mark is ripped from sleep by a tiny hand repeatedly smacking his cheek. “appa," he hears squeak from beside his bedside before another soft blow lands on him. mark groans and pulls the blanket over his head. “buddy,” he mutters into the pillow, “if the house isn’t on fire, go back to bed.”
another smack lands on his face. “appa. up please" mark sighs dramatically before finally opening his eyes. his 3 year old son is standing beside the bed wide awake. mark glances toward the clock. three thirty-seven in the morning shines bright back at him.“why are you awake?”
cub immediately lifts both arms. “up.” mark closes his eyes. without another word he reaches down and lifts the boy onto the mattress. the second cub’s feet touch the bed he takes off straight across mark and straight toward you. mark watches as his son practically launches himself onto your side of the bed before immediately curling up on top of you.
you let out a sleepy noise when the toddler suddenly lands on your chest. your eyes crack open. “baby?” you mumble, still half asleep. your son immediately snuggles closer and buries his face against your neck, “hi mama.” your hand automatically finds his hair. “hi.” the two of you start drifting back to sleep. mark, however, is now fully awake and trapped on the edge of the bed. he reaches over to pull the blanket higher over both of you and wrap an arm around your waist. immediately, your sons eyes opens and his gaze narrows at mark, “no.”
mark blinks, “no?” cub grabs your arm and hugs it tighter, “my mama.” mark looks at you and youre smiling into your pillow. “buddy,” mark says carefully, “i’m literally giving you the blanket. appa is also about to fall off the bed.” he scoots even closer to you, “my mama.” mark lets out a laugh, “she was mine first.” cub shakes his head, “mine. you finally start laughing. cub reaches up and pats your cheek, “sleep mama.”
mark attempts to move closer. immediately a tiny hand shoots out. you're laughing harder now.
“don’t encourage him.”
“i’m not.”
“you’re laughing .”
“because you’re getting bullied by our son.”
mark looks down at the boy in question then sighs dramatically and falls back onto his pillow, “fine." you reach over and squeeze his hand without opening your eyes. “goodnight, baby.” mark looks at the sleeping little boy sprawled across and sighs.
can you write a story where Y/N has a threesome w mark and eve? also Y/N is a new hero
ONE IS BAD, TWO IS NOT ENOUGH... THREE IS TOO MUCH.
pairing: Mark Grayson x Reader x Samantha Eve Wilkins
warnings: swearing, ménage à trois, the reader is a bit dim-witted, and they take advantage of that, consensual sex, wild mark, fingering, slap, light voyeurism, exposure, dominant Eve, dominant Mark, submissive reader, explicit nudity, oral sex, hot kisses, breast licking
summary: You're just the new, somewhat ditzy heroine who finds herself trapped in a cycle with the two greatest heroes: Eve and Mark. What would you do if you discovered that they desired you with an unusual intensity?
author's note: Hi everyone! How are you all doing? I hope you're well! I apologize for the delay in updating my fanfics; I'm in a creative limbo ;( and it makes me very sad because I really wanted to be bringing you more chapters! Today, I'm bringing you a request that I personally LOVED and that I want to delve into A LOT if you're interested! I love this couple, and I LOVE imagining myself with them, lol! I hope you all enjoy it, and if you really like it, let me know and I'll bring you continuations in headcanon form (because it's easier for me to write that way). It's a spicy chapter, and I particularly enjoyed writing it hehe. THANK YOU TO THE PERSON WHO REQUESTED IT, I LOVE YOU ❤️❤️ Happy reading, I hope you enjoy it, and I apologize for any possible errors; English is not my first language.
❝ YOU’RE JUST A HERO who had come from another state to help Cecil and the Guardians of the Globe.
Nothing too grandiose — you didn’t like fame. The flashes and cameras made you feel out of place, so you wore a mask to hide your face and make sure nobody could recognize you.
Even with the news spreading about the fact that there was a new heroine capable of ❪ your power of choice ❫, the media desperate to uncover your identity, you ran from all that attention like it could burn you alive.
And maybe it was better that way.
Maybe it was better to stay distant, even from the other heroes — DupliKate was always trying to pull your mask off with one of her clones, Monster Girl respected your decision but clearly carried some curiosity, Rex Splode constantly flirted with you, saying your face had to be gorgeous underneath that stupid mask, and Robot now acted with complete indifference toward your appearance.
And then there was Invincible and Atom Eve.
You didn’t really think much about either of them. To you, they neither smelled nor stank. You worked alongside them the same as everyone else. Eve would sometimes strike up conversations, and you’d answer casually enough — during one mission, you instinctively picked her up when a chunk of debris nearly fell on her.
Of course, you apologized afterward, but Eve just reassured you and thanked you anyway, even though internally you knew she could’ve handled it herself easily.
Maybe that was how it started. You weren’t really sure.
Months ago, you were just a girl from the countryside of ❪ state of choice ❫ fighting small-time thieves. Nothing special. You didn’t have the sharp instincts of the big city, and you hadn’t even... kissed anyone? Even though your aunt and uncle fully supported the idea of you dating some guy named Taylor back in high school.
But you were too foul-mouthed... and maybe your powers had gotten in the way.
Still, you swore you tried to ignore the feeling of holding Eve by the waist and pressing her body against yours — you didn’t know what that feeling was, but it felt similar to when you looked at the half-naked women in the magazines your older cousin hid under his mattress.
And God, how guilty you felt. She was dating Mark! And Mark had always been so kind to you... always checking if you were okay during missions, even though you were strong enough to handle the worst situations imaginable. You weren’t in the GDA for nothing — Cecil had personally seen your potential and invited you onto the team himself.
The worst part was that Mark wasn’t any better.
For a long time, you thought you only liked girls. The boys in your hometown were pathetic, but the girls weren’t... beautiful and stunning in their tiny skirts that made you practically drool. You had already accepted your fate as a fifty-year-old lesbian with twenty-three cats and nineteen dogs somewhere deep in the countryside... until you met Mark.
It wasn’t love at first sight, but everything changed when he saw your face.
It happened by accident.
The two of you had been assigned to a reconnaissance mission in a dangerous area when some asshole released a tear gas bomb that made your eyes burn.
Sure, you were strong enough to endure it for a few minutes... but your breathing started turning ragged, maybe because that stupid mask was too tight and only made everything worse.
But you didn’t say anything. You stayed there, eyes watering, breathing heavily beneath your suit while following Mark.
He noticed, of course he noticed. The speed at which he scooped you into his arms was unreal, crashing through a wall like it was made of paper before carrying you somewhere safer behind the building.
"❪ NAME ❫!" he holds you carefully, the kind of careful that makes your half-dazed body shiver. You tremble involuntarily as Mark gently sets you against the wall, one steady hand on your back. "Are you okay? Can you breathe?"
And God... you can barely answer him properly, your throat dry as you inhale deeply, desperately searching for air.
Your hands shake violently as they move toward your mask, but you stop — your identity would be revealed to Mark.
It was fine, really. He was trustworthy, and it wasn’t like you were someone important, but you wanted to keep everything separate: your personal life far away from your professional one, so things could continue smoothly.
But in that moment, Mark didn’t seem to care about any of that. He moved quickly, getting closer, and suddenly you felt smaller, cornered, as his fingers worked at the edge of your mask.
It was soft, gentle, and you didn’t pull away. Your mind screamed that this was wrong. That he shouldn’t be doing this, removing your mask like he was peeling off your underwear and—
Mark stops.
You notice the way he exhales sharply at the sight of your face, standing there before him. His brows furrowed, his ❪ color ❫ eyes shining beneath the sunlight. His messy hair falling over his forehead like some Renaissance painting.
Invincible — Mark himself — leans closer, noticing your struggle to breathe. His fingers hold your jaw, catching the sight of your slightly chapped lips parted open as you still try to pull oxygen into your lungs.
He doesn’t speak.
He doesn’t ask.
He takes.
Kissing you gently, and you feel the way his lips ask for entrance with his tongue, a rush of air making you choke softly against the kiss.
It’s pathetic, the way his Viltrumite lungs work, the way his tongue explores every inch of your mouth, and how he growls quietly while pulling your waist closer with surprising gentleness.
The kiss leaves you weak. You feel your throat calming down, but it’s like you’re getting drunk on him, your hands flying to his shoulders and squeezing with that stupid superhuman strength.
He has a girlfriend.
The realization hits you, and you shove him away — hitting your head against the wall in the process, but Mark doesn’t move. He only stares at you in shock, lips slightly swollen:
"A-Are you okay?" he stammers, cheeks red. Suddenly you realize what a gigantic mess... all of this is. The kiss. Deep. Messy. Firm. Yet still soft enough not to hurt you, but to help you instead.
You nod weakly, feeling your cheeks heat up as he lets you go with visible reluctance. Your throat turns dry again, but now it feels like you need more of that kiss:
"I-I..." you stammer, hands trembling as you grab the mask from the ground. Quickly, you put it back on crookedly, the straps tightening behind your head, and suddenly you can barely see anything.
Mark tries to reach for you — it’s obvious — but before he can, ❪ name ❫ uses their powers, propelling themselves into the sky and far away from there.
Abandoning the damn mission, and leaving Mark behind.
You pretended that none of that happened. And for a few days, it worked.
At night, you found yourself thinking about that damn kiss and blaming yourself, from various angles.
1 ── It was thanks to Mark that you could breathe, but... did it have to happen like that?
2 ── HE HAD A GIRLFRIEND! Did Eve know about this?! God... You felt a certain shame whenever you looked at her, imagining if maybe Mark kissed her like that too. And how Eve would respond.
It was killing you.
In front of everyone, you behaved perfectly fine, as if it was no big deal... Behind closed doors, you kept wondering, your thoughts circling around that soft kiss, imagining the possibility of what would've happened if it had continued.
You also refused (kind of politely) to work with Invincible. It was a matter of honor: only greeting him, because let’s be honest, he had seen your face and that haunted your mind.
But... surprisingly enough, Mark hadn’t told anyone. He stayed just as friendly and gentle as always, and it made your stomach twist every single time you saw him.
Maybe it was hunger.
You had no idea that everything seemed like a carefully crafted plan between the two of them, because right after the kiss, Mark had rushed to tell Eve about it, and somehow, it filled them both with overwhelming excitement.
It wasn’t common, or normal... They had never wanted to involve a third person in their relationship, it had never even crossed their minds... But seeing you so shy, oblivious to Rex’s flirting, avoiding fame and even friendship, made them feel... thrilled.
Thrilled to corrupt you.
It started with Eve. She noticed how your suit hugged your body, and that time you picked her up? She had gone shaky, though she hid it well...
Eve knew Mark had been staring too much too. After all, who wouldn’t? You were so helpful and kind, someone who would do anything and be such a perfect source of affection for both of them.
Armed with that knowledge — and the kiss — Eve decided to make the first move, since Mark didn’t want to scare you away.
She became more persistent, getting closer during meetings, brushing against you “by accident,” or complimenting you with a casual:
“Wow, your perfume smells really good.”
It always left you feeling lightheaded.
It was pretty obvious that you had some sort of internal panic whenever Eve complimented you. Honestly, who wouldn’t?
The situation only got worse, and you wondered whether you had done something terrible in a past life or prayed too hard for this, because Eve had a boyfriend! And she was dating the guy who kissed you weeks ago and ugh—
“❪ name ❫,” Eve places a delicate hand on your shoulder, and you can feel the warmth radiating from her. Her scent is so strong, floral, that your body shivers. “Need some help?”
She stretches slightly, leaning over your chair. Her hair falls beside you while your fingers tremble over that pathetic mission clause paper Cecil had given you earlier.
And you feel it...
The brush of her chest against your shoulder.
You swallow hard, feeling like a thirteen-year-old boy in the peak of puberty, your eyes widening beneath your mask — thank God you were wearing one.
“U-Uh...” You bite your lower lip as Eve grabs the pen beside you, the touch so ghostlike and feverish that your whole body tenses.
How was this even possible?!
You suppress a sound and jolt upright, Eve pulling away in the process — a playful smile resting on her face.
“I-I’m fine!” you stammer and... step away. Leaving the damn paper behind, your heart pounding so fast it felt like you had just run a marathon.
Eve lets out a soft laugh, her green eyes drifting toward Mark, who was standing in the corner, and in that moment...
There’s a confirmation.
You would be theirs soon.
The automatic doors of the GDA dormitories open, revealing the empty space ── Monster Girl had gone to spend that Friday at home, Robot was probably out on some mission, DupliKate at some party, and Rex... Better not even mention him.
In other words, you had the dorms all to yourself that day.
Normally, that was how things went ── you would either talk to Robot or simply lock yourself in your room, only coming out to grab the fast food you ordered or to go on some mission Robot asked you to handle.
Sometimes Rex would show up, being annoying as usual, but you ignored him... Too exhausted to argue back against his stupid jokes and sexual comments that took days for you to even process.
The common area lights up as you pass the motion sensors, villain blood staining your suit. Your fingers hook onto the edge of your mask, pulling it off and revealing your face: tired, yet calm.
Your footsteps are quiet as you walk toward the bathroom ── exhaustion seems to take over your body more with every step, and your mind feels delayed, the automatic door sliding open and revealing something you never expected.
Mark and Eve.
They didn’t sleep there, well... Mark had his own house where he lived with his mom, and Eve lived with her parents too ── they were the lucky ones in this arrangement, having homes of their own and not needing to deal with extra expenses in those dorms.
Your ❪ color ❫ eyes fix on the scene in front of you... Your throat goes dry, the steam blocking almost 80% of your vision, but the little you can see makes your stomach twist.
In a good way.
In a delicious way.
Your throat tightens when you see Mark’s hands gripping Eve’s thighs. Both naked, kissing while Eve’s hands hold tightly onto the back of his neck. The kiss is firm, yet soft... Just the way you sometimes imagined.
You choke on your breath when Mark turns his head ── giving a smug little grin before landing such a loud smack against Eve’s ass that it makes her moan.
The sound echoes, and she looks over too, but you react faster, turning your back to them:
“S-Sorry! I didn’t know anyone was here!” you stammer, your legs feeling like jelly as you stumble toward the door, but... Eve uses her atomic powers, creating a pink barrier.
Your brows furrow, and a shock runs through your body when you realize that indestructible barrier is standing in front of you... As if stopping you from leaving.
“❪ name ❫,” Eve calls softly. “I’m sorry... We didn’t know you were coming here today.”
Your fingers fumble as you put your mask back on, afraid that even Eve might end up seeing you and that your disguise would completely fall apart.
“N-No problem!” you stutter, hearing them move behind you. “I-I didn’t know it would be you two specifically here.” you swallow hard, biting your lower lip.
“You can turn around... ❪ name ❫,” Mark’s voice calms you, yet also tempts you. “We have towels on.”
“I-I think it’s better if I just go—”
“No.” Mark’s voice is firm. “Let’s talk... What do you say?” You can practically hear that damn smile on his face, and that scares you far too much... Yet makes you want it.
And you turn around ── your hands trembling for the first time, your shoulders tensed as you notice: Eve with a towel carefully wrapped around her body, revealing her elegant, firm legs... And Mark with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his toned abs on display.
It’s too much.
Your brain seems to enter an intense panic, as if you were looking at a forbidden image:
"Ugh..." You swallow hard. "E-Eve... Can you open th─" your green eyes lock, and she shakes her head in refusal.
