💌

The silence after is heavy, cut only by Rex’s muttered curse. Kate finally speaks up, looking at you with that mix of disapproval and exhaustion she always seems to reserve just for you.

“Do you have to be so—”

“Yes,” you interrupt immediately, not even letting her finish. “I have to be so. Deal with it. Or don’t. Not my problem.”

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t bother continuing. You’ve already won the moment. You always do.

You pivot then, eyes landing on Immortal. He’s droning on about something strategic, but you can’t resist cutting across him either. “You know, for a guy whose like a billion years old, you’re painfully boring. Maybe spice it up next time? Add a fucking Subway Surfers screen while you talk.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait, he rarely does, but the slight twitch at the corner of his eye tells you you landed a hit. You smirk, satisfied, and lean back against the wall again, arms crossed tighter.

The room is stiff with tension now. Rex is sulking, Kate’s glaring at you, Cecil’s pretending not to be annoyed, and even Rudy has paused in that silent, calculating way he does, as if he’s running data on just how unpleasant you are.

And you don’t care. Why should you? Let them hate you. Let them choke on it.

Then the ceiling door opens.

Mark steps in, a little sweaty from flying, suit clinging perfectly around his abs. He’s smiling in that soft, easy smile that makes him look so painfully human in a room full of people pretending they’re more.

And just like that, your glare falters.

Your chest seizes up, like someone pressed pause on your heartbeat. You don’t even realize you’ve moved until you’re crossing the room toward him, all that venom dissolving as if it never existed.

“Hi,” you say, and your voice is suddenly softer, almost shy, barely recognizable compared to the razor-blade tone you’d just skewered Rex with.

Mark’s grin widens. He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, casual, gentle. “Hey, babe.”

You practically melt, slipping your hand into his arm like it’s magnetic. The others stare, dumbfounded, watching your transformation as if you’ve just shape-shifted into another person entirely. Two seconds ago, you were all fire and acid. Now you’re gazing at Mark like he hung the stars.

“How was your day?” you ask, fingertips brushing a hair strand out of his forehead, your voice warm. “Did you est?”

“I’m good,” he laughs, slipping an arm around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You don’t have to fuss over me.”

“Yes, I do,” you murmur, leaning up to kiss his jaw, shutting out the stunned silence around you.

Rex blurts, disgusted, “What the actual fuck—”

You snap your head toward him, eyes blazing. “Shut your mouth before I break it.”

Then you look back at Mark, smile sweet, tender, sugary soft. “You look really good today.”

He laughs, squeezing you closer. You bury your face against his chest, breathing him in, letting the sharp edges melt right off you. The rest of the world doesn’t matter when you’re pressed against him like this.

You can feel every pair of eyes drilling into you. Immortal, for once, has actually stopped talking, Rudy looks like he’s buffering, Kate is flat-out staring, and Rex… oh, Rex is the first to recover.

He leans back in his chair, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. “Oh my god.” He points at you, then at Mark, laughing under his breath. “You were just tearing everyone a new one five seconds ago, and now you’re over here, batting your lashes like some Disney princess. This is insane.”

You don’t even look at him. “Jealousy is ugly, Rex. Though, to be fair, so is your face, so you’re consistent.”

The room winces.

But Rex just keeps pushing, his smirk widening. “Nah, I’m serious. Mark, dude—” He gestures toward Mark. “You realize your girlfriend was basically threatening to skin me alive ten seconds ago, right? And now she’s all ‘Did you eat, baby?’” He pitches his voice high and mocking, fluttering his eyelashes. “It’s hilarious. You’re whipped.”

Mark just raises his brows, more amused than anything. That was probably the worst part of everything, he loved seeing you be mean to others, he ate it up every time, sometimes even encouraging to be meaner. Before he can even answer, you cut in.

“Careful, Rex.” you say, your voice dropping low and sharp, “I don't give a fuck that you try to be mean to me, but to my boyfriend? You’ll be drinking your meals through a tube.”

