riding through the tremors building in your core, every drag of your walls along his length sending sparks racing up your spine.

The air thickened with the sounds of skin on skin and shared breaths, the connection between you deepening with every desperate roll until nothing else remained but the raw, healing pulse of your bodies locked together.

You rocked your hips harder, chasing that perfect friction as Mark’s cock dragged against your inner walls with every upward thrust, the thick head nudging deep enough to make your breath catch.

“We ended the date well after all,” you whispered against his lips, the words tumbling out between ragged kisses as your clit ground down against him. Mark answered with a low groan that vibrated through his chest into yours, his plea hoarse and urgent.

“Please— Fuck, don’t stop.” His hands gripped your ass tighter, guiding your rhythm as your pussy clenched around him, slick and hot, every roll of your hips sending fresh sparks racing up your spine.

The mattress creaked beneath you both, the air heavy with the scent of soap and sex as you leaned forward, pressing your breasts to his chest so your nipples dragged over his skin with each movement.

His fingers dug into your thighs, urging you faster, while his cock pulsed inside you, thick and insistent, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room.

Mark’s hips snapped up to meet yours, driving deeper, and you moaned into his mouth as the orgasm crashed over you in waves, your pussy pulsing tight around his cock. He followed later with a muffled groan, his body shuddering beneath yours as the last tremors faded.

You stayed there, chests heaving together, his arms wrapping around your back to hold you close.

You stayed there, chests heaving together, his arms wrapping around your back to hold you close while the steam from the forgotten shower still lingered in the air, washing away everything but the quiet pulse of reconnection between you.

But even as his cock softened slightly inside your still-fluttering pussy, you rolled your hips again, slow and deliberate, grinding down to keep him buried deep.

The overstimulation hit him fast, his body jerked beneath you, a choked gasp escaping as his sensitive length twitched and began to swell once more, the head dragging against your slick walls with every deliberate circle of your hips.

You felt bad for a second, but you could only think of it as repayment from last time.

“Wait— Fuck, too much,” he whimpered, voice hoarse against your shoulder, but his hands clutched your waist instead of pushing you away, hips bucking upward.

Your pussy clenched around him greedily, slick and swollen, each roll of your hips chased the edge for him one more time.

His thighs trembled under you, muscles locking as overstimulation pushed him higher, his breath hot and ragged against your neck until he shattered again with a muffled cry, body arching helplessly as the last spurts emptied him.

Only then did you still, easing off him with careful tenderness, his softening cock slipping free in a warm rush that left your thighs feeling sticky.

You collapsed beside him instead, pulling the sheets up over your sweat-slicked bodies before tucking yourself against his side. One hand traced slow circles over his chest while you pressed a few lingering kisses against his jaw.

“And if I said we should actually shower now?” you whispered, your voice softer now. Your fingers threaded through his damp hair as his heartbeat gradually slowed beneath your palm.

Mark let out a sleepy snort and nudged your shoulder.

“You first?”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“Mark!”

The sound of Debbie’s voice carried clearly through the bedroom door.

“You’re going to miss breakfast!”

That was, unfortunately, enough to get both of you moving.

“Oh, shit,” Mark hissed as he sprang out of bed, nearly taking the sheets, and you, with him.

You grabbed the edge of the mattress just in time to keep yourself from being dragged onto the floor.

Scrambling upright, you blinked against the sleep still clinging to your eyes. The room blurred as you stumbled around the foot of the bed, nearly catching your foot on the legs of Mark’s desk chair while reaching for your scattered clothes.

“Sorry, sorry…”

It took longer than you’d like to admit to find your bag. Which somehow migrated nearly halfway underneath Mark’s bed.

“How does that even happen?” you muttered, dropping to one knee and fishing it out by the strap.

Behind you, Mark was already pulling on a fresh shirt, his hair sticking up in every direction imaginable.

“Do you want me to go or..?” you asked as you pulled your top over your head, only half freeing your hair before hurriedly stepping into your pants.

“Stay,” he answered without hesitation while tugging on his own clothes.

You smiled despite yourself. “Okay.”

After slinging your bag over your shoulder, you crossed to the window and pushed it open.

“I’ll swing around front.”

Mark nodded, already running a hand through his hopelessly messy hair.

“Good plan.”

You hopped onto the windowsill before taking off, flying only a house or two away before touching down on the sidewalk.

You’d learned years ago that showing up instantly could be a bit unsettling. Especially for neighbors.

So you took your time walking back toward the Grayson house, straightening your shirt and smoothing your hair as best you could before knocking politely on the front door.

It barely had time to echo before the door swung open.

Mark stood there wearing the picture-perfect expression of someone who definitely hadn’t seen you in at least five whole minutes.

“Hey!” he greeted, stepping aside dramatically. “What a surprise.”

You fought back a grin.

“I’ve got a late shift today,” you replied, slipping easily into the lie by omission. “Thought I’d stop by.”

It wasn’t entirely false as you did technically have work later in the day.

Oliver, who’d followed Mark to the door, looked up in confusion. “Why’d you fly out of Mark’s window if you were just gonna come back and—”

Mark immediately reached over and shoved him lightly between the shoulder blades.

“Hey!”

“Mark!” You shot him a look before turning back to Oliver with an easy smile. “Morning, Ollie. What’ve you been up to?”

Oliver huffed, crossing his arms.

“We were supposed to go to the aquarium.” His expression fell. “But it was supposed to rain, so we couldn’t.”

“Aw.” You stepped inside, following the brothers toward the kitchen. “I’m sorry. Mark was telling me how excited you were.”

“I was.”

“Well,” you said thoughtfully, “the fish will still be there another day.”

Oliver considered that. “…I guess.”

You smiled, then glanced toward the kitchen where Debbie was finishing breakfast.

“And I’m sorry if I’m being a bother, Miss Debbie.”

“Never.” Debbie waved a hand toward the kitchen. “Grab a seat. I’m sure I made plenty. I even had Oliver set out an extra plate just in case.”

“That’s, uh…” You couldn’t help but smile, a little embarrassed as you slid into your chair. “Really nice of you, Miss Debbie.”

“Oh, honey,” Debbie chuckled. “You don’t have to thank me every time you come over.”

It wasn’t long before everyone had settled in and begun digging into breakfast.

Oliver, bless him, had a stack of pancakes that was nearly taller than he was.

You had to bite back a laugh.

Across the table, Mark noticed the generous amount of syrup you poured over your own pancakes and let out a quiet snicker.

You caught him looking.

“Sweet tooth,” you said, flicking his shoulder with the back of your fingers. “Sue me.”

Whatever comeback Mark had been preparing dissolved into an enormous yawn.

Debbie smiled. “Get a good night’s sleep?”

“I—uh…”

Before Mark could stumble through an answer—

“Mark wasn’t sleeping.” Oliver beamed proudly. “They had a sleepover.”

You froze.

The orange juice you’d just taken a sip of immediately went down the wrong pipe.

You coughed violently, setting your glass down before you accidentally dropped it.

“Oliver, what the hell?” Mark hissed.

“Stop kicking me!” Oliver yelped, glaring across the table before immediately turning back toward Debbie.

“The shower woke me up,” he explained matter-of-factly. “And I heard them playing.”

Oh.

Oh, you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

“We were watching a movie,” Mark blurted out far too quickly. “She hadn’t seen Back to the Future, so I wanted to— Ow! Oliver!”

You didn’t even have to look beneath the table to know exactly what was happening.

The rhythmic bumping confirmed the brothers were now engaged in a full-fledged kicking war.

Desperately trying to redirect the conversation, you turned toward Debbie.

