Spider-Mark x Reader (fluff/smut)
friends to lovers
full credit to owner of the pic! Warnings: sex, vague mentions of violence, bruises, quick mentions of blood and wounds
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The college campus cafeteria was chaos as usual—shoulder-to-shoulder students, trays clattering, the scent of reheated food and sweat hanging thick in the air. Mark sat across from Y/N at their usual table near the windows, one leg bouncing under the table, eyes half-lidded as he stabbed at a slice of pizza.
Y/N was talking about something—he wasn’t really listening, not when her lips moved like that, not when the way she sipped her drink made his fingers twitch with restraint. She laughed at her own joke, and Mark caught the sound like a punch to the ribs, something he wanted to feel again and again.
Then it happened.
A soccer player—some sophomore with more energy than coordination—tripped over a backpack near their table. His tray launched into the air, food tumbling in slow motion toward Y/N.
Before anyone could react, Mark moved.
His hand shot out, hitting the tray in a clean, sharp slap. It veered sideways, the contents smearing across the wall rather than all over her hair and hoodie.
The whole table froze. Y/N stared at the wall, then slowly looked back at Mark.
“Holy shit,” she breathed. “How did you do that?”
Mark blinked, swallowing hard. “Uh. Reflexes?”
She stared at him for a second longer, then gave a small laugh and smiled—really smiled—like he’d just flown her out of a burning building. “Thanks for saving me from instant death by cafeteria slop.”
He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh. No problem.”
That’s when Haechan appeared, dropping into the seat beside Mark with a heavy sigh and a knowing glare.
“Dude,” he said.
Mark avoided eye contact.
“Dude,” Haechan repeated, voice dropping.
Mark leaned closer. “Don’t.”
“You punched a tray mid-air. Are you trying to get exposed?”
“She almost got hit in the face with lasagna. I wasn’t just gonna watch.”
“You could’ve knocked it into her. Played it off. Look clumsy, not like a ninja robot. You’re gonna get caught.”
Mark muttered under his breath, “You’re overthinking.”
Haechan gave him a look, then leaned in more. “I’m literally the only one who knows you’re Spider-Man. So maybe I should overthink it.”
Mark clenched his jaw and gave a tiny nod. “Fine. I’ll… trip or something tomorrow.”
“Good boy,” Haechan muttered, biting into a fry with satisfaction.
Y/N watched the interaction from her side of the table, curious. She’d noticed the way Mark moved—how fast, how precise—but more than that, the way he looked at her afterward, like he was genuinely afraid for her, like he would’ve caught the tray with his face if he had to.
And maybe she was imagining things, but… it looked like his hand was shaking a little.
“You okay?” she asked, soft and teasing.
Mark turned to her again. Their eyes met. The noise of the cafeteria faded into static.
“Yeah,” he said, smiling softly. “Just glad you’re not covered in marinara.”
Y/N laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks warming under his gaze. “Guess I owe you lunch next time.”
Mark shrugged, but his eyes flicked to her lips before he could stop them. “I’ll take you up on that.”
Haechan groaned and slid out of the seat with his tray. “Jesus Christ. Just date already.”
Mark pretended not to hear him, even as Y/N blushed and focused hard on her sandwich. Neither of them said anything, but something hung between them—heavy, slow-burning.
Neither of them knew the other was already half in love.
Neither of them knew how much longer they could pretend to be just friends.
---------------
The text came in while Mark was crouched on the edge of a rooftop in SoHo, panting through his mask, heart hammering in his chest after disarming a group of muggers. His phone buzzed inside his suit.
Y/N: hey, wanna hang? i just finished studying, i could use a break
Mark exhaled through his nose. God, of course she’d text now. She was probably curled up in her tiny dorm room two blocks from his, hoodie sleeves pushed over her hands, soft voice, softer eyes.
He wanted to go. He always wanted to go.
Instead, he wiped a smear of blood from his lip and sent back:
Mark: can’t tonight :( homework mountain
A lie. One he’d gotten good at telling.
10 minutes later
Y/N zipped up her jacket, stuffing her phone in her pocket as she exited the NYU library. The streets were mostly empty—just a few students and night-shift delivery workers riding past on electric bikes. She took her usual shortcut home, cutting through the back streets by the scaffolding-covered construction zone.
The alley echoed with quiet footsteps and the hum of machinery left idle overnight.
Then, above her—a blur.
