The Ones That Belong to Me
Sinister Mark x F!Reader
Synopsis: After fulfilling his part of the deal with Angstrom, he moved on to the main clause of the agreement. What he truly wanted to possess. Still the differences between universes could be quite strange.
!!Warnings: Reader is married to Main Mark and has children with him, reader is pregnant. I've aged the characters further than in the original for the sake of the story. Sinister Mark is opportunistic and terrifying, but the writing is actually quite safe, ust squint a little and you'll see that Sinister Mark is a warning, he's the kind of person who can experience longing intensel, a little smut!!
A.n: I can't even imagine this with the other variants. Especially with Viltrumite and Maskless Mark…both would probably go insane. Especially Viltrumite Mark lol. Btw I accidentally shared this text four days ago…and someone saw it. Unfortunately, I had to silence that person—may they rest in peace…😔 (bribed them into silence) Normally, I barely used em dashes but I wanted to try out a new style.
!!Words Count 3k!!
He was moving at a speed that tore through the sound barrier. Learning where that idiot version of himself lived had been quite easy. The annoying part was finding out he was married. To what belonged to him. To you. With a scowl on his face, he sliced straight through the left wing of the plane in front of him. He kept going as if the roar of destruction he'd caused didn't exist at all. Of course, even while making a deal with Angstrom—someone whose very existence he could barely tolerate—he had known you would be different in this universe. He had expected you to be his partner in this version as well, not stuck in some long marriage arranged the moment you came of age. "Hah, married? Seems my little domestic fantasy is stronger in this universe." A smirk followed the mockery in his voice.
He loved you in a way that would make him sick to his stomach. He had never denied it—neither to you nor to himself. Besides, he wasn't going to legitimize something that already belonged to him with some stupid pieces of paper. Ridiculous. He landed in front of the house he was certain was the address he'd been given, touching down fast. He had come down at the door with such smooth speed that not the slightest sound betrayed his arrival.
Before reaching for the door, he cast a brief glance at the house. It was a large, beautiful place—detached, decorated in dark and green tones. The front yard stretched wide to the sides, reaching all the way toward the backyard. "Nice house for playing family." The amusement in his voice dripped from his lips like poison as he turned the handle of the outer door and slipped inside with ease. "Ah…stupid and overly confident too." The fact that the door stood there with so little precaution was almost funny; apparently, this version believed he could protect you from everything. When he stepped inside, a heavy scent of lavender filled his senses.
With the daytime sun pouring inside, the house felt surprisingly calm and comfortable. The ivory-colored wall at the entrance continued into the living room that greeted him right away. There wasn't much in the entryway—just a shoe rack, a coat closet and a few umbrellas carelessly stuffed into a box.
Sinister Mark looked around the living room as he walked in, his hands swinging lazily at his sides. It was quite spacious—farther ahead stretched a long hallway, with doors on the right opening into other rooms, while on the left there was a cozy, characterful kitchen connected to the living room.He wandered around the room for a bit. The fact that there wasn't even a single photo of the two of you was irritating. He clicked his tongue. "Whatever."
He reached for the first door that caught his eye on the right, but just as he was about to step inside, the door beside it flew open with force.
"Dad's here!" A little boy ran toward him with great excitement and wrapped his arms around his leg. He couldn't have been more than five…maybe not even that. Mark struggled to process what was happening. His brows knit slightly. The thing clinging to him…was that your child? He didn't even reach out to touch the kid. Even with the mask, the surprise on his face was obvious. The little boy looked up at Mark with shining eyes—eyes he wasn't used to seeing. "You promised we'd have baked pasta night today, Dad."
Mark let out the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. What was wrong with him? Of course you would have a child—you had been married to his idiot version for quite some time. Pulling himself together a little, he offered a small smile to the boy who looked exactly like him. Then he bent down and slid his hands under the child's arms to lift the kid who was still clinging to his leg.
He wasn't even sure what to call the boy—maybe he should ask…but before he could lift the kid who was eagerly waiting to be picked up, another small figure burst out of the room the boy had come from. For a second, his focus shifted to whoever had come out—then, the next second, the son he had just picked up had his head jerked to the side with a loud "Ah!" The one who had just landed a quick punch to the boy's face was a little girl who reminded him of himself as well. Her hair was braided in a fishtail style, and if it weren't for her furrowed brows, she would have had the face of an angel. Suddenly, she shrieked—sharp enough to make Mark flinch. "How many times do I have to tell you not to dump your requests on Dad when he gets home, Dean!"
"Dadddddd she hit me againn!" the boy,whose name he had just learned was Dean,cried with trembling voice and teary eyes. While holding his bruised cheek, he clung to Mark's arm with his other hand. "You shouldn't do that," Mark said as he finally lifted Dean into his arms, hardly believing the situation he'd found himself in. Were the kids twins? They looked so much alike that he couldn't even spot any difference that suggested an age gap.