“Breakfast is amazing, Miss Debbie.” You smiled a little too brightly. “Ma actually found this snickerdoodle recipe recently. I can bring it by sometime. She swears by it.”

Debbie smiled warmly as she finished her bite. “If Martha says they’re good, they’ve got to be.”

The tension eased just enough for everyone to breathe again.

“Moving on,” Mark declared, delivering one last retaliatory kick beneath the table before looking back at his mom.

“Mom… how much does it cost to rent an apartment?”

Debbie blinked. “Since when did you become interested in real estate?”

Mark hesitated and glanced toward you. You answered with nothing more than a tiny shrug.

He was on his own here.

“Well…” Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “We were kind of talking… about the whole process of getting our own place.”

You’d had that conversation before.

Mark had floated the idea once or twice. And having lived away from your parents already, you’d mostly explained the practical side of it.

Rent. Utilities. Groceries. Laundry.

The thousand tiny responsibilities nobody really warned you about.

You’d never imagined he’d actually been seriously considering it.

Debbie’s smile faltered. “Oh.”

“And you’re seeing Paul now,” Mark continued gently. “You’d probably like it better if I’m not walking in on you guys every time I come home after a fight.”

You suddenly became intensely interested in your pancakes.

This felt way too private.

Not unwelcome, exactly. Just not really your conversation.

Debbie sighed softly.

“You’re both adults,” she said after a moment. “You get to make your own choices.”

She looked between the two of you.

“But I like having you around.”

“I know, Mom.” Mark’s voice softened immediately. “I do too.”

He looked down at his plate. “But… I can’t live at home forever.”

The words lingered in the air.

Oliver, who had been quietly demolishing pancakes throughout the conversation, finally looked up. “But then who’s gonna hang out with me?”

“Hey, I’m not leaving forever, Oliver.” He tells him, “I’ll be like, a five-second flight away.”

Oliver frowned as he poked at his half eaten stack.

“Besides.” You try to add, “you can always come over. As long as you tell your momma where you’re going.”

“I guess…” He pushed his plate away from him.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

While breakfast was being cleaned up, and after being thoroughly shooed out of the kitchen, you decided to wait outside instead.

You stretched out across the Graysons’ worn stone back steps, lying on your back with your eyes closed, simply enjoying the morning. The sun had finally begun warming the cool morning air, and for the first time in what felt like days, there wasn’t an emergency demanding your attention.

Just birdsong, a light breeze, and the comforting sound of dishes clinking faintly through the open kitchen window.

“Enjoying yourself?”

The familiar voice pulled you from your half-doze.

“Very much.” You smiled as you opened your eyes.

Mark stood over you, the morning sun behind him, outlining him in a soft golden glow that almost made him look ethereal.

You couldn’t help but smile wider.

“You know,” you said as he sat beside you, “you wouldn’t just be moving in with me. We’d still have a while before we could find a place, and Jimmy would have to find someone to take over my room.”

“I know.” He settled onto the step beside you, resting his forearms on his knees. A nervous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just… moving in together?”

He glanced over. “It’d make it official-official.”

“I think we’re already official-official.” You laughed.

He swatted your stomach, earning another laugh.

Though truthfully?

You liked the idea.

More than liked it.

You could picture it so clearly.

“You, me, Krypto…” You ignored Mark’s dramatic groan. “I’d love that.”

Mark reached down and intertwined your fingers with his, absentmindedly tracing his thumb across your knuckles.

“I just have to figure out how to afford it.”

“Might need to get yourself a job.”

He immediately flopped backward onto the steps with an exaggerated groan that echoed through the backyard.

“Oh, c’mon,” you laughed. “They’re really not that bad if you find something you enjoy.”

Mark covered his face with one hand.

“That’s the thing. Since I got my powers… I don’t exactly have any hobbies.”

You tilted your head, considering. “I’m sure you’ll find something.”

“I don’t know…”

“You could ask William or Rick.”

He peeked at you through his fingers.

“Maybe even Eve. They’ll point you in the right direction.”

“Maybe.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

After another peaceful minute, you pushed yourself to your feet.

“Well… I’ve gotta go.”

Leaning down, you stole a quick kiss.

“I should walk Krypto before I have to head to work.”

Mark smiled into the kiss before pulling back. “See you after?”

“Always.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You couldn’t tell what exactly woke you that night.

The persistent buzzing of your phone was a strong contender. Though the heavy kick to your ribs from a dreaming Krypto ranked pretty highly too.

Half asleep, you reached for your phone without even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Oliver’s missing.”

Sleep vanished instantly.

You were out of bed before the call had even ended, throwing on clothes while Krypto looked at you in sleepy confusion.

Within minutes, you were outside Mark’s bedroom window.

He already had his suit on and seemed to have been pacing. The second he saw you, he slid the window open and stepped out.

“Thanks,” he muttered before taking off.

You immediately matched his pace.

“What if someone took him?” Mark asked, words spilling out faster than he could organize them. “What if it’s whoever was spying on us?”

You reached out, squeezing his forearm as you flew.

“If that were the case,” you said calmly, “I think we would’ve heard something. Oliver’s a tough kid. He would’ve put up a fight.”

You hoped you believed your own words.

You focused.

Heartbeats. Voices. Traffic. Sirens.

The endless noise of a city at night.

Normally, you could pick out the people closest to you. But you’d never taken the time to memorize Oliver’s heartbeat.

Now you wished you had.

“Maybe Robot could help,” Mark muttered more to himself than you. “Wait… shit. Should I call Cecil? He’s got cameras everywhere.”

But then you heard it. Laughter. Completely out of place for the middle of the night.

“There.”

You pointed toward a neighborhood park below.

Mark immediately started diving.

You caught his wrist. “Wait.”

He looked at you.

“Let’s watch for a second.”

The two of you landed silently in the thick branches of one of the large trees bordering the park.

Below, Oliver was laughing with two other kids about his age.

No makeup as an attempt to hide his purple skin.

Just himself. Just Oliver.

One of the other kids handed him a skateboard.

He kicked off, launched into the air, and landed a surprisingly clean trick.

“It’s not fair,” the little girl laughed. “You can fly!”

“You’ve gotta do it without your powers!”

Oliver nodded seriously. “Okay.”

He rolled back into position.

“You can do this!” the boy cheered. “Come on, Oliver!”

This time, the board slipped out from under him. But he hit the concrete with a groan instead of landing it.

Mark instinctively tensed beside you.

You gently rested a hand against his chest.

“Hold on,” you whispered.

The other two kids hurried over.

“You okay?” the girl asked, offering him a hand.

“That was hard,” Oliver admitted as she pulled him upright. Then he grinned. “But I almost did it!”

He grabbed the skateboard again and jogged back to the starting point. “I’m gonna do it again!”

“You can do it!” the girl called. “Just lean forward more!”

Your heart warmed.

Then headlights swept across the park. A car rolled slowly past. All three kids immediately ducked behind benches and bushes until it was gone.

Apparently Oliver wasn’t the only one sneaking out tonight.

The second the car disappeared, they popped back out laughing and resumed exactly where they’d left off.

“He made friends,” Mark murmured, unable to hide the smile spreading across his face. “Like… normal friends. They’re just playing.”

“Of course he did, hon.” You smiled just as brightly. “He’s a wonderful kid. He could make friends anywhere.”

You watched Oliver laugh at something the other boy said. “It’s just a shame he has to sneak out to do it.”

Your smile faded slightly.

Three older teenagers had wandered into the park.

Even before they spoke, something about their posture made your stomach sink.

“Beat it, shrimps,” the one wearing a backwards baseball cap sneered. “Past your bedtime.”

