“…WANNA DRAG YOUR LIFELESS BODY TO A FOREST & FORNICATE WITH IT.”
synopsis — sinister mark comes into the universe with one goal: to find you, as you’re dead in his universe and every other one he’s searched. you’re only friends with the original mark but sinister is obsessed with you. things go slightly south and now you’re hiding sinister from everyone in the comfort of your own home.
sinister invincible ✘ m reader
contains — semi slowburn split into two parts! the second is smut which involves :: pillow prince reader, dumbification(?), a bit of drooling, creampie, fingering, dick riding, blow job/deep throat, doggy-style, biting if you squint (sinister receiving), og mark catches you guys, angst(?)
The first time you notice something is wrong, it’s quiet. Way too quiet. You’re used to the noise—Mark talking too much, the hum of the city being alive, the constant buzz of being ready for something to go wrong. Even when there’s nothing happening, there’s always something. But right now–absolutely nothing. It’s kind of unsettling.
You hover midair, frowning slightly, scanning the streets below. Everything looks normal. Cars move, people are chatting as they walk down the streets. Someone even drops something and curses under their breath. Completely ordinary.
Still… something itches at the back of your neck.
Like you’re being watched.
You turn sharply, expecting to see Mark floating behind you with that stupid grin, maybe about to scare you for fun.
There’s someone there but—
Same face. Same build. Same suit—almost. But darker. Even the colors feel wrong. Muted, like they’ve been drained of anything bright or hopeful. And his expression? Not even close.
He’s staring at you like he’s seeing something unreal. Like you shouldn’t be existing.
Your brows pull together. “...Mark?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at you–eyes slowly moving over your face, your torso, your hands—like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s checking for something. Or making sure you’re real.
The way he says it makes your stomach twist. “Yeah?” you reply slowly. “I mean.. last time I checked.”
He exhales. It’s shaky but not scared, more like relief.
“Alive,” he repeats, softer this time.
You straighten slightly, alert now. “Okay, you’re starting to weird me out. Where’s Mark? ..My Mark.”
The question makes something in his expression shift. Not exactly anger, something a bit sharper.
“Mark,” He echoes, like the name leaves a bad taste on his tongue. “He’s here?”
“...Yeah?” you say, more cautious now. “Why wouldn’t he be?
It’s quiet at first, almost like he didn’t mean to let it out. But it sprouts into something low and bitter. It’s completely unlike the Mark you know.
“Of course he is,” he mutters. “Of course he gets this too.”
Your patience thins. “Okat, seriously, who are you?’
His gaze quickly snaps back to you. “I’m him,” he says.
You blink. “That… doesn’t really help.”
“I’m Mark,” he repeats, getting closer.
You instinctively move back. That makes him freeze. For a second, something almost hurt flashes across his face—but it disappears just as quickly, replaced by something colder.
“You don’t recognize me.”
You cross your arms slightly, not fully defensive, but ready. “Look, if this is some multiverse thing, just say it.”
That gets a reaction out of him. His lips slightly twitch upwards. “You catch on fast.”
“Yeah, well,” you shrug, “comes with the job.”
His eyes linger on you again. For too long.
You shift uncomfortably. “Okay.. you’re staring.”
“I know.” And he doesn’t stop.
“...What?” you ask, a little sharper now.
He gets closer again. This time you don’t move back immediately, but you tense.
“In every version,” he continues. “Every world. Every timeline I could reach.”
You stare at him. “That’s– That’s not funny.”
There’s no hesitation in his voice. Nothing hinting at a lie either.
“I looked.. and every time..” His jaw tightens. “You were dead.”
“...Okay, that’s—wow. That’s dark.”
“In some, you never even made it this far,” he goes on, like he didn’t hear you. “In other.. I found what was left.”
“And in some, I was too late.”
He stops and his eyes find yours.
“You need to chill,” you say firmly. “I’m right here. Alive. So whatever you say? Not happening here.”
Silence again. Then he smiles. It’s small–doesn’t hold relief but something worse.
Your chest tightens. Because the way he says it implies that he’s not just glad. It sounds like he’s already claimed something. And you both know what that ‘something’ is.
Before you can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the air.
You turn instantly. Mark flies up beside you, slightly out of breath but smiling. There’s the smile you know.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere—oh.”
He notices the other him.
You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. “Yeah. He says he’s you.”
Mark looks between you and him, confused but curious. “Huh.”
Then he grins, casual as ever. “So what, you from another dimension or—”
The words are sharp like blades.
Sinister Mark doesn’t look at him. He’s looking at you, staring. “He’s not someone you get to be careless with,” he says.
You frown. “What is your problem?”
The finally pulls his attention away–from you to Mark. And the softness? Gone. Immediately. It’s replaced with something almost hostile. “You don’t even try,” Sinister says.
Mark raises a brow. “Try what?’
The air between you three goes still.
Mark looks genuinely confused now. “Keep–what are you talking about?”
Sinister scoffs. “You have him right here. Alive. Trusting you. And you just.. What? Float around and joke? Waste his presence?”
Your heart starts to pound and you cut in. “Hey– I’m not something to ‘keep.’”
Immediately, his expression changes again when he looks back at you. Softer again. “Not like that,” he says quickly.
It was too quick and your Mark notices. He frowns.
“Dude,” Mark says slowly, “you’re being weird.”
Sinister Mark doesn’t even react to that. He just looks at you.
“I finally found a version where you’re alive.”
Your throat feels dry. “...Yeah,” you say carefully. “And you need to back off a little.”
He goes still. For a second, you think he’s going to argue. But instead–
He nods. “I will,” he says.
Mark lets out a short laugh. “Uh, yeah you are. We’re gonna figure out a way to send you back–”
“No.” Sinister snaps back, his gaze on Mark is anything but friendly. “I’m staying. You’re not taking him from me.”
Mark’s smile fades. “That’s not how this works.”
“Okay,” you step in, raising your hands slightly. You can feel your purse spiking. “Both of you, relax. We’re not doing this midair in public.”
Mark exhales. “Yeah, okay, fine.”
Sinister doesn’t argue with you.
And as the three of you descend–
You can’t shake the feeling that this just became something way bigger than a simple multiverse problem. Because the way he looks at you? It’s not curiosity or plain ol’ relief. It's obsession. And not once does he take his eyes off you.
The flight to the secluded sight is tense in a way you can’t really explain.
Mark keeps glancing over his shoulder like he’s trying to process what just happened without actually showing down enough to do it. You’re flying beside him, trying to stay focused, but it’s hard when you can feel Sinister right behind you.
Not just behind you. Close. Way too close.
Every time you adjust your position in the air, he adjusts with you. Like it’s automatic. Like there’s no version of reality where he isn’t right there.
“Okay,” Mark says finally, breaking the silence as the wind rushes past. “We’re going straight to Cecil. He’s gonna want to know about this immediately.”
Sinister Mark doesn’t say anything but you can feel it–the way his presence tenses the moment Cecil is mentioned, like something in him doesn’t like the idea of more people involved. More eyes. More distance between him and you.
You glance back slightly. “You okay back there?”
“I’m fine,” Sinister says immediately.
“You don’t look fine.” You frown.
His eyes flick to yours, locking on like a target. It’s like he was waiting for you to talk to him again.
That doesn’t make sense, but somehow you get the feeling that it does to him.
Mark, flying slightly ahead, mutters, “This guy is.. a lot.”
You hear it and so does Sinister Mark. His expression sharpens again as if he’s your guard dog sensing a threat.
“He talks too much,” he says flatly.
Your Mark glances over his shoulder. “Excuse me?”
“He talks like he knows you,” Sinister continues. “Like he’s important to you.”
Mark lets out a snort, disbelieving laugh. “I am important to him. We’re friends!”
The word lands wrong. You feel it immediately and hold back an exasperated groan.
Sinister slows slightly, drifting closer to you until he’s almost shoulder-to-shoulder with you in the air. “Friends,” he echoes. Like it’s unfamiliar. Like it doesn’t fit in the world correctly.
You sigh. “Yeah. Friends. That’s it.”
His expression softens again—but it’s unsettling how quickly it happens and how he can just shut it off on will. It’s like his mood is tied directly to your voice.
“That’s.. good,” he murmurs.
Mark glances back again, noticing the closeness now. “Hey, can you not hover over him like that? It’s weird.”
Sinister looks at him again and unsurprisingly—that immediate irritation.
“I’m not hovering. Why do you care anyways? You’re just his friend.”
“I–okay, what? You are literally hovering.”
You blink a few times. “Um, from what?”
Sinister doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flicks over Mark, then the sky, then back to you. “From people who don't understand what they have,” he says finally.
Mark also slows. “Dude, I don’t know what kind of universe you came from, but in this one, he’s not–”
“He’s not what?” Sinister cuts in sharply.
Mark hesitates and you feel the tension between them spike instantly.
“Finish that sentence.” Sinister growls.
Mark frowns. “He’s not.. something to protect from me. I’m not a threat to him.”
That earns a low, humorless laugh from Sinister Mark. “You don’t even realize it, do you?”
You rub your temple. “Okay, can we not do the cryptic villain talk mid-flight? We’re trying to get to Cecil, remember?”
At the mention of Cecil again, Sinister Mark stiffens. “Cecil,” he repeats.
“Yeah,” Mark says, clearly trying to stay practical. “He’ll help us figure out what to do with you.”
He glares at Mark. “You want to hand me over.”
Mark shakes his head quickly. “No, no. That’s not what I said. I said we’re figuring it out.”
Sinister drifts even closer to you again, like Mark’s words physically pushed him away and he corrected it.
“You shouldn’t trust him,” he says quietly to you.
You stare at him. “Cecil?”
“No,” he says immediately. “Mark.”
Mark chokes slightly. “Hey!”
You let out a tired breath. “Okay, this is getting ridiculous.”
Sinister doesn’t react to your frustration. If anything, he looks calmer when you’re talking directly to him.
“He doesn’t understand you,” he continues. “He thinks this is simple.”
Mark gestures between all of you. “It is simple. Alternate guy shows up, we fix it, we send him back.”
Sinister finally turns his head fully toward him again.
You glance between them. “Okay, but—”
“He won’t send me back,” Sinister interrupts, still calm. “He can’t.”
Mark scoffs. “We don’t know that yet.”
Instead, he drifts even closer to you again—so close your shoulders brush midair.
Your jaw tightens slightly. “You’re really close.”
“I know,” he says with hesitation and apology.
Mark slows slightly behind you both, watching now more carefully. “Can you give him some space?”
Then, softer—but somehow worse.
“If I give space,” he says, “people take things away.”
Your stomach twists slightly. “No one’s taking anything away from you.”
“You don’t know that,” he says.
Mark exhales sharply. “We’re landing soon. We’ll deal with all of this with Cecil. Until then, just—try not to escalate anything.”
As you descend toward the secluded facility below, Sinister stays exactly where he is. Right beside you.
Like if he looks away for even a second you won’t be there anymore.
The facility feels colder than you remember. Even before you land, you can feel it—that controlled, sterile kind of atmosphere that always comes with Cecil’s presence. Everything too clean. Too ready for something to go wrong.
You follow right after him.
Sinister Mark lands last, but he doesn’t step back when you touch down. He stays right at your side the moment your feet hit the ground, like separation is not an option he’s considering.
The doors open and Cecil is already there, arm behind his back.
“Mark,” Cecil greets first, eyes flicking briefly to you. Then he pauses when he sees the second Mark.
“…I see we have a situation,” Cecil says.
Mark exhales. “Yeah. Multiverse situation. He showed up out of nowhere.”
Sinister Mark doesn’t wait for permission to speak.
Everyone turns slightly toward him.
Cecil studies him. “And you are?”
Sinister’s eyes narrow immediately at that question. Like he’s offended.
“I’m Mark,” he says flatly.
Mark gestures awkwardly. “Yeah, …another me. From a different universe.”
Cecil doesn’t react much to that. “We’ve dealt with variants before.”
Sinister scoffs under his breath.
You notice it instantly—the way his posture tightens when Cecil says variants. Like reducing him to a category bothers him more than the situation itself.
“I’m not a variant,” Sinister says.
Cecil tilts his head slightly. “From my perspective, you are.”
Something in him shifts immediately, like a switch flips.
“No,” he says again, louder this time. “You don’t get to decide what I am.”
Mark glances between them quickly. “Okay, hey, let’s just—calm down. We’re trying to figure this out, remember?”
Sinister doesn’t look at Cecil anymore. He’s looking at you.
“You brought him here,” Sinister says quietly to Mark.
Mark frowns. “Yeah, because Cecil can help—”
“No,” Sinister Mark cuts in. “You brought other people near him.”
There’s a sharp edge in his voice now. Not just annoyance—something more possessive, more tightly wound.
Cecil notices. “So,” he says slowly, stepping forward just slightly, “this is about him.”
“Yes,” he says, fully irritated.
You shift slightly. “Okay, can we slow down for a second? Everyone’s acting like I’m not standing right here.”
Sinister immediately softens when you speak. Just like that.
“I know you’re there,” he says, voice lowering again, almost careful. “I just don’t like them talking about you like that.”
Cecil’s gaze flicks to you briefly. “We are talking about a containment-level situation involving an unknown interdimensional arrival.”
Sinister lets out a short, humorless laugh. “There it is,” he says.
Mark raises his hands slightly. “Dude, no one—”
“You were thinking it,” Sinister snaps before your Mark could even finish.
Mark goes quiet for a second.
You step forward slightly. “Okay. Let’s back up. Cecil, he’s not—dangerous or anything. He’s just… weird. From another universe.”
Sinister Mark’s head tilts slightly at your words.
“Weird,” he repeats softly. Almost… amused.
Cecil studies him more carefully now. “You’ve been tracking him across universes.”
Mark’s eyes widen slightly. “You what?”
“I looked everywhere I could reach,” he says again, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Cecil’s expression tightens just slightly. “Why?”
Sinister turns toward Cecil fully now.
And this time, there’s no attempt at politeness. “Because he was dead everywhere else,” he says flatly.
Even Cecil doesn’t interrupt that immediately.
He continues. “Every world I found, he was gone.” His eyes flick to you briefly. And the intensity softens again, like you’re the only stable point in the room. “Here,” he says, quieter, “he isn’t.”
Mark shifts uncomfortably. “Okay, but that doesn’t mean you just… show up and start acting like this.”
The irritation is back instantly.
“I’m not acting,” he says.
“You kind of are,” Mark replies.
Sinister steps slightly forward. “You don’t understand,” he says. “You have him. You treat this like it’s normal.”
Mark blinks. “It is normal. We’re friends.”
“He shouldn’t be just that,” he says.
Cecil’s eyes narrow slightly. “And what should he be?”
That question hangs there for a second too long.
Cecil exhales slowly. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is to me,” Sinister replies.
Mark rubs his forehead. “Okay, this is getting worse. Can we just figure out how to send him back before this turns into something insane?”
Cecil’s voice is calm, but firmer now. “That is not your decision.”
Sinister finally reacts to Cecil directly again. And this time, there’s something darker in his tone.
“It is if I can’t find him anywhere else,” he says. “I’m not losing him again.”
Mark looks at you now, like he’s only just realizing how far gone this situation might be.
Mark says slowly, “That’s… not a normal thing to say.”
“I know what I’m saying though,” he replies.
And then, turning slightly toward you—
“You don’t have to be afraid.”
Which is ironic because the way he says it feels like the only reason you shouldn’t be afraid… is because he’s decided you’re safe.
Right where he can see you.
And Cecil doesn’t even have to raise his voice for the next thing to happen.
He just looks at Sinister Mark—studies him like a problem to be solved instead of a person standing in front of him.
“We’re not discussing this further,” Cecil says evenly. “You will remain here until we determine whether you are stable enough to—”
That’s as far as he gets.
Because something in Sinister snaps. Like a thread finally gives out after being pulled too many times.
You barely register what’s happening before it happens.
One second he’s beside you.
The next his hand is on your arm.
No, it’s not hurting you, but it isn’t giving you any room to question it either.
The ground drops out from under you.
Wind slams into your face so hard it steals your breath, and suddenly the entire world becomes motion blur—lights, steel, sky, everything stretching into streaks as Sinister rockets upward and away from the facility at an almost violent speed.
You don’t even have time to process it properly. Your body instinctively locks up, panic hitting late as your brain tries to catch up with what your senses are doing.
Your voice gets swallowed by the air.
You grab onto him immediately without thinking—hands clutching at his suit because there is literally nothing else to hold onto. The speed is overwhelming—tremendously quicker than you’ve ever been able to fly.
His arm tightens slightly around you.
Behind you, far away now, you barely catch a glimpse of Cecil’s facility shrinking into the distance. A flicker of Mark following after a split second too late.
But Sinister Mark is faster.
The sky turns into a tunnel.
Air pressure builds around you so intensely your ears ring, and your stomach feels like it’s being left behind entirely.
“Hey—HEY!” you manage to shout into the wind. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
Sinister doesn’t slow down.
Doesn’t even glance at you.
His voice comes out calm. Too calm for what he’s doing.
“That’s not an answer!” you shout back, gripping tighter as another surge of speed hits. “You just abducted me mid-conversation!”
“I’m taking you somewhere safe.”
“That’s not what this looks like!”
Finally, his head turns slightly—just enough for you to feel his attention lock onto you again.
“It looks like I’m stopping them from keeping you in a room full of people who think they can decide what you are.”
Your grip tightens involuntarily as another gust of speed slams into you.
“I wasn’t being kept!” you yell. “We were talking!”
“You don’t see it,” he says flatly.
There’s something frustratingly steady about him right now. Like he’s completely convinced.
The world below becomes unfamiliar now—forests, long stretches of land, scattered buildings. Not the city. Not the facility. He’s taking you far out.
“Where are we going?” you demand.
“Mark is going to follow us, you know!”
You shift slightly in his grip, trying to get a better look at him despite the speed.
“You can’t just take me like this,” you say more firmly now. “That’s not normal!”
“I didn’t take you,” he says.
“You’re with me,” he corrects.
The wording makes your chest tighten.
“That’s the same thing in this situation!”
“No,” he says immediately. “It isn’t.”
You can feel it now—how tightly he’s holding you. Like letting go isn’t something he’s even considering as an option the universe allows.
The wind roars louder around you as he adjusts direction again, angling downward slightly.