The grin slides right off his face. He slumps back into his chair, muttering something no one catches. You don’t give him the dignity of your attention. You’ve already turned back to Mark, your smile blossoming again like it had never left.

“So,” you murmur, brushing your thumb over the seam of his glove, “what are we doing this evening when these fuckers stop wasting our time?”

Mark’s smile softens, like you’re the only thing anchoring him in the room. “My mom keeps saying you should stay for dinner more.”

Your expression warms instantly. “Then I’ll stay,” you whisper, like it’s some secret just for him.

He grins, leaning down just a little closer. “Good. She likes you. Almost as much as I do.”

You roll your eyes at the cheesiness, but you’re smiling too hard to mean it.

Being with you alone was even better. You were the definition of clingy and flirty at the same time. You and Mark spend all your free time together, laying on his bed. Talking, kissing, having sex... It didn't matter to you as long as you could have him close.

You'd listen to him talk about Seance Dog with the biggest heart eyes and muttering, "you are the cutest geek" mid kiss.

And if you doubt it, he is as down bad for you as you are for him.

He held you like you were something fragile, even when you crawled all over him, demanding his attention. His hand always found its way into your hair, always brushing across your waist, always grounding you as if to remind himself you were really there.

Sometimes he’d get quiet in the middle of your rambling, just staring at you like you were something unreal. His thumb would trace the line of your jaw, his lips brushing the back of your hand like he couldn’t help it. You’d tease him for looking so lovesick, but deep down you lived for it, the way his whole world seemed to stop for you.

A lot of people ask him how does he puts up with you.

The first impression his friends had of you was you shouting at a car after almost running over an elder woman crossing the road. It was a total crash out scene, you almost puncturing one of the car's tires. William was scared, Rick a little dumbfounded and Amber actively worried about Mark's well-being. But then you spotted him, and of course, your red face of screaming turned into a blush.

They wondered how someone like Mark —all sweetness, patience, and big brown eyes— could ever fit with someone like you.

But Mark knew better. He’d never once seen you as “too much.” He loved the bite in your voice, the fire in your chest, the way you never let anything slide. He loved that you scared people a little, because when you softened for him, it made him feel like he had something no one else would ever get.

There was one time when you tried to be mean to him. You were so angry at him, furious even. He’d shown up late after promising he’d be there hours earlier, bruised from a fight he hadn’t even told you about. You’d been pacing his room, rehearsing every sharp word you were going to throw at him the second he walked through the door.

And then he did. Hair mussed, lip split, eyes tired and still, somehow, he smiled at you. That soft, lopsided grin that made your chest ache.

You started strong. “Do you even care about me at all? Do you realize how pathetic it feels waiting around like an idiot while you’re out there getting half your ribs broken?” Your voice was sharp, every word laced with heat.

Mark just stood there, quiet, letting you get it out. He dropped his bag by the door and stepped closer, not even defending himself. Just… looking at you. Those big brown eyes full of guilt and affection and something so gentle it made your throat tighten.

You tried again, desperate to hold onto your anger. “You can’t just keep doing this to me, Mark. You can’t just disappear, come back looking like hell, and expect me to—”

But your voice cracked before you could finish. Because he reached for you, thumb brushing over the back of your hand so carefully it felt like a plea. His eyes met yours, and he whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry. I’ll try to be better. I promise.”

And just like that, your fury collapsed. It was humiliating, how quickly it happened. One look at him, those damn eyes, that earnestness, and all the fire drained right out of you. Instead, you were cupping his face, muttering into his skin about how much you hated him scaring you like this, even as your hands shook from relief that he was standing there in front of you.

He kissed your forehead like you hadn’t just tried to bite his head off. “You don’t have to be mean to me,” he murmured, pulling you against his chest. “I already know you care.”

And you wanted to argue, to claw back some of your edge, but the truth was he was right. You could be mean to anyone in the world. But never him.

"Aw, honey." You whispered against his chest. "Did I make you hard again accidentally?"