Oliver immediately crossed his arms. “Nuh-uh. We were here first.”

Another teen snorted. “And why the hell are you purple?”

One of Oliver’s friends nervously touched his shoulder.

“Let’s just go,” he mumbled. “I’m… kinda tired anyway.”

“We’re not leaving,” Oliver insisted. “You leave.”

The boys laughed, and the one in the baseball gave Oliver a shove. “I said get lost.”

“Hold on,” you whispered as Mark shifted beside you. “Ollie’s got this.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about,” Mark replied.

“Well?” The teenager looked down smugly. “What’re you gonna do, shrimp?”

Whatever concern you’d had disappeared the instant Oliver grinned.

In a blur, he zipped between all three teenagers.

And not even a second later, each of them was desperately trying to yank their pants back up.

Oliver stood a few feet away wearing the most unapologetically smug expression you’d ever seen. The three older boys shouted in embarrassment before stumbling away as quickly as they could.

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

Beside you, Mark buried his face in one hand, his shoulders shaking.

“He’s a good kid,” you said once you trusted yourself to speak. “I kind of wish I’d gotten to do stuff like that in Smallville.”

You watched Oliver immediately return to practicing skateboard tricks with his friends, as if nothing had happened.

“It’s nice,” you said softly, “seeing that he gets to be himself.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“So!” you began as you swung open the door to the tiny supply closet you and Lois had jokingly started calling an office, “what’s our assignment for today?”

But the answer didn’t even need to be said.

Not when you saw Lois’s bright smile as she turned away from her murder board.

And if the large photo of Payton Penitentiary, along with the scattered articles about breakouts, suspicious transfers, and violent incidents, wasn’t enough of an explanation, Lois grabbing your hand and immediately pulling you back out into the bullpen definitely was.

“Oh, absolutely not.” You laughed as she dragged you along. “I don’t even get to put my bag down?”

“Nope.”

“Coffee?”

“Later.”

“Lois—”

“You’re going to love this.”

That was the most concerning part.

Because whenever Lois Lane said something like that, it usually meant one of two things.

Either you were about to uncover something huge. Or you were about to get thrown directly into danger. Most times both.

“Payton Penitentiary,” Lois explained as the two of you walked toward her desk, grabbing a folder overflowing with notes. “Three breakouts this year. Five prison riots. Way too many attempted breakouts. And Guards reporting strange behavior from inmates before each incident.”

You flipped through the pages, eyebrows slowly raising. “That’s… a lot.”

“Exactly.”

“Could it just be a security issue?”

Lois gave you a look.

You immediately corrected yourself. “Right. Sorry. Dumb question.”

“Not dumb.” She grabbed her coat. “Just unlikely.”

You followed her toward the elevator. “What makes you think there’s more?”

“Because prisons have problems all the time.” Lois tapped the folder. “But this? This is patterned.”

You looked down at the reports again. “And you think someone’s causing it?”

“I think someone wants us to think they aren’t.”

You sighed. “Great.”

“See? You’re getting it.” Lois simply smiled. 

Payton Penitentiary looked exactly how you expected.

A guard who greeted you at the gates and refused the two of you entry was tense from the moment you arrived. Like someone who had seen enough weird things that nothing surprised him anymore.

“So,” Lois began, recorder in hand, “walk me through what happened during the last incident.”

The guard standing across from her immediately stiffened. Not enough for someone who didn’t know what to look for.

But you knew Lois.

And Lois noticed everything.

“Nothing we haven’t already reported,” the guard replied, crossing his arms.

“And I’m sure it’s appreciated,” Lois said easily, not missing a beat. “But I’m interested in the details that you might’ve forgotten to tell us about.”

The guard’s expression hardened. “…No comment.”

Lois raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.”

“That’s interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

“That every time I ask a question, you suddenly remember less and less.”

The guard let out an annoyed breath. “Look, Miss Lane, I don’t know what story you’re trying to chase here, but this is still an active facility.”

“We’re well aware.”

“And if you don’t have a scheduled meeting, you’re not getting any further inside.”

“We’re journalists.”

“And I’m a prison guard.”

Lois tilted her head. “Congratulations?”

The guard frowned.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Lois stepped closer, lowering her voice slightly. “And I also know that something is happening here. Guards don’t suddenly decide they have nothing to say after three major incidents unless someone told them to keep quiet.”

“That’s enough.” The man’s jaw tightened.

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“No, I think we’re just getting started.”

You watched the exchange for a moment. Normally, you loved watching Lois work. The way she could turn a simple conversation into an interrogation without ever raising her voice.

The problem was that she could do this for hours.

You glanced around the facility instead.

The sterile walls. The security cameras. The guards.

And then, you stopped.

Because something caught your attention.

A man in a hoodie stood further down the street. And at first, nothing about him seemed unusual. Just another visitor.

Except he wasn’t talking to a guard to be escorted inside.

He was talking to Invincible.

Your eyes narrowed slightly.

Mark stood nearby, arms crossed, listening to whatever the man was saying.

The conversation didn’t look hostile, but it wasn’t exactly friendly either.

You filed the image away.

Ask Mark about that later.

“—and if you’d just let us schedule an official interview—”

“Lois.”

She stopped. Immediately. Mostly because you almost never interrupted her while she was in the middle of a lead.

She looked at you. “What?”

You gave her a small nod back in the direction of yhe Planet. “Maybe we should go.”

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows lifted.

“We don’t have a meeting scheduled.” You gestured vaguely toward the guard, who looked far too pleased that someone was finally agreeing with him. “And he’s clearly not going to tell us anything right now.”

Lois opened her mouth and closed it a couple of times.

You could practically see her arguing with herself.

“But—”

“We come back with an appointment,” you continued. “Officially. Then he can’t use that excuse.”

After a moment, she sighed.

“Fine.”

You blinked. “That easy?”

“No. I’m remembering this.” She pointed at the guard.

The guard nodded, but you saw him roll his eyes. “Sure.”

Lois turned and started walking.

You followed, glancing back one last time.

Mark was flying away, the stranger in his arms.

Interesting.

You already knew this was going to be the first thing you asked about when you got the chance.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Asking Mark over for dinner after work had been easy.

You knew he’d say yes regardless.

Promising him the greasiest pizza in the city had simply guaranteed it.

Now the two of you sat shoulder to shoulder on your couch, paper plates balanced on your laps while Krypto wandered back and forth with the unwavering determination of a dog convinced someone would eventually drop something.

“How was your day at work?” Mark asked, sliding his plate just out of Krypto’s reach as the dog stretched his neck toward a slice. “Not yours,” he muttered, nudging Krypto’s nose away. “Go eat your own.”

Krypto responded with an offended little huff before immediately trying your plate instead.

“Traitor,” you laughed, using your free hand to gently guide his head back toward your side of the couch.

“Good,” you answered. “Lois might not agree, but I think we actually made some progress.”

“Oh?”

“We might have an interview at Payton sometime soon.”

Mark looked up. “Payton?”

“The penitentiary?” You glanced at him, “Y’know, you were there. With…?”

Mark frowned and leaned forward, setting his plate on the coffee table before leaning back again with an irritated sigh. “Titan.”

That name immediately clicked in your mind.

You’d heard whispers about the man who runs the city as a kingpin.

It used to be a man called Machine Head, but after Invincible and the Teen Team fought and apprehended him and a few of his key players, a new man came into power.

If he was just as brutal as Machine Head, you’d have had a problem ages ago. But now? That part of the city was calmer than you’d ever remembered it.

Crime didn’t pay. Shouldn’t pay.