And that’s when it clicks.
He’s going somewhere specific.
Somewhere he seems to already know.
“You know where I live,” you say slowly.
Your blood runs cold and swallow hard. “You need to take me back. Right now.”
“I can’t do that for you.”
The ground below sharpens into detail again—roads, rooftops, the edges of a quieter suburban area coming into view. Familiar shapes begin to form, and dread settles in your chest.
You twist slightly in his grip again. “Mark, listen to me—this is not okay.”
For the first time since he grabbed you, there’s a pause in his voice.
“…I know what I’m doing,” he says.
“That’s what worries me!”
That finally makes him look at you properly again. Just for a second. And there it is again—that look. Something far more intense than earlier. Like your discomfort doesn’t register as a reason to stop. Only as something to adjust around.
“I’m not hurting you,” he says quietly.
You let out a breathless laugh, half disbelief, half frustration. “That’s not the point.”
But he’s already lowering.
A house comes into view and you recognize it as yours.
He lands on the roof with almost no sound at all.
The world steadies violently after the speed, leaving your body disoriented, your balance off, your pulse still racing like it hasn’t realized you’re not moving anymore.
Sinister finally loosens his grip just slightly—but doesn’t let go. Not fully.
You pull back enough to look at him properly now, breathing hard.
“You brought me here,” you say slowly. “Why?”
He studies you for a moment.
Like he’s checking for something.
Then, softer, “Because this is where you’re supposed to be.”
Far in the distance, barely audible, you hear the faint crack of something breaking the sound barrier again.
His posture changes slightly and as he keeps his eyes on you, standing on your roof like he belongs there more than anything else in the world—
He mutters a curse under his breath, directed to your Mark.
Suddenly you’re moving again.
He moves fast, forcing open the window to your room—your actual room, the one that still looks exactly how you left it—by crashing inside.
The second you’re both in, he straightens whilst you catch your breath.
His focus snaps away from the room and straight toward the sky outside. Toward Mark’s direction. His expression hardens immediately.
“I’ll deal with him,” he says, already turning toward the broken window.
Your stomach drops. “No, God, just stay—”
He steps toward the window, already preparing to launch himself back out like this is just another problem to punch through, like everything up to this point hasn’t already spiraled enough.
You grab him hard. “Stop!”
He looks down at where you’re holding him, then back up at your face.
There’s something tense in his expression. Something ready to snap again.
“He’s almost here,” Sinister says. “I can hear him.”
“I know,” you shoot back. “That’s the problem.”
“He’s not taking you from me.”
“I’m not going anywhere!” you snap, voice sharp. “But if you go out there right now, this turns into a fight—and that’s worse.”
You can see the conflict flicker in his face.
Everything in him is wired to move—but you’re standing right there, holding onto him, telling him not to.
“…He’ll try to take you,” Sinister says.
“I can handle Mark,” you reply. “I know him.”
You tighten your grip slightly, pulling him back just a step from the window. “If you actually want to help me, then don’t go out there.”
The sound outside gets louder.
“Hide,” you repeat quickly, scanning your room.
Your eyes drop. Under the bed. It’s not exactly ideal, especially for a man like Sinister Mark. But it’s the fastest thing.
“Get under there,” you say, pointing.
“You want me to hide,” he says slowly.
Something about that clearly doesn’t sit right with him.
You take a step closer, lowering your voice but not your urgency. “Then don’t think of it like hiding. Think of it like… not making things worse.”
Another crack splits the air outside.
Mark is literally right there.
“Please,” you plead, more quietly this time.
Then, reluctantly—he moves.
He lowers himself down, ducking under the bed in one smooth motion. Even then, he doesn’t fully settle at first, like every instinct in him is screaming to get back up and face whatever’s coming at him.
You crouch quickly, meeting his eyes in the shadows.
“Don’t make a sound,” you whisper.
His gaze locks onto yours.
“I’ll stay,” he says quietly.
That’s all you have time for.
The rest of your already-damaged window explodes inward as Mark bursts into the room, landing hard on your floor.
Glass scatters everywhere.
Your heart jumps into your throat—but you force yourself to stay standing, to not look down, to not even hint at where Sinister is.
Mark looks panicked and angry.
“Are you okay?!” he asks immediately, stepping toward you.
You nod quickly, trying to steady your breathing. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
His eyes scan you anyway, checking for injuries, hands half-raised like he’s ready to grab you and check more closely.
“He didn’t hurt you?” Mark asks.
“No,” you say. “No, he didn’t.”
Mark exhales sharply, relief mixing with frustration. “Where is he?”
“He dropped me here and left,” you say, gesturing vaguely toward the broken window. “Just took off.”
Mark’s brows pull together. “Left?”
“Yeah,” you reply, keeping your tone steady. “He was acting weird, said something about ‘keeping me safe’ and then just—gone.”
Mark turns toward the window, jaw tightening. “Of course he did.”
Behind you, under the bed—
You don’t even risk shifting your eyes.
Mark runs a hand through his hair, pacing once across your room, careful not to step on too much glass.
“That guy is seriously messed up,” he mutters. “Cecil’s gonna freak when he hears about this.”
You shrug slightly, forcing a tired edge into your voice. “Yeah, well. Add it to the list.”
Mark glances back at you. “You sure you’re okay?”
He studies you for another second, like he’s trying to decide if there’s more you’re not saying.
For a split second, your chest tightens—
“Alright,” Mark says. “Stay here. I’ll find him before he tries anything else.”
You nod. “Yeah. Be careful.”
He huffs out a short breath. “Always am.”
Another rush of air, another blur of motion—and the room is quiet again.
For a few seconds, you don’t move.
You just stand there, listening.
Making sure he’s really gone.
A quiet voice from under your bed.
Slowly, you crouch down, lifting the edge of your mattress.
Sinister is still there. Eyes fixed on you in the dim space under your bed frame.
“I didn’t tell you to lie,” he says softly.
You swallow. “He would’ve fought you.”
Sinister shifts slightly, still not coming out.
“But you made him leave,” he says. “That was… smart.”
You sit back on your heels, exhausted, glancing toward the broken window again.
“Yeah,” you mutter. “Well. Welcome to my life, I guess.”
Under the bed, his gaze doesn’t leave you.
“I like it,” Sinister Mark says quietly.
“…You can come out, y’know.”
Sinister slides out from the shadows smoothly, unfolding himself to stand again.
You stand back up, crossing your arms slightly. And he steps closer.
There’s still glass crunching underfoot, the cold air still pouring in through the shattered window—but none of that seems to matter to him.
“No, he wouldn’t have,” you reply, a little sharper now. “He’s just trying to help.”
“He was trying to separate you from me.”
You stare at him. “You say that like that’s a bad thing.”
“It is,” he says immediately, almost... whiny.
You let out a slow breath, running a hand through your hair. “You hiding under my bed while I lie to my best friend is already insane enough. Can we not escalate it again?”
For a moment, he just watches you.
You blink. “…Yeah. You did.”
“You asked me to,” he adds.
You don’t respond. Because he’s right.
Outside, the wind brushes through the broken window, carrying the faintest echo of distance.
Sinister stands there, watching you like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.
Like behaving like a loyal guard dog, hiding under your bed, waiting for your word—
Was never something beneath him.
Just something necessary to stay with you.
You’re still standing silently, trying to come down from everything—the kidnapping, the lying, the fact that there is literally another version of your best friend in your bedroom.
And he’s still looking at you like that.
Like nothing else exists.
You barely get a second to breathe before he moves.
Not like before—not grabbing you to drag you somewhere—but closing the distance in one step, hands finding you like he already knows where they belong.
His arms wrap around you, pulling you in tight against him.
Like he’s been holding himself back this entire time and now that it’s just the two of you, he doesn’t see a reason to anymore.
“You chose me over him,” he murmurs against you.
Your hands hover awkwardly for a second before instinctively bracing against his chest.
“Yeah, yeah. But you need to—”
His hands shift. Sliding from your back to your sides, gripping at your ribs like he’s checking you’re solid, real. His fingers press in slightly, then move again—lower, to your hips, gripping you there possessively.
“Okay—“ you try again, squirming slightly in his hold. “You’re— uh, really touchy, y’know that?”
He doesn’t loosen his grip.
If anything, it tightens for a second when you move, like your squirming just makes him hold on more.
His head dips slightly, close to your shoulder now, his breath warm even through your suit.
“You’re not supposed to feel like this,” he mutters, almost to himself.
“That’s.. a really weird compliment,” you manage, your voice a mix of nervous and confusion and something else you don’t want to think about too hard.
Because despite everything—
But having his hands on you, holding you like this—there’s something about it that sends a confusing heat through your chest, your stomach, makes your thoughts stumble over themselves.
And that just makes it worse.
You shift again, trying to put a little space between you, but his grip at your hips keeps you right where you are.
“You’re shaking,” he says quietly.
“I’m— yeah, because this is insane!”
“No,” he murmurs, tightening his hold just slightly. “Not just that.”
His hand slides up again, fingers pressing lightly.
“You’re real,” he says again.
“I’ve been real this whole time?” you reply, a little strained now.
That shuts you up for a second.
His mouth brushes against your shoulder—not quite a kiss, not quite anything gentle either—and then there’s a quick, sharp pressure.
It’s not enough to hurt, not really—but it’s definitely a bite.
Your grip on his suit tightens instantly. “What are you doing?!”
He pulls back just enough to look at you.
There’s something different in his expression now. Less controlled. More… hungry.
“You’re here,” he repeats, like that explains everything.
“That does not explain this!”
But he leans in again anyway.
Another bite—this time a little more deliberate, a little slower.
You suck in a sharp breath, your body reacting before your brain can catch up.
Just stops long enough to drag his tongue lightly over the spot after, like he’s smoothing it over, like he’s claiming something that isn’t even visible through your suit.
Your face heats instantly.
“M- Mark—what the hell?!”
He exhales softly against your shoulder, like he’s grounding himself through the contact.
“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he says.
“That’s because we just met!” you shoot back immediately, voice cracking slightly.
That makes him pull back enough to look at your face properly—there’s something almost conflicted there.
“It doesn’t feel like that,” he says.
Your heart is pounding now, way too fast for how still you’re standing.
He shakes his head slightly, hands still on your hips, still holding you in place.
“I’ve known you longer than he has,” he says.
“That’s—what? No, you haven’t.”
“I’ve looked for you,” he interrupts, voice low but intense again. “I’ve lost you. Over and over.”
“Do you know what that does to someone?”
And the way he’s looking at you now? You’re not sure you want to.
“He has you,” Sinister Mark continues, quieter now but sharper. “Right there. Every day. And he does nothing.”
Your brows pull together. “That’s not—”
“Your Mark is an idiot for not making you his,” he says, cutting you off.
His hand slides slightly at your waist, pulling you closer again.
Everything in your brain is screaming that this is wrong, that this is too much, too fast, too intense—and yet your body doesn’t immediately follow through on pushing him away.
Which only makes you more confused.
“Say no.” His voice is quieter now.
“If you don’t want me to,” he says, eyes locked onto yours, “say it.”
Your mouth opens but nothing comes out right away.
Because you do want him to stop.
But everything’s a mess—his grip, the heat of it, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.
“This is just— too fast,” you finally manage. “We just met, you’re another version of my best friend, you kidnapped me, and now you’re doing this—”
He watches you carefully.
Not interrupting this time.
“Is it a problem that I’m him?”
“Yes!” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.
That earns the faintest twitch of his lips.
His hand shifts slightly at your waist again, thumb brushing against your side in a slow, absent motion that feels way too intentional.
You swallow, heat rushing to your cheeks.
He leans in again before you can finish.
Not to your shoulder this time.
His lips brush along your jaw—light at first, almost testing—before he nips at the edge of it, quick and sharp enough to make you flinch.
“Hey—” you breathe out, hands instinctively gripping his chest again.
He pauses there, close enough that you can feel his breath against your skin.
“You react to everything,” he says quietly.
“That’s because you keep doing things,” you shoot back, though there’s less bite in it now.
He hums softly, like he doesn’t disagree.
Then he pulls back just enough to look at you again.
His eyes flick between yours and your lips.
It’s completely direct. No hesitation.
Your brain stalls for a second.
“You don’t ask things like that so casually!” You finally squeak.
“I do,” he replies simply.
“But I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.”
Because for all of this—for how intense he is, how close he stands, how he touches you like he’s already decided something—he’s still waiting.
This is another version of Mark—your best friend—and even if he’s different, even if he feels different, looks at you like this.. It still feels like crossing something you’re not supposed to cross.
And yet he’s not your Mark. Not really.
But the thought makes your chest tighten.
“I…” you start, then stop.
“…Just—” you swallow. “Just a little.”
That’s all you say and it’s perfectly enough for him. He moves slowly this time. No sudden grabbing or force.
One hand comes up slightly, resting lightly at your side as he leans in.
It’s focused. Like he’s putting all of his attention into that single point of contact. Like he’s proving something to himself and you.
Your breath catches immediately. It’s familiar in the worst way and unfamiliar n the best.
Your brain doesn’t know what to do with it—yet you return the kiss.
His tongue slid into your mouth, twirling around yours. You unconsciously ate up his groans as his hands trekked down your side, slipping to your hips and roughly gripping your ass, leaving the flesh aching and most likely red under your suit.
He opens his eyes in response to your small moan, looking at your face with satisfaction before pressing deeper.
He hummed against your mouth, eyes glimmering with smugness as he shuts them slowly.
And you suddenly pull back. Tease.
Your hand pushes lightly against his chest to create space, breathing uneven.
He’s looking at you like he just won something. Like victory that runs through his veins—albeit slightly disappointed that you pulled away before the good part.
Your face heats more. “I said a little!”
“But you let me,” he lets out a faux whine.
That shuts you up. Which, apparently, is all he needs.
“All I wanted,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “was for you to choose me. And you did.”
“This doesn’t mean anything!” you say quickly, even if you’re not entirely sure you believe that yourself. “It was just—curiosity. That’s it.”
He doesn’t argue, but the look in his eyes? Says he doesn’t agree at all.
“It means something to me,” he says softly.
The first couple days, you tell yourself it’s temporary.
Just until things calm down.
Just until Cecil stops scanning every corner of the city for “the other Mark.” Just until your Mark stops checking in on you every few hours with that worried, slightly suspicious look in his eyes.
Just until you figure out what to do.
But then a couple days turns into a week.
And a week turns into more.
And somehow Sinister is still there.
It settled into something strange.
You wake up one morning and he’s already there, sitting at the edge of your bed, watching you like he hasn’t moved all night. Another morning, you wake up and he’s gone—but your window is cracked open just enough to tell you he slipped out hours ago.
And then, later that day, you feel it again.
That same feeling from before.
You pause on a rooftop, scanning the street below, but your attention drifts upward instead. Your eyes narrow slightly.
“…I know you’re here,” you say under your breath.
Leaning against a nearby structure like he’s been there the whole time. Always watching you.
You sigh, crossing your arms. “You know stalking is, like, generally considered a bad thing, right?”
“I’m not stalking,” he replies calmly.
“You literally disappear and then show up wherever I am.”
“I’m making sure you’re safe.”
You raise a brow. “From what? My own patrol route?”
“…You didn’t answer your comm earlier,” he says instead.
You blink. “You were listening to that?”
“Okay, that’s—wow.” You drag a hand down your face. “You cannot just monitor me like that.”
“I can if it keeps you alive.”
“That’s not how privacy works.”
He tilts his head slightly, like the concept itself doesn’t quite land.
“Privacy didn’t keep you alive anywhere else,” he says.
You exhale slowly. “You can’t compare this place to your universe.”
“I compare everything to my universe,” he replies.
You shake your head slightly. “You’re impossible.”
Instead, he moves closer.
“You haven’t told him,” Sinister says.
You hesitate. Because you don’t have an answer and “I don’t know” feels too honest.
“Because this is already complicated enough,” you say instead. “And I don’t need to make it worse.”
His gaze softens slightly at that.
“You chose not to tell him,” he says.
“Don’t make it sound like that,” you mutter.
“I’m not keeping you. I’m just… not turning you in.”
The first time it happens, you almost don’t notice.
You’re half asleep, drifting in that space where nothing fully registers—and then there’s warmth behind you.
An arm wrapping over your waist.
You tense immediately, eyes snapping open—
Only to realize it’s him.
“…You’re supposed to sleep in the living room,” you mumble, voice rough with sleep.
“I didn’t break anything this time,” he replies quietly.
You shift slightly, trying to turn, but his arm tightens just enough to keep you where you are.
But not letting go either.
“I’m trying to sleep,” you mutter.
“Then don’t—hold me like that.”
You exhale through your nose, too tired to argue properly.
But you don’t push him off.
His grip adjusts slightly, settling more comfortably.
“…You’re so warm,” he purrs quietly.
“That’s because I’m alive,” you mumble back.
A soft press at the back of your shoulder.
“…You’re not gonna stop doing that, are you?” you ask, eyes still closed.
A routine you never agreed to.
He disappears during the day—sometimes. Other times he shadows you, always just out of sight until you call him out.
Sometimes already there when you lie down. Sometimes slipping in through the window like a habit he’s formed too quickly.
And every time? He’s closer.
More comfortable and more certain.
Small kisses linger a second longer than before.
His hand resting at your side instead of hovering.
His presence no longer asking.
You notice it more one night.
You’re lying there, half awake again, staring at the dim outline of your room while his arm rests around you like it belongs there.
You’re not tense anymore. Not confused in that sharp, panicked way. It’s still complicated. Still wrong in ways you don’t want to unpack.
And the realization sits heavy in your chest.
“This is getting bad,” you mutter quietly.
Behind you, he shifts slightly.
“Because I’m starting to like this.”
“I know,” he says and his grip tightens.
“I can tell,” he replies simply.
You let out a quiet, frustrated breath, dragging a hand over your face. “This isn’t normal.”
“…Then why does it feel like it is?”
Instead of answering, he leans in slightly—
Another small kiss, this time at the edge of your shoulder.
“Because you’re letting it be,” he says quietly.
You don’t argue with him.
A few nights later, you’re sitting on your bed, half-focused on something on your phone, half-aware of him pacing your room like he always does.
He’s wearing one of your shirts again—something casual, slightly tight on him, but it still fits in a way that makes it feel like it belongs to him now.
It fits him almost too well.
That alone is… distracting.
“You’re staring,” he says.
You blink, immediately looking away. “I’m not.”
That earns the faintest grin.
“You don’t tell me to stop wearing them too,” he points out.
You shrug slightly. “Didn’t think it mattered.”
“It does. They smell just like you.”
Your face heats instantly. “Don’t say stuff like that so casually.”
“I’m not trying to be casual.”
You gulp nervously and focus back on your phone.
“You’re ignoring me now.”
You sigh, glancing up immediately again. “I’m not.. ignoring you. I’m just thinking.”
You lower your phone slowly when you notice him approaching the bed.
“I’ve been patient, you know,” he says.
Your brows pull together slightly. “Patient about?”
He doesn’t answer directly.
Instead, he reaches out—his hand brushing against your wrist, then your arm, slow and deliberate like he’s giving you time to pull away.
“You keep letting me get close,” he murmurs.
Your chest tightens slightly. “Yeah, well… you didn’t exactly give me much of a choice to leave you at first.”
You hesitate and it’s all the answer he needs.
His hand slides up slightly, fingers curling just enough to guide you closer, but with a quiet kind of insistence.
“You don’t push me away anymore,” he adds, practically cooing.
“…You don’t give me a lot of room to.”
“I would,” he replies softly. “If you told me to.”
His other hand comes up, resting at your side, steady and grounding as he leans in just slightly. Close enough that you can feel his breath again.
“You keep choosing not to,” he adds.
“I—” you start, but your voice falters.
Because he’s right. Again.
“I would do anything you told me to.”
You suddenly close the gap.
It’s not even a full decision.
More like something in you just… gives.
Your hand grips his—your—shirt slightly as you lean in, and when your lips meet his this time, it’s not hesitant like before.
It’s hot and a little messy in the way neither of you quite knows how to pace it.
He reacts instantly. Like he’s been waiting.
His hands find you again, firmer this time—pulling you closer, guiding you until you’re right there with him, pressed into his space like there was never meant to be distance in the first place.
The kiss deepens—more intense, more certain. Like all that restraint from before finally cracks just enough to let something stronger through.
Your fingers tighten in his shirt.
His grip at your sides steadies you, then yanks you in closer until your balance tips and you end up in his lap without really meaning to.
If anything, he exhales softly against you, like this is exactly where he wanted you.
“You feel that?” he murmurs against your lips. (boner alert)
Your hand slides up slightly, brushing against his shoulder, then the edge of his collar—and without really thinking about it, you tug. Then it’s off.
You don’t even remember deciding that.
Just the sudden absence of fabric.
His gaze flicks up to yours. And just as his hand shifts again, like he’s about to close that last bit of space—
Sinister goes completely still beneath you.
You turn your head slowly and there it is.
A silhouette just beyond the blinds.
More insistent this time.
Your heart practically jumps out of your chest.
“Oh my—” you whisper, immediately scrambling off Sinister like you just got burned.
He reacts a second later, eyes snapping toward the window, then back to you.
There’s a flash of something dangerous there—instinct, the urge to move and just—
But you grab him before he can.
“Don’t,” you hiss quietly.
“Dude, I know you’re home.”
You move quickly, adrenaline kicking in hard as you shove lightly at Sinister’s chest, guiding him off the bed.
He doesn’t move immediately.
“You were just—” he starts, low and tense.
“Not the time!” you whisper urgently.
His jaw tightens, but he lets you push him toward the same spot as before.
“Don’t make a sound,” you mouth.
You drop the edge of the bed just as he disappears from view, then rush to the window, yanking the blinds open just enough to make it look normal.
“Finally,” he says. “I’ve been knocking forever. Are you okay?”
You force your breathing to steady.
“Yeah,” you say quickly. “Yeah, I’m good.”
He narrows his eyes slightly. “You sure? You look… off.”
Your heart is still racing from two seconds ago, and it does not help that there is literally another version of him under your bed right now.
“I was sleeping,” you lie smoothly. “You woke me up.”
Mark relaxes a little at that, though not fully. “Oh, sorry. I just wanted to check on you again. That guy’s still out there somewhere.”
You nod. “Yeah, I figured.”
Mark leans in, resting an arm against the window frame, looking way too comfortable for someone who just nearly walked in on… whatever that was.
“Dude,” he says, squinting at you. “You know you literally look like you just ran a marathon.”
“I told you, I was sleeping,” you reply, trying to keep your voice even.
“Yeah?” Mark raises a brow at you.
He grins a little, but it fades quicker than usual. His eyes scan your face again, more serious now.
He glances past you, trying to peek into your room, but the angle and the dim lighting don’t give him much.
“…You’ve been acting weird,” he says.
Your stomach tightens. “I recently got kidnapped by your evil twin. I think I’m allowed to be a little off.”
“Yeah, but this is like—different weird,” Mark mutters. “Like you’re distracted or something.”
Meanwhile under the bed, you can feel Sinister listening to every word.
You shrug, leaning casually against the frame to block his view a little more. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
He exhales, running a hand through his hair.
“That guy,” Mark says, shaking his head slightly. “He’s seriously messed up.”
Your chest tightens slightly at that.
“Yeah,” you say carefully. “He’s… not normal.”
“That’s putting it lightly,” Mark scoffs. “Did you hear the way he was talking? Like—like you were some kind of—”
Your brows lift. “Some kind of what?”
Mark hesitates, then gestures vaguely. “I don’t know. Like you were… his or something.”
You let out a small, forced laugh. “Yeah, that was weird.”
Understatement of the century.
Mark watches your reaction closely.
“He was way too focused on you,” he continues. “Like, it felt… off.”
You nod slowly. “I noticed.”
“Yeah,” Mark mutters. “It’s like he’s not even seeing me as—me. Just some obstacle or something.”
You shift slightly, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Maybe it’s just how things went in his universe.”
“Maybe,” Mark says, though he doesn’t sound convinced.
He leans more into the window, lowering his voice slightly.
“Still,” he adds, “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
Your breath catches just slightly. “Mark—”
“I’m serious,” he says. “It’s not normal. It’s not even like how I look at people. It’s… intense.”
You glance away for a second.
“He didn’t hurt you, right?” Mark asks again, quieter now.