The redhead raises her hand, her powers propelling you forward ── your eyes widen beneath the mask as you end up standing in front of Eve, just a few steps away.
"❪ name ❫, we aren't going to bite you," Eve begins softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Cute. Sexy. "Unless you ask us to..." And Mark laughs behind her, stepping closer.
"Tell me... Honey," his tone of voice is low. "Have you ever slept with two people at the same time?"
Error.
Panic.
That was definitely not in your plans... Only in dreams? Yes, but... Not like this.
Obviously, you had had sexual encounters before, but they were so... Minimal... Vague. A few kisses here, some making out there... But it was with your best friend Jessie, during a late-night lesbian whim.
Nothing that felt this... Real.
"I-I─" you stammer, swallowing hard as Eve steps even closer.
"Are you going to let us take care of you? Or... Do you just want Mark?" Eve asks playfully, winking.
Heavens, Mark had talked. He had definitely talked about the kiss, and this whole situation.
Your throat closed up.
"I-I'm sorry, it was─" Eve steps even closer, cutting you off.
"I don't want apologies," she presses her finger against your lips over the mask, smiling. "I want my kiss right now... Can I have it?"
Silence.
Mark moves decisively, stopping behind you ── his hand is swift on your hips, and you shiver as you feel his rough fingers caressing the area.
"Let Eve see you... Honey," Mark whispers right into your ear. "Let her appreciate you too, hm?" His hands slide up to your waist, squeezing, and heavens... It feels incredible.
You could easily just run away, or shatter that pink barrier with a kick, but no... You stayed. And you liked that you stayed.
Quickly, you nod, bordering on desperation, and watch Eve's eyes gleam amidst the steam of the shower. Droplets of water roll down her pale skin, disappearing into her cleavage, and your throat goes drier than the Sahara desert.
However, Mark is the one doing it all.
He removes your mask with an impetuous gentleness, his fingers moving toward the edge of the fabric, and you feel your body tense up at his touch.
First, it reveals your chin ── and you freeze completely, swallowing hard as you feel the dense air of the room penetrate your skin, giving you goosebumps.
Then your nose, and finally, those ❪ color ❫ eyes end up locking onto Eve.
Eve catches her breath, observing your face meticulously ── as if she were looking at a masterpiece. As if she were looking at something so utterly enchanting that she couldn't look away:
"Why do you hide yourself?" She asks softly, stepping even closer. "Heavens, ❪ name ❫..." She takes a deep breath, moving closer still. Your breaths mingle as your lips hover near each other, brushing lightly.
You don't know how to react; you just stand there, lost in those eyes so green and bright they look like twin emeralds.
Eve wastes no time ── not anymore, especially as she leans in, kissing your lips tenderly.
It isn't feverish like Mark's, or desperate. It is appetizing, calm as clouds... You feel your body melt into that kiss, Eve controlling the movements, her soft hands sliding toward your chin, tilting it up for the kiss.
She tastes sweet.
You moan during the kiss when Mark kisses the back of your neck, a movement so swift it makes you see stars. There are two people adoring you at this moment, and you don't know who to focus on first.
Eve bites your bottom lip, asking for entry with her tongue. She sucks on your lower lip, while Mark finds the zipper of your uniform, sliding it down delicately and exposing your back.
But you don't freeze anymore. You just allow yourself to feel... Your hands move to the back of Eve's neck, pulling her in, swallowing the small moans she lets out mid-kiss.
And Mark smiles.
You can feel it.
His kisses descend, occasionally, along the base of your neck. They are tiny flames that leave you drenched in an absurd desire, your back arching slightly as he moves further down.
Eve smiles into the kiss, sliding her tongue along your jawline and sucking at every inch of skin:
"Just let us take care of you, alright?"
Her voice is soft like honey, the kind that flows through your veins and makes you shiver occasionally, nodding like a deer in the headlights of her eyes.
Mark is gentle when he pulls your uniform down, revealing even more of your back... The sports bra supports your breasts, and his fingers flex on your jaw, pulling you close and giving you a kiss ── a bit aggressive, desperate, as if he had been waiting days, hours, or years for that moment.
He just invades your mouth with his tongue while Eve kisses your collarbone, love and desperation walking side by side in that simulation of affection.
Eve laughs when she nips at your skin, a particularly feverish tone upon noticing the slight swelling that remains from biting the skin:
"Careful, Mark," she exclaims, her fingers flexing behind your back, decisively finding the clasp of your bra. "You're going to end up scaring our woman," the way she says it, prophesying the 'our woman' leaves you goosebumps, moaning pathetically against Mark's lips.
He laughs, biting your bottom lip hard while Eve simply manages to unfasten your bra clasp in seconds.
The bra falls to the damp floor, your body shivering as your breasts are exposed ── your hands tremble at the unlikely nudity, but she is cleverer, her fingers flexing on your wrists and pulling you to the side:
"Calm down," she whispers, her irises simply focused right there, on your nipples. "I told you... Let us take care of it," and she crouches down a bit, placing a small kiss in the cleavage of your breasts.
Your body trembles, obviously. Her tongue glides, slathering that region in an extremely sexy, focused manner, her slender fingers taking one breast in hand and sucking.
A moan breaks out.
Mark smiles behind you, helping you remove the rest of the uniform. You just inhale, your eyes rolling back as Eve licks your nipple, playing with her tongue:
"Fuck," you shiver, your body contorting slightly while Eve's other hand squeezes your other breast, rolling your nipple between her fingers.
The grip isn't rough, it's affectionate ── and it leaves your legs weak from the way she treats you. With so much love, yet with so much passion.
Mark lowers himself to the level of your butt, now bare, his large hands spreading the cheeks while he observes, your vagina slightly wet, shiny under his dark eyes. Your tiny and innocent anus hovering just above.
"Darling," Mark inhales deeply, licking his lips. "She is so wet, and you're only sucking her breasts," his index finger slides over your folds, and you tremble.
"A—And," you stammer, your legs shaking and feeling so exposed. Mark says nothing, just gives your butt a kiss, nipping it. "Ah!"
"You make such beautiful noises, my dear," Eve releases your nipple from her mouth, saliva dripping from the tip in an erotic way. "Let Mark take care of you too, okay? He is going to eat you out so good."
And you couldn't say no to that.
The guy behind you just agrees, on his knees and starting to kiss the back of your thighs, everything being militarily thought out, the kisses, the touches so affectionate, yet at the same time certain and precise, as if they had already rehearsed it.
Eve's gaze fixes on your other breast, going back to licking. Your mouth only lets out moans, pathetic, low, as if you were in a state of pure pleasure and torpor.
Mark growls a little below you, putting his nose against your buttocks and sniffing — he seems almost animalistic, as he quickly stands up and picks you up in his arms.
He does this as if it were nothing, carrying your naked, trembling body over to the wooden bench, placing you like an offering, lying on the rustic wooden bench, and spreading your legs.
The exposure is too intense.
Mark growls again, like a caged animal as he crouches, pulling your hips toward him and exposing your drenched vagina even more:
"Fuck," he licks his lips, Eve approaching and crouching beside him. The situation is embarrassing — both of them staring at you, staring at that wetness with passion in their eyes.
Mark's pupils are dilated, and Eve maintains that malicious smile.
Her fingers are precise as she plays with your folds, spreading them and revealing even more of your exposed pussy:
"Look at this, Mark," she smiles, and Mark gulps, as if he were thirsty. "Eat her out, my dear..." Eve smiles, caressing Mark's hair and urging him to go deeper. "Make her come with your tongue, alright?"
And he obeys like a puppy.
Mark flattens his tongue, driving it with precise direction toward your clitoris, circling it, while saliva pools on the tip of his tongue.
You scream, obviously ── because you barely even knew about your clitoris, that slight hesitation to touch yourself from being raised in such an inconstant and reserved countryside.
"F—Fuck!" You gasp, your head falling back in the process. It's a dull thud, but your eyes close not from that, but rather from Mark's masterful eating.
Eve stands up, walking over to your face, and smiles:
"Can you suck me too, darling?"
How could you say no?
You agree, pathetically, her tone of voice being instigating, your head nodding frantically up and down ── as if you needed that too.
Eve smiles, that same gentle and loving smile reserved for Mark, now, reserved for you.
She carefully removes the towel, which slips over her feet... You let out an involuntary groan, writhing under Mark's firm grip, him going back to sucking your clitoris with an uncommon force while opening your folds with his fingers.
You are left breathless, as much by the sight of Eve naked ── medium breasts, pink nipples, a slim waist, and a compact hip matching her body. Her skin sprinkled with freckles, she looks like an angel.
"Fuck," Mark growls against your pussy. "You are tight as hell, babe," he smiles. "But you're so lubricated... I wonder if you'll handle my dick?" He pants, his pupils still dilated as he circles your entrance with his large, rough finger.
Holy shit.
Your legs close voluntarily, however, Mark is faster ── holding the inside of your thighs while his tongue goes back to sliding through your folds.
Meanwhile, Eve opens her legs, positioning herself above you ── her pink little pussy hovering over your face like an obscene invitation.
"Come on, darling," she says, lowering herself to your mouth while you continue to groan pathetically against Mark's tongue. You're going to cum very, very soon. "Suck me while Mark sucks you... It was always your desire, wasn't it?"
You don't answer, nor do you really move ── Mark's finger enters your wet cavity and you groan louder, in a whimpering way.
Until... A slap was delivered to your face, bringing you back to a slight reality.
Eve slapped you.
Not hard, but enough for your pussy to squeeze Mark's finger and make him growl at it.
"Fuck... She got tighter..." He pants, shoving in a second finger. "I'm going to have to stretch four fingers into you to be able to fit my dick, darling," he smiles, sliding his tongue over your clitoris while starting to move the two fingers.
Eve smiles, decisively grabbing your jaw:
"So you like being slapped?" She smiles, extremely malicious and wicked. "Come on, my love... Put that tongue to work," and you agree, groaning against her pussy which was now in your mouth. "That's it..." She pants, rolling her eyes. "Be our good girl... And you'll get your reward."
synopsis mark spent six months ranting to his best friend about his ex, never noticing she was in love with him the whole time. When he finally moves on and admits he likes her, it feels like the moment she’s been waiting for—yet all the nights of pain and unspoken feelings make it hard for her to accept so easily.
genre — mild angst, fluff, bestfriends to lovers, smut
pairing — idol/bestfriend!mark lee x non-idol! f.reader
warning — swearing, slight angst (if u squint), mentions of alcohol, mark is insufferable, smut, dom!mark, p in v, no protection, pussy eating
note — ayeee part 2 is here, i put my blood sweat tears in this, i tried to put more angst but like who could reject mark...?
playlist — pour up by dean, temperature by psychic fever, love by dean (ft syd), baby dont like it by nct 127, house of cards by bts, aftertaste by anderson paak and dean, heaven by red velvet - irene&seulgi
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
mark had been leaning lazily against the kitchen counter, phone in hand while half-listening to whatever story chenle was loudly telling from the couch. but the second his eyes met yours, the entire room seemed to blur out around him. his posture straightened slightly. you looked tired, visible dark circles around your eyes. signs of no sleep, only because of him.
not the usual “i stayed up too late” kind of tired. the kind that sat behind your eyes and dragged your shoulders down no matter how hard you tried to hide it behind that small smile and somehow, that was the first thing he noticed.
not your clothes.
not your messy hair.
not the fact that you looked like you’d rushed over without thinking twice...
just you
your presence relieves him to ease
his expression softened almost instantly.
“hey,” mark says quietly, voice gentler compared to the chaos around him, you suddenly become hyperaware of yourself under his gaze. the oversized hoodie you threw on in five seconds. the lack of makeup. the exhaustion practically written across your face, and meanwhile he looked unfairly good without even trying, so annoying
your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag as you forced out an awkward laugh. “sorry, i look kinda horrible right now..." the second the words leave your mouth, mark’s brows pull together “what?” he says immediately, almost offended by the statement itself, haechan snorts from somewhere behind you. “oh brother, here he goes.”
mark ignores him completely, eyes still fixed on you,“you don’t look horrible." the sincerity in his voice makes your stomach twist unexpectedly. “you look tired,” he corrects softly. “there’s a difference, exams must've drained you out... right?"
for a moment, nobody says anything, then chenle groans dramatically from the couch. “god, this is actually painful to watch..." “shut up,” mark mutters without even looking away from you, earning loud gasps from the room, and somehow, despite the exhaustion weighing you all day, the tightness in your chest eases just a little.
you nodded at him, with a slight smile, looking down, getting used to the chaos, "how have you been..?" you said, exhaling.
not how have promotions been.
not how’s the solo stuff going.
just him.
mark’s smile falters slightly, only for a second but you notice it because he understood exactly what you meant. the air between you suddenly feels heavier, filled with all the things neither of you had properly talked about since that happened. the distance. the silence. the awkward drifting apart neither of you seemed to know how to fix.
mark exhales quietly, glancing down before nodding once. “i’ve been…” he pauses, lips pressing together briefly. “busy, i guess.”you give a small nod, though both of you know that wasn’t really an answer, haechan, surprisingly, notices the shift immediately.
his playful expression softens as he exchanges a quick look with chenle before loudly clapping his hands together. “anyway!,” he announces dramatically, standing up from the couch. “chenle, help me order food, let's go, let's go!"
“why do i have to help”
“because i said so.”
“that’s literally dictatorship"
their bickering grows distant as they drag the others toward the kitchen, leaving you and mark standing awkwardly near the hallway, the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, it's just careful. careful of how things are going to turn out.
mark finally looks back at you fully, eyes softer now, “how about you?” he asks quietly. “you disappeared for a while.." your throat tightens a little at that, because disappearing sounded a lot nicer than admitting you just didn’t know how to be around him anymore after the sudden distance between you.
you hesitate for a moment before finally forcing the words out, “…could we talk somewhere quiet?” your voice is soft, nearly drowned out by the music blasting in every corner of the house but mark hears every syllable clearly and then you look at him.
really look at him.
there’s something in your expression that makes his stomach twist painfully tight, nervousness or exhaustion, maybe even hurt and suddenly all he can think about is how easily he’d give you anything if you just asked.
his jaw tightens slightly before he nods. “yeah,” he says immediately, quieter now. “of course.” he doesn’t even hesitate, mark gestures for you to follow him, slipping past the chaos of the living room while the others are too distracted arguing over food to notice much. though as you pass by, haechan definitely notices the tension between you two, his eyes narrow towards you two suspiciously, a smear smirk appears, maybe tonight. he'll forget about rina.
the stairs creak softly beneath your footsteps as you follow mark upstairs, farther away from the noise, the laughter, the bright lights downstairs. the air feels different up here, calmer. heavier, more dangerous somehow.
mark leads you toward the small balcony connected to the hallway, sliding the glass door open carefully before stepping aside for you first, cold night air immediately brushes against your skin, goosebumps rise.
for a second, neither of you speak.
mark leans lightly against the railing beside you, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants as he watches you carefully from the corner of his eye, he hesitantly speaks, "so, what’s up..? kinda scaring me there hah.." his awful attempt at lightening the mood, attempting a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and somehow, that only makes this harder.