But you understood that with the power vacuum that was caused, Titan was probably the best man to step into it.

“What’d you two talk about?”

Mark shrugged his shoulders as he leaned forward to grab his food again. “Wanted me to break Multi-Paul out.”

“What?” That threw you for a loop. “He just asked you to do it?”

“Said some bullshit about some Order and dragon man.” He waved his hand.

“Wait, wait.” You could’ve sworn Jimmy had mentioned something about that. “Is it some crime syndicate?”

He nodded as he took a bite. “Why? Heard of it?”

“You hear a lot as a reporter.”

“Yeah, well, obviously I said no.”

You couldn’t deny and say that’s not what you would’ve done. “Did you offer any other way?”

“What? No.” He turned to you, face screwed up in confusion. “He nearly got me killed. He has killed. I’m not helping him!”

“I— I know! Just…” You chewed on your lip. “If he’s right and it could get worse—“

“Yeah, well, he’s not.” Mark was quick to interrupt and end it.

A nearly uncomfortable silence followed.

You wanted to continue, figure out more, but you know Mark would only grow more irritated if you pushed.

So you simply let it fall away.

For now, at least.

Krypto, apparently deciding the tension had lasted long enough, wandered over and rested his head squarely in Mark’s lap.

Mark absentmindedly scratched behind his ears.

A few moments later, his expression brightened noticeably. “Oh! I think I have a job now.”

TAG LIST: @mightymeick , @dandelion-delusion , @1abi , @bbmgirll , @giitchedout , @ficsthology , @drjeesusan , @qxuanii , @vrsin , @rosa-writes-stuff , @diobolicaldinosaur , @another-simp-ehe , @fauna-the-bizzy-bee143 , @panda7472 , @badbishsblog , @altumsomnum , @queendalia , @ra404 , @animelover100 , @pandaquick , @potatolady189

(apologies, I completely forgot the Taglist when posting—)

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

MARK AND HIS NINJAHOLIC BOYFRIEND

Cooley note: the disowned ninja prince who refused to marry and rather be a beer drinking kunai throwing alcoholic hero maybe? (Mark grayson x male ninja!reader)

The first time Mark met you, he was tied to a chair in a warehouse that smelled like rust and rain. His captor lean, masked, and humming off-key—had just finished counting a stack of bills when they sighed, tossed the money aside, and muttered, “Client didn’t pay the full amount. Guess you’re free, hot stuff.”

They cut the chains dow with a flick of a blade, smirking as Mark stretched his body. “Sorry about that, didn’t mean to put you through all that bondage today. Cute boys look good tied up, you know what I mean?”

Mark didn’t know whether to run or laugh. He did neither. When you offered to buy him a drink, for the trouble he said yes.

Now, months later, Mark sat in a dim bar watching that same morally ambiguous ninja his morally ambiguous ninjabbelt out a karaoke rendition of a pop song with the enthusiasm of a tipsy god. Your voice cracked halfway through the chorus, but the grin never faltered.

You were a lightweight, a dangerous contradiction of steel and softness. One drink too many and they’d end up blackout drunk, sprawled across Mark’s dorm bed in nothing but boxers, mumbling in Japanese about the moon and love and how his hair smelled like summer rain.

Mark should have been horrified. Instead, he was obsessed.

Your not a hero. Not really. You killed sometimes mercifully, sometimes brutally. Mark had seen the aftermath: blood on your hands, eyes sharp and unreadable. And yet, when you turned to him, something in your expression softened.

He hated how much he liked it. How much he liked you.

You wrote him poems on napkins, whispered sweet nonsense in Japanese, and laughed at his attempts to debunk ninja myths.

“Yes, ninjutsu is real,” you'd say, rolling your eyes. “No, I can’t do a Rasengan. That’s anime, babe.”

The Guardians the city’s shining superhero team adored you. They called you an “asset,” a “wild card,” a “necessary evil.” Mark couldn’t help but feel a sting of jealousy. It had taken him years to earn their approval, and even then, he never quite fit in.

Not in high school. Not in the superhero world. Not anywhere.

But then you came back after a drinking-off with Immortal and putting Rex in a headlock, (showing him real material arts) half-drunk and ranting.

“These are the guys you’ve been so hung up about trying to impress? Jesus, baby, you’re twice as cool as any of them combined. I’d rather drink with a snapping turtle than an Immortal again. That dude’s a douchebag. How do you deal with it?”

Mark blinked, caught between laughter and awe.

“What’s with that face?” you teased, leaning close, eyes glinting under the bar lights. “Come on, I’m only here for this gathering for you.”

And just like that, Mark’s world tilted.

The Guardians, the fame, the expectations all of it faded into background noise.

Because sitting there, drunk and radiant, was his chaotic, bloodstained, poetry-writing ninja prince.

And for the first time in his life, Mark felt like he belonged.

[rrinniee]

Mark had to watch you fall in love with all these other people and watch you get your heart ripped out of your chest every single time.

"Mark..."

You cling onto mark like your live depends on it, your voice cracking.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong...I tried so hard to be...lovable...is it that hard for someone to love..me"

Mark's eyes fall onto you, his calloused hands wrapped around you, creating a safe cage for you to break down in.

"You know that's not true, your the most loveable person I know."

A part of him hated himself for thinking it, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved you were single again.

"Then why does every person I date cheat on me. It proves that I'm not enough and that I'm replaceable- "

You voice muffled into his shirt, your heart broken into a million pieces and your hands griped onto mark's shirt, you feel so stupid for trusting them with your heart

"-Why does nobody love me?"

Mark hands moving to cup your face, his hands wiping the tears of your face away and three words coming out of his mouth they were so raw and filled with nothing but tenderness

his jaw tightened and he cleared his throat

"...I..I love you."

The words had came out before he could stop them. The second they left his mouth, he felt regret sit in his chest.

You don't need a confession right now. You needed someone to tell you that you were enough.

[mymoonisgrey]

twins at the carousel. chapter VI

sum. mark tries out therapy, he doesn’t know how to feel about it.

tags. 18+, minors at your own discretion. explicit content, a little headcanon, yearning, angst, slow-burn, character death, cussing, smut, suggestive content, violence. you have violet eyes for lore reasons. may spoil the comics.

i was listening to love is in the air pt 1 by rock burwell if anyone wants to immerse themselves. yes i drew this cuz i didnt want to use someone’s art anymore.

This was one of the moments you would’ve called Cecil Stedman a manipulative cunt. A dick. A sponge. And with that godawful hairdo; Queen Elizabeth’s pony, may she rest in peace. Truth be told, there wasn’t a single insult in the English language you hadn’t already attached to the man at some point in your life.

Thing was… he and Mark weren’t on great terms either.

Actually, scratch that.

They hadn’t been on great terms in years.

So when Mark walked into Cecil’s office after coming back from space and saw Thragg standing behind his desk, one hand wrapped around Cecil’s throat before ripping his head clean off his shoulders— only for everything to blink back into place a second later, Cecil sitting there perfectly alive, asking if he was alright— the room went real fucking quiet.

Mark hadn’t answered.

He’d only stared.

Cecil had seen enough soldiers come back from war to know that look.

Three days later, Mark found himself sitting outside a therapist’s office because, according to Cecil, “if you’re seeing dead people who aren’t dead, you’ve officially graduated from needing to talk to somebody.”

Mark had just sat there with his head in his hands. Cecil paid for the appointment anyway.

The office looked like every therapist’s office Mark imagined would exist. Beige walls, a fake little plant shoved beside the window, shelves lined with books that looked too expensive to actually read, and a bowl of those hard candies that somehow only old people seemed to own. He hated all of it. It felt fake. Like somebody had googled “how to make people feel safe” and bought everything on the first page.