Metal groaned.
She looked up, and her breath caught.
A red-and-blue figure shot across the sky, backlit by the moonlight, webbing trailing from his wrist as he swung from a crane with inhuman grace. Spider-Man.
She barely had time to process it when a crack rang out—followed by the screech of shifting metal.
A chunk of debris broke loose from the scaffolding overhead.
Y/N stumbled back, eyes widening as it plummeted toward her.
And then—
Arms wrapped around her. A chest against her back. She was airborne.
The world turned into wind and sky and the rush of adrenaline. She was clinging to Spider-Man’s suit—her fingers fisting red fabric, body pressed against his as he swung them out of the alley and onto the rooftop of a brownstone across the street.
He landed on one knee, holding her close, then straightened.
She didn’t open her eyes.
“…Hey,” he said, voice warm and careful. “You okay?”
She let out a breath, eyes still squeezed shut. “Yeah. Just—heights, not really my thing.”
He chuckled softly. “Fair. You’re good now. Debris didn’t touch you.”
Y/N slowly opened her eyes. She was still pressed against him, still gripping the suit like her life depended on it.
Now that she was looking at him—actually looking—he wasn’t just some vague blur across the sky. His mask was unmistakable, but under it, she could tell… he was young. Her age, maybe a little older. Lean. Broad-shouldered.
And flustered.
“Um…” She loosened her grip. “Can you maybe put me down now?”
“Right.” He stepped back, carefully lowering her to the rooftop, and then shot a web that brought them gently down to street level in a matter of seconds.
The walk to her building was quiet at first. They strolled side by side, the city lights washing the sidewalks in a warm yellow glow.
“You, uh… do this often?” she asked, glancing over at him.
“Rescue girls from scaffolding death traps?” He grinned under the mask. “Only the pretty ones.”
She snorted. “Wow. Spidey’s got lines.”
“Not good ones,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. That was dumb.”
“No,” she laughed, brushing hair behind her ear. “It was kind of charming. You seem… around my age?”
He hesitated. “Yeah. College, actually.”
“Oh yeah?” She looked him up and down. “You single?”
He stumbled over his own feet.
“I—uh—I mean, I—” He cleared his throat, hands suddenly very busy adjusting the straps on his wrists. “I should probably get going.”
Y/N smiled, amused by his panic, her heart fluttering. “It was a joke.”
“I know. Totally. Yep. Funny joke.”
She stopped outside her building, tilting her head at him. “Thanks again. For saving me.”
His voice was softer now. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”
They looked at each other for a long second.
Then he nodded and stepped back. “Goodnight.”
And with a fwip, he was gone—swinging into the sky, disappearing between the buildings like a ghost with a secret.
Y/N stood frozen on the steps for a moment, fingers curled around her keys, heart pounding in her chest.
---------------------
Y/N didn’t say a word to anyone.
Not about the scaffolding, the swing through the air, or the way Spider-Man’s chest had felt against hers. She kept it tucked close—like a secret pressed to her ribs, warm and intimate. A moment just for her.
She met Mark at their usual spot on campus, a tucked-away corner of an old brick café with velvet couches, low lights, and the smell of espresso soaked into every inch of the walls. They both had exams coming up, though the books between them remained mostly untouched.
Mark was already waiting on the couch, his laptop open in his lap, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He glanced up when she walked in.
“Hey,” he greeted with a small smile. “You look… happy today.”
Y/N sat down beside him, curling her legs underneath her. “Do I?”
He nodded, eyes lingering on her a little longer than usual. “Glowing, even.”
She laughed softly. “Well… I had an eventful walk home last night.”
Mark stiffened. “Eventful?”
She shrugged, nonchalant. “Nothing crazy. Just… one of those nights.”
She didn’t say more, and he didn’t press, but something flickered behind his eyes—like he was holding his breath.
They settled into studying, sort of. Pages turned. Highlighters squeaked. But they were sitting too close on the plush couch, knees brushing. At some point, they shifted to face each other. Y/N’s textbook sat ignored on the armrest while she tucked her legs up, her elbow brushing against his.
Their eyes kept meeting. Glances that lasted a beat too long. Fingers twitching as if tempted to touch. Every time Mark smiled, she felt it in her chest. Every time she leaned closer, he felt it in his spine.
He closed his laptop, clearly no longer pretending to study, and turned toward her fully.