“No,” you say quickly. “He didn’t.”
Mark studies you for another long moment, like he’s trying to decide if there’s more you’re not saying.
“You’d.. tell me if something was wrong, right?” Mark asks.
The question lands heavier than it should.
Something is wrong and you’re not telling him.
Mark relaxes just slightly at that, though not fully.
“Still can’t believe there’s another me out there acting like that,” he mutters. “Kind of makes me look bad.”
You huff a small laugh. “Yeah, no kidding.”
“Like, what even happened to him?” Mark continues. “How do you go from me to… that?”
You shrug lightly. “Different worlds, different outcomes.”
“Yeah, but still,” Mark says. “I mean, I get being protective—I am too, but that was… something else.”
Your mind flashes back to the way Sinister holds you. The way he looks at you. The way he told you let me do it for him.
You clear your throat slightly. “Yeah. Definitely something else.”
Mark glances at you again, a little more relaxed now that you’re engaging normally.
“Just… stay on guard, okay?” he says. “If he shows up again, you call me immediately.”
Mark points at you. “I mean it.”
Then he sighs, pushing off the window frame slightly.
“Alright. I’ll keep searching for him,” he says. “Cecil’s still freaking out about this whole thing.”
“Sounds about right,” you reply.
Mark gives you one last look—lingering, thoughtful, like something still isn’t sitting right with him.
“Get some rest,” he says. “You look like you need it.”
The air shifts as he takes off, the sound fading into the distance.
You stand there for a moment.
Waiting until he was ready gone.
You turn back toward your room, stepping away from the window.
Sinister slides out from under the bed again, rising to his full height.
Your shoulders tense slightly. “Yeah. I did.”
“He doesn’t know about us?” he continues.
“No,” you reply. “He doesn’t.”
Silence stretches between you.
And then he steps closer.
His hand closes around your wrist and he pulls you with him.
“Hey—” You were caught off guard again as he guides you back.
The back of your knees hit the bed, and you sit without meaning to. He follows, stepping in close enough that there’s barely any space left between you.
“You better not forget what we had going on before he interrupted.”
It’s sharp. Disgusted even.
Like even saying it annoys him.
You swallow, your pulse picking up again. “I didn’t— no, I didn’t forget.”
His grip falls from your wrist, but his hand doesn’t leave you. It treks down to your side again, making sure you don’t suddenly pull away.
And that’s when you realize it. Really realize it.
The shirt is gone, somewhere on your floor, and you hadn’t even fully processed it in the chaos of Mark showing up.
But now it’s impossible not to notice.
Your eyes flick down for just a second before you can stop yourself—and that’s all it takes.
Your face heats immediately. “No. I’m just—”
You look away quickly, dragging a hand through your hair. “Okay, well—can you blame me? This is—”
You gesture vaguely at him.
“No—dude, this is insane..” You exhale sharply.
You look back at him, a little more serious now. “That doesn’t mean I understand what I’m doing.”
“I do,” he says confidently.
Your brows pull together. “Oh yeah? Enlighten me.”
“You want it.” He shrugged casually.
You huff out a small, nervous laugh.
“It feels wrong to you,” he says, watching your reaction carefully. “Because of him.”
That’s part of it. A big part of it.
He tilts his head slightly, studying you like he’s piecing something together in real time.
“He didn’t choose you,” Sinister continues, voice quieter now. “Not like this.”
What do you even say to that?
“That’s not how me and him are. We’re just friends.”
Then he leans in slightly, just enough to close that last bit of space again.
“And you’re about to get intimate with a variant of him anyway,” he says.
“You’re your own person. This is.. complicated!”
Of course it isn’t. To him, it’s the simplest thing ever.
“You stopped because he showed up.”
“If he didn’t..” He trails off, doesn’t finish the sentence.
The weight of it sits right there between you.
You exhale slowly, looking at him again. “…You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”
Your lips press into a thin line, then relax again as you let out a quiet breath. “…You’re a problem.”
And he doesn’t sound bothered by that at all. If anything, he sounds sure. Like being your problem is exactly where he wants to be.
He leans in again, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. And he kisses you again.
It all happened in a blink of an eye. A second ago you and him were making out, and now?
Now you're kneeling on the bed with your mouth being fucked.
His cock had a thick vein that disappeared below its head, curved upwards against his stomach. He wasn’t trimmed—your nose pressed into coarse pubic hair.
Still, you couldn’t process the fact you were sucking off your best friend. Even if he was just some weird variant.
You felt your eyes brimming with tears, softly moaning around Sinister’s base while his pre drips into your throat.
“You’re good at this,” he grunted, hands gripping at your hair to push his cock deeper. “Look at me..”
“Mmh—“ you whined as your eyes flicked up to meet his.
“Can't talk with your mouth full?“ He grins slowly, thrusting into your mouth repeatedly with his hips, the crown of his bulbous tip abusing the end of your throat.
He watches as drool and his cum begins to pool in your lips. The mix of saliva and his semen coated his cock with a frothy ring, dripping down your chin, choking on his thick load.
You could only breathe through your nose, the noise uneven and rough. You could feel yourself getting hard—it’s surprising, really, you would’ve thought you’d get hard the moment he started fucking your throat rather than now.
“Swallow it, and don't waste a single drop.” He slowly pulled his cock out of your mouth, creating a thick white string connected to your bottom lip.
“Mm.. y— you’re so rough,” you whined, throat raw, and already cock drunk.
“Too rough for you?” He murmured mockingly while caressing your head, untangling your knotted strands.
He then shifted to plop down on the edge of your bed, swooping you onto his lap. You let out a shaky breath when you felt his slick cock settle between your ass.
“Do you know how long I’ve been thinking about this?” he asked quietly, fingers digging into your waist.
He rocked his hips slowly, letting his shaft glide through the slick coating your crack, teasing the both of you with the friction.
“Don’t— don’t do that, Mark.” You let out a soft groan, pressing your hips down on him. “Please, put it in..”
“Mm, well since you asked so nicely.”
He lifted you up just enough to align his cock to your puckered, twitching hole, rolling his hips upwards just enough to feel the tight ring of muscle start to stretch.
@ fqngless do not copy my work.
titsay
stormborns
gummygunk