“that day…”
the second those words leave your mouth, mark’s posture changes instantly, subtly but you noticed it. his shoulders straighten, fingers curling tighter against the railing beside him while his gaze drifts away from yours toward the city lights in the distance.
you swallow nervously, staring down at your shoes instead, “i wasn’t in the right mind,” you continue carefully, voice quieter now. “i mentioned her and…i messed things up between us, right?” the memory still made your stomach twist unpleasantly.
you risk a glance at him for barely a second before looking away again, “i’m sorry,” you murmur. “i crossed the line.”your fingers fidget anxiously with the sleeve covering your hands.
“…but a part of that wasn’t a mistake.”
silence.
cold air brushes past the balcony, but it suddenly feels hard to breathe, mark slowly turns his head toward you. his brows are furrowed deeply now. no, he wasn't angry, which would be more understandable and easier instead, he looks frustrated. conflicted.
his jaw clenches slightly as he watches you stand there apologizing to him like you’d committed some unforgivable crime, it irritates him instantly because why would you apologize to him like this? why were you looking at the floor like you were waiting for him to confirm your worst fears? mark exhales sharply through his nose before speaking.
“stop doing that.”
your head lifts slightly. “what?”
“acting like everything was your fault.”
his voice is low now, controlled, but there’s clear irritation underneath it, he pushes himself off the railing, taking a step closer. “yeah, mentioning her hurt,” he admits honestly, eyes fixed on you. “but you know what pissed me off more?”you blink up at him quietly.
“the fact, you're not wrong.
his expression tightens, and he leans back against the railing once more, fingers rubbing tiredly over his jaw as if admitting this out loud physically exhausted him.
“it’s me,” he says with a bitter laugh. “i’m the stuck-up idiot who couldn’t move on from my ex.” his words come slower now. more honest “and i tormented you because of it.” your brows pull together immediately. “mark—”, “no,” he cuts in softly, shaking his head. “let me say it.”
the city lights reflect faintly in his eyes as he looks away again, visibly frustrated with himself “i kept comparing everything to the past without realizing it.” he swallows harshly. “and you were the one who had to deal with that version of me.” the guilt in his voice makes your chest ache
“those things you said to me that night…” he pauses. “they pissed me off because they were true" you stared at him silently. “i hated hearing it,” he admits. “but after you left, i kept thinking about it over and over again.”
the wind blows softly through his hair, but neither of you move. mark finally looks at you again then, expression calmer now. vulnerable in a way you rarely ever saw from him, “you know what the worst part is?” he asks quietly.
your throat tightens. “what?”
his gaze lingers on you for a second too long before he answers. “i didn’t even realize how important you are to me until you stopped being around.
your eyes widened after those words left mark's mouth, and you let out an exhale, throat dry as a desert. "i don't understand what you're trying to say ..." you narrow your eyes at him. mark musters up courage, to look you in the eyes, seeing the reflection in your eyes of himself, made him realize what he was about to do was pretty shameless. he hesitantly speaks, "y/n, i like you."
your throat tightening, realizing the weight of his words. they relentlessly repeat in your head as mark waves his hand in front of your eyes, "y/n? are you uncomfortable? i'm truly sorry. i- uh, this wasn't supposed to happen—" you cut him off, "no! mark, what? what are you saying...?" you frowned at him, feeling this strange emotion between the line of happiness and unfairness.
mark's expression falls immediately at the confusion on your face, his hand drops back to his side awkwardly, trying to figure out if he ruined everything in the span of ten seconds.
"I—, uh let's forget this happened.." he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding into his voice now. you let out an emotionless laugh, more like a huff. Your brows are furrowed tightly as you stare him, emotions visibly fighting behind your eyes.
"you're so unfair. you're so selfish mark. you know, every time you would start talking about rina, how'd I feel? i would feel like shit, like every word of yours would feel like stepping on shreds of broken glass.
your throat tightens painfully, and silence crashes between you. mark can’t even interrupt because deep down, he knows you’re right. you finally look back at him, eyes glossy under the balcony lights. “for the longest time,” you admit quietly, “i thought these feelings of mine were completely one-sided.”
the confession knocks the breath out of him. his lips part slightly, but nothing comes out because while you were sitting alone convincing yourself you never stood a chance, he was too busy being stuck in the past to even recognize what was right in front of him.
“y/n…” his voice comes out rougher than before. you immediately wipe at your face in frustration, embarrassed by the tears threatening to form. mark’s chest aches so sharply it almost feels unbearable. you laugh weakly at yourself, shaking your head.
“this makes me even more pathetic.”
“don’t,” he says immediately.
his voice is firm this time, he steps closer before stopping himself halfway, like he’s scared touching you right now would only make things worse. his eyes are locked onto yours now, filled with guilt and something heavier.
before you can step away again, mark’s hands gently grip your sides, careful but desperate at the same time. the sudden closeness makes your breath hitch. his eyes search yours frantically, and seeing you like this hurt because of him, crying because of him feels like something physically crushing down on his chest.
“y/n, i’m sorry…”
his voice breaks completely, and your expression falters instantly because mark rarely cries. but now tears are slipping down his face faster than he can stop them, his grip on you tightening slightly like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he loosens it even a little “i know,” he chokes out shakily. “i know i was selfish.”
he laughs bitterly through the tears, shaking his head at himself.
“i’m such a goddamn fucking loser.”
“mark—”
“but i don’t wanna lose you,” he says quickly, voice cracking again. “please.”
the desperation in his voice hurts more than it should and then, almost cruelly timed, faint music drifts up from downstairs — some sad love song. you stare at him for a second before a hollow laugh escapes your lips at the sheer irony of it all
mark lets out a watery laugh too, forehead dropping briefly against your shoulder as if the emotional weight of the night is finally catching up to him. “perfect timing,” you mutter weakly.
A shaky laugh leaves him despite everything and somehow that tiny sound seems to break you even more. he pulls back just enough to look at you again, eyes red, cheeks damp.
“i know i don’t deserve this,” he says quietly. “i know i probably confused you and hurt you more than anyone should.” his thumb brushes lightly against your sleeve near your waist, hesitant. “but if there’s even a small chance…” he swallows hard. “i wanna do this properly.”
you stare at him silently.
the cold night air, the distant music, the city lights below everything suddenly feels strangely blurry compared to the way he’s looking at you right now, like you’re the only thing he can focus on.
"so..?" you sniff, wiping the residue tears under your eyes as you let out a small laugh, "so when are you asking me to become your girlfriend?"
silence
mark blinks once, then twice.
"what?" he breathes out, staring at you in disbelief. "what." you laugh again, this time more real, your cheeks burn immediately under his gaze. "don't make me repeat myself twice..." suddenly embarrassed, "it's embarrassing.."
his mouth opens slightly before closing again, and the realization then hits him fully. his eyes widened so fast, it made you laugh. "oh my god." he mumbles to himself.
"uhm, okay wait– let me start thid again -" he rushes, hands trembling like he genuinely couldn't believe this is real. he wipes quickly at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, still looking emotional and overwhelmed at once.
"uh– so, would you let me be your boyfriend..?" he looks at you with hearts in his eyes, you wanted to devour him right there and then. he nodded, way eagerly then you expected, as tears escaped your eyes.another tear slips down your cheek as you laugh softly at his reaction, overwhelmed by everything all at once
before you can say anything else, he pulls you into him suddenly, arms wrapping tightly around your waist while yours instinctively circle around his shoulders. mark laughs shakily against your hair, holding you like he’s scared this moment will disappear if he loosens his grip. and honestly, you did the same. The tension between you both, building walls between you two, is cracking apart.
mark's forehead dropping against yours, he keeps looking at you with that same disbelieving expression, like he still can’t understand how this ended with you in his arms instead of walking away from him.
then, after a moment, his ears turn faintly red “…can i kiss you?” he asks softly and somehow, after everything tonight, that shy question is what finally makes your heart completely melt.
you don't say yes.
you don't waste a single second with words because words have kept you apart for far too long. you instantly go in. how could you reject him when this exact moment is what you have been craving for months, losing sleep over, and dreaming about. you lean in, sliding your hands up his chest to grip the fabric of his hoodie, and close the gap between your lips.
mark lets out a sharp, muffled breath against your mouth, a tiny sound of pure shock, but the hesitation lasts for less than a second. The moment your lips meet his, his grip on your waist tightens, pulling you flush against him as he catches his balance. the shy, desperate boy disappears, replaced entirely by the boy who has been wanting you just as desperately.
the kiss is warm, deep, and heavy with months of unspoken longing. his lips are soft but demanding, parting slightly as he tilts his head to kiss you deeper, his thumb smoothing over the fabric of your shirt, anchoring you to him.
when you finally pull back just enough to breathe, your foreheads resting together, mark’s eyes are still closed, a breathless, dazed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His ears are redder than ever, but he doesn't look disbelieving anymore. he feels relieved.
mark narrows his eyes on your shirt, and he opens his mouth before closing it again. you understood what he meant as you pulled your shirt off with no hesitation. mark's eyes widened at your bold action. he was memorised at your almost bare state. his breath hitched in his throat, the words he had been trying to form dying instantly. his mind completely short-circuiting as his gaze locks onto you.
"y/n," he breathes out, his voice dropping an octave, rough and completely stripped of his usual hesitation. the crimson flush on his ears spreads down his neck, but the shy restraint from moments ago vanishes entirely, replaced by a dark, intense focus.
"you're going to drive me crazy," he murmurs, you sat there, bare-chested save for a lace bra that struggled to contain the swell of your breasts. mark's eyes widened. he looked as if he had been struck. his gaze travelled slowly, hungrily, over the curve of your waist and the pale slope of your chest. he eyefucked you with a raw, undisguised intensity that made your stomach flip.
he reached out, his hand trembling slightly. he didn't touch your skin at first; his fingers hovered just an inch away from your shoulder. then, he slid his hand around to your back. you leaned forward, granting him access. you felt the tips of his fingers fumbling with the hook of your bra. there was a sharp click, and the tension of the lace snapped.
the bra loosened, and you let it slide down your arms. You were completely bare from the waist up, your nipples peaking in the chill of the room. mark let out a low, guttural sound, a moan that started deep in his chest. he reached out and gave you a look of approval and cupped your breast, his palm warm and heavy. he squeezed, his thumb brushing over the hardened tip of your nipple.
"you are so beautiful," mark murmured.
"you're way more beautiful," you whispered.
mark lunged forward, his mouth crashing against hers. the kiss was not gentle. it was a collision of weeks of repressed desire. he tasted of mint and desperation. his tongue pushed into your mouth, seeking you with an aggressive hunger. You both exchanged saliva in a messy, wet slurry, breaths mingling in frantic gasps. mark's hand moved from your breast to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull her closer, deepening the kiss until you felt lightheaded.
you let out a whimper into his mouth, your hands sliding down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. you could feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing against the soft cotton, a thick, insistent weight. you tugged at the waistband, the cotton tensing under the pressure.
"are you sure?" mark gasped, breaking the kiss for a second to breathe. you nodded almost instantly,
mark didn't argue. he pushed you back onto the sofa, his body following yours. He hovered over you, his eyes scanning your naked torso once more. he lowered his head, his lips trailing down your neck to the valley between your breasts. He licked a path of fire toward your left nipple, his tongue swirling around the areola before he took the peak into his mouth.
you arched your back, a loud moan escaping you. the sensation of his warm, wet tongue suctioning your nipple sent a jolt of electricity straight to your crotch. you felt a sudden, heavy gush of wetness between your thighs, your pussy aching for him.
"mark, please," you whimpered. mark moved lower, his hands sliding under your pants, pushing the fabric down to your ankles. he found the thin lace of your panties and ripped them to the side with a sudden, violent motion. he didn't remove them he simply pushed them aside to expose your dripping folds.
he leaned down, his face inches from your heat. he inhaled deeply, the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils. "oh my god," Mark whispered, mouth open in awe, he pressed his tongue against your clit, a sharp, direct stroke that made you scream. he began to lap at you, his tongue moving in fast, rhythmic circles. He used his fingers to spread your lips wide, exposing the pink, swollen walls of your vagina.
he pushed two fingers deep inside you, feeling the tight, hot squeeze of your muscles.
the sound of it filled the quiet room—a wet, squelching noise as his fingers slid in and out of your soaking wet walls. your hips bucked uncontrollably, your hands gripping the velvet of the sofa, your knuckles white.
"i can't... i can't take it," you gasped, your voice breaking, mark looked up at you, his lips glistening with your juices. he quickly stood up and shed his clothes, his sweatpants and boxers falling in a heap. when he stood before you, his cock was fully erect, a thick, veiny pillar of flesh that pulsed with every heartbeat. beads of clear pre-cum leaked from the tip, glistening in the dim light.
you reached out, your fingers wrapping around the shaft. he was hot, the skin stretched tight. you slid your hand up and down, feeling the ridge of his tip. mark groaned, his head snapping back.
you shifted, sliding your legs around his waist and pulling him toward you. you guided the head of his cock to your entrance, the wetness of your pussy acting as a lubricant.
you lowered yourself slowly, the thick head of his penis stretching you open. you felt a moment of resistance, a fullness that bordered on pain, before you slid down completely, taking all of him in one deep, sliding motion.
a, wet squelch echoed as your bodies connected. you let out a long, shuddering breath, your eyes fluttering shut. he filled you completely, hitting your cervix with a dull thud that made your toes curl. "baby, fuck..." Mark groaned, his voice sounding strangled. "god, you feel incredible."
he gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, and began to thrust upward. the motion was slow at first, a steady grind that focused on the friction of your pelvic bones rubbing together. then, the pace quickened.
the sound of your bodies became a rhythmic percussion, lewd sounds of skin slapping on each other, the slap of his balls against the lower curve of your pelvic, the wet shlicking of his cock sliding through your cream. with every thrust, air was pushed out of your pussy, creating small, popping sounds that added to the raw intensity of the act.
"harder!," you urged, your voice a ragged whisper.
mark obeyed. he flipped you over, pinning you face-down into the pillows. he entered you from behind, his cock sliding back into you with a loud, wet plunge. the angle allowed him to go deeper, his length burying itself into you until there was no space left between you.
he hammered into you, his movements becoming frantic and erratic. the vigor of his thrusts caused his cock to slip out almost entirely, the head glancing off your outer lips before slamming back inside with a heavy thud.
the friction was intense, the heat building in both of you until it felt like you were melting together.
your breasts bounced and jiggled with every impact, your nipples rubbing against the fabric of the sofa. you could hear the sounds of your passion heavy, synchronized panting, the wet slapping of skin on skin, the way mark's breath hitched every time he hit your sweet spot.
"i'm going to... i'm almost..." mark gasped, his voice trembling.
his hand reached down, his hand finding your clit, squeezing and circling it in a deliciously slow manner. the action pushed you over the edge. you let out a whimper, body stiffening as he continued the double pleasure, your head felt light, toes curling. muffled moans escaped your mouth, as he violated your hole relentlessly.
the knot in your stomach loosening second by second, feeling insane ecstasy, your hips stiffened as you come undone, releasing your juices all over his thighs and the bed sheet, making a mess, mark rode out your orgasm, continuing the frantic thrusts which were getting sloppier by the second, chasing his own orgasm.
he delivered one final, deep thrust. he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing inside you as he erupted. you felt the hot jets of his semen hitting your cervix, wave after wave of thick, warm fluid filling you up. your internal muscles clamped down on him, milking him for every last drop.
you both stayed like that for a long time, locked together, your chests heaving in unison. the only sound in the room was the rhythm of the faint music and the wet, sliding sound as mark slowly pulled out of you.
a mixture of pre-cum, saliva, and semen leaked from your opening, trailing down your thigh in a sticky, white streak. he flopped down next to you, anchoring his arm around your waist.
