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lazy-ahh · 2 months ago

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THE THINGS YOU'D DO FOR LOVE

pairing sinister! mark grayson x (superhero) gender neutral reader

you’d follow mark grayson anywhere—even into the dark. when he asks you to betray everything you once stood for, you don’t hesitate. not when his hands are the only ones that still feel like home.

taglist @no-bishes

you’ve known mark grayson since you were both kids, back when his biggest worry was passing algebra and not the weight of an empire resting on his shoulders. back then, his hands were gentle when they held yours, calloused from skateboarding but always careful with you, like you were something fragile and precious. his laughter was bright, unburdened by the future, ringing through the school hallways or the quiet of your backyard where you’d lie on the grass, shoulders pressed together, counting stars. you loved him even then, in that innocent, aching way that only children can—pure and unwavering, the kind of love that doesn’t question, doesn’t doubt.

he was always there for you, a shadow with a smile. when the other kids whispered behind your back or shoved you into lockers, he’d appear like he’d sensed it, his voice sharp as he glared them down before turning to you, fingers brushing the tears off your cheeks. when you hid in your room after a particularly bad day, he’d climb through your window like it was nothing, flopping onto your bed with a joke already on his lips until you couldn’t help but laugh. he was there when you tripped on the sidewalk, his hands—warm, firm—catching you before you could hit the ground, lingering just a second too long on your hip as he steadied you. when you walked home late at night, streetlights flickering, he’d melt out of the shadows like he’d been waiting, falling into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

people called it weird. creepy. teachers would frown when they saw him lingering outside your classroom, his gaze fixed on you like nothing else mattered. your friends would tease, half-joking, “does he ever not know where you are?” but you never minded. to you, it was sweet. romantic, even—your own knight in shining armor, always watching, always there.

and then he got his powers.

suddenly, his protectiveness had teeth. the bullies didn’t just get glared at—they disappeared for days, coming back with hollow eyes and shaking hands. when you stumbled, he didn’t just catch you—he lifted you like you weighed nothing, his grip just shy of painful. always there to protect you before the villain you were fighting could even hurt you. the shadows he stepped out of at night felt darker, his smile sharper. but you told yourself it was fine. he was still mark. still yours.

(you didn’t realize yet—you were his, too. in every way that mattered.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the world shifts. mark’s eyes, once warm like sunlight through honey, grow colder—darker. his smiles are sharper now, edged with something dangerous, the kind that makes your stomach flutter in a way that isn’t entirely fear. he talks about strength, about destiny, his voice low and fervent as his fingers card through your hair. “earth needs to be ruled,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “and we’re the only ones strong enough to do it.”

you don’t understand, not at first. you flinch when he crushes a car under his boot just to prove a point, when he laughs at the way the metal screams. but he’s patient with you. always so patient.

“you’ll see,” he murmurs, fingers tracing your cheek, lingering just a little too long. “you’ll understand.”

and you do.

it starts with little things—justifications whispered against your skin in the dark. “they’re holding us back,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple as you watch the news together, footage of some ‘accident’ he caused flashing across the screen. “they’re weak. we could be so much more.” his words seep into you like poison, sweet and slow, until one day you wake up and the guilt doesn’t sting as much. the fear feels like power.

you’re in your costume now, spandex clinging to your skin like a second shadow, tight against your frame as the wind whips past you. mark’s beside you, his cape flaring behind him like a living thing, the edges flickering like flames in the dim city lights. below, the streets are chaos—flashing sirens, overturned cars, civilians scrambling like frightened animals. some scream, some curse, some hold up signs with shaking hands. monsters. tyrants. we won’t bow.

“look at them,” mark says, voice dripping with disdain. “running in circles like ants. they don’t even know what’s good for them.”

you swallow hard, fists clenching at your sides. “maybe they’re just scared,” you offer, your tone righteous, matter-of-fact. it’s one of the things mark’s always loved about you—how sure you sound when you stand your ground. he can’t wait to hear that same conviction turned toward his cause, that angel’s voice preaching the devil’s words. how divinely blasphemous.

he turns to you, visors glinting under the sun. “scared?” he repeats, tilting his head. then he laughs, sharp and sudden, before swooping down so fast the air cracks behind him. you follow, heart in your throat, just in time to see him land in front of a group of protestors. their signs crumple in their hands as they stumble back, eyes wide with terror.

“you’re right,” mark says, grinning as he turns to you. “they are scared. and they should be.” he steps forward, and a man at the front—brave or stupid—shoves a sign toward him. “monster!” the man snarls.

mark doesn’t even blink.

“invincible, don’t—”

one second, the man’s standing. the next, he’s on the ground, blood pooling from his nose, mark’s boot planted on his chest. “say that again,” mark taunts, leaning down.

your stomach twists. but then mark glances back at you, eyes bright with something like pride. “c’mon,” he says, holding out a hand. “show them what happens when they disrespect us.”

for a heartbeat, you hesitate. your eyes flicker between mark’s outstretched hand and the horrified faces of the civilians. you shouldn’t accept it. you shouldn’t even be considering it. but this is mark. your mark. your knight in shining armor. everything would be alright as long as he’s here, right?

just as your fingers twitch toward his, still hesitant, mark pulls his hand back. you look up, surprised, but then you see it—that devilish glint in his eyes, his lips tugging upward in a smirk that spells trouble. he’s scheming. he’s got a plan, and it’s sick enough to make your pulse stutter.

“actually... can you do me a favour?” mark’s voice is low, barely audible over the panicked crowd, but he knows you hear him.

“...what favour?” you ask, wary. it’s adorable, mark thinks. how you act like you might refuse, when he knows you’ll say yes in the end. you’ve always been so good to him, never been able to deny him.

“fight me.”

“what—?”

his fist flies toward your face before you can finish. you barely block it, the impact rattling up your arms as you skid back a step. the crowd gasps, some stumbling further away, others frozen in shock.

“what do you think you’re doing?” you hiss through clenched teeth, your fingers tangling with his in a desperate, bruising grip—like if you hold on tight enough, you can stop him from slipping away. your boots scrape against broken asphalt, the sound grating as the two of you push against each other, caught in a standstill of muscle and will. his hands are warm, familiar, but the way he’s looking at you—like this is just another game, another calculated move—makes your stomach twist. there’s a flicker of panic in your eyes, raw and unguarded, before it hardens into something sharper. betrayal.

was this it? was mark really going to leave you behind, discard you the second you hesitated? the thought cuts deeper than any blade, a silent scream in your chest: you promised. you promised it would always be us.

he’s still smirking, leaning in until the heat of his breath mingles with yours, lips nearly brushing as he whispers, “play along, won’t you? i want you to stay on their side—for now.” the words curl around you like smoke, suffocating and sweet.

“you’re still not making sense, mark,” you grit out, but the tension in your shoulders eases just slightly. the realization washes over you like a sick relief: he isn’t abandoning you. he’ll never let you go, not even if you begged. the thought should terrify you, but all you feel is the dizzying weight of his obsession pressing down on your ribs. the two of you are holding back—you both know it—yet the force between you still splinters the pavement underfoot, cracks spiderwebbing outward like a warning. “are you saying i should fight you? protect these people?” your voice wavers, not with doubt, but with something far more dangerous—complicity.

something inside mark purrs at your tone, low and satisfied. there it is. that righteous fire, that stubborn spark he’s spent years fanning into flame. he wants to bottle it, twist it until it burns for him alone. make it his.

“yes,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your knuckles where your hands still press against his. a mockery of tenderness. “i need you to get on their good side. help me find their stupid little resistance.” his grip tightens, just shy of painful. “you’d do that for me, won’t you?” it isn’t a question. it never was.

it clicks like a bullet chambering in a gun. he doesn’t just want you by his side—he wants you to be his spy, his weapon, his judas wrapped in righteous fury. the realization should send ice through your veins, should have you recoiling at the thought of betraying these innocent people, your friends, every moral you’ve ever clung to. but instead there’s only the searing weight of his gaze pinning you in place, the addicting heat of his absolute trust burning through your hesitation. he’s handing you a purpose wrapped in bloodstained hands, and god help you, you’re already reaching to take it.

“fine,” you mutter through gritted teeth, but there’s no real resistance left—just the electric thrill of your surrender as your eyes flash with dark determination. before he can react, you plant your hands against his chest and shove with enough force to send him skidding backwards, his boots carving trenches through the crumbling asphalt as the crowd’s collective gasp hangs in the air.

the explosion of sound is instantaneous—cheers tangled with screams, someone’s voice cracking as they shriek “get him!” but it all fades to static in your ears. because mark’s already coming at you again. that feral grin flashing as you launch yourself forward to meet him. your fists collide mid-air with a concussive boom that ripples outward, shattering every window in a twenty-foot radius as the shockwave sends debris spiraling through the air like macabre confetti.

you're pulling every punch, every kick measured to bruise but not break. he's doing the same—both of you dancing this violent waltz with clipped wings. but to the terrified crowd below, it must look apocalyptic—their trembling savior trading earth-shaking blows with the devil himself, concrete fracturing beneath each feigned killing strike.

mark's grin splits his face when you pirouette away from his telegraphed haymaker, his voice dropping to that intimate whisper only you can catch. "good job, baby. now sell it." the praise curls warm in your gut even as you spin into the next attack.

so you do.

your body moves on trained instinct—a deceptive stumble left before whipping right, fist connecting with his jaw just hard enough to snap his head back. he staggers with theatrical flourish, clutching his face as the crowd roars. you don't waste the opening, darting past to scoop the bleeding protester into your arms, their blood smearing garish red across your chest.

"move! now!" you bark at the remaining stragglers, shepherding them toward the alley's shadowed mouth with sharp gestures. your voice carries that perfect blend of authority and desperation—the golden hero playing their part flawlessly.

mark doesn't chase. he just watches from his kneel, fingers idly probing his "injured" jaw as civilians scramble past him. but when your eyes meet over the chaos, his gaze pins you with terrifying intensity—black pupils swallowing brown until there's nothing left but hunger.

this was only the first act.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the weeks bled together in a haze of performative heroics and hollow smiles. after that staged battle with mark, you'd stumbled into robot and eve's path, your ragtag group of survivors trailing behind like broken shadows. the shelter they led you to stank of desperation and unwashed bodies, packed with wide-eyed refugees who flinched at every distant explosion. you played your part perfectly—the trembling hands, the fractured voice when speaking mark's name, the way your breath hitched whenever someone mentioned his rampage. eve had pulled you into a crushing hug, her warmth so genuine it made your stomach churn. "we'll stop him," she'd whispered, not realizing the monster she comforted already had its claws around her throat.

you threw yourself into their cause with feverish dedication. evacuating crumbling hospitals, scavenging supplies from irradiated supermarkets, standing guard during the witching hours when nolan's loyalists prowled the ruins. every act of kindness carved another layer from your soul, each grateful smile from survivors feeling like another stone in your gut. but nights were worse. the thin cot in your makeshift room offered no comfort, the moonlight slicing through barred windows like a spotlight on your deceit. you'd curl into yourself, fists clenched in the sheets that smelled like antiseptic and dust—nothing like mark's cedar-and-lightning scent. the loneliness ate at you, sharp teeth gnawing until you swore you felt his breath on your neck, his phantom fingers tracing your spine.

then the whispers started.

"you're doing so well, sweetheart." his voice curled from the shadows, velvet-dark and intimate. you squeezed your eyes shut, but the words seeped in anyway. "eve trusts you now, doesn't she? lets you stand close when she's exhausted from healing." the mattress dipped behind you, an impossible weight. "one quick snap. you could end her before she even screamed." your traitorous fingers twitched against the pillow.

"robot's always watching the monitors," the voice continued, lips grazing your earlobe. you could almost feel his teeth. "but even geniuses need to sleep. imagine it—all those innocent little lives, snuffed out because you flipped the wrong switch." a shudder ran through you, but your thighs pressed together, feeling what little warmth you had start to make its way down. his chuckle vibrated against your skin. "you like that idea. i can feel how much you miss me."

the next morning, you volunteered for perimeter duty with trembling hands. when a child offered you their last candy bar, you nearly vomited. but that night, when the whispers came again, you rolled over and answered them.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the next day, you walked into the shelter with practiced ease, your hero's mask perfectly in place—until you noticed the way eve and robot exchanged a loaded glance before guiding you away from prying eyes. their hands were gentle but insistent as they led you through winding corridors, down a hidden passageway that descended deep underground. the air grew cooler, damp against your skin as fluorescent lights flickered overhead.

your breath caught when the cavernous space opened before you. this was it. the heart of their resistance. makeshift workstations hummed with activity, screens displaying maps of ruined cities and casualty reports. civilians moved with purpose—some tending to wounds, others hunched over blueprints. your eyes snagged on familiar faces: that telekinetic hero from detroit, the armored vigilante who used to patrol seattle, all now hollow-eyed and gaunt. the reality of it sent your pulse thundering, not with fear but something far more unsettling—a cold, detached clarity. your heartbeat echoed through your ribs like a drum in an empty cathedral, steady and... hollow.

eve's voice pulled you back as she explained their plans, her fingers brushing your arm in reassurance. "i know how much this hurts," she murmured, her eyes glistening. "but stopping mark... it might mean..." she couldn't say the words. robot remained silent, his mechanical gaze heavy on your face. when they finally asked for your decision, you made a show of hesitation—biting your lip, staring at the floor. fingers crossed tightly behind your back, you whispered your agreement. the guilt should have crushed you. instead, you felt only the terrifying lightness of a bridge burning behind you.

later that night, you claimed you needed air. eve smiled understandingly, squeezing your shoulder. "just be careful," she said, unaware she was sending a wolf to guard the sheep. you waited until the shelter's doors sealed behind you before launching into the ink-black sky.

you flew recklessly, arms outstretched as wind screamed past your ears. below, the ruined city sprawled like a corpse picked clean, skeletal buildings silhouetted against the moonlight. you spiraled through the air, laughing soundlessly as you skimmed the jagged remains of skyscrapers. this was freedom—the kind that would have sent the resistance into a panic if they'd seen you. the thought made you tilt your head back, savoring the sting of wind in your eyes. let omni-man see you. let mark come.

as if summoned, heat bloomed along your spine. phantom fingers traced your jawline, calloused and achingly familiar. "look at you," mark's voice purred in the hollow of your ear, thick with pride. "my beautiful little traitor." his spectral hands slid down your arms as you flew, guiding your movements like a puppeteer. "you had them all fooled. especially eve." a dark chuckle vibrated against your neck. "she trusts you enough to let you near the children's ward now, doesn't she?"

you shuddered, but didn't deny it. his approval curled hot in your belly.

you missed mark with an ache that hollowed out your ribs, left your hands trembling at your sides. and then—as if he'd plucked the thought straight from your fevered mind—a streak of black and yellow cut through the night sky below you. before you could gasp, strong arms encircled your waist from behind, pulling you flush against a chest that smelled like ozone and that stupid cedar cologne he'd worn since freshman year. your breath hitched as his nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his exhale warm against your pulse point.

"missed you," he murmured, the vibration of his voice traveling straight to your bones. right. this was mark. your mark. the boy who'd bandaged your scraped knees after bike crashes, who'd appeared like magic every time you'd whispered his name under your breath. your fingers clutched at the fabric of his cape, twisting the material as you turned in his arms to properly face him. his smile was all sharp edges and soft devotion, the kind that made your stomach swoop.

this wasn't some phantom conjured by your loneliness—his hands were real where they cradled your face, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks. the way his pupils dilated when you finally touched him back, when your palms settled against his chest and felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. his breath stuttered when you leaned in, when your lips grazed the corner of his mouth in a barely-there kiss.

"you're really here," you whispered, the words spilling out like a prayer. he laughed, the sound rich and warm, before capturing your lips properly. his kiss tasted like victory and something darker, something that curled hot in your gut. when he pulled away, his eyes gleamed with something possessive, something hungry.

"always," he promised, fingers tangling in your hair. "no matter where you go, i'll always find you." the words should have been sweet. should have been comforting. but the way his grip tightened just shy of painful sent a thrill down your spine all the same.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

"hey, can we talk?"

eve's voice cuts through the bunker's dim hum, too soft for the war raging above ground. you turn slowly, arms crossed tight over your chest—the perfect image of an exhausted hero barely holding it together. when your eyes meet, a wave of deja vu nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. wait, haven't you done this before?

"yes, of course. what do you need, eve?" you uncross your arms, letting your practiced mask slip into something softer, more vulnerable. the concern furrowing your brow isn't entirely fake—you've memorized the new shadows under her eyes, the way her shoulders slump when she thinks no one's looking.

"well, it's just..." eve hesitates, fingers picking at a loose thread on her sleeve before she meets your gaze again. "i wanted to check on you. especially after... earlier."

ah. earlier. the strategy meeting where robot had coldly outlined three separate scenarios for mark's termination while you'd bitten your lip raw pretending to stomach it. you let your hand settle on her shoulder, feeling the tension coiled beneath her jacket. "thanks, eve, really. but enough about me - when was the last time you slept more than two hours?"

the startled laugh she lets out is worth the twinge of guilt in your chest. "robot caught me napping by the monitors yesterday," she admits, rubbing her neck. "gave me this whole lecture about circadian rhythms while i drooled on the keyboard."

you snort, nudging her with your elbow. "sounds like someone needs a designated cuddle buddy for nap time." the second the words leave your mouth, you both freeze. it's an old joke—one mark used to make whenever eve pulled all-nighters studying.

for one terrifying moment, you think you've broken the fragile peace. then eve's lips quirk, just slightly. "pretty sure my cuddle buddy's busy, unless they suddenly found free time then i’m pretty sure they know where my room is," she murmurs, nudging you. it's not quite a smile, but it's the closest thing to one you've seen since chicago burned.

"well, i should go," she sighs, rolling her shoulders back into soldier-straight posture. "robot wants to 'review tactical variables' - which is robot-speak for 'i don't trust you not to screw this up.'"

you catch her wrist before she can leave. "don't let his wiring get crossed," you say, squeezing gently. "no one could do this better than you." the words taste like ash, but the way her fingers briefly tighten around yours almost makes it worth the lie.

the underground bunker hummed with quiet activity, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and nervous sweat. a fragile peace settled over the space—the kind veterans called "the calm before the storm" with grim smiles. if only they knew how right they were. across the room, eve leaned over a makeshift table, pointing at blueprints while the other heroes nodded along. nearby, robot's mechanical voice droned instructions to a group of civilians, their hands shaking as they prepped medical supplies. everything felt suspended in time, balanced on a knife's edge.

then the world exploded.

the ceiling shattered with a deafening roar, concrete and steel raining down like artillery fire. screams ripped through the dust-choked air as mark descended through the debris, his black-and-yellow cape billowing like a war banner. behind him, nolan's silhouette cut through the smoke—larger, more terrifying, a living nightmare made flesh.

"told you we were close," nolan said, his voice cutting through the chaos. the two viltrumites scanned the cavernous space, taking in the scrambling survivors, the overturned equipment. mark's stomach twisted when his eyes didn't immediately find you, a flicker of something raw and panicked flashing behind his visor. but he crushed it down, buried it deep. he had five minutes. if he doesn’t find you within those five minutes, he’ll have painted these walls with the civilian’s insides, turn this bunker into a slaughterhouse so brutal even his father would raise a brow. the thought sent a thrill through him—not at the violence, but at the certainty that when he found you, you'd be just as eager to watch it burn.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

mark's voice drips with venom as it echoes through the ruined bunker, bouncing off crumbling concrete and sparking wires. "you and your stupid resistance made us kill thousands of innocent people," he says, so calm it's worse than any scream. his boots crunch over debris as he strolls toward eve like this is nothing, like she's nothing.

eve's hands glow pink as she slams them together, layers of shimmering energy erupting between them—wall after wall of hardened force meant to cage him, to buy time for the last civilians scrambling up the emergency tunnels. she's panting already, sweat beading at her temples. "you did that yourself," she snaps.

mark doesn't even slow down.

he flies through the first barrier like it's mist, the second like paper, the third shattering around him in a rain of pink shards that dissolve before they hit the ground. eve barely jerks back in time when his hand lashes out for her throat, his fingers closing on empty air. he clicks his tongue, tilting his head as he studies her the way a cat studies a wounded bird. "cute," he murmurs sarcastically.

eve's eyes flash. she feints left, then swings her glowing fist right—and for one glorious second, it looks like she might actually connect. the energy crackles inches from mark's smirking face—

then your boot slams into eve's ribs with a crunch that echoes louder than gunfire.

she doesn't even have time to scream. one second she's mid-strike, the next she's airborne, her body folding around the impact before she crashes into the far wall hard enough to crack the reinforced concrete. dust plumes around her slumped form, her pink energy sputtering out like a dying light.

mark blinks. then his grin widens, slow and delighted, as he turns to you. "well," he purrs, "look who finally decided to play."

eve struggles to sit up, her body screaming in protest as shattered concrete digs into her palms. but the physical pain is nothing compared to the way her chest caves in when she sees you—your hands fluttering over mark’s arms, your brow furrowed as you check for wounds that don’t exist. mark leans into your touch, his smirk dripping with smug satisfaction as he watches the realization dawn on eve’s face.

"...why?" eve’s voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through the dust-choked air like a knife. you flinch, your fingers stilling against mark’s sleeve before you finally meet her gaze. the guilt is fleeting, there and gone in a blink, but it’s enough to make her stomach twist. her expression fractures—horror, hurt, betrayal, then finally, white-hot rage. "why?!" she screams, her voice raw as pink energy erupts around her, forming jagged armor over her trembling limbs.

you don’t answer. just square your shoulders, fists clenching at your sides.

eve doesn’t wait. she lunges, a war cry tearing from her throat as she swings a glowing fist toward your face. you duck, her knuckles grazing your cheekbone as you pivot and drive your elbow into her ribs. she stumbles back with a gasp, but recovers fast, slamming a knee into your stomach that sends you skidding across the rubble.

"you were supposed to be better than this," she snarls, her voice cracking. pink energy coils around her fists like serpents. "you were supposed to be good."

you spit blood onto the broken concrete, your lips curling into something too sharp to be a smile. "good didn’t save anyone," you say, and launch yourself at her.

your fist connects with her jaw hard enough to snap her head back, but eve’s already twisting, her armored forearm slamming into your throat. you choke, staggering—but then mark’s voice cuts through the haze. "c’mon, sweetheart," he purrs from the sidelines. "show her what happens to traitors. stop going easy on her."

the words ignite something feral in your chest, a hunger that coils hot and vicious under your skin. you feint left—just enough to make eve jerk sideways—before slamming your knee up into her stomach with a wet, cracking sound. the air bursts from her lungs in a choked gasp, her pink armor flickering as she folds in half, hands scrabbling at your costume for balance. you don’t let her find it.

your fist cracks across her jaw with enough force to send teeth skittering across the concrete. she doesn’t even have time to cry out before she’s on her knees, one arm braced against the ground as blood pours from her ruined mouth. her armor sputters, barely clinging to her body now, revealing the deep purple bruises already blooming across her ribs.

above her, you flex your fingers, knuckles split and dripping red onto the rubble. "stay down," you murmur, voice soft as a lover’s.

eve sways, her breath coming in ragged, wet hitches. but when she lifts her head, her eyes are wildfire. blood streaks her chin, her neck, the front of her ruined suit. "never," she rasps, and with a broken scream, she lunges.

her fingers hook into your hair, yanking your head back as her other hand ignites with the last dregs of her power. the pink glow reflects in your widened eyes—just for a second—before you grab her wrist and twist. the snap of bone is obscenely loud. eve’s scream is louder.

you don’t stop.

your knee meets her face this time, cartilage crunching under the impact. she collapses onto her back, her nose a ruined mess, her good hand twitching weakly at her side. the pink glow finally dies, leaving her bare and broken in the dust.

somewhere behind you, mark laughs—that bright, boyish sound that used to echo across playgrounds and now drips with something rotten. it makes your stomach flutter with warmth you desperately wish was disgust. you remember how his laughter used to sound when you’d push him on the swings, how his cheeks would dimple when he’d beg you for one more push, just one more—

the memory fractures when your gaze lands on eve. she’s barely breathing, her body a broken puppet sprawled across the concrete. blood bubbles at her lips with each shallow gasp. the world starts to blur at the edges, the sounds of the crumbling bunker fading into static—until mark’s hands settle on your shoulders. his touch is so familiar it hurts, his fingers tracing the curve of your collarbone before sliding down your arms.

“good job, baby,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice honey-sweet. “you did so good.” his hands don’t stop until they’re wrapped around your wrists, guiding them down to eve’s throat. your fingers twitch against her pulse, still fluttering like a dying bird’s. when she manages to focus her eyes on you—wide, wet with tears, the same eyes that used to crinkle when she’d sneak you candy between classes—your stomach heaves.

“shhh,” mark croons, his lips brushing your temple as your hands tremble around eve’s throat. “you’re helping her. look how she’s suffering.” his thumb strokes the inside of your wrist, tender as a lover. “end it. be merciful.”

your voice cracks like glass underfoot. “...i-i can’t.” the words taste like ash. this isn’t you. this can’t be you. this isn’t right. right?

mark doesn’t get angry. he never gets angry with you. his fingers just tighten over yours, pressing down until you feel the first faint crunch of cartilage beneath your palms. “do it,” he whispers, his breath scorching against your skin. “show me how much you love me.”

eve’s mouth opens in a silent scream.

your hands shake.

then they don’t.

when it’s over, the blood isn’t just on your hands—it’s in the creases of your knuckles, under your nails, streaked across your costume where you’d wiped them absently. mark beams at you like you’ve hung the moon, his hands cradling your face as he kisses you deep enough to steal your breath. his tongue swipes across your bottom lip, licking away the salt of your tears.

“mine,” he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours.

and you are.

down to the marrow.

..... 5.3k words... i'm so sorry to anyone who's been disturbed when they read this umm... i don't know what else to say it took me approximately 4 hours to write this one-shot. wait, does this even qualify as a one-shot still? and if anyone noticed, yes, i know mark still doesn't wear the black and yellow suit during that resistance scene but like... he looks hot in it- that scene where he goes "ohoho, poor angstrom" is just stuck in my head

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