Holding his son in his arms felt strange. He was such a fragile little thing. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, his hand went without thought to Dean's reddened cheek. He studied the damage with a careful look, she had hit him quite hard. It really was…odd to imagine his son being on the receiving end of his daughter's force. She seemed to realize her momentary anger had passed and offered a small apology. After throwing Mark some strange glances for a moment, she said, "You promised your new costume would be blue!" She tugged on his cape. Mark looked at the girl who was pulling at his cape while his hand still rested on Dean's cheek. God… she was so stubborn. Who did she get that from?
"Eh some surprises don'f hurt anyone." His usual smirk had finally settled back onto his face. He wasn't even sure what to call the girl —what was her name? The real question was…where were you? Pulling his hand away from Dean, he patted the cheek of his pouting daughter and stroked her hair. Strange. Even through the glove, it felt soft.
He hadn't felt this since your death. Even now, if he wanted to go searching for you all over the house, he still couldn't shake the impact of the reality that these were his children. He had never even imagined having kids with you—but here they were, inexplicably looking entirely like him. He watched with curiosity as Dean stroked the fabric of his mask in his lap—perhaps there were similarities in their characters, who knew? In time, he would learn. He looked at the love the children gave him with a ravenous hunger, even though their real father was out somewhere, thinking they were safe. The thought made him chuckle. He bent his knees slightly and scooped his daughter into his other arm. Carrying both kids in his arms, a feeling of happiness rose within him—one he would normally mock, but couldn't deny now.
He stepped into the room the children had come from earlier. It was a colorful space, filled with a large round table in the center and plenty of paints. Even the walls were covered in drawings. As Mark set the kids down, one of the drawings on the wall caught his eye—a family portrait. You, the children and that awful version of him. They stood hand in hand, wearing awkward, shaky smiles. Even if he hadn't killed you, it was an image he would never have been able to obtain…
"Alright kids," he said, turning to the children who were sitting on the floor, continuing their unfinished drawings. "Where's your dear mother?"
"Mommy said she's taking a bath, Dad." Dean didn't even bother to lift his head. Mark satisfied with the answer, glanced once more over the table from his shoulder before turning to the door. Both kids were sitting there, carefully trying to draw his bright yellow costume on paper with their crayons. The smile on his face faded. Without looking any longer, he left the room. Nothing in this house truly belonged to him—but at the same time, it did. Messy…and warm.
In the quiet house, it was easy to follow the sound of running water. He climbed the stairs step by step from where the upper level began near the kitchen. At the very start, he opened the bathroom door that greeted him and stepped inside. "Mark?" That voice. As it came from behind the door, his eyes quickly searched for the source—almost desperately. You were sitting in the bathtub, hair wet, looking toward the door. Toward him. With those alive, vibrant eyes of yours. Not the dead ones. No—these had their own living tones. You parted your lips, but only a breath came out. Tilting your head, you watched him curiously. "You came home early…did something happen?" A faint, worried smile played across your face.
Sinister Mark just stood there. Right now, you were real. The voice he heard was real. Not like the ones he used to hear…no, his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. He took a step or two forward sideways, then stopped again. Pressing his lips together, he clenched his gloved fists, the slight creak echoing as you watched. "I know…you told me I should never attempt these things without you. Is this for that?" His clenched hands relaxed, and without thinking, he walked toward you. Toward the nakedness he hadn't seen in years. While you were babbling, he had already kneeled beside the bathtub. "I just wanted to relax…you know, being with the twins wears me out too much."
His hands went to your hair, stroking it gently. "I can't be mad at you for this." Under his touch, you leaned even further back into the bathtub. You were look so beautiful, so safe under the soapy water. He had to consciously keep his hands from trembling. "Then why did you come home early, handsome?" you teased, giving a playful grin. He watched how the corners of your lips creased slightly with that smile—a sight he wasn't used to. You loved him, but you never smiled like that. Not after what he'd done. Had he learned again, would it always be the same? Would life grow dim in your eyes like that grin, would it fade toward him? That soul, which had never had a chance to crush him, would it retreat back into its shell again…
He swallowed. His adam's apple moved as he shifted slightly. "I missed you." The confession hung between you—but even heavier in his heart. He wondered how you'd react, watching your eyes look at him with a hint of surprise, the smile on your face fading slightly. He didn't want it to fade completely. Slowly, his hand moved to stroke your cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, Mark." Suddenly, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. Your embrace caught him off guard—his hand was still suspended in the air where your face had been. He clenched his teeth. He gently buried his head against your wet shoulder. "God, you're wet." His hands settled on your back, returning your hug. You giggled at his mild complaint, and he inhaled it. Like a starving animal savoring the way your body shivered with your laugh. You were alive, warm, happy. More than he expected. It was so comforting. It was funny to think—this peace…yet the entire damn house was soaked in it. That unfamiliar happiness, that peace that was almost allergic to his soul…it was everywhere. Surrounding him. When you felt his grip tighten, you responded in kind. "Yes, big man, now you need to stop coming to my feet like a kicked puppy every time you're unhappy. I don't want the kids to pick that up either." You said it in a playful tone as you patted his back.