"i'm sorry, and i love you, y/n." mark whispered.
you laughed, a small, breathless sound. you leaned against his him, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
"i love you way more," you replied.
the heavy silence of the room returns, broken only by the sound of your shared, uneven breathing. both of you are completely tired, with chests heaving and breathing shuddered, completely consumed by the sudden rush of adrenaline and the warmth of each other's embrace.
and unknowingly, you both didn't notice, eyes peeking from the unclosed creaking door, it was haechan and chenle, peeking in, grinning ear to ear. they had their heads stacked one over the other in the tiny crack of the doorframe, witnessing the absolute chaos they had probably been rooting for weeks.
"finally, they did it!" haechan whispered, turning his head towards chenle with a triumphant grin. he adjusted his stance, leaning back slightly while keeping his voice to a low, muffled murmur. "do you think they noticed the songs I put from my go-to sex playlist?"
chenle furrowed his eyebrows, his amused grin instantly dropping into pure annoyance. he looked at him deadpan. "just shut up, dude..."
in which ;; mark tried to smoke for the first time.
cw : sfw, gn! reader, reader is a chainsmoker, reader is chill af, reader called mark "pretty" once, light cursing, alot of smoking, mention of underage smoking, (but reader and mark are 18+), canon-divergence, unestablished relationship, mark got a little crush.
an : i wrote this with an ftm reader who gives off "probably a dude, but i have a job so idrc rn" in mind btw, this was also inspired by those burger mart mark variant on tiktok (unironically my fav mark variant). also i do not promote smoking guys, it is not kewl at all (i wrote this for shit and giggles bcs everyone around me smoke and it fucking sucks).
wc : 935 words.
read on ao3 .ᐟ masterlist.
you're mark's senior at burger mart, and frankly were the one who's assigned to guide him through his trial and training period. mark's first impression of you is that you're a lot nicer than his other coworkers, and judging by the way everyone treats you better than the others— they might share the same thoughts.
"hi, pretty. want some?" you asked in one of your break hour with mark, nudging your open cigarette box toward him but mark politely declined since he didn't smoke, and your eyes widened in surprise at that.
"a high schooler like you doesn't smoke? that's actually pretty impressive."
"really? i don't think it's that impressive. shouldn't that be the bare minimum?" he said bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck while trying very hard not to make eye contact with you.
"yeah, but eh, every single one of my guy classmates smokes. even some of the girls too. you'd be surprised, most kids back in my place have already started smoking since middle school. not something to be proud of though."
"haha… yeah… that's kinda shocking."
oh my god, he's being so awkward right now. you probably thought he was weird as hell now but what he didn't expect is— you lean against the wall beside him. you actually stayed.
"you don't mind if i smoke here, do you?"
"no— no, it's fine! this is kinda the place for smoke breaks anyway."
"cool, i'm just checking. who knows, maybe you have asthma or something. i wouldn't smoke around you if you did."
you let out a laugh and patted mark's back with a strength he definitely didn't expect as it nearly send him forward, and weirdly enough, the unexpected contact made his face burn and his heart doing a little somersault.
"well, good to hear. i can already tell you'll settle in just fine here."
after that day, mark started following you around like a lost puppy. you didn't mind, of course. he was an eager kid— at least he wasn't some bigoted misogynistic asshole, or smelly. your other coworkers teased you for it, but you just rolled your eyes and ignores them while dragging mark along for your break.
"ugh, i'm going on break." you said loudly before roughly pulled off your hat and stomped to the back door.
"wait, i'm coming too!" mark shouted from the kitchen as he quickly followed behind you with a giddy grin on his face making the others snickered behind him.
the back door swung open as you took your regular place right a few feet away from the trashbin and slumped on the wall, not minding the dirty floor before pulling out your cigarette and a lighter.
you lit up your cigarette between your lips as mark settled himself right beside you, he wiggled a little to make himself comfortable on the dirty ground before sighing in content after standing around for hours.
you blew out smoke while mark started to eagerly show you his new séance dog merch collection on his phone. you can tell after a few weeks working with mark, he has been so comfortable around you to the point he started talking about his hobbies and interests while you listened.
the two of you sat close together, shoulders brushing as you leaned in to look at the screen before pulling away to exhale another cloud of smoke.
before this, mark would grimace whenever he smells even just a stench of tobacco, but it seems he’s getting used to the scent since he hangs around you like.. a lot. and now mark weirdly found comfort in the scent of cigarettes.
"is it good?"
"huh?"
"i mean… smoking. is it really that good?"
you stare at his dark brown eyes for a second, there's no judgment nor mocking glint beneath them, just pure curiosity. so you hummed in contemplation.
"honestly? not really. but it is addicting, mark. the chemicals kinda calm my brain down."
"i see."
"you wanna try?"
"huh?"
you offered your already lit cigarette toward him. he visibly flinched, eyes darting between you and the cigarette before letting out a sigh.
"okay. i'll try."
"no pressure, dude, seriously" you said, pulling the cigarette away before his hand could reach it, making mark huff and looking at you with determination.
"no, i wanna try!"
you laughed at the eager look on his face, but he didn't find it funny at all. he just stared at you with a deadpan until you finally relented and handed him the cigarette.
he stared at the stick between his fingers for a second before taking a long drag. a few seconds later, he tried to blow the smoke out…
…but nothing came out.
"dude! you're supposed to blow it out, not swallow it!"
"i didn't swallow it!" mark defended himself while you laughed so hard that your stomach started hurting. mark pouted as you clutch your stomach before handing the cigarette back to you.
"it's incredible that you're not coughing your ass off right now," you laugh harder, wiping your tears away making mark pout even harder.
"whatever. smoking is stupid anyway." he slumped against the wall while you were still too busy wiping tears from your eyes.
"oh my god, are you sulking?"
"no?" he stared at you with a conflicted expression, but the tips of his ears were completely red with embarrassment.
deciding to spare him a little mercy, you slumped back against the wall beside him and and sighed before taking another drag from your cigarette. mark pretended to busy himself by scrolling mindlessly through his phone, but his eyes kept darting between the screen and your lips wrapped around the cigarette.
'does that mean i just indirectly kissed them— no, what the fuck, mark? what are you, five?' mark winced at his own thoughts as heat slowly crawled up his face, burning his whole face red as he duck his head to hide his face under his hat. you definitely will be the death of him.
extra :
.ᐟ mark will definitely ask you to put your cigs out on him after he got his superpower (both of you are alr dating ofc).
.ᐟ sinister! mark : "i said no fucking mustard, stupid."
mark : "..."
reader : "if you solve this without spilling any blood, i will treat you a kids meal!"
[CW] ⚠️ Black[fem] reader, Bitting, blood, sucking, smut, multiple positions, breaking & entering( well it is his house but still), mentioning of death, stalking, licking, Mark's a bit of a creep ngl😆, hair pulling, oral(f receiving), mirror sex, inappropriate use of towels, creampies
{A/n} 《 I don't own any of these pictures and do not take any credit for them and give for credit to their rightful owners.》This story is based off of old horror movies, like Im talking really old. Think 1935 type, black and white moving picture type of old... still in the modern day tho.
Word count: 2.4k
Summery:
Mark has been acting weird lately... like more then his adorkable self. After he came back from that off planet mission that Cecil had sent him on, he has been acting different. And has he always been so... 𝖧𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗋𝗒 ?
😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱
The tv screen screamed with the battle playing on it as you, Oliver, and Debbie watched the old western.
The clock on the wall told you it was far passed 8 and Oliver was seemingly fighting his sleep... he was obviously losing but it was cute to see him try. The sound a crash pulled your attention back to the tv as the antagonist walks into the room as the damsel screamed at his wicked smile.
It was movie night, something you and mark have always done when you were kids and frankly it became a family thing after Nolan and Debbie heard about the fun nights you and their son were having. It was great way to get to know Mark's family... well that is before Nolan went ballistic and went on his spree. Damaging lives as he took more and cared less about the results.
Sometimes, you get calls from mark about that day and how it still effected him to after everything. He feels like so much pressure on him and now with everything thats since then, its just been one thing after the other. And now he's on another mission, he said "Cecil had some bullshit that need to be checked out and mark was just the guy for it". Mark went but was not happy about it, neither were you.
" Hey, I'm going to put Oliver to bed, okay?" Debbie whispered as she raised up with the little aliens arms wrapped around her neck. "Sure, I'll just go put these away." You say gesturing to the cold popcorn and lukewarm drinks.
The paused tv made the house fall silent aside from the clacking of the cups and big bowl hitting the dishwasher racks. You almost didn’t hear Debbie walk up to you as you lifted the door of the dishwasher closed.
"You do you think he is doing out there?" You break the silence as Debbie just closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"I don’t know, I just hope that he is safe and alive." She said almost sounding exhausted before giving a small smile to you.
"Thank you, for your help. It's been awhile since I've seen a familiar friendly, face."
"No problem, there weren’t that many dishes to put up anyway and playing with Oliver is kinda fun fun." You explained giving her a soft smile back as you lean against the counter. Debbie's hushed chuckles setting the vibe of the mood. It was calm and relaxed. There wasn't really much to talk about given you two were already somewhat tired.
"Hey, you um... you can take Mark's room tonight if you like. He said that he won't be back until later tomorrow." Debbie offered you as she begins to walk towards the stairs.
"Thanks."
The steam from the bathroom escaped into the bedroom as you walked out with your towel tied neatly around your body. As you applied lotion onto your legs your phone had begun to vibrate. At first you ignored it, rolling your eyes as it seemed to be just a notification about some store wanting you to buy something. But then as you moved towards your upper body, vibration got... stronger and... stronger. The number was unknown to you but you decided to answer just to see who it was.
"H-hello?" You asked nervously waiting but it was just silen-
The sound made you jump alittle as it just started to go off. You quickly hang up, not wanting to continue with the noise or attempting to try and hear what was being said. You toss the phone on the bed as you breath.
You didn't even know you were holding your breath. You reach for your chest and your heart was beating faster then normal as you try to blink away the feeling of...
Swoosh
The room is dark now and you can't see. The feeling of something over your eyes and mouth freaks you out as you are pulled to something hard-
"Hey, baby. Surprise."
You vision returned as quickly as it had went. "Mark! Don't do that." You exclaimed as you turned to hit him. The sound of his hushed laugh made you smile a little but not enough to make you not be upset. "Okay, okay, I-I'm sorry. Just stop hitting me for a second?" He says grabbing your hands in his own pulling them gently to hug you. "I missed you." Mark professed as he leaned down a little to lean into you.
"Yeah, but apparently not to much to not try and scare me." You retorted, as you warm arms around him. You missed this, the feel of his warmth, his laugh, his skin, his-
"Mark," you paused for a second as you slightly pulled away as much as you could i his arms. "Are you sniffing me?"
"Huh, oh, yeah. I-i mean its been so long since I've held and touched you and been around you that I just... really...need this... okay?"
You had to agree with him on that, you yourself kinda felt the same way so. " Okay, but don't do that again." You gestured to early with a smirk on your face as you hit him knowing it wouldn't hurt him.
"Gotcha.."
That whole night mark talked about everything that happened on the planet and the how different the life was there. "They had this thing where when the men and women wanted to have kids, they would go to their special tent thing, right?" "A tent?" You question as he showered, he had left the door open for you to hear him but you were scrolling on your phone listening to his story on his bed in his t-shirt.
"Yeah well," you the shower knob sneak as marks turns it off. "Its like a tent or something but its much bigger inside." He explained as he steps out the shower fixing his towel around his waist as he used your towel for his hair. "And they had this cool floor bed type thing going on. It was really something."
"Are you using my towel?" You asked as you looked at him and saw him rubbing his head with it.
"I needed extra for my hair." He said in a whiny tone as he walks up to you.
"Well, ask next time okay? I can't use it anymore," you say pouting causing mark to scrunch his face in confusion. "It got your dork cooties on it." You smiled teasingly, as you kneel on the edge of the bed. " Oh, its got my dork cooties, huh?" Mark smirk as he grabbed your face gently with his right hand and pecks your lips.
You warp your arms around his neck after and pull him down into the bed as you both begun to kiss and giggle as you roll him onto his back and get on top of him, thats when you notice his neck.
Mark, is your neck okay? This looks like it could get infected." You point the two marks on his neck, they almost look like bite marks but thats weird-
He rolls you to your back as he speaks through kisses. " It's nothing... to.. worry about.. okay? It'll heal in time. Now... i think... that ... someone needs kisses... somewhere... else. Don't you agree?"
He was staring at you with those eyes. They eyes that you fell for.
So why do they seem different this time.
"You know, I really like this shirt on you." Mark stated as he referred to the t-shirt of his favorite character on it. "Mark, you seen me in this shirt about a million times before."
"Yeah, but its still my favorite Y/n." He said as he raised your legs and begins to kiss them. He started at the ankle and worked his way to your calves. And for a second you could have sworn his side profile made him look like he has...... fangs?
"I love how smooth your skin is," he says splitting your legs apart gently as him caresses the left one on his shoulder putting the other down. "It always smells so sweet." He says reaching behind your knee, nipping at a little. "Y-yeah? Well its called lotion. M-maybe you should to try it sometime on more parts of your body then just one." You retorted with a smirk but it quickly fell as Mark begins to bite a little harder making you throw your head back in a closed mouth moan as he moved down to your thigh.
"Awww, did I hurt my baby?" He questions mockingly. "Don’t worry, your Mark's going make it all better."
He kissed your thigh a few times along with bitting and licking it. The sensation caused your belly to warm up like a furnace. The noises he was pulling out of you made it no better. You tried your best to muffle them but then he got to your pussy..... and it was pretty much game over from there on.
"M-marrrkk- ohhh. Mmmmark, ohhh g-goddd." You grabbed his hair, well more like pushed and pulled it anyway you could. He was a different person when he was between your legs. Still adorable just, .. different.
"C'mon. Yeh, uuse m-me. T- ake cont-l. Don't woowy abou me." Mark said as he holds your hips in his hands. His thumbs applying just the right amount of pressure on your hips as the rest of his fingers dig into your sides.
"Oh fukkk mar- shitttt"
"Yorr gonna cumm soonnn, I feeeell it. C'mon, I kow u caann do it." Mark moved his tongue faster on your button of nerves and push two fingers into you in an in-and-out motion causing you to grab his pillow.
"I'm- I, ohhh fucck. Wait, pls. Marrrkkkk" you mange to whine out as you cum over Mark's face as you began to try and catch your breathe.
He pulls his mouth from you to sit up, as he kneels on the bed, he grabbed your hips pushing them up a bit before he brings both your leg together with one hand as he unties his towel with the other.
"You did so goooodd for me babe. I knew you could do it," you feel something being tied around your ankles, so you peak from under the pillow a little just to see Mark has tied your ankles together with his towel.
"Now, let's play a little game called... whose going to be able to walk tomorrow.