“Y/N,” he said, voice lower than before.
She looked up, lips parting slightly. He was close—so close his breath warmed her cheek.
“I—” He hesitated, searching her face like he was reading a page he’d memorized a hundred times but still didn’t understand. “I’ve been meaning to tell you—”
BOOM.
A loud crash echoed in the distance—about two miles away, maybe closer. The kind of sound that made every bone tense.
Mark sighed, eyes closing for a moment. “So close.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly, already standing up. “Just… I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”
Y/N frowned as he hurried off, disappearing toward the back of the café. Her heart sank a little, the mood shattering into smoke.
Ten minutes passed.
When Mark returned, he looked… different.
His hair was tousled like he’d run through a wind tunnel. His chest rose and fell too fast. He looked pale under the café lights, one hand gripping the table a little too tightly before he sank back onto the couch beside her.
“You okay?” she asked, eyeing him carefully.
He nodded too fast. “Yep. Just… the bathroom’s way further than I thought.”
She tilted her head, unconvinced. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
His voice cracked slightly.
Y/N gave a soft laugh, then—before thinking—reached up and combed her fingers through his messy hair, trying to smooth it back into place.
“You should rest,” she murmured, eyes focused on the strands between her fingers. “You look exhausted.”
Mark froze under her touch, eyes wide.
Realizing what she was doing, Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she snatched her hand back like she’d been burned. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—”
He shook his head quickly. “It’s okay. You can. I didn’t mind.”
Silence bloomed again, thicker this time. More dangerous.
But neither of them moved away.
And somewhere in the back of Y/N’s mind, a thought whispered louder than the rest:
The timing. The bruises. The way he looked at her like he already knew what she wasn’t saying.
Could it be?
No. It couldn’t.
Right?
------------------
Mark insisted on walking her home. He always did when it was late, and she never fought him on it—especially not now. The city was buzzing as usual, cars honking, sirens faint in the distance, but with him beside her, everything felt quieter. Safer.
They reached the cracked sidewalk in front of her building, the steps leading up uneven and worn.
Y/N misjudged the second stair—her foot caught the edge, ankle twisting just slightly, body lurching forward.
But she didn’t fall.
Mark’s hands were already on her, steadying her before she could even blink. One arm wrapped tight around her waist, the other bracing her shoulder, pulling her flush against his chest like she weighed nothing.
Her hands gripped his arms instinctively—hard biceps under soft fabric, the heat of him burning through the layers. One hand slid up, fingers curling into his shoulder for balance.
They stayed like that.
Close. Too close.
Y/N could feel his breath on her face, see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. His jaw was tense, lips parted just slightly like he was about to speak but couldn’t.
Neither of them moved.
For a second, it felt like gravity had shifted—like he was the center of it now, and she’d be stupid to let go.
Then Mark blinked, startled like he’d just remembered where they were. “S-sorry—are you okay?”
Y/N didn’t move back, not just yet. “No, don’t apologize. Thanks for… saving me. Again.”
Something flickered behind Mark’s eyes—uncertainty.
Again?
His hands slipped from her waist as he stepped back, just barely. “Again?”
She smiled lightly, brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. “Yeah. The cafeteria. You know, reflexes-of-steel moment?”
Relief passed over his face like a breeze. “Right. Yeah. That.”
“Honestly,” she teased, shooting him a glance as she climbed the last stair, “you’ve got great timing. You should consider a side gig in hero work.”
Mark let out a choked laugh. “Yeah, I’ll, uh… keep that in mind.”
She turned toward her door, pausing with her hand on the knob.
Mark stayed on the sidewalk, looking up at her with that same unreadable softness he always had around her. The kind that made her knees a little weak if she looked at it too long.
“Goodnight, Mark.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
She lingered at the door a beat longer than necessary, then stepped inside.
Upstairs, in the quiet of her apartment, she dropped her bag by the door and collapsed onto her bed with a soft groan. But her heart wasn’t tired.
It was racing.
Her mind flashed back to Spider-Man—his arms around her, the warmth of his chest, the way he held her so protectively as they flew across the city.
Then it flashed to Mark.
Same warmth. Same strength.
Same… everything.
Her brows furrowed.
She shook her head, rolling onto her back and covering her face with a groan. Stop. You're overthinking. No way.
But even as she tried to push it aside, the thought echoed louder now:
Holding Mark… felt exactly like holding Spider-Man.