Mark dropped into the chair with a quiet sigh, elbows immediately finding his knees as he rubbed both hands over his face. His hoodie sleeves had ridden halfway up his forearms, exposing fading bruises that never really seemed to disappear anymore. His knee bounced against the carpet without him noticing, fingers already finding the loose thread hanging from the cuff of his sleeve and worrying it between his nails until it threatened to come undone completely. Across from him, the therapist didn’t rush to fill the silence. She simply watched him settle, waiting until his breathing evened out a little before offering him a small smile. “Cecil told me you came to see him a few days ago.”

“…Mm.” Mark hummed without looking up, still staring at the carpet. “Saw something.” He shrugged one shoulder like it didn’t matter. “…Or didn’t. Fuck if I know anymore.”

The therapist nodded slowly. “Can you tell me about it?”

Mark dragged a hand down his jaw, thumb catching against the light stubble that had started growing in over the last few days. “…Walked into his office.” He paused, swallowing once before looking somewhere past her shoulder. “…He was dead.”

He said it so matter-of-factly it almost sounded rehearsed.

“…Thragg was standing behind him.” His eyes narrowed, unfocusing slightly as the memory came back. “One hand around Cecil’s neck… then…” His fingers unconsciously curled against his own throat. “…just ripped his head off.” Mark blinked hard, rubbing one eye with the heel of his palm before shaking his head once. “…Then Cecil spoke.”

His gaze finally settled back on the therapist.

“…He was just… sitting there.”

The room stayed quiet.

“I know it wasn’t real.” Mark added almost immediately, sounding irritated at himself before anyone else could say it. “That’s the part that’s pissing me off. I know it isn’t real.”

“Has it happened again?”

“…Mm.”

“Often?”

He let out a slow breath through his nose, leaning back into the chair until the leather creaked beneath him. His head tipped toward the ceiling, jaw flexing once before he answered. “…Not every day.” He scratched absentmindedly at the scar near his collarbone. “…Enough.”

“What do you see?”

Mark laughed once through his nose, but there wasn’t any humour behind it. “…Depends who I’m talking to or seeing, it could be one person or like.. the whole fucking town.”

His fingers tapped restlessly against the armrest.

“…Sometimes it’s Mom.” He swallowed. “…I’m talking to her and then…” His hand gestured vaguely through the air before falling uselessly back into his lap. “…I see him grab her.” His voice stayed quiet, almost detached. “…Sometimes he caves her head in. Sometimes…” He frowned harder. “…Sometimes he just…” Mark stopped, jaw tightening. “…Doesn’t matter.”

The therapist didn’t interrupt.

“…William, he’s my friend from like.. elementary.” He continued after another second. “…Eve, my girlfriend.” Another pause. “…Cecil.” His thumb rubbed slowly across the inside of his palm. “…Sometimes it’s not even Thragg. Sometimes I just…” He looked down at his own hands. “…See blood.”

He turned his palms over once. “…Everywhere.”

Silence stretched between them.

“…Conquest fucked me up worse than I thought.” Mark admitted quietly, fingers drifting toward the scar hidden beneath his hoodie. They rested there without him even seeming to notice. “…Sometimes I wake up convinced…” He laughed bitterly to himself. “…Convinced my guts are hanging out again.” He tapped his stomach twice. “…I know they’re not. Still check.”

The therapist watched the movement before nodding. “That sounds exhausting.”

“…Yeah.” Mark breathed, rubbing both hands over his face again. “…Feels like every time I survive one thing, another thing shows up and says, ‘nah, fuck you, we’re not done yet.’” He dropped his hands into his lap, staring blankly toward the window. “…Chicago happened. Then Angstrom, then those different versions of me— then Conquest. Then Viltrum. Then Thragg. Then…” His brows knitted together. “…Then I came home.”

His voice got quieter.

“…my girlfriend was pregnant.” Another pause. “…Then she wasn’t.” He looked away. “…I still don’t even know how I’m supposed to feel about that. I just feel bad that she had to make that choice all by herself.”

The therapist let the silence sit. Mark fucking appreciated that.

He hated when people rushed to fill empty space.

“…It’s weird.” He muttered eventually, rubbing absentmindedly at the back of his neck. “…I came in here thinking I’d talk about space.” A tiny scoff escaped him. “…Funny.”

The therapist tilted her head ever so slightly but didn’t ask why.

Mark stared at the carpet. “…There’s this girl. The words slipped out before he could stop them. His brows immediately pinched together.

“…Fuck.”

He shut his eyes for a second, rubbing his forehead hard enough to leave the skin flushed. “…Didn’t even mean to say that.”

“You don’t have to stop.”

“…Yeah.” He laughed quietly through his nose. “…Problem is, I don’t know how to even start.” His fingers returned to the loose thread on his sleeve, pulling at it until it finally snapped free. He stared at the tiny piece of fabric sitting between his fingertips before flicking it onto the floor. “…I’ll be thinking about Chicago… then space… then Thragg…” His shoulders lifted with a tired breath. “…Then somehow I’m thinking about her.”

He frowned. “…Doesn’t even make sense.”

The therapist remained still, waiting.

“…She’s my best friend.” He murmured after a long while, the words sounding almost strange in his own mouth. “…Known her since we were babies, literally. There’s pictures of us swaddled in the same crib— we were born sixteen hours apart, can you believe that? Not even a full day.” A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before disappearing just as quickly. “…She used to call me bean, well— err, her mom did, so she also started calling me that.”

His thumb rubbed against the scar on his knuckle. “…Stupid fucking nickname.”

He laughed again. This time it hurt. Really fucking hurt.

“…We don’t…” He gestured helplessly between himself and the floor, unable to even find the words. “…We’re just… different now.” His jaw tightened. “…I keep telling myself people drift. That’s normal. Happens all the time.” He looked down, blinking slowly. “…But if it’s normal…”

His voice almost disappeared. “why am i so fucking upset? its like im grieving.”

The therapist stared at him and long abandoned her stupid notebook, deciding to be more engaged in this conversation.

“…well, you did mention that you’ve been friends for a while. you’re twenty, right? so, twenty years with one person is a long time.” she murmured, nodding softly.

Mark only hummed in response, rubbing absentmindedly at the scar near his jaw before letting his hand fall back into his lap. His knee hadn’t stopped bouncing once since he’d walked into the room. He watched it for a second like it’d betrayed him somehow before pressing his palm against it to force it still. It lasted maybe three seconds.

“…yeah.” he muttered quietly. “s’basically… all i know.”

The therapist watched him for another beat, fingers resting loosely over the closed notebook in her lap. “When people grow up together like that,” she said gently, “they usually become part of each other’s routine. You stop noticing it while it’s happening.”

Mark frowned. “…what d’you mean?”

“You don’t wake up every morning and consciously decide to breathe.” She shrugged. “You just do.” Her eyes drifted back toward him. “Sometimes people become like that.”

He stared. “…mm.”

“You don’t notice how much space they occupy until something changes.”

Mark’s jaw tightened, his fingers found another loose thread near the pocket of his hoodie, pulling at it harder than necessary.

“…i used to text her whenever…” He stopped himself, blinking once before looking down since his eyes stung. “…fuck.”

The therapist didn’t interrupt.

“…stupid shit.” He laughed quietly through his nose, shaking his head. “Like… a trailer dropped for this show we like or…” He gestured vaguely through the air, embarrassed already. “…i saw some ugly fucking dog that reminded me of her, even though she’s nothing less than gorgeous, i just enjoy pissing her off.” His thumb rubbed slowly across his knuckles. “…or i’d drive past somewhere and think she’d wanna go.”