The headboard hit the wall continuously without faltering... Just like Mark.
He was insatiable. Your body, legs and mind felt like it was all about to explode. That warmth from earlier had by round 2 turned into heat and by now your body was scorched. You were on round 5 -ish, maybe 7. You stopped counting after the time he took you on his mirror.
Literally
He laid down his mirror then picked you up and fucked you on it.
You were surprised it didn’t break. Not a Crack or a fracture. You weren't necessarily on it on your hands and knees.. well not the first time anyways. The second time is because he wanted you to suck him off and he wanted to watch your pussy, to see how wet it got from, well sucking.
All it did was catch the cum that he lefted in you the previous round, causing him to have you in the position you are in now.
He has you bouncing on his dick with your hair wrapped around his left fist as he has you sitting on his lap on the edge of the bed with his right hand playing with you bundle of nerves with his mouth on your neck kissing passionately up to your ear.
"You know, i-i uhh. I really misssed you ohhh my-" he feels you tighten around he at his words. "All I c-could do was think about you. The hooooolllddd time I was out there." You whimpered at that.
"I was so lonely at night, until I remembered what you smelt like. What your eyes looked like when you cum. How they flutter shut the closer you get to it. I remembered what you skin felt like and how your body just curls from me when your really close." He narrates as you do that very thing, that familiar feeling coming back amd he was getting there with you.
"But what i really missed is right here," he says as his dick had reached your cervix. "I missed kissing that little thing righttt, there." Mark grunted as you both fell into your orgasms. You fell hard, but Mark just wrapped his arm around your stomach as he bite down on your neck. But you were so out of it you didn't even notice the blood on his mouth as you moaned his name.
"Their not even gonna notice, probably." Mark said as he lays in bed with his eyes still close. The morning sun had already shown it face meaning its time to get going to your early morning classes. But it didn’t occur to you that there was huge purple bite mark on your neck till you looked into the bathroom mirror.
"Mark, it looks un-natural." You retorted back to your boyfriend who had decided to get up and come into the bathroom.
"What, to wear a scarf? Everyone wears scarfs."
"Yeah, but in the middle of april?" You tried to touch the bruise but it stung to your touch.
It didn't hurt this much last night.
"Im sorry, I didn't know i was going so hard. I guess I just got a little carried away." Mark apologized as he wrapped his arms around your body.
"Hey, maybe you can say its a tattoo and its in the healing phase." He suggests as he kisses your head. "Cute, until someone wants to the tattoo and they get a good look at it and my social life goes down the drain, and i have to become friends with the trash because adults are crule and so are evil alien BOYFRIENDS!"
"Okay, okay, slow down. You could tell it like it is. It's just a hickey, nothing more." He says walking into his room to put on his clothes. He had told he would take you to class so you wouldn't be late however that was an hour age and way before you know of the huge bruise on your neck.
"And say i got kissed by a what? A really pissed off mosquito?" You asked sarcastically as you put your jacket on and walk out the bathroom towards Mark pouting.
"Nooo," Mark chuckled. "You can say i have a really great boyfriend who does like to share." You wrapped your arms around his neck as he picked you up bridal style. And walked towards his window.
"What does sharing have to do with any of this?"
"Well what guy in his right mind is going to want to try talk to you with that on your neck?" Mark smirk down at you as you held him closer as you felt your feet leave the ground and the ceiling getting close.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just make sure you dont go to fast. I don't want you messing up my hai-"
Note to self: Find a new boyfriend
_________________________________________
(A/N) So guys how was that? 🤔 This story is the writings of midnight. So pls do not plagiarize, feed to Ai, or translate, thx.
Mark had to cast a spell with Doctor Strange to make sure everyone forgot he's Spiderman, including you, his girlfriend. Slowly but surely, you find your way back to each other.
18.2k, No smut, just fluff and angst. First person pov.
-----------------
Hi. You don’t know me, but you used to.
The first sentence in the letter always starts the same.
Hi. You don’t know me, but you used to.
Mark stares at the sentence until the ink bleeds slightly into the paper, his grip tightening without him realizing. The cheap desk in his one-bedroom apartment wobbles under his elbow. Outside, a siren wails somewhere in the city, fading into the hum of traffic and distant voices.
He exhales slowly.
Starts again.
Hi. You don’t know me but you used to. My name is Mark Lee—
The pen stops.
It always stops there.
Because what comes after that? How do you explain a life that technically never existed? How do you tell someone you were everything to them… without sounding like a stranger who’s lost his mind?
He crumples the paper, tossing it toward the overflowing bin. It misses. They always miss when he's like this.
The room is dim, lit only by a flickering lamp and the glow of the city sneaking through half-broken blinds. His Spider-Man suit hangs by the window, still slightly torn at the shoulder from earlier. He hasn’t had the energy to fix it yet.
He hasn’t had the energy for much of anything lately.
Except watching you.
You pull your jacket tighter around yourself as you walk down your street, the night air brushing cool against your skin. It’s quiet—too quiet, but not enough to make you afraid.
Just… aware.
There’s that feeling again.
Like someone’s there.
Not close enough to hear. Not close enough to see. But there.
Your steps slow for a second, eyes flicking behind you. Empty sidewalk. Parked cars. A streetlight buzzing softly.
You shake your head.
“Get it together,” you mumble to yourself.
And yet…
The feeling doesn’t go away.
From above, Mark doesn’t move.
Perched on the edge of the building across the street, he watches you walk—careful, steady, memorizing every small detail like he’s afraid the world might take this away too.
The way you tuck your hands into your sleeves.
The slight furrow in your brows when you think someone’s watching.
You always used to do that.
His chest tightens behind the mask.
“Yeah,” he whispers softly, voice barely audible under the fabric. “I’m here.”
You can’t hear him.
You’ll never hear him say your name the way he used to.
Not unless—
No.
He shuts the thought down immediately.
That choice is already made. There’s no undoing it. Not without risking everything all over again.
So he stays where he is.
Watching.
Waiting.
Protecting.
Always protecting.
You reach your door, fumbling slightly with your keys. For a brief second, you pause—glancing over your shoulder again. Your eyes scan the empty street, lingering just a little longer this time.
Mark freezes.
Something in his chest sparks—hope, sharp and sudden.
Do you feel it?
Do you remember?
But then you shake your head again, unlocking the door and slipping inside.
The light clicks on.
The curtains close.
And just like that—
You’re gone.
Mark waits a few more seconds. Just in case.
He always does.
Only when he’s sure you’re safe does he move, shooting a web and swinging away into the night. The city rushes past him in blurs of gold and shadow, wind cutting through him, grounding him.
This is what he has now.
Not laughter. Not shared secrets. Not your hand in his.
Just distance.
And duty.
Back in his apartment, the silence feels heavier than before.
He lands softly by the window, peeling off the mask. His hair is damp with sweat, his face drawn, eyes tired in a way sleep hasn’t been able to fix.
He glances at the desk.
At the pile of failed letters.
At your name, scribbled over and over in the margins of crumpled pages.
Mark walks over slowly, sitting down again. He picks up a fresh sheet of paper, smoothing it out carefully like it matters—like this one might be different.
The pen hovers.
For a long time, he just… breathes.
Then...
Hi.
His hand trembles slightly.
You don’t know me but you used to.
A pause.
Longer this time.
His jaw tightens.
My name is Mark Lee.
The words sit there.
Lonely.
Incomplete.
His throat burns.
Because the next sentence should be easy.
It should be something like:
I love you.
But you don’t know him.
And love, coming from a stranger… isn’t love at all.
It’s just confusion. Maybe even fear.
So instead, he writes
I just wanted to make sure you’re safe.
His breath catches.
That, at least, is still true.
That will always be true.
No matter what the world remembers.
No matter what you remember.
Mark leans back slightly, staring at the page like it might somehow fill itself in if he waits long enough.
It doesn’t.
It never does.
Outside, the city keeps moving.
Inside, he sits there,
caught between a past that’s gone
and a love that refuses to leave.
The bell above the café door jingles softly as Mark pushes it open.
Warmth hits him first—the smell of coffee, steamed milk, something sweet in the oven. It’s familiar in a way that aches, like a memory just out of reach.
And then he sees you.
You’re behind the counter, sleeves pushed up slightly, hair falling just the way it always used to when you got busy. There’s a light in your eyes as you laugh—easy, effortless.
But it’s not because of him.
Mark stops mid-step.
There’s a guy leaning against the counter, grinning at you like he’s already decided he likes everything he sees. He says something—Mark can’t hear it from here—but you laugh again, softer this time, a little shy.
Something sharp twists in Mark’s chest.
It’s not fair.
The thought comes fast, ugly, selfish—but he can’t stop it.
That’s my place.
Not in a possessive way. Not like you belong to him.
But that moment—the way you smile, the way your eyes crinkle just slightly—that was something he used to earn. Something he used to protect. Something he used to know.
Now he’s just… standing there.
A stranger.
Invisible in a world he saved.
Mark swallows hard, forcing his feet to move, stepping aside so he’s not blocking the door. He lingers near the wall, pretending to check something on his phone, but his eyes keep drifting back to you.
The guy finally leaves, tossing you one last smile before pushing the door open and disappearing into the street.
Mark exhales.
He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath.
This… this isn’t something he can keep doing.
Watching from rooftops. Standing in corners. Writing letters he’ll never give you.
Living a life where he exists around you—but never with you.
He loves being Spider-Man.
He really does.
Saving people. Doing the right thing. Carrying something bigger than himself—it matters.
But he matters too.
Or at least… he used to.
Mark straightens slightly, something shifting in his chest. Not the sharp ache this time—but something steadier.
A decision.
I can’t have what we had, he thinks.
But maybe… I can have something.
Even if it’s small.
Even if it’s just 'hi.'
He doesn’t remember leaving the café.
Only the rush of wind against his face as he swings through the city, faster than usual, like he’s chasing something before he loses his nerve.
Back in his apartment, he lands a little harder than intended.
The room looks the same. Feels the same.
But he doesn’t sit down this time.
Doesn’t reach for a pen.
Instead, he moves.
Quick. Purposeful.
The mask comes off, tossed aside. He runs a hand through his hair, stepping into the small bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror.
For a second… he almost doesn’t recognize the person looking back.
“Okay,” he mutters quietly. “Okay.”
His voice sounds strange without the filter of the suit. Too raw. Too real.
He fixes his hair—again, and again, until it sits just right. Changes his shirt twice before landing on the black one.
The one you loved.
You used to say it made him look soft.
He hesitates for half a second—then reaches for the cologne. Just a little. Not too much.
His hands are shaking.
“Relax,” he whispers, letting out a breath that doesn’t quite steady him.
This shouldn’t be harder than fighting villains.
But it is.
Because this time there’s no mask to hide behind.
The bell jingles again.
You glance up automatically, mid-sentence, your eyes landing on him.
Mark smiles.
Or at least—he tries to.
It’s a little stiff at first, a little unsure. But it’s there.
“Hey,” he says, voice softer than he expected. “Uh—can I get a coffee?”
You blink at him for a second, not in recognition, just… normal curiosity. The kind you’d give any new customer.
“Yeah, of course,” you say, returning the smile easily. “What kind?”
He steps closer to the counter, heart pounding so loudly he’s convinced you can hear it.
“Just—uh—regular? I mean, not regular, I—whatever you’d recommend.”
Smooth.
Very smooth.
You let out a small laugh, and it hits him harder than anything else today.
God, he missed that sound.
“Okay,” you tease lightly. “And what milk do you want?”
Milk.
Right.
Mark blinks.
“I—uh—” His brain completely blanks. “Normal?”
You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Normal?”
“Like—milk milk,” he corrects quickly, wincing at himself. “Regular milk.”
“Got it,” you say, smiling as you turn to make it.
He exhales, shoulders dropping slightly.
Still alive. Good.
You hand him the cup a minute later, fingers brushing his for the briefest second.
It’s nothing.
It’s everything.
“Here you go,” you say.
“Thanks,” he replies, quieter now.
For a split second, you look at him, really look.
And something in him aches with hope.
Please.
Just—something.
But then—
You smile politely and turn away, already calling over your shoulder, “Hyuck, do we have more lids in the back?”
And just like that—
The moment passes.
Mark nods to himself slightly, like he expected that. Like it doesn’t hurt.
He moves to a table near the window, sitting down slowly, wrapping his hands around the warm cup.
From here, he can hear you.
You and Donghyuck talking. Laughing. Bickering over something small and stupid.
Normal.
So painfully normal.
He pulls out his phone, unlocking it just to have something to look at but his eyes aren’t on the screen.
They’re on you.
On the way you lean against the counter.
On the way you laugh without holding back.
On the way you exist in a world where he doesn’t.
And yet for the first time in a long time...
He’s not watching from a distance.
He’s here.
Close enough to hear your voice without wind rushing past his ears.
Close enough to feel… something other than empty.
Mark takes a slow sip of his coffee, letting the warmth settle into him.
It’s not what he had.
Not even close.
But it’s something.
And for now—
Something is enough to keep him from breaking.
Weeks pass in small, careful pieces.
Mark becomes part of your routine the same way the morning rush does—predictable, constant, almost comforting.
The bell jingles.
He walks in.
Black shirt sometimes, sometimes a hoodie, hair a little messy like he didn’t try too hard—but you’ve noticed he does try. Just not in an obvious way.
“Hey,” he says, soft smile, every single time.
“Hey,” you reply, already reaching for his usual.
You don’t even ask anymore.
“Regular milk, right?” you tease one morning.
He lets out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Milk milk.”
It becomes a thing between you.
Small. Easy.
Safe.
From behind the counter, you watch him sometimes.
Not obviously.
Just… when you’re waiting for the espresso to pull, or when Donghyuck disappears into the back.
Mark always sits by the window.
Sometimes he scrolls on his phone. Sometimes he writes—pages and pages, head bent slightly, brows furrowed in concentration like the words matter more than anything else in the room.
And when he leaves he always smiles.
Always waves.
Like it’s important.
Like you’re important.
You don’t know why that sticks with you.
But it does.
Mark on the other hand notices everything.
The way you hum under your breath when it’s slow.
The way you sigh when the line stretches to the door.
The necklace around your neck.
His necklace.
He sees it the first time and nearly forgets how to breathe.
You still wear it.
Every day.
The small chain catches the light when you move, the pendant resting right where he remembers it.
His fingers twitch slightly around his cup.
Do you even know where it’s from?
Do you remember who gave it to you?
He wants to ask.
God, he wants to ask.
But what would he say?
Hey, that necklace? I gave it to you when you said you’d never take it off.
He swallows it down.
Like everything else.
One afternoon, after he leaves, Donghyuck leans against the counter, watching the door swing shut behind him.
He hums thoughtfully.
“You know,” he says, casual but not really, “I think he has a crush on you.”
You glance up, immediately shaking your head. “No, he doesn’t.”
“He so does.”
“He’s just nice,” you insist, grabbing a cloth and wiping down the counter. “Some people are just… nice.”
Donghyuck snorts. “Yeah, and some people come in every single day, order the same thing, stare at you like you hung the moon, and then leave smiling like an idiot.”
You try not to react.
You really do.
“He does not stare at me.”
Donghyuck raises an eyebrow.
You roll your eyes, turning away before he can see the slight smile tugging at your lips.
Because—
Okay.