And her heart wouldn't let her forget it.
-----------------
The air was crisp, city lights flickering below like a galaxy flipped upside down. Y/N leaned against the cool brick ledge of a rooftop she had no business being on—except for the fact that he always seemed to find her.
Spider-Man landed with a soft thud behind her, the wind from his swing rustling her jacket.
“You come up here often?” he teased gently, walking toward her.
She smiled, not turning to face him yet. “Only when I want to talk to someone who knows what it feels like to be… alone in a crowd.”
There was a pause. Then a softer, “You okay?”
She turned then, fully facing him now, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
Spider-Man sat beside her on the ledge, one knee drawn up, looking out at the skyline. The silence between them was easy, familiar.
Y/N glanced at him sideways, heartbeat steady but deliberate.
“So,” she said casually, “what’s your favorite study spot on campus?”
He tilted his head. “Huh?”
“You go to college, right?”
He nodded once. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Favorite spot then.”
There was a beat. “Uh… that café across from the student union. The one with the ugly green couch?”
Y/N’s lips twitched. “Interesting.”
“What?”
She shook her head, biting her smile. “Nothing. You just remind me of someone I know.”
Mark’s heart stuttered in his chest, but he kept his posture still, trying to play it off. “Hopefully in a good way?”
“The best way,” she murmured, then looked down at her hands.
There was a pause, heavy and quiet. Then—
“Can I ask you something?”
He turned his masked face toward her. “Of course.”
“I…” she started, then huffed out a nervous laugh. “Okay, this is stupid, but—I have a huge crush on my friend.”
Mark blinked behind the mask.
“Oh,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “That’s… not stupid.”
“He’s… amazing. Kind. Sweet. Stupidly brave. He’s the best guy I know, and I’m terrified of screwing it up if I tell him.”
Mark’s stomach twisted.
He swallowed. “Well… I think whoever he is, he’d be lucky. You’re… incredible.”
She looked up at him then, and in the way her eyes shimmered in the city light, something unspoken passed between them. Her voice softened.
“Do you ever get lonely? Being Spider-Man?”
Mark stilled.
No one had ever asked that. Not like that. Not with a voice so gentle, so human. He wasn’t sure what to say at first.
“Sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “But it’s worth it. If I can keep people safe—even just one person—it’s worth it.”
Y/N stepped closer, so close he could feel the warmth of her body through the suit. She reached up, hands hesitating near his jaw, then slowly cupped his masked face, thumbs brushing gently over the fabric.
He almost leaned into her touch without thinking.
“You’re not alone,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”
He nodded once, unable to speak. His throat felt tight.
For a second, he wondered—Could she know?
But then she dropped her hands, took a small step back, and offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I should go.”
He cleared his throat, finding his voice. “Yeah. Me too.”
She hesitated one last second. “Thanks for talking to me.”
“I’ll always be around,” he said softly.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, he was gone—swinging off into the night sky.
Y/N stood alone on the rooftop, heart pounding.
The way he touched her waist.
The café comment.
The voice—kind and uncertain.
It’s him. It has to be.
But if she was wrong…
She bit her lip, heart torn in two directions—toward the man she might already love, and the mask hiding his face.
------------
The city hummed in the distance, golden lights stretching across the skyline like a heartbeat. Cars whispered across the bridge below them, and the East River reflected the stars above like ink kissed with silver.
Mark and Y/N stood at the edge of the pedestrian walkway, the iron rail pressed to their thighs, wind tugging at their jackets. He’d planned the night carefully: late dinner, a walk through DUMBO, and now this—his favorite hidden spot just off the main path where hardly anyone came after dark.
They stood close. Shoulders touching. Neither said anything for a long moment.
Mark glanced down, chewing the inside of his cheek. Now or never.
He shifted slightly, his hand brushing against hers.
Y/N stiffened—then relaxed.
He hesitated again, heart racing so loud he was sure she could hear it, then slowly slid his fingers between hers, gently lacing them together.
Y/N let out the tiniest breath and looked away, biting back a smile.
They both blushed like they were sixteen.
Mark stared out at the water, jaw tense, battling something behind his eyes.
Y/N tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Hey,” she said softly. “You okay?”
His thumb rubbed over her knuckle once, then stopped. He sighed.
“Fuck it,” he muttered, voice low, and turned to her fully.
She blinked, startled by the intensity in his eyes.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice rough, honest, shaking just a little.