One of his eyebrows twitched beneath the mask, his face buried in your shoulder slowly shifting toward your jugular. His breath gently brushed against your skin as he murmured, "A kicked puppy? I'm not like that, Y/n." you only let out a teasing little hum. God, you were so sarcastic woman…he could get used to. He pressed a sharp, longing kiss along jugular in your neck. Then another. His hands slid down your back toward your tailbone, and he felt your breath hitch for a moment. Your body, fuller and rounder than he remembered, hadn't fully recovered after giving birth to the twins. Though your breast, pressed against him in the hug, had regained some of its former fullness. He didn't mind—it just felt unusual. When his hands ghosted lower to your rear, you pushed back at him playfully. The sudden motion caught him off guard. "Mark, you idiot! Didn't I say no sex while I was pregnant?* All the fun seemed to drain as you quickly climbed out of the foamy bath. Before he could process your words, your belly came into view—swollen, marked with stretch lines. Wet, you stepped past him, and he looked down at the now empty foamy water. His wrists rested against the edge of the tub, hands dangling forward. He muttered in disbelief, "God…she was pregnant." Despite the shock on his face, a deep anger flared inside him. Against your husband—no against his own version. Damn it…that useless piece of trash. How lucky and insatiable. He would've decorated the floor with his own hands where he first found you. Turning his head over your shoulder, he watched you dry your wet hair. His eyes slid back to your hips and rear. After lingering there for a moment, he shifted focus to your belly, even though he couldn't see it fully from behind. "You've gotten even plumper every day," he said, trying not to sound too weird while letting his thoughts slip. You glanced at his grin over your shoulder. So today was a playful day, how nice. "I wonder whose fault this is?" You set aside the small towel in your hand, grabbed a bigger one from the rack, and wrapped your body in it. "If you hadn't ripped the damn condom during sex, I'd be living in peace right now. Not eating that cursed jam with the egg all at once."
Jam and eggs together? Mark couldn't hold back a laugh—god, pregnancy cravings were so strange. He quickly rose to his feet and strode toward you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. His hands slid over your swollen belly while his eyes followed every movement. Gently caressing you over the towel, he turned his face even closer to yours. "Pregnancy suits you," he murmured, his breath brushing your ear. "Give me a kiss, beautiful woman." Chuckling, you tilted your head to meet his grinning lips. Today he was acting pretty weird. But you didn't think much of it—you remembered how even just Mark breathing used to make you snap, thanks to your hormones. This had to be because of the hormones. He captured your lips quickly, his hands stroking your belly as he drew in your breath. Your tongues danced together inside your mouths. God, your moans…it was like he could take even more from you, he pressed his head further into you. His hands slid beneath your belly. With a slight lift of your stomach, you moaned against his lips. That was enough for him. After pulling back just enough to let you breathe, your lips met again. He devoured you hungrily, and with a swift motion, escaped from your towel. The towel fell to your feet as Mark turned you around and pressed your back against the door. As gently as he could. You paused the kiss for a moment. "God, Mark you're such a trickster," you said. Ignoring your words entirely, he bit and pulled off his gloves. Tossing them aside without care, his fingers found your opening shamelessly. Both of you went breathless—Mark even more so from excitement. He was on the edge of losing control. With your plump form, he wanted to consume you completely. Damn the baby…it was the only thing standing between him and claiming what was his. Just two motions, and Mark's fingers were coated in your fluids. "God, look at you…you're literally dripping."
You whimpered with a hint of embarrassment. "Because of the bath!" Chuckling at your words, he pulled you into another kiss. "Yes, yes I'm sure that's the reason, my little beautiful wife." He couldn't get enough of your lips. He wanted to taste as much as he could with his tongue, to slide his teeth as far as possible. And he did—gently nibbling just enough to tease your lips. You moaned right against his mouth. "Mark! Be gentle! I'm carrying two lives here!" You scolded him, tapping his hand on your shoulder, and in response, he pressed his fingers against your walls. You moaned with pleasure. It was the most delightful sound in his ears. Chuckling as he lightly licked the faint blood that had appeared on your lips without bleeding, he said, "I can't help it… you're just too beautiful." With two fingers moving inside you, you could barely stay standing, propped up just by his presence. You were delicate, fragile… maybe pregnancy wasn't such a bad thing after all. Especially knowing he could see you like this for nine months…yet, from the corners of his mind, hatred and jealousy toward your Mark flared up once more. I'll ruin his brain and…then he whispered, "After the one in your belly comes out, I'll bury another one inside you, my love."
Later, after he made you cum twice with his fingers and fucked your thighs, you would have had a few words about his “new” costume—telling him how the yellow actually suited him, etc—then he would go off to do a task he needed to do, which involved killing the real Mark. I was pretty lazy and ate up half the scenario. Nothing was left for you. By!