Another pause.

“…didn’t even think about it.”

His voice had gotten quieter.

“…i’d just do it.”

The room settled again.

“…today,” Mark murmured, eyes lingering on the carpet, “i almost texted her.” He smiled to himself, though there wasn’t anything happy about it. “…typed the whole damn message.” He rubbed hard at his forehead before dragging his hand down over his mouth. “…deleted it.”

“Why?”

“…‘cause i didn’t know what i was actually trying to say.” He laughed once.

“…‘did you see the new Seance Dog teaser?’” He scoffed at himself, shaking his head. “…what kinda pussy ass conversation starter is that?”

The therapist smiled faintly. “I don’t think the trailer was what you wanted to talk about.”

“…yeah.” Mark breathed, the word barely audible. “I know.”

He leaned back into the chair, staring blankly toward the ceiling now, his expression somewhere between exhausted and annoyed with himself. “…it’s like…” He searched for the words, one hand absently rubbing the back of his neck. “…every little thing keeps leading back to her.” His brows pinched together. “…i’ll see lollipops.” He shrugged. “…her.” Another shrug. “…purple.” His jaw flexed. “…her.” He let out another tired breath. “…fucking maple syrup.” He laughed bitterly. “…her.” He picked at his hangnail, “i’ll smell fresh linen, also her.”

Silence. “is her favorite color purple?”

Mark gestured to his eyes with his index and middle finger, “her eyes are purple, well, violet to be exact.”

the therapist smiled, parting her lips to comment but Mark cut her off with “…that’s gotta be unhealthy, right?” he muttered, finally looking back at the therapist. “Like… psychologically speaking.”

She didn’t answer immediately, instead, she watched the way he’d unconsciously started smiling every single time he remembered something about you, only for that smile to disappear the second he realized he’d smiled at all.

“I don’t think what’s unhealthy is that she comes to mind.” she replied carefully. “I think what’s unhealthy…” She tilted her head ever so slightly. “…is how guilty you seem to feel every time she does.”

Mark’s eyes squinted and drifted away almost immediately, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as his fingers slowly stopped moving altogether.

“…huh.” The word came out so quietly it almost disappeared, and he swallowed dryly.

“…i…” His brows knitted together, genuine confusion settling over his face. “…i didn’t even realize i was doing that.”

The therapist nodded once. “I think you’ve spent the entire session trying to convince yourself that thinking about her is the problem.”

Mark rubbed both hands over his face again, lingering there for a second before letting them slide down. “…isn’t it? People change, doctor, they drift— we grew up. Thats how its supposed to be right?”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I don’t know.” Another pause. “I think it depends on the individual, and what they want.” She shrugged “…but what i don’t think is when people accidentally spend half a therapy session talking about someone they don’t matter to.”

Mark didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Pussy, as usual. Instead, he sat there staring at the carpet, thumb absentmindedly rubbing over the faded scar across his palm, the room suddenly feeling much smaller than when he’d walked in.

The therapist remained quiet for another moment, watching him slowly pull the thread from the cuff of his hoodie until it finally snapped loose. He stared at the tiny piece of fabric between his fingers before dropping it into the trash beside his chair.

“…Can I ask you one last thing?” she murmured.

Mark shrugged tiredly. “…Mm.”

“…If she walked through that door right now..” Her eyes flicked toward the office entrance “…what would you say?”

Mark actually thought about it. His brows pinched together. His lips parted slightly as he rubbed slowly at the back of his neck. “I-I…” He laughed quietly through his nose, embarrassed by the realization more than anything. “…I genuinely don’t know.”

Another silence. “…That’s kinda why I’m here.”

“I can’t direct you on what to say or do, y’know?” the therapist replied.

“isn’t that what i pay you to do?” Mark asked, shrugging. “Respectfully.”

“You don’t pay me. Cecil does.” She replied, clicking her pen. “…and, you need to figure out what you wanna do about purple eyes before i actually advise you.”

Mark bit his lip and bounced his knee with enough speed to give an infant the shaken baby syndrome if it were sitting on his leg. “i’ll.. come back some other day, thanks.” he muttered, getting up and leaving.

not without tripping over his laces.

Mark caught himself against the doorframe before his face could meet the floor, straightening with a sharp grimace as he glanced over his shoulder to make sure the therapist hadn’t seen that pathetic shit. Judging by the way she pressed her lips together, she had, but thankfully she possessed enough professionalism not to laugh until he was out of the room.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the sterile Pentagon hallway swallowed him whole again. White lights stretched overhead in perfect little intervals, each one humming just loudly enough to irritate him now that the office had gone quiet. Mark rubbed at the corner of his eye with his knuckle and started walking, shoulders still drawn tightly beneath his hoodie, the therapist’s stupid question sitting in the back of his skull like gum stuck beneath a desk.

What would you say?

Nothing, apparently.

Twenty fucking years, and he couldn’t think of one honest sentence.

Mark shoved his hands into his pockets and lowered his head, watching his untied lace whip against the floor with every step. He should’ve stopped to fix it, but that would’ve meant standing still, and standing still meant thinking. So, naturally, he kept walking like an idiot.

He hadn’t been down this section of the Pentagon in months. Maybe longer. Working with Cecil again wasn’t happening, not after everything the man had done, hidden, justified, and then explained away with that infuriatingly flat voice of his. Mark had made that very fucking clear. He’d come for therapy because something in his brain was eating him alive, not because he suddenly trusted Cecil or wanted to poke around his creepy government ant farm.

Which was why the open door caught his attention immediately.

Mark slowed, the rubber sole of his shoe squeaking faintly against the polished floor as he looked toward it. Every other door along the corridor was shut, secured with scanners, reinforced locks, and whatever paranoid bullshit Cecil had installed after the last three times someone broke into the place. This one sat open by barely a foot, a stripe of cold blue light cutting across the hallway floor.

He stopped.

Stared.

Then glanced in both directions. (👀 like so.)

“…don’t,” Mark muttered to himself, lips pressing into a thin line as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Just keep walking.”

He took two steps.

Stopped again.

“…fuck.”

The door gave a soft mechanical whine when he pushed it wider, and Mark leaned his head into the room first, brows raised cautiously as though Cecil might have planted a bomb specifically designed to explode when Mark Grayson stuck his nose somewhere it didn’t belong.

Nothing happened.

The room was larger than he expected, filled with rows of desks, dark monitors and metal filing cabinets built directly into the walls. The air felt colder inside, dry enough to catch at the back of his throat, while several server towers blinked steadily behind thick glass panels. No staff. No Donald. No agents. Just the faint whirring of cooling fans and one computer left awake near the far side of the room.

Mark stepped inside and let the door drift halfway shut behind him. His eyes narrowed while he scanned every desk. Chairs tucked in. Screens black. Not a paper out of place. The whole room looked surgically clean except for that one station: chair pulled away, keyboard slightly crooked, a mug abandoned beside the monitor and a file glowing brightly across the screen.

That alone felt like bait.

Mark approached anyway.

He stood behind the chair for a second, one hand resting over its back as his eyes moved across the page. The file was minimized enough that he couldn’t read the subject, only the GDA classification bar and a blinking authorization warning in the corner.

His first thought was Oliver.

It was always Oliver when Cecil had a worming curiosity that would open. Cecil had watched him since childhood, tracking his development secretly, testing his blood whenever it was spilled during battles he wasn’t supposed to be in, deciding what kind of weapon or liability he might grow into. Maybe this was something new. Maybe Nolan had taken Oliver into space, and Cecil still had people following them from half a galaxy away because boundaries were apparently a foreign fucking concept to him.