Y/N gasped—not from surprise but from the thrill of hearing him say it. Then slowly, as if pulled by a string, she nodded and began to lean in.
Mark met her halfway.
Their lips brushed once, a feather-light graze that sent both of them shivering. Then again—firmer this time, mouths fitting together like they’d done it a thousand times in dreams.
And then—more.
Y/N’s hands curled around his neck, fingers tangling in his soft hair, tugging just enough to make him groan quietly against her lips. Mark’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, anchoring her to him like he couldn’t bear to let go.
They kissed slowly, learning each other in that breathless, tentative way—like a secret passed between lips, tasting, tugging, pausing just enough to draw out the tension before diving in again.
The river, the cars, the whole city disappeared.
There was only her.
Only him.
Only this.
When they finally broke apart, their foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in the night air. Y/N’s lips were kiss-swollen, eyes glazed. Mark looked completely dazed, like she’d knocked the sense right out of him.
“…Wow,” he breathed.
Y/N giggled, still catching her breath. “Yeah… wow.”
They stayed like that a moment longer, smiling, arms still wrapped around each other.
And even though neither of them said it out loud yet, in that moment, it was painfully, blindingly obvious:
They were already gone for each other.
-------------------
Mark burst into the dorm, practically glowing. He didn’t bother turning on the lights—just stumbled in, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed backward onto his bed with a deep, content sigh.
Haechan sat up from his own bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes and squinting at him. “Did you get hit by a truck or are you just radiating happiness right now?”
Mark let out a breathless laugh, his hands covering his face. “I kissed her.”
“What?”
“I kissed her,” Mark said louder, peeling his hands away and grinning at the ceiling. “And she kissed me back.”
Haechan blinked, slowly sitting up straighter. “No way. No way. You actually did it? You finally stopped pining like a Victorian widow and did something about it?”
Mark nodded like a drunk man in love. “On the Brooklyn Bridge. We held hands. Talked. Then I asked. And she said yes. And we just… kissed. Like—really kissed.”
Haechan snorted, flopping back into his pillow. “God, you’re disgusting.”
Mark laughed again, rolling onto his side, still smiling like a fool. “I can’t believe it.”
“I can. Took you long enough.”
Mark grabbed a pillow and lightly chucked it across the room. It hit Haechan in the face.
“But,” Haechan continued, serious now, “you’ve gotta be careful.”
Mark’s smile faded slightly. “Why?”
“She’s smart, dude. Like… smart. And she notices things. I’ve seen her face when something doesn’t add up.”
Mark stayed quiet.
“I’m just saying,” Haechan added, sitting up again, voice softer now. “You’ve been lucky. But if she finds out without you telling her? That’ll hurt more than a villain with a rocket launcher.”
Mark ran a hand through his hair, his buzz still lingering—but weighed down now with reality. “I’ve been thinking about telling her.”
Haechan raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t want to lie to her,” Mark said quietly. “Not anymore. I want her to know the real me. I want to tell her everything.”
Haechan exhaled slowly. “Then you have to be ready for what that means. Because once you do, it’s not just your secret anymore—it’s hers. And she has to carry it too. Every time you don’t text back right away, every time the news says Spider-Man got hurt… she’ll know. And it won’t be easy for her.”
Mark stared at the ceiling again, chest tightening.
He knew Haechan was right.
Telling her would be like giving her the key to a room that could only hold fear, uncertainty, and danger. But not telling her… when things were finally becoming real between them… that didn’t sit right either.
“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, voice small.
Haechan tossed the pillow back to his bed. “Well… when you do know, I think she’ll listen. She’s already in deep with you, man. I can tell. Just don’t screw it up.”
Mark lay there in silence, thinking of her smile, the way her fingers tugged his hair, the softness of her lips, and how she’d held him like she knew him—like she already suspected something.
He didn’t sleep much that night.
Not because he was afraid of being Spider-Man.
But because for the first time… he was afraid of what it might cost him.
----------------
The study date was meant to be just that—notes, coffee, some quiet time in the library. But somewhere between teasing touches and the way Mark looked at her over the top of his textbook, everything shifted. And now here they were—laughing in whispers as they reached her front door, the sky outside dipped in navy and starlight.
Y/N hesitated with the key in the lock, biting her lip before glancing over at him.
“Do you… wanna come in? Just for a bit?”