He presses his lips on a thin line.

"Ugh, fuck I'm sorry," he slowly brushes his hair with his free hand. "It wasn't that, I was just thinking something."

You tilt your head against his chest, curious. “Thinking something, huh?”

Mark’s ears are already red, his free hand scratching behind his neck like he’s trying to erase the thought from existence. “Yeah. Like, it’s nothing bad, just…” He bites his lip, gaze darting anywhere but you. “Something I’ve never done before with you.”

That catches your attention. You push yourself up on an elbow, watching him squirm. “You’re being so mysterious,” you tease, dragging a finger lazily across his shirt. “What is it?”

He groans into his hands, muffled and pitiful. “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I won’t,” you promise, though you’re already grinning at how dramatic he’s being.

Finally, he peeks out from behind his fingers, wide-eyed, boyish nerves written all over him. “I was just thinking…what if I tried, y’know… going down on you?”

Your brows lift, the blunt honesty catching you off guard. “Oh.”

He rushes to fill the silence, words tumbling out in a panic. “Not like, now-now! Or unless you wanted now, but I mean, I’ve never... like, ever and I don’t wanna be bad at it, but I keep thinking about it, and I wanna make you feel good, but also I don’t wanna mess up, and—”

You reach up and cup his cheek, effectively short-circuiting his ramble. “Mark.”

He freezes, throat bobbing. “…Yeah?”

“You’re cute when you spiral like that.”

He groans again, burying his face against your shoulder this time, voice muffled. “That’s not what I was going for.”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” you murmur, stroking his hair. “You could’ve just asked. I think it’s sweet that you want to.”

Mark peeks up again, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “So…you wouldn’t, like, think I’m weird?”

“Mark,” you laugh softly, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth, “I think you’re weird no matter what. Also, knowing that you fantasize about eating me out? Dude, that's not weird. It's hot as fuck.”

He groans a little, wrinkling his nose and mouth. "Please, don't ever call me dude again."

You huff a laugh and take his cheeks between your hands, pressing them slightly. "You want to try now?"

He blinks, letting his jaw drop a little. Opens and closes his mouth two times before muttering an answer.

"Uh, I don't know. I mean, sure. Yeah, I really want to."

You grin at how red his ears get, how his throat bobs like he’s about to give a speech instead of dive between your thighs.

“Relax,” you murmur, pushing his messy hair back from his forehead. “It’s me. I promise I’ll tell you if you’re doing something wrong. You just listen to me, yeah?”

Mark nods so fast you think he might give himself whiplash. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I can listen.” He swallows again, then blurts, “I just really want to be good for you.”

Your chest tightens, he looks so earnest, so desperate for your approval that your nerves melt into warmth. You kiss him once, soft and slow, then guide him down by the shoulders until his face hovers over your stomach.

“You can start here,” you tease, arching a little when he kisses just above your waistband. His lips are tentative at first, nervous, but each press of his mouth grows bolder until he’s nipping gently at your skin.

By the time you shimmy your shorts down, his pupils are blown wide, his breath shaky. He glances up like he’s asking permission, and god, the sight of him... your big, strong boyfriend, blushing and trembling at the thought of tasting you, nearly undoes you.

“Go on,” you whisper, spreading your thighs.

The first lick is shy, almost experimental. He groans instantly, like the taste sparks something in him, and the sound vibrates straight through you. “Holy shit,” he mutters against you, already diving back in, tongue sweeping greedily.

You laugh breathlessly, fingers tangling in his hair. “You like it that much?”

Mark pulls back just long enough to look you in the eye, lips wet, expression dazed. “I— yeah. Fuck. You taste so good. Why didn’t I do this sooner?”

Your laugh cuts into a moan as he goes back at it with renewed eagerness. He’s messy, sloppy even, but he’s so into it that it doesn’t matter. He moans with his tongue inside of you like he’s addicted already.

“Slower,” you guide, tugging gently on his hair when his pace gets erratic. “Focus on my clit, baby.”