Maybe Mark is…
cute.
In a quiet way.
The kind that sneaks up on you.
But you don’t say that out loud.
Instead, you shrug lightly. “He’s just a regular.”
“Mm-hmm,” Donghyuck hums, clearly unconvinced.
The next day, something feels… off.
You notice it the second Mark walks in.
He still smiles.
Still says, “Hey.”
But it’s softer. Slower.
There are faint shadows under his eyes, his movements just a little more tired than usual.
You notice.
Of course you notice.
But you don’t say anything.
You just make his drink.
Slide it across the counter.
“Here.”
“Thanks,” he says, fingers brushing yours again.
You linger for half a second.
Just a second.
Then you pull away.
It happens quickly.
Too quickly.
Mark reaches into his bag, fumbling slightly, probably for his pen—and his elbow nudges the cup.
You both see it at the same time.
The tilt.
The fall.
The inevitable spill—
Except—
It doesn’t hit the ground.
Mark catches it mid-air.
Fast.
Too fast.
A few drops still splash out, darkening the floor, but the cup stays intact in his hand.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then he’s moving, hurried, almost panicked.
“Sorry—sorry, I’ve got it,” he says quickly, setting the cup down and grabbing napkins.
“It’s fine,” you say immediately, stepping around the counter. “It’s my job, don’t worry—”
But he’s already taking the paper towels from your hands, crouching down, wiping the spill himself.
“I’ll clean it,” he insists, voice tight.
You pause.
Watching him.
Something about the way he moves—the speed, the precision, the instinct—
It feels…
familiar.
A strange sensation settles over you.
Like a memory just out of reach.
“Hey,” you say slowly.
He freezes slightly, still crouched.
“You have good reflexes,” you continue, tilting your head. “Have we met before?”
Mark’s heart stutters.
He looks up at you.
For a second—just a second—there’s something in his eyes.
Hope.
Fear.
Everything at once.
“I mean,” you add quickly, laughing a little, “I know you’ve been coming in for weeks. But like—before that? Outside the coffee shop? Maybe we had a class together or something?”
The air feels too still.
Mark stands, tossing the used paper towels into the trash.
“Maybe,” he says, keeping his voice light. Casual. “I meet a lot of people.”
It’s a terrible answer.
He knows it is.
You narrow your eyes slightly, but there’s no real suspicion—just curiosity.
“Hm,” you hum. “Maybe.”
You nod toward the sink. “Go wash your hands.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says automatically.
The words slip out so easily it almost scares him.
You blink.
Another flicker of that strange feeling.
But it’s gone as quickly as it came.
While he’s gone, you glance at the table.
At the paper he left behind.
You don’t mean to read it.
You really don’t.
But the words are right there.
Hi, my name is Mark Lee.
Your breath catches slightly.
You repeat it in your head.
Mark Lee.
Something about it…
You frown faintly.
It feels familiar.
Not in a clear, obvious way.
But like a name you’ve heard before.
Like a song you almost remember.
Mark comes back, drying his hands.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
You look up at him.
Study his face for just a second longer than usual.
Then you smile.
“Yeah,” you say lightly. “Just… your name.”
He stiffens.
“My name?”
“Yeah,” you shrug, tapping the paper. “It sounds familiar.”
The world seems to hold its breath.
Mark doesn’t move.
Doesn’t blink.
“Does it?” he asks quietly.
You nod, though there’s uncertainty in it. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m imagining it.”
Maybe you are.
Or maybe—
Somewhere deep inside you—
Something is trying to come back.
And for the first time since everything was erased—
Mark lets himself feel it.
Hope.
For the past couple of months, something hasn’t felt… right.
Not wrong in a loud, obvious way. Nothing you could point to and say, there, that’s the problem. It’s quieter than that. Subtle. Like a song playing just a little off-key in the background of your life.
You notice it in small things.
A bracelet sitting on your dresser—delicate, pretty, yours—but you don’t remember where it came from.
A book tucked into your shelf you don’t remember putting there.
Mom says she didn’t buy it. Dad shrugs, says maybe it was a gift. From who?
You don’t know.
And that’s the thing.
There are… gaps.
Not huge ones. Not enough to scare you, not enough to send you spiraling. Just little pockets of missing pieces, like someone took scissors to your memories and cut out random moments for no reason at all.
Your last birthday.
You remember the cake. Your family. Donghyuck complaining about something stupid like always.
But there’s this feeling—
like someone else was there.
Someone important.
Someone who should be easy to remember.
And yet…
Nothing.
You sit on the edge of your bed, frowning slightly as you try to piece it together.
But then you shake it off.
Because this is New York.
In a world with the Avengers flying overhead, alien invasions, time travel rumors whispered like urban legends—memory being a little fuzzy doesn’t feel like the strangest thing that could happen.
Maybe it’s stress.
You’re young. You’re figuring life out. That’s enough to mess with anyone’s head.
So you let it go.
Or at least—
you try to.
By the time you’re getting ready for your shift, the feeling has dulled again, tucked neatly into the back of your mind.
You smooth out your clothes, grab your bag, and catch your reflection in the mirror.
There’s a small smile on your face.
You pause.
It grows just a little.
Because—
You’re thinking about him.
Mark.
Your new regular.
You don’t even realize how often he crosses your mind now until moments like this.
The way he walks in like he’s trying not to take up too much space.
The way he smiles—soft, a little shy, like it means something every time.
The way he stutters sometimes when you ask him simple questions, like you’ve somehow made him nervous just by existing.
It’s… cute.
Really cute.
And kind of—
You bite your lip slightly, shaking your head at yourself.
But still…
There’s something about him.
Something you can’t quite explain.
You don’t know what he does. You don’t know much about his life outside of those brief conversations about weather and rush hours and the occasional complaint about how busy the city gets.
You want to ask.
You’re curious.
But you don’t want to push.
Don’t want to scare him off.
Because selfishly—
you like that he comes in.
You like that little moment in your day where the bell rings and you know it’s him.
And now you know his name.
Mark Lee.
You say it quietly to yourself as you walk down the street, testing the way it feels.
“Mark Lee…”
It rolls off your tongue so easily.
Too easily.
Your steps slow slightly.
A strange feeling curls in your chest.
Like you’ve said it before.
Not just once.
But a hundred times.
A thousand.
Softly. Laughing. Maybe whispered into the quiet of a moment that mattered.
You frown.
You shake your head quickly, brushing it off with a small huff of air.
It’s a common name.
Mark.
Lee.
In New York City?
There are probably hundreds of them.
Thousands, even.
So yeah.
Of course it feels familiar.
Anything is possible in a city like this.
But as you push open the café door, the bell chiming above you—
There’s still that feeling.
Lingering.
Soft.
Unfinished.
Like a memory waiting—
just on the other side of your reach.
The bell jingles like it always does.
Mark is already there.
Same seat by the window. Same cup in his hands. Same quiet presence that somehow feels… steady now. Familiar.
You catch his eye as you tie your apron, giving him a quick smile. He returns it instantly, like he’s been waiting for it.
Donghyuck notices.
Of course he does.
He dries his hands on a towel, glancing between you and Mark with a look that already means trouble.
“Don’t,” you warn under your breath.
“I didn’t even say anything.”
“You were about to.”
He grins.
And then before you can stop him, he walks right over and drops into the chair across from Mark like he owns the place.
Mark blinks.
“Oh uh hi.”
“Hi,” Donghyuck says easily, leaning back like this is the most natural thing in the world. “You mind?”
Mark shakes his head quickly. “No no, it’s fine.”
There’s a moment where Mark just… looks at him.
And something flickers across his face.
Recognition.
Not conscious. Not clear.
But there.
Because this...
This is familiar.
Donghyuck, inserting himself into situations he wasn’t invited into. Asking questions he probably shouldn’t. Pushing just enough to get a reaction.
That’s how he found out the truth the first time.
Mark almost smiles at the memory.
“What’s your deal?” Donghyuck asks, blunt as ever.
Mark chokes slightly on his drink. “My deal?”
“Yeah. You come here every day, sit in the same spot, write mysterious stuff, smile at her like she’s the sun” he jerks his head toward you “and then leave. I’m curious.”
Mark’s ears go red.
“I don’t—” he starts, then stops, clearly flustered. “I just like the coffee.”
Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. “Sure.”
Mark frowns slightly, brows furrowing in that quiet, almost unintentional way he does when he’s annoyed but doesn’t say anything.
It makes Donghyuck grin.
God, he’s cute.
So different from him.
Where Donghyuck is loud, Mark is soft.
Where Donghyuck pokes and prods, Mark absorbs, thinks, chooses his words carefully—if he even says them at all.
“You new to the city?” Donghyuck asks, tilting his head.
Mark hesitates for half a second. “Kind of.”
“That explains it,” Donghyuck nods. “You’ve got that ‘I don’t know anyone but I’m trying’ vibe.”
Mark lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, looking down at his cup.
“Something like that.”
They talk.
Or… Donghyuck talks.
Mark answers.
Short sentences. Careful ones. But he doesn’t shut down. Doesn’t pull away.
And the more it goes on, the more something settles in his chest.
Because he knows this.
Knows the rhythm of Donghyuck’s voice. The way he fills silence without even trying. The way conversations feel less like effort and more like… momentum.
It’s been so long since he’s had this.
Something normal.
Something easy.
By the time Donghyuck stands up, stretching slightly, his break clearly over, he glances down at Mark again.
And pauses.
Because Mark looks…
Content.
Not just polite.
Not just “that was fine.”
But genuinely—quietly—happy.
Like that short conversation meant more than it should have.
Donghyuck notices everything.
“…You’re interesting,” he says, narrowing his eyes slightly, but not in a bad way.
Mark blinks. “Oh.”
“I’ll be back,” Donghyuck adds casually, like it’s already decided.
Mark nods before he can stop himself.
“Okay.”
Donghyuck slips into the back where you’re restocking cups.
“Well?” you ask immediately.
He leans against the counter, thoughtful for once.
“I think he doesn’t have many friends.”
You pause. “What?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Or he’s new. Or both. But he’s… I don’t know. He seemed really happy just talking.”
You glance out toward the front, where Mark is back to sitting quietly, phone in hand.
Your chest softens slightly.
“Hm.”
Donghyuck watches your face, then smirks. “What?”
“Nothing,” you say quickly, turning back to your task.
“Anyway,” he continues, “we should talk to him more. Maybe hang out outside of work. Get to know him.”
You let out a small laugh. “Why? So you can interrogate him in a different location?”
“Exactly.”
You roll your eyes.
“And,” Donghyuck adds casually, “maybe he’ll get over his crush on you.”
You shove him immediately. “He does not have a crush on me.”
“He does.”
“He doesn’t.”
“He does.”
“He’s just nice!”
Donghyuck laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Fine. He’s ‘just nice.’”
You glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it.
Then, after a second, you sigh.
“…But yeah. I’m down to be friends.”
The words come easier than you expect.
Like the idea of knowing Mark—really knowing him—feels right.
Natural.
Like something you were supposed to do a long time ago.
Out front, Mark glances toward the back where you disappeared.
He doesn’t know what you’re saying.
Doesn’t know what’s about to change.
But for the first time in a long time—
He’s not just watching your life from the outside.
He’s being pulled into it.
Slowly.
Carefully.
But finally—
He’s getting closer.
It comes back to him in flashes.
Not the loud, world-saving moments.
Not the battles, or the fear, or the choices that cost him everything.
But something quieter.
Softer.
The first time he met you.
It was two years ago.
A lecture hall that was just a little too cold, filled with half-awake students and the low hum of side conversations. Mark had been sitting near the middle, notebook open, pretending to pay attention while his mind drifted elsewhere.
Then your professor clapped their hands.
“Alright—pairs. Final project. Post-conflict justice. You’ll present in four weeks.”
Groans filled the room.
Mark barely had time to process it before you slid into the seat next to him.
“Guess we’re partners,” you said, offering a small smile.
And that was it.
That was all it took.
He was gone.
You were easy to talk to.
That’s what he remembers most.
Not intimidating. Not cold. Just… open. Curious. The kind of person who made conversations feel like something to enjoy, not survive.
What started as discussing case studies somehow drifted.
It always did with you.
One minute it was restorative justice, the next it was media narratives, and then—
“Okay but like,” you said, tapping your pen against your notebook, “in a city like New York, how does the legal system even keep up with superheroes?”
Mark blinked.
“…Superheroes?”
You grinned. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”
He had.
A lot more than you knew.
Your eyes lit up slightly. “Like Spider-Man. He’s basically operating outside the law, right? But people still love him.”
Mark felt his chest tighten.
There it was.
He tried to play it cool. “What do you think about him?”
You shrugged lightly.
“I think he’s brave,” you said simply. “And he does good. That’s… pretty admirable.”
Mark nodded slowly.
But something in him—something selfish, something hopeful—wanted more.
“That’s all?” he asked before he could stop himself.
You glanced at him, then shrugged again, softer this time.
“I mean…” You leaned back slightly, thinking. “I also think it must be a lot.”
Mark’s breath caught.
“A lot?”
“Yeah,” you said. “That kind of pressure? Always having to be the one who shows up, who saves people, who does the right thing?” You shook your head a little. “That’s heavy.”
He stayed quiet.
Listening.
Really listening.
“I just hope,” you continued, voice gentler now, “that he has a good support system. People he can rely on.”
Mark looked down at his notebook.
At his hands.
At the life he didn’t talk about.
“…Why?” he asked quietly.
You gave him a look like it was obvious.
“Because that kind of thing gets lonely,” you said. “And no one should have to carry all of that by themselves.”
Something shifted in him then.
Something deep.
Something that stayed.
Then, just as quickly, you grinned again—lightening the mood like you always did.
“But also,” you added, lowering your voice slightly like you were sharing a secret, “I hope whoever’s under that mask is getting some.”
Mark choked.
“W-what?”
You laughed. “What? I’m serious. You’re telling me someone that committed to saving the city doesn’t deserve a little—”
“Okay,” Mark cut in quickly, face burning red, laughing nervously. “I get it.”
You laughed harder.
And just like that—
The moment passed.
You moved on.
But he didn’t.
He never did.
A year later, you were sitting on his bed.
Closer than you’d ever been back then.
Not just partners.
Not just friends.
Something more.
Everything, really.
His heart had been racing just as hard as it was that first day—maybe even more.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked.
You nodded immediately. “Always.”
And that’s when he told you.
Everything.
Who he was.
What he carried.
What it meant.
He expected fear.
Shock.
Maybe even distance.
But you just looked at him.
Really looked at him.
“You idiot,” you whispered, eyes soft.
His stomach dropped. “What?”
“You’ve been carrying all of that alone?” you said, reaching for his face. “Mark…”
And just like that—
He wasn’t alone anymore.
The memory fades.
The city comes back.
Wind. Night. Distance.
Mark sits perched on the edge of a building, mask on, watching as you unlock your door and step inside.
The light flicks on.
You’re safe.
You’re always safe.
He exhales, something warm settling in his chest.
Because today you smiled at him. You said his name. You almost remembered.
It’s not the same.
It never will be.
But it’s closer.
Closer than he’s been in a long time.
Mark leans back slightly, gaze lingering on your window just a second longer than necessary.
“…Getting there,” he murmurs softly.
Not just you.
Him too.
For the first time since he lost everything...