Mark’s jaw tightened as he dragged the chair out farther and sat down. He flexed his fingers once over the mouse before clicking the file open, already prepared to see his brother’s face.

Instead, he saw yours.

Mark went completely still.

Your GDA photograph filled the left side of the screen, clearly taken during one of your medical visits—the fluorescent lighting washing out skin, your hair pulled away from your face and violet eyes staring irritably past the camera, like it offended you. Beside it sat your full legal name, date of birth, height, weight, blood type, previous affiliations, known relatives and a list of injuries long enough to make his stomach pull tight.

He leaned closer, brows drawing together as he dragged the page downward.

HEMOKINESIS. TELEPATHIC INTRUSION. CLAIRVOYANT EPISODES. BIOLOGICAL SENSING. COGNITIVE PROJECTION.

Some abilities were marked dormant. Others had red question marks beside them. Your combat status read INACTIVE, but the file itself hadn’t been terminated.

It was still active.

Worse, it had been updated two days ago.

Mark’s lips parted slightly. His hand tightened around the mouse, plastic creaking beneath his palm as he read the newest entry.

SUBJECT CONTINUES TO DISPLAY RESIDUAL CLAIRVOYANT RESPONSE DESPITE LOSS OF CONSCIOUS POWER ACCESS. EPISODES APPEAR TRIGGERED BY BIOLOGICAL MATERIAL, TRAUMATIC LOCATIONS AND CONTACT WITH OBJECTS LINKED TO EXTREME EMOTIONAL EVENTS. COOPERATION REQUESTED FOR FIELD CONFIRMATION.

Below it sat an assignment code, a route, and Donald’s name listed as transport.

“…what the fuck?”

The words left him quietly at first. Then his expression shifted, confusion tightening into something meaner as he scrolled farther and found another entry mentioning your hemorrhaging, the protective field around your brain and Cecil’s intention to continue monitoring it for “operational value.”

Mark shoved himself away from the desk hard enough for the chair to roll backward and strike another station. He ripped the slim data folder from the side of the monitor, barely checking whether it contained the same information before stalking out of the room.

His untied lace nearly caught beneath his shoe again. This time he kicked the foot forward in irritation, hair falling over his forehead as he rounded the hallway corner and spotted Cecil standing behind the observation glass overlooking the main control floor. The older man had one hand tucked into his coat pocket, the other pressed against his earpiece while he calmly watched agents move across the level below.

“…reroute the satellite and tell Shapesmith he’s got ten minutes before I send somebody who understands the meaning of urgent,” Cecil said into the comm, his reflection staring back at Mark in the glass before his actual eyes shifted sideways. “Yeah. I’ll handle it.”

He tapped the earpiece off and slowly turned, his gaze dropping to the folder crushed between Mark’s fingers before returning to his face. “How’d the session go?”

Mark stopped a few feet away, nostrils flaring as he lifted the file. “What the fuck is this?”

Cecil’s expression didn’t change. “Looks like a file.”

“Great, glad the vision’s still intact.” Mark stepped closer and slapped it against Cecil’s chest. “Why is hers still active?”

Cecil caught the folder before it fell, glancing briefly at its label before blowing a tired breath through his nose. “Aren’t we past breaking into restricted rooms and accusing each other of conspiracies?”

“The door was open.”

“So naturally you went through a classified workstation.”

“Don’t do that CIA divorce-lawyer shit with me.” Mark’s brows pinched sharply, his hand cutting through the air before pointing at the folder again. “Pea’s in there. Her tests, her brain scans, her fucking hemorrhages—everything. You said you weren’t touching my family anymore.”

Cecil’s mouth flattened slightly. “I didn’t touch anybody.”

“You’re sending her somewhere.”

“I asked for her help, im humble.”

Mark stared at him, disbelief slowly twisting his face. “She doesn’t have powers.”

“She doesn’t have conscious access to most of them,” Cecil corrected, opening the folder with one hand. “There’s a difference.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“She’s continued reporting visions. Fragmented, inconsistent, but accurate enough that ignoring them would be stupid.” Cecil skimmed the page while speaking, irritatingly calm under Mark’s glare. “We recovered an object from a destroyed safehouse three days ago. Whoever handled it is connected to a group moving stolen GDA technology through the city. She agreed to see whether touching it gives her anything useful.”

“And you just let her agree?”

Cecil finally looked up, his single visible eye narrowing slightly. “She’s twenty years old, Mark. I don’t require your signature.”

Mark’s jaw jumped. “That’s not what I fucking meant.”

“Then say what you mean.”

The sentence hit harder than it should have after the last hour.

Mark’s mouth opened, but his answer snagged somewhere behind his teeth. He looked away for half a second, tongue pressing hard into the inside of his cheek before he glared back. “You know exactly what I mean. Don’t mess with us.”

Cecil raised a brow. “Us?”

“Don’t go there.”

“I’m clarifying.” Cecil tucked the file beneath his arm. “Last time we had this discussion, ‘us’ referred to you, Eve, your mother and Oliver. You and pea barely speak anymore.”

Mark’s expression soured immediately. “Yeah, well, don’t confuse fucked up with fucking gone.”

For the first time, Cecil paused.

Barely.

Then the corner of his mouth twitched like he’d just filed that sentence away for later torture. “Good to know.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you just learned something.” Mark stepped closer, lowering his voice. “What’s the assignment?”

“It’s small.”

“You say that right before somebody loses an organ.”

“She’s being taken to an old GDA evidence site outside the city. Donald’s transporting her. She touches the recovered material, tells us whether she sees anything, then comes home.”

Mark folded his arms tightly over his chest. “And what happens if the vision triggers another bleed?”

“Medical staff are standing by.”

“What happens if her powers react?”

“We monitor it.”

“What happens if something goes wrong?”

Cecil watched him for a long second, then sighed and pulled his earpiece away from his ear as another voice began crackling through it. “If you don’t like the arrangement, accompany her. If you do like it, shut the fuck up and stay here. Either way, she’s already downstairs, Donald’s driving, and you’ve wasted enough time performing this weird territorial bullshit in my hallway.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not territorial.”

“Sure.”

“Cecil.”

“Elevator’s behind you.”

Mark glared at him another moment, hair shifting faintly across his forehead beneath the cold circulation vent. Then he snatched the folder back from Cecil, turned so sharply his shoulder clipped the wall, and walked toward the elevator while muttering every curse he could think of beneath his breath.

Cecil watched him go, tapped his earpiece back into place and said, completely straight-faced, “No, not you. Different crisis.”

The black GDA vehicle smelled like leather, old coffee and whatever gun-cleaning shit Donald kept stored beneath the seats. You sat against one door with your arms folded, one ankle resting over the other while the sealed evidence container remained strapped securely beside you. Donald occupied the driver’s seat, eyes fixed calmly on the road through the partition.

The opposite rear door opened without warning.

Mark climbed in.

You stared at him.

He stared back, breathing slightly harder than he should’ve been from someone who could fly across the planet without breaking a sweat. His hoodie was crooked, one lace still untied, and the wind had shoved his hair sideways until half of it stood awkwardly above his brow.

“…what’re you doing here?” you asked, eyes widening as he dropped into the seat opposite you.

Mark pulled the door shut harder than necessary and immediately looked toward Donald. “Can we go?”

Donald checked the mirror. “Hello to you too.”

“Donald.”

The vehicle started moving.

You watched Mark shed his clothes since he wore his suit underneath, and it looked like he was belly dancing if anything, knees angled awkwardly because the space between the seats wasn’t built for someone his size, once he was done, he leaned back and sighed, holding his mask in his hands as his eyes flicked toward the evidence box, then your face, then the box again. He rubbed at the scar along his palm with his thumb before finally looking directly at you.

“Cecil told me.”

You lifted a brow. “Con…congrats? What do i do with this information.”

“He shouldn’t be using you for this.”

“Good thing I volunteered, then.”

Mark’s nostrils flared. “You’re still getting brain bleeds.”

“And you still knock on death’s door every six months. We all have hobbies.” you twirl your hair, fidgeting if anything.

Donald’s shoulders shifted faintly in the front seat, the closest he came to laughing.

Mark didn’t. His mouth pressed into a hard line while he leaned forward, forearms over his thighs. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” You tilted your head, looking him over. “Why’re you here, Mark?”

His expression flickered at the name. No Bean. No softness around it. Just Mark.

He glanced toward the window, city buildings slipping across his reflection as the vehicle moved. “To make sure Cecil doesn’t do anything fucked.”

“To me?”

“To anybody.”

“Mm.”

That tiny sound irritated him more than a whole sentence would have. His brows drew together, but before he could respond, Donald turned the vehicle onto a narrower road and the streetlights began thinning out behind them.

The site sat beneath an abandoned municipal research building twenty miles outside the city, forgotten enough that weeds had split the parking lot and climbed halfway up the brick walls. Donald led the two of you down through a service entrance, his flashlight moving across damp concrete while Mark stayed close enough behind you that his shoulder brushed yours twice.

Neither of you acknowledged it. During a better time you would’ve been glued together like someone put you both in a potato sack and told you to walk.

Or maybe like conjoined twins? Anyway.

The evidence room was buried beneath two reinforced levels, a former GDA storage site stripped years earlier after flooding damaged the lower systems. Emergency lights glowed weakly along the walls, casting everything in a dull red haze while water dripped steadily somewhere inside the dark.

Donald placed the sealed container on an old metal table and opened it with a code. Inside sat a blood-stiffened strip of fabric, half burned and wrapped in clear containment material.

“i hope thats enough resources to sort of… irritate the visions of gideon.” He smiled, offering a joke that Mark seemed to find horrible by his obvious scowl while he slapped on his mask.

Donald shrunk and rubbed his hands, “uh— yeah, anyway. Setting, and a piece of evidence.” He gestured to the box and around the place.

Your stomach twisted the second you looked at it.

Mark noticed. His face tightened as he stepped closer, one hand hovering near your back without actually touching you. “You don’t have to do this.”

You laughed once through your nose, though it came out thinner than intended. “I do, actually. That’s why we drove to a fucking haunted basement.”

Donald offered you a pair of gloves. “The second you feel pressure behind your eyes, stop.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You pulled one glove on, then the other, flexing your fingers before reaching into the container. Mark shifted beside you, jaw working slowly as though he were chewing down every objection he still wanted to make.

Your fingertips touched the fabric.

Nothing happened.

For a second.

Then the room pulled sideways.

Not physically. Something behind your eyes stretched, sharp and sudden, and the red emergency lighting smeared across your vision like wet paint. Your fingers locked around the fabric. Voices crashed together somewhere far away—men shouting, metal scraping, a heartbeat that wasn’t yours racing so violently it nearly drowned out your own.

You saw a corridor.

A steel door.

A symbol sprayed in white across concrete.

Then blood.

So much fucking blood.

Your knees buckled.

Mark caught your waist before you hit the floor, one arm tightening around you as he ripped your hand away from the evidence. “Hey—hey, look at me.”

You blinked rapidly, breathing through your mouth while his face moved in and out of focus. “I saw—”

The first explosion swallowed the rest.

The wall behind Donald erupted inward with a concussive blast that punched every breath from the room. Fire rolled through the doorway, the metal table flipping hard enough to slice across the concrete while Mark twisted around you instinctively, dragging you against his chest as debris struck his back.

The floor gave beneath both of you.

For one weightless second, you saw Mark’s face above yours—eyes wide, teeth clenched, dust caught in his lashes—before something hit the side of your head.

White.

Then nothing.

Sound returned first.

A high, miserable ringing scraping through your skull.

Then taste.

Iron coated your tongue, thick enough that swallowing made you gag. God you hope you didn’t lose a tooth.

Your eyes opened slowly to smoke dragging itself across the broken ceiling. The emergency lights flickered overhead. Once. Twice. Red. Black. Red again.

Something warm held the side of your face.

Mark.

He was crouched over you, one knee planted beside your hip and the other sliding uselessly across loose rubble as he tried keeping his balance. Blood ran from a cut above his brow, disappearing into his hairline, and his mouth moved before you could understand the words.

“…hear me? bab—fuck, look at me. Can you hear me?”

You stared. Not at his face. Through it.

His pulse struck beneath the skin of his neck.

Seventy-eight.

Then eighty-three.

Ninety-one.

You could feel every beat as if someone had placed his heart directly into your hands. Blood rushed through his veins in branching rivers, hot and pressurized, carrying oxygen, iron, panic. You knew where it slowed around old scar tissue. You knew which vessels had repaired themselves incorrectly after Conquest. You could feel the tiny rupture above his brow before the next drop even formed.

Mark’s expression tightened when you didn’t answer. His thumb brushed carefully beneath your eye, wiping dust away while his other hand supported the back of your skull. “Say something.”

The smell hit next. Not the smoke. Not the metal.

Him.

Blood. Viltrumite blood. It reeked of something stronger than copper. Dense enough to feel like gravity, every cell humming against something buried deep inside you that had been asleep for years.

Your breath caught.

Mark froze, brows pinching sharply as the rubble around your body began to tremble.

At first it was only dust.

Then pebbles.

Then the bent leg of the metal table scraped slowly across the floor without anybody touching it.

“…pea?”

You could hear Donald somewhere behind him, coughing and speaking into his comm. You could hear blood moving through Donald’s wrist. Through the men running aboveground. Through something injured beneath the collapsed wall.

Every heartbeat in the building opened inside your skull at once.

Your back arched sharply.

Mark caught your shoulders, panic finally cracking across his face. “What the fuck—Donald!”

The protective field around your brain shifted.

You could feel it worm around the same way a leg cramp hits you while you’re asleep.

Three years of power folded tightly against your skull suddenly snapped outward, and the pressure hit the room like a detonation. Mark was thrown off you, his boots leaving the floor before his back slammed into the opposite wall. Donald disappeared behind a wave of dust. Every loose shard of metal lifted into the air and hung there, vibrating.

You pushed yourself to sit upright with one shaking hand.

Blood from the cut near your temple didn’t fall.

It crawled upward.

A thin red line slid along your cheek, separated from your skin and curled slowly around your fingers like thread recognizing the hand that spun it.

Mark stared from the floor, one palm planted behind him and his chest rising hard beneath his hoodie. His eyes moved from the floating debris, to the blood circling your wrist, then finally to your face.

You looked directly at him, unsure why his expression seemed as if he saw Jesus himself or was having another ptsd episode. Or maybe you cracked your skull open again? was Nolan behind you?

On the other hand Mark forgot that he was trying to stand up again, effectively falling on his muscular ass like an idiot while his brain tried to process if your eyes were either bloodshot or your irises had turned blood red.

and if he was hallucinating that familiar little dance of blood in that happened around your wrist or not.

[jupisloveletterz]

soooo…do I like edit the other parts to say that reader has spider powers or do I just put it in the description when pt 3 is out..

[jupisloveletterz]

currently reworking pt 3 ♪(´ε｀ ) expect it to be out tmr :))