He hums an obedient little sound, immediately adjusting, sucking tentatively before flattening his tongue the way you like. He doesn't even use his fingers except for spreading your thighs wider. When your back arches, he makes a muffled, triumphant noise, gripping your thighs tighter.

“Just like that,” you breathe, grinding lightly against his face now. “You’re making me feel so good, Mark.”

His eyes flutter shut at your praise, and he doubles down, desperate to draw more sounds out of you. He keeps glancing up between licks, wide and hopeful, like every moan you give is another piece of validation he craves.

“A-ah, fuck,” you gasp, thighs trembling around his head. “You’re gonna make me cum, honey.”

He groans again, more frantic, tongue pushing deeper as his nose bumps your clit. You’re half laughing, half moaning at how desperate he is.

"Mmh, you're being such a— ngk, good boy f'me," you manage to breath, tugging his hair so he goes deeper in you. He looks at you like he's happy to drown until dead in your cunt.

"Shitshitshit, Mark!" you scream when he curls his tongue inside of you, vibrating with his own moans. "I'm— fuck, I'm cumming!"

You arch your back, riding his face through your orgasm and feeling how Mark drinks every drop.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t want to stop. He licks you through it, swallowing everything, eyes glassy with awe and need.

"Mark!" you called him, trying to separate his face from your pussy, but of course, he's stronger than you.

"Mmm," he muffles into you, still tasting you relentless. "S'good, baby. You're comfortable, right? I'm staying here for a while."

You don't know if you should laugh or cry, but Mark is definitely not letting you move for some time.

The search upstairs had been rather dry. Most of the clothes that (y/n) found in the closets were dress-y, church clothes and the like. The bathrooms were rather empty, the bottles of shampoo and conditioner already empty, tubes of toothpaste practically squeezed flat, barely any toilet paper left. The last bedroom, however, held a treasure. It had been a teenager's room, by the looks of it. Posters hung haphazardly on the walls, floor a mess of clothes, empty cans of soda left abandoned on the bedside table. There was a bookshelf, though, that was loaded with comics. (y/n) looked at all of them, grabbing ones she knew she didn't have and putting them in her bag. The others, ones she'd read before or ones that didn't interest her, were left on the bookshelf.

When she returned to Alexandria a few hours later, the first place (y/n) went after dropping off her supplies was the Grimes house. Carl loved comics more than anyone she'd met, aside from herself. Even if Carl wasn't home, someone would be, and they would be able to tell her where he was. She knocked on the front door to the house, adjusting her backpack as she waited. Rick had told her countless times that she could just walk in with how often she was over anyways, but (y/n) had decided not to after walking in on Michonne and Rick practically pawing at each other on the couch. It wasn't long before the door was creaking open, Carl standing on the other side.

"Hey. You guys are back from that supply run already?" He asked with a slight tilt of his head. His hair was a mess, hanging over the bandage where his right eye had once been. He looked like he'd just woken up, blue t-shirt wrinkly and jeans rumpled more than usual.

"Yeah, it was a dry run, mostly. Nothing noteworthy... except for these." (y/n) replied with a shrug, unable to stop herself from smiling as she pulled her backpack around to her chest. She unzipped it and pulled out a small stack of comic books, at least 10 of them.

Carl's whole face seemed to light up at the sight, a quiet curse slipping past his lips. He pulled (y/n) inside by her wrist, closing the door behind her before practically dragging her up the stairs and down the hall to his room. It barely had anything in it, just a bed, desk, dresser, and closet. With how busy Carl typically was, he didn't care to decorate. That being said, his room was still a mess. The bed was unmade, there were clothes littering the floor, his desk had a few comic books sitting on it, and a pair of boots covered in mud were sitting at the foot of his bed.