He doesn’t feel like he’s standing outside his own life anymore.
He feels like he’s finding his way back.
The invitation catches Mark off guard.
They’re closing up for the day, chairs half-stacked, the smell of coffee still clinging to the air. He’s standing near the counter, lingering like he usually does, when Donghyuck leans over it and says, “Hey, we’re going to the park after this. You should come.”
Just like that. No build-up. No hesitation.
Mark blinks at him, then glances at you.
You’re wiping down the machine, but you look up at the same time, meeting his eyes with a small, easy smile. “Yeah, if you’re free.”
Free.
He almost laughs at that. His life is anything but free. Patrols, responsibility, the constant weight of something happening somewhere at any moment.
But this… this feels important.
He hesitates for half a second too long, then nods. “Yeah. Sure.”
Donghyuck grins like he knew the answer already.
The park is warm with early spring. The kind of day where the sun isn’t too strong, but it lingers on your skin just enough to make everything feel softer. There are people scattered around, dogs running loose, someone playing music faintly in the distance.
You sit on the grass together, coffees in hand, shoes slightly sinking into the ground. Donghyuck stretches out immediately like he owns the place, while you sit cross-legged, absentmindedly pulling at blades of grass between your fingers.
Mark sits a little more carefully, like he’s still figuring out where he fits.
But he’s here.
That’s what matters.
Conversation comes easier than he expected. Or maybe it’s just familiar in a way that makes it feel easy.
Donghyuck is talking about some game he’s been obsessed with, going on about levels and rankings and strategies like it’s life or death.
“I finally hit top tier,” he says proudly.
Mark huffs a quiet laugh, looking down at his coffee. “You’re still playing that?”
Donghyuck squints at him. “Still? What do you mean still?”
Mark shrugs, trying not to smile too much. “Nothing.”
“I’ve upgraded,” Donghyuck shoots back. “It’s called commitment.”
Mark rolls his eyes slightly, but there’s no real bite to it. If anything, there’s something fond underneath. He remembers this. The endless obsession, the way Donghyuck throws himself fully into whatever he likes.
Some things don’t change.
“You’ve been busy though,” you say, turning to Mark. “What do you usually do?”
The question is simple. Dangerous in a way only he understands.
He shrugs lightly. “Just… stuff. Work. Keeping busy.”
You nod like that’s enough, not pushing, and he feels something loosen in his chest because of it.
“What about you?” he asks, shifting the focus. “You mentioned baking before.”
Your face lights up slightly. “Yeah. I started recently. Just to, I don’t know, do something with my hands.”
“She’s been stress baking,” Donghyuck cuts in.
You glare at him. “I am not stress baking.”
“You made three different cakes in one week.”
“Because I was trying recipes!”
Mark smiles quietly, watching you. “Who do you bake for?”
“My parents mostly,” you say, softer now. “I bring home coffee after shifts and make something sweet. It just… helps, I guess.”
He nods, something warm settling in his chest.
He remembers your parents. The way they’d welcome him in without question, how your mom would insist he eat more, how your dad would ask him about school like it mattered. He never really had that growing up, not in the same way. But with them, it always felt… easy.
Like he belonged.
“They’re good people,” he says before he can stop himself.
You blink at him, a little surprised. “You don’t even know them.”
Mark pauses, then recovers with a small shrug. “I can tell by the way you talk about them.”
You smile at that. “Yeah. They’re the best.”
There’s a quiet moment, comfortable, filled only with the distant sounds of the park.
Mark’s eyes drift to your necklace again.
It catches the sunlight just slightly, the small pendant resting against your skin. His chest tightens as he looks at it, wondering if you’ve ever turned it over, ever noticed the tiny engraving on the back.
M.L.
He remembers how careful he’d been, how long it took to carve something so small, so precise.
You’d laughed when he gave it to you, then immediately put it on, saying you’d never take it off.
And you haven’t.
Even now.
“Do you know what you want to do?” he asks suddenly, voice quieter.
You glance at him, then look out at the park, thinking.
“Not really,” you admit. “Which is… kind of scary. But my parents don’t pressure me or anything. They just want me to be happy.”
Mark nods slowly, smiling to himself.
That sounds like them.
“That’s good,” he says. “Not everyone gets that.”
You hum in agreement, then tilt your head slightly. “What about you? Where were you before New York?”
The question lands gently, but it still makes his chest tighten.
You’re still smiling, glancing between them, and something about it feels so normal that Mark almost forgets himself for a second.
The sun, the grass, your laughter, Donghyuck’s voice in the background—it all blends together into something warm and familiar.
Something he thought he lost.
He leans back slightly, hands resting in the grass, letting himself just exist in the moment instead of watching it from the outside.
For the first time in a long time, the heaviness in his chest isn’t there. The constant ache, the loneliness, the feeling of being just out of reach of everything that mattered.
It’s quiet.
Replaced with something softer.
Something steady.
This feels like home.
And for once, he isn’t thinking about what he lost.
He’s just… here.
They leave the park slowly, the sun dipping lower, the air cooling just enough to make the walk back feel easy. Donghyuck walks between you both at first, still talking, still full of energy, but as you get closer to your streets he stretches and checks his phone.
“Alright, I’m cutting through here,” he says, pointing down a side road. “I’m not walking all the way around like you two lovebirds.”
“We’re not—” you start, but he’s already grinning.
“Bye, Mark,” he adds, a little too knowingly.
Mark nods, trying not to react. “See you.”
Donghyuck disappears, leaving the two of you alone on the sidewalk.
For a moment, it’s quiet. Not awkward, just… softer. The kind of quiet where every small thing feels a little more noticeable. Your footsteps, the distant traffic, the way your shoulder almost brushes his once before you both subtly adjust.
“I can walk you home,” Mark says after a second, like he doesn’t want to assume.
You glance at him, smiling. “Yeah. Thanks.”
It’s simple, but it makes something in his chest settle.
They walk side by side, a little closer now, conversation coming in small pieces instead of long stretches. You talk about the café, about a customer who tried to order something ridiculous, about how Donghyuck nearly messed up three drinks in a row earlier.
Mark listens more than he talks, but when he does, it’s enough. It always is.
As your building comes into view, you slow slightly, then glance over at him.
“Oh—next week,” you say, like you just remembered. “Me and Donghyuck are throwing a party. You should come.”
Mark looks at you, surprised for a second before it softens into a smile. “Yeah. Sure. I’d like that.”
“Good,” you say, pleased.
You hesitate for half a second, then pull out your phone. “Wait—let me get your number.”
Mark fumbles slightly, pulling his out a second too late, almost dropping it before catching himself. “Right—yeah.”
You both laugh quietly as you exchange numbers, standing just outside your door now.
“Do you have socials?” you ask, already typing. “Like Instagram?”
“Uh—yeah,” he says, nodding. “I do.”
You find it quickly, tapping the follow button without hesitation. “There.”
He glances at the notification, something small and warm settling in his chest again. “Got it.”
There’s a pause.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… full.
“Okay,” you say softly, stepping a little closer. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” he answers, just as quiet. “Tomorrow.”
And then, before either of you overthink it—
You hug him.
It’s quick. Casual. The kind of hug you’d give a friend.
But to Mark—
It’s everything.
He freezes for half a second, like his body has to catch up to what’s happening. Then he lifts one arm, wrapping it around you gently, careful, like you might disappear if he holds too tight.
He breathes in without meaning to.
You smell different.
Not the same shampoo you used to use.
Something softer. Sweeter.
It throws him off for a second, the realization hitting him in a quiet, unexpected way. Time has moved on. Things have changed. Even the smallest details.
But you’re still you.
You pull away, smiling up at him like it was nothing.
“Get home safe,” you say.
He almost laughs.
The irony of it sits right there, obvious and a little absurd, but he just smiles instead.
“Yeah,” he says. “You too.”
You turn, unlocking your door and stepping inside. The light flicks on, warm against the evening dim.
Mark stays there for a second longer than he should, just watching.
Then—
It hits.
Sharp. Immediate.
His senses flare, the world snapping into focus in a way it only does when something’s wrong.
He doesn’t hesitate.
Before the thought even fully forms, he steps back, shooting a web and pulling himself upward, disappearing into the skyline in one smooth motion.
You turn back just before the door closes.
“Bye—” you start, stepping back toward the door, pulling it open slightly.
But he’s gone.
You frown faintly, looking out at the empty street.
“That was fast,” you murmur.
You step inside again, closing the door slowly.
And then you notice it.
That feeling.
The one you’ve had for weeks now.
Like someone’s watching you.
It was there the whole walk home. Quiet, lingering, just at the edge of your awareness.
But now—
It’s gone.
Completely.
You pause in the middle of your hallway, brows furrowing slightly.
You glance back at the door one last time.
Then shake your head, brushing it off as you head further inside.
But somewhere, deep down—
Something shifts.
Like a piece of a puzzle just barely moved into place.
Warm weather always brings in more crime.
Mark had forgotten that part.
Winter slows things down, keeps people inside, gives the city a kind of quiet it doesn’t usually have. But spring—spring cracks everything open again. More people, more movement, more opportunity for things to go wrong.
He’s been busier.
Too busy.
Nights blur together into sirens, rooftops, fists, and the sharp sting of getting hit harder than he expected. Cuts that should scare him but don’t anymore, bruises that bloom and fade before anyone else would even notice.
By the time he makes it back to his apartment most nights, he barely has the energy to sit, let alone think.
Still—
He thinks about you.
About the café.
About the way you smile when he walks in.
He goes less now. Not because he wants to, but because he can’t always make it. And when he does, it’s quick. A rushed hello, a coffee, a promise thrown over his shoulder—
“I’ll be at the party. Even if it’s just for a bit.”
He means it.
Tonight, he barely makes it.
He crawls in through the window, landing harder than usual, breath uneven. His suit is torn again, darker this time where blood has soaked through. He winces, peeling it off carefully, tossing it aside as he drops onto the edge of his bed.
For a few minutes, he just sits there.
Waiting.
Letting his body do what it always does—healing faster than it should, the worst of it fading just enough to function.
It’s not perfect.
It never is.
But it’ll do.
Mark stands, moving quickly now. Shower, clothes, hands running through his hair until it looks somewhat intentional. He pulls on a white shirt, then a denim jacket, matching jeans—something casual, something that doesn’t scream I just got out of a fight.
A little cologne.
Just enough.
He stops in front of the mirror.
For a second, he just… looks.
At himself.
At the version of him standing there trying to piece together something normal out of a life that isn’t.
There’s a strange feeling in his chest.
Like he’s pretending.
Like he’s stepping into a role he used to know by heart but doesn’t quite fit anymore.
His old life isn’t waiting for him.
It’s gone.
This, whatever this is now, is new.
Different.
And whether he likes it or not—
It’s all he has.
Mark exhales slowly, straightening his jacket.
“…Do it right this time,” he murmurs.
Then he leaves.
Donghyuck’s place smells exactly the same.
The second Mark walks in, it hits him—familiar, warm, a mix of something sweet and something faintly burnt like someone forgot about food in the oven at some point.
“Hey!” Donghyuck’s voice cuts through immediately.
Before Mark can even properly step inside, he’s being pulled in, a drink shoved into his hand.
“You made it,” Donghyuck says, like he’s half-surprised.
“Told you I would,” Mark replies, smiling.
“Yeah, yeah. Come on.”
He doesn’t get a chance to look around much before Donghyuck is dragging him toward the TV, already setting up a game.
“You’re playing.”
Mark barely has time to protest.
And he’s terrible.
Actually terrible.
Donghyuck is relentless about it, laughing, trash-talking, fully in his element while Mark fumbles through controls like he’s never held one before.
“At least pretend you’ve played a game in your life,” Donghyuck says.
“I have,” Mark mutters.
“Clearly not well.”
Mark huffs, shaking his head, but there’s something easy about it. Something light.
He glances to the side.
And sees you.
You’re across the room, laughing.
Not just smiling—really laughing, head tilted slightly, eyes bright.
There’s a guy standing close to you. Someone Mark doesn’t recognize.
And he’s leaning in.
Too close.
Saying something that makes you laugh again.
Mark’s grip tightens around the controller.
He tells himself it’s nothing.
Just a conversation. Just a party.
But then the guy reaches out, brushing a piece of hair away from your face.
Something in Mark snaps.
He doesn’t think. Doesn’t pause.
He’s already standing before he realizes it, crossing the room in a few quick steps.
“Hey.”
You turn, startled for a split second before your face lights up.
“Mark—hi.”
You step forward immediately, hugging him without hesitation.
And this time, he doesn’t freeze.
His arms wrap around you instantly, holding you just a little tighter than necessary, his eyes lifting over your shoulder locking onto the guy.
There’s something in his stare. Sharp. Unreadable.
Enough to make the guy shift uncomfortably, then mumble something about getting another drink before walking away.
Mark doesn’t look back at you until he’s gone.
When he does, your expression has changed.
You’re studying him.
“Are you okay?” you ask, brows knitting together slightly. “There’s… blood on your eyebrow.”
Mark almost groans.
Of course there is.
“I—yeah, it’s nothing,” he says quickly.
But you’re already reaching for his hand.
“Come on.”
You don’t give him time to argue, pulling him down the hallway, into Donghyuck’s room. It’s quieter there, the noise of the party muffled behind the door.
You sit him down on the bed.
Mark’s pulse spikes.
This is—
Too close.
Too familiar.
His hands rest awkwardly on his knees, trying not to think about how you’re standing between them, how close you are, how easy it would be to just—
No.
You disappear for a second, then come back with a damp tissue.
“Hold still,” you say softly.
You step closer.
Closer than before.
Your hand comes up, cupping his face gently as you tilt his head slightly toward the light.
Mark’s breath catches.
This is wrong.
Not wrong in a bad way.
Wrong because it feels too right.
Because his body remembers this even if you don’t.
The way you touch him like it’s natural.
The way you focus on him like nothing else matters.
His chest tightens.
He jerks back suddenly, pulling away.
“I can—finish it,” he says quickly, voice a little strained.
You pause, then nod, handing him the tissue. “Okay.”
There’s a small shift in the air.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… aware.
You clear your throat, stepping back slightly.
“This might be a weird question,” you say, glancing at him. “But do you have a girlfriend?”
Mark blinks.
“No.”
“Have you dated recently?”
He hesitates, then nods. “Yeah.”
You hum softly, watching him.
“Oh.”
“What?” he asks, a little defensive without meaning to.
You shrug, but there’s something thoughtful in your expression. “I don’t know. You just… seem kind of heartbroken.”
Mark lets out a small, surprised laugh. “What?”
“I mean it in a nice way,” you add quickly. “Like—you’re trying to move on. Which is good. But it feels like something’s still… holding you back.”
He doesn’t respond.
Can’t.
Because you’re right.
“Whoever she was,” you continue, softer now, “she must’ve been really special.”
Mark looks down at the tissue in his hand, the faint smear of red against white.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “She was.”
There’s a beat.
Then he exhales, forcing a small smile like it’s easier this way.
“But it’s in the past.”
You nod slowly, like you understand, even if you don’t fully know what you’re understanding. The moment lingers for a second longer than it should, then you shift your weight and turn toward the door.
“Okay, well—”
Your foot catches on nothing.
Or maybe the edge of the rug.