Mark’s breath caught. He nodded.
She smiled and opened the door.
Inside, things moved slowly at first. They dropped their bags by the couch, kicked off their shoes. They sat on the edge of her bed, close, too aware of how quiet the room was. How private.
Y/N turned toward him, fingers brushing his knee. “You don’t have to stay long if you don’t want to.”
Mark shook his head. “I want to.”
Her eyes searched his. A pause.
Then she leaned in.
And when their lips met again, it was hotter than before. Less hesitant.
She pushed gently on his shoulder, and he let himself be lowered with her, their bodies sliding onto the bed. Mark braced himself above her, kissing her slow and deep, his hand cradling the back of her neck. Her fingers tugged at the hem of his hoodie, sliding beneath it, palms gliding over the firm skin of his back.
“Can I—?” she asked softly, fingers curling around the hoodie.
Mark nodded, chest rising and falling hard, letting her pull it off. Her hands spread over his chest, fingertips skating over the warmth of his skin.
But then—
The tingle.
It shot through his spine like electricity.
His senses lit up all at once.
Something was happening.
Mark’s whole body froze.
Y/N blinked up at him. “Mark?”
He sat up too fast, chest heaving, eyes darting to the window.
“Shit,” he whispered, dragging a hand through his hair. He started pulling the hoodie back on with shaky hands.
“Wait—what’s wrong?” Y/N sat up, voice small. “Did I—did I do something wrong?”
“No. No, God, no,” he said quickly, reaching out and cupping her face. His forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just—I forgot I was supposed to do something. Something important.”
Her brows drew together, eyes scanning his like she was trying to read between the lines. She saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his body wanted to stay even while his mind was already gone.
“…You don’t want to go,” she said quietly.
Mark pulled back, blinking fast, his throat tight. “No. I really don’t.”
Y/N leaned forward, brushing her lips to his in a soft kiss, hands on his shoulders. “Then go do what you need to do,” she whispered. “It’s okay. I get it.”
He stared at her for a beat too long, eyes filled with something aching and unspoken. Then he kissed her again—firmer, deeper—like a thank you and an apology wrapped into one.
“Thank you,” he said softly, forehead pressed to hers.
Then he was gone—out the door, down the stairs, and disappearing into the night.
Y/N sat on the bed alone, heart still racing, fingertips still tingling from where they’d touched his skin.
She didn’t know what he was running off to do.
But she knew one thing for sure now:
Whatever it was, it mattered.
And maybe… it had everything to do with why Mark always seemed to disappear right when Spider-Man showed up.
---------------
There was a knock at the door. Not loud. Just one soft set of three taps.
Y/N, still in her pajamas, blinked at the clock. Almost midnight.
She opened the door cautiously—then gasped.
“Mark.”
He stood there, hoodie torn, blood drying at the edge of his lip, dirt streaking his jaw. His eyes were dazed, like he’d walked miles to get there. His knuckles were scraped raw. And under the dim hallway light, she could already see the bruising through the thin fabric of his shirt.
Without a word, she reached out, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him inside.
“What happened?” she asked, trying to stay calm, but her voice was shaking. “Mark—sit, please—God, sit down.”
He slumped onto the couch like his legs couldn’t hold him anymore. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.
“Take off your hoodie,” she said gently, but firmly. “Now.”
He hesitated—then obeyed.
The hoodie fell to the floor.
“Shirt too.”
Another pause, another heavy breath—and then the shirt came off.
Y/N’s eyes welled with tears.
Bruises bloomed across his chest and ribs—deep purple, angry reds. Small cuts along his stomach. One shoulder scraped and bloodied like it had met asphalt hard.
“Oh my God…” she whispered, moving instinctively. She rummaged through her drawer and came back with her first-aid kit, snapping it open on the coffee table. “This is gonna sting.”
Mark winced as she dabbed antiseptic onto his side.
“I told you—ow,” he hissed. “That hurts.”
“Yeah, well, maybe stop getting thrown off buildings,” she muttered, wiping a streak of blood from his arm. “Hold still.”
Mark didn’t complain again.
He just watched her.
Watched the way she bit her lip in concentration, how her fingers trembled at first but steadied with care. How she gently taped gauze to his ribs and held her breath when he flinched. How tears clung to her lashes but never fell.
Then, quietly—almost too quietly—
“You know, don’t you?”
Y/N stilled.
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