It was a place (y/n) had gotten used to, and she took it upon herself to sit on Carl's bed once he let go of her. She dropped the comics on the blanket beside her before pulling out a handful more from her backpack and doing the same. Most of them were Marvel comics, different issues of Captain America, the Avengers, The Amazing Spider-Man. There were a few DC comics, too, though. Teen Titans, Swamp Thing, and most importantly, a few issues of Batman that featured Jason Todd, AKA Red Hood. None of the comics were really that special, but they were one of the only luxuries to still enjoy in this world.

"Some old house had these in it. There were other comics, too, but it was all stuff we've read so I only grabbed these." (y/n) explained to Carl, picking up one of the issues of Batman. Carl sat beside her on the bed, picking up each individual comic to study the cover art.

"These are beautiful." He murmured as he held up one of the issues of The Amazing Spider-Man. (y/n) glanced over at him, laughing softly at his expression.

"Y'know the comic won't marry you or anything, right?" She said jokingly, looking back at the Batman comic in her hand and opening it up. Some of the pages were bent at the corners, some of the panels a bit faded, but it was still readable.

"I'm well aware, actually. Are you aware that Jason Todd can't marry you since he isn't real?" Carl responded with a scoff, snatching the comic out of her hand. (y/n) groaned quietly before grabbing it back and giving Carl a little shove.

"No shit. Doesn't mean I can't dream, though." (y/n) grumbled, flopping back on the bed. Her legs still hung off the side, swaying idly as she held the comic book up above her head. Silence fell over the two, (y/n) flipping through a Batman comic and Carl flipping through a Spider-Man one. It wasn't until Carl had nearly finished his comic that (y/n) broke the silence.

"Do you think Spider-Man could beat Red Hood in a fight?"

The question had caught Carl off guard, drawing him out of the trance he had been in whilst reading. He looked over at her with furrowed brows and a slight frown. For a moment, he just stared, blinking at her, before he closed the comic in his hands and sat up straighter.

"Do I think the Spider-Man could beat Red Hood? What, is this a trick question?" He finally responded. (y/n) only nodded in response, glancing up from her comic for a moment before returning her gaze to the pages.

"Obviously." Carl answered as if it were obvious. (y/n) let out a soft scoff before finally looking up from her comic.

"You're just saying that because Spider-Man is one of your favorites. I'm talking logistically, all things considered, do you think he could win?" (y/n) specified, gesturing between the two comics. Carl didn't respond immediately. He sat there, looking down at his comic in thought for a while.

"Personally, I think Red Hood would win. He trained a lot. Like a lot. Spider-Man is obviously powerful, but he mostly relies on his superpowers."

"That's stupid. Regardless of training, Spider-Man is still stronger." Carl retorted, acting offended that (y/n) thought otherwise, before continuing, "Aside from being able to shoot webs, he's also got super strength, and spidey-senses. He would detect any attack coming at him."

"Okay? Lots of heroes have super strength and something similar to spidey-senses. Besides, Spider-Man plays by the rules when fighting. Red Hood doesn't. He fights to win. He could take down Spidey like it was nothing." (y/n) responded with a shrug. She scooted closer to Carl on the bed, holding up the comic she had been reading to show him.

"See? He isn't fighting fair, but he's winning. That's what matters. He knows how to deceive and confuse who he's fighting." She pointed to a couple different panels where Red Hood was in a fight. Carl rolled his eye and pushed the comic away with a sigh.

"Whatever. Spider-Man would just trap him in his webs and then it's basically over."

"Definitely not. Red Hood would get out of that shit fast, then hit Spidey with something unexpected. Maybe use a gun." Carl let out a huff at (y/n)'s response, opting to just stay silent and pick his Spider-Man comic back up.

Silence fell over them again as (y/n) picked up another Batman comic and Carl restarted the Spider-Man comic in his hands. It was peaceful, sunlight coming in through the window, the faint sounds of the people of Alexandria outside, the occasional sound of a page turning. It was enough for Carl's mind to go quiet. Enough for the two of them to feel relaxed and safe.

"What about Deadpool? Do you think Red Hood could beat him?" (y/n) asked, breaking the silence once more. Carl just groaned and threw one of his pillows at her in response.