You don’t even register it properly before your balance goes, a small gasp leaving you as you pitch forward—
And Mark is already there.
He stands up at the same time, one arm coming out instinctively, catching you around the waist with a steadiness that feels almost too easy. Like he’s done it a hundred times before. Like your weight doesn’t even faze him.
Your hands fly up, grabbing onto his arms to steady yourself.
And for a second—
You freeze.
Because—
He’s strong.
Not just in a vague way. Not just “he works out sometimes” strong. His arm under your hand is firm, solid, like muscle layered over muscle, like he’s built for something more than just sitting in cafés and writing in notebooks.
Your breath catches slightly.
“Thanks,” you say after a second, a little quieter than before.
------------------
Wanna read the rest (including his identity reveal)? Subscribe to my NCT Patreon here or read the FULL story here!
♡ tw / cw: mentions of death, heavy themes of grief + loss, hurt/comfort, soft angst, fluff, markie being the sweetest boy ever :( please take care of yourself while reading... :,,)
a/n : hi angels ! just wanted to leave a quick note saying this story is actually super close to my heart bc it's based on my real life ((tho i changed some things slightly for the plot). after my mom passed, mark was honestly one of my biggest comfort... his music & just the way he is helped me heal so. much. he's my ultimate safe space and i wanted to write him that way for u too. i hope you guys can feel the love in this one. sending so much love, hugs & kisses to anyone missing someone today. ♡ 🌫️ :)
p.s. divider cr to @uzmacchiato !!!! ☕
The second Sunday of May always felt like a heavy, grey cloud had settled directly onto your chest, refusing to move until the sun went down.
It had been years since you were fourteen—the age when your world fractured and the word “Mom” became a hollow ache in your throat—but the anniversary never got lighter. It just became a different kind of heavy. A familiar weight you learned to carry, like an old, tattered coat that didn’t fit anymore but you couldn't bring yourself to throw away.
The morning had been the hardest. You’d woken up to a barrage of “Happy Mother’s Day!” notifications in group chats you’d forgotten to mute. You’d scrolled past endless photos of friends holding bouquets and smiling beside women who looked just like them. Eventually, the noise of the world became too loud, and you did the only thing you knew how to do: you retreated.
By 3:00 PM, you were buried in the sanctuary of your bedroom. The curtains were drawn tight to block out the mocking brightness of the spring sun, and you were tucked under three layers of blankets, wearing an oversized hoodie that smelled faintly of laundry detergent. You were trying very hard to simply not exist for a few hours.
The sound of the front door opening didn’t startle you. Only one person had a key, and only one person knew exactly where you’d be today.
You heard the soft thud of a bag being set on the kitchen counter, the familiar click of the kettle, and the muffled sound of footsteps moving with practiced quiet down the hallway. Your bedroom door creaked open, admitting a sliver of warm light from the hall.
“Hey,” Mark whispered.
He didn't turn on the overhead light. He didn't ask if you were okay—he already knew the answer. He just walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, his weight causing the mattress to dip in a way that felt grounding. He looked like he’d come straight from a long day out—hair slightly tousled from the wind, a comfortable knit sweater hugging his frame—but his focus was entirely on the small, shivering lump you made under the covers.
“I brought the good tea,” he said, his voice a low, soothing rasp. “The chamomile one from that little shop you like. And I got those honey biscuits.”
You poked your nose out from under the duvet, your eyes red-rimmed and puffy. “You didn’t have to come over, Mark. I know you had a long day.”
Mark just shook his head, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. He reached out, his hand finding your shoulder through the thick fabric of your hoodie. “I’m exactly where I want to be. I’m not letting you do this day alone. Not a chance.”
He stayed there for a long time, just rubbing your shoulder in slow, rhythmic circles while you stared at the wall. Mark was never one for grand, empty speeches. He knew that when you were grieving a decade-old loss, “It’ll be okay” was the last thing you wanted to hear. Instead, he offered the things he was best at: his time, his silence, and his unwavering presence.
Eventually, the silence of the bedroom started to feel a bit too heavy. Mark noticed the shift in your breathing before you even spoke.
“How about we move to the living room?”he suggested softly. “I’ve got the tea waiting. I think it’s time we watch Modern Family again. Start from the pilot? We could use a little Phil Dunphy wisdom today.”
It was your “safety” show. It stayed in the background of your best days and cushioned your worst ones. You didn’t have to think when it was on; you just had to let the familiar chaos of the families wash over you.
“The pilot?” you croaked, your voice thick from crying.
“The pilot,” he confirmed, offering a hand to help you up.
He helped you untangle yourself from the blankets, and when you stood up and felt that sudden wave of vertigo—the kind of soul-deep exhaustion that only grief brings—he caught you. He tucked your head under his chin, wrapping his arms around you in a hug that felt like a fortress.
Mark was solid. He smelled like clean cotton and the faint, citrusy scent of his cologne. Standing there in the dim light, you finally let yourself lean into him. You gripped the back of his shirt, your fingers trembling, and let out a long, shaky breath against his chest.
“I miss her so much today, Mark,” you whispered. “It’s been so long, but I still feel like that fourteen-year-old girl standing in the hallway. It doesn’t go away.”
“I know,” he murmured, his hand cradling the back of your head, fingers weaving through your hair. “I know it doesn’t. And you don’t have to pretend it does for me. You can be that fourteen-year-old girl for as long as you need today. I’ve got you.”
He guided you to the living room, where he’d already set the mood. The lamp in the corner was dimmed to a soft amber, and the tea was steaming on the coffee table. He settled onto the sofa, pulling you into the space between his arm and his chest, and grabbed the remote.
As the familiar theme song filled the room, the tension in your jaw finally began to loosen. It was the comfort of the routine—the way Mark knew exactly which episodes made you laugh and which ones to skip if they were too "parent-heavy" for today.
“Tell me something about her?” he asked after a few minutes, his voice barely audible over the TV. It was his tradition. Every year, he’d ask for one story. One memory to keep her spirit in the room with you.
You took a sip of the tea, the warmth spreading through your chest. “She used to sing to me when I had nightmares,” you said softly. “But she was a terrible singer. Like, genuinely off-key. I used to tell her to stop because she was making it worse, and she’d just laugh and sing louder until I started laughing, too. Sometimes I worry I'm forgetting the exact pitch of her voice, Mark. That's what scares me the most.”
Mark reached for your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours and squeezing tightly. “You won’t. And even if the sound fades a little, the way she made you feel... that’s written in your DNA. You carry her in the way you take care of people, and the way you have so much music in you. She’s not gone as long as you’re here.”
He leaned over and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head. For the next few hours, you drifted in and out of the show. Mark didn't move, even when his arm probably went numb. He just kept his thumb moving in small circles against your hand, a constant, tethering reminder that you were grounded in the present.
When Phil did something characteristically ridiculous on screen, you let out a tiny, genuine huff of a laugh. Mark’s hold on you tightened almost imperceptibly, his own quiet chuckle vibrating against your side.
By the time the sun had fully set, the sharp, jagged edges of the day had been sanded down. Mark made you a simple dinner, coached you into eating a few bites, and eventually, when your eyes started to flutter shut against your will, he guided you back to bed.
He tucked the blankets around you with quiet, focused care. As he went to step away to clear the tea mugs, you caught his wrist.
“Stay?” you asked, your voice small.
He didn’t even hesitate. He slid into the bed beside you, still in his soft t-shirt and sweats. He pulled you back against his chest—his front to your back—and draped his arm protectively over your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“Always,” he whispered into the nape of your neck. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. Tomorrow is a new day, and we’ll get through that one, too.”
In the quiet of the room, listening to the steady, calm beat of Mark’s heart, the heavy grey cloud finally started to lift, replaced by the soft, warm light of being truly known.
warnings: mark is disgusting and perverted, violent language, misuse of ice cream, inappropriate language, did I mention Mark is a pervert? naive (but not stupid) reader, trespassing.
summary: What if, in the end, you were Thragg's daughter?
author's note:
It took me a long time to write, didn't it? Yes, I admit... I'm kind of not in the same Invincible mood anymore? It's over ;P But I swear I'm trying to get back into it! I've started playing Red Dead Redemption 2 again and I'm in love with Arthur Morgan once more! But what do you guys think about me writing Red Dead Redemption 2 fanfiction? Give me your opinion S2 But guys, I still love Mark, okay? He'll always be my favorite!
And I'm also trying to make my chapters prettier! The next chapters, 5 and 6, will begin with the steamy scenes. This fanfic will have up to 6 chapters ;3
❝ THE NEXT day is terrifying — Mark feels his hands tense and sweaty, his breath ragged as he watches you so closely that he feels his legs weaken.
You were there, having broken into his house, Debbie wasn't there anyway, going to Talescria with Nolan to visit Oliver, and the house at that moment was solely in Mark's hands.
Mark had woken up feeling unwell that night, having masturbated so much that he swore he had no sperm left. Those sleepless nights imagining you naked, coming on his cock and...
Heavens...
You were there.
Standing in his living room, sitting on the sofa while reading one of Debbie's fashion magazines — making a face when she sees images of women wearing clothes that didn't look comfortable and that showed too much of their bodies.
Her eyes (color) flicker toward Mark, slightly confused, as she tosses the magazine onto the table—making a slight mess of it.
"You sleep too much," his voice comes out harshly, crossing his arms. "You sleep and snore, like a fat animal being slaughtered." Mark swallowed hard, rubbing his eyes and already feeling that familiar tingling in his own penis.
"What are you... doing here?" He swallows softly, his eyes trembling, and approaches slowly, as if you were a frightened animal.
A sigh escaped her lips at his stupidity—her eyebrows arching, slightly frustrated by Mark's forgetfulness.
"Did you forget that we're working together now, Nolan's son?" His tone of voice is apathetic. "You're going to show me why your pathetic planet is so... important."
A smile spreads across Mark's lips, as if you were telling him the best news. His eyes form pathetic heart shapes, and you notice how much slightly happier he seems — walking in somewhat groggy steps towards her:
"Yes, yes!" he exclaims, like a puppy, almost jumping for joy. "Just leave me alone... Heavens!" He swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he moved closer, his nostrils dilating as his pupils turned into a heart shape.
You notice, you definitely notice, the way his heart races, his breathing becomes more labored with each passing second. His legs seem weak as he gets a little closer, though still at a considerable distance.
And you noticed too — when he opened his mouth, a trickle of saliva ran down the corner of his mouth and soiled the carpet.
His face contorts slightly into a tense expression, as if he were disgusted, but logically Mark doesn't notice (he would even find her disgusted face towards him sexy.)
A heavy sigh escaped her lips, her nostrils dilating in the process:
"Disgusting"
Mark felt like a teenager going through puberty who couldn't even keep his own penis in his pants.
It was a hot, sunny day, and you, Mark, were walking carefully through the streets of Chicago.
You weren't doing well, actually.
Every time someone bumped into you, your teeth would grind slightly. Her breath was caught, as if breathing the same air as all those men was simply karma in her life.
But Mark didn't see that.
Actually, he was thinking more about those damn jeans you were wearing. Her outfit was simply casual, yet it showed off her curves, and he felt his erection throbbing more and more.
"What's that?" you ask, pointing toward an elderly lady walking with a dachshund that looked even older.
"Eh..." He swallows hard, using an oversized sweatshirt to try and control his erection. "Um... Dog?" His voice comes out simple, swallowing hard. His eyes wavering between the exposed collarbone under his shirt.
Mark wondered if he could bite that patch of exposed skin, if he could run his hand over her body, or how wet her vagina would get if he made her orgasm.
"Pathetic," you reply, your eyes darting between the dachshund's short legs. "And... I feel like punching it to death," you admit, and Mark's eyes widen.
"No way!" he exclaims, slightly loudly. "No punches or... Ah..." His voice gradually lowers, as if he recognizes that feeling.
You weren't speaking figuratively about punching a dachshund or even an old lady — saying that was a vague way of saying, "Oh, how cute!" But you probably didn't know that.
His eyes fix on him, observing him—Chicago is crowded, but Mark only sees you. Your scent, your unmistakable scowl, and he forgets everything else.
He was truly in love.
"Okay," you agree. "No punching."
Mark smiles — a firm, strong smile, that captivating smile that makes something subtly explicit stir within him.
It's probably that rotten oxygen from Earth.
Mark continues to stare at you as if you were an angel who fell from heaven, as if you weren't the daughter of a mad dictator who wanted to exterminate all races in the name of purity.
And his mind wandered—kisses, embraces, a wedding? Yes, he would like that... And children. Lots of children. Viltrum could be repopulated with all the boys you would have.
"What's that?" you ask, pointing like a curious child at the ice cream cart.
He stops thinking about a future with you, sighing softly and slowly running a hand over his face.
"Ice cream," Mark replies, glancing slowly at her out of the corner of his eye. "There's no ice cream in Viltrum?" His smile is somewhat mischievous, as if he's hinting at something purely evil.
"Ice cream," you repeat, your arms bent behind your back as if still in a vile pose. "I want to try this treat... If it's bad, I'm going to destroy this cart." Mark swallows hard, watching you slowly approach the ice cream cart.
The man — wearing a red cap and striped shirt, and driving the cart — saw the young people approaching.
"Oh!" He smiles. "Would the young couple like some ice cream?" You arch your eyebrow, still maintaining a perfectly straight posture.
"Couple? Tsk... It's pa—" Mark puts his hand over his mouth, covering it. And at that moment he can glimpse it, he's touching you. Your lips are pressed against the palm of his hand.
Mark groans, his eyes rolling back, and he feels like he's about to ejaculate in his pants.
The little old man, confused and unsure how to react, just stares—still confused, giving an awkward laugh—while I pick up popsicle sticks:
"We have chocolate... Strawberry... Vanilla... Which one would you like?" He pathetically waves his hand on the cart, somewhat nervous about the situation, embarrassed.
"Vanilla!" Mark replies. "Uh... Vanilla for both of us, please," he smiles, slowly removing his hand from his mouth, which remains stoic.
However, his expression of displeasure doesn't affect Mark, it never would.
The man quickly grabs the ice creams, handing them to Mark—giving a sheepish smile.
"How much is it?" Mark asks, the hand that was over his mouth trembling slightly. He would never wash it.
"Free! For the couple!" And he leaves, taking the cart with him and leaving Mark holding two popsicles in his hand, while you're still standing there, arms crossed.
"That filthy old man said we're a couple," you curse, arms crossed, eyes rolling. "The next time someone calls us a couple I—"
Mark ends up silencing you.
Not with a kiss, but by shoving the popsicle into her mouth.
He stares intently when you choke slightly, the popsicle liquid dripping down your lips as you suck—pathetically loud.
Mark closes his eyes tightly, his legs turning to jelly, and he simply imagines his penis in place of the popsicle: would you know how to suck it? Or would he have to manipulate your head?
You grab the popsicle stick, licking your lips — your eyes sharpening on the ice cream, your taste buds working.
"Well..." You were used to tasteless food, and that popsicle? It felt like an explosion on your tongue. "It's not bad," you bite into the vanilla popsicle, sucking on your lips.
"Ah!" Mark groans, as if in physical pain. You look at him, raising an eyebrow as he pulls away. "I-I need to go to the bathroom!" He runs off, turning away.
You just stand there, not sucking on the popsicle—but biting into it, getting all messy:
