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Scott has a limp in his right leg, it's far from ideal, but better than being dead—a permanent mark from Invincible. The injury is impossible to hide, a glaring vulnerability everyone notices— especially Scott. It drives him crazy, a daily reminder that he let himself be humiliated, let Mark ’taint’ him. After the Invincible War, the GDA didn’t send him back to prison, it wasn't their biggest concern. Instead, Scott was simply pushed aside and granted house arrest.
So now, all he can do is stay home and idly pass the time with meaningless tasks. He’s taken up cooking— a hobby to keep him occupied, to take up the silence in his mind, maybe even keep himself a little sane. Somewhere along the way, he stopped eating meat. It wasn’t a decision so much as a reaction; ever since he got back from the hospital, the mere sight of blood turned his stomach.
Every time he sees it, there's a strange, unsettled feeling that blooms low in his gut— something between discomfort and eccentricity, he’s not sure if he really hates it or not.
Sometimes, Scott will find himself tracing his upper thigh, right where the open fracture was. Now there’s only a faint prominent scar etched into his pale skin, but he still remembers. He can still feel Mark’s fingers there, inside his flesh, invasive and intimate. The ghost of his touch lingers like a brand—burning, engraving him, a presence carved deep beneath the surface.
Scott has these dreams, but they turn into nightmares by the end of them. They all center around Mark .
The dreams sometimes begin with Scott lying on the floor of the same building where he fought Mark. He can’t see—everything is a blur, shapeless and disorienting—until the tears come, slow at first, then steady, clearing his vision just enough to remember where he is. Scott feels hands, slick and freezing. Not on his skin, but somewhere else, deeper.
It’s an odd sensation—impossible to put into words. A cold shiver cuts through Scott, leaving his whole body trembling. Then he hears it: whimpering, low grunts echoing, coming from no one other than himself. It makes no sense. Not at first.
Until it does.
He finally peers down to his chest, where he feels the freezing sensation continuously wash through him. Scott’s eyes widen in a mix of perverse fear, witnessing the revolting sight of his carcass. Scott’s entire chest cavity is ripped open, jagged lines following the sternum, as if someone had torn him open with every brutal intent in mind.
Scott watched his organs with eager, open eyes. He could see the subtle twitch of his bright pink lungs, deflating with every singular breath. His fleshly diaphragm pushed up and down. And most importantly, his pounding heart. Scott could hear his own heart, palpitating, beating, racing , outside of his body.
He can see his own blood travel up through the veins into his heart. The pumping of blood through his pulmonary arteries, to the lungs, before reaching the rest of the body, following behind his lungs. The more Scott looks, the more he can notice more of his organs, viscera shining brighter than the stars.
At last, Scott notices those chilling hands that lay tauntingly inside of him. They are Mark’s cold hands. His smile twists into that cruel, venomous expression he once gave to Scott before, filled with renewed malicious intent.
He teasingly caresses his hands through Scott’s insides, as if he were trying to memorize every texture, slimy, soft, rugged, then pulling on his small intestine with a slight tug. Scott reacts to this, lightly flinching, causing Mark to release a low chuckle in response. Mark’s eyes drift up towards his chest cadaver—his intense gaze targeting Scott’s heart, now tracing the pericardial sac, before his eyes narrow away, seemingly changing his mind. They travel upwards to the thoracic cavity, where he vigorously snaps his carotid artery like a twig.
Blood spurts out, resembling a water sprinkler, splashing all over Mark’s face. He licks it off his lips before scooping up some of the crimson from the leaking vessel.
Scott can’t focus on anything, he feels so lethargic and distant. It’s kinda nice, no pain, just there. Till, Mark does that stupid stupid scissoring motion with his two fingers, the blood connecting across the two digits.
“Open up.” Mark commands, voice dripping with sick satisfaction. The same amount the first time he had dug his presence into him. Those same distant yet recognizable words cause Scott to snap out of his daze. His pupils dilate, and everything comes to him in a wave. The overwhelming realization of fear and suffocating pain coming from having his organs practically manhandled, touched, and branded by those dark, vacant eyes that belonged to something that could never be human . Scott can’t do anything but scream at the top of his lungs.
Scott wakes up in a cold sweat, his breath staggering, his lungs pushing air excessively in and out. His hand instantly travels to his thigh, gripping tightly, absentmindedly caressing the scar repeatedly in a soothing motion to calm himself down. Scott is shaken out of his daze by the sound of broken glass. His head whips upward to where the cause of the sound is coming from.
The moonlight shines upon his room, the curtains blowing from the slight breeze from outside. Scott noticed the slight outline of a dark figure in the corner of his room next to the window. At first, he thinks he is hallucinating. Scott doesn’t get out of his bed, out of unease. Scott lives on the 64th floor in a high-rise apartment, this isn’t any regular intruder.
“Did you miss me?” The dark figure utters softly, and Scott shivers at the mere sound of his voice. His heart thumps so strenuously in his chest, that Scott feels like it's going to burst if Mark doesn’t pop it for him. He finally steps out into the moonlight, it's the man of his dreams.
Scott wants to scream, so, so badly, but no sounds come out, except a small whimper. His hands curl up, digging his nails into the bedsheets to ground himself, making sure this is real. He wants—no, needs to wake up, why won't he wake up? Does he even want to wake up? After all, no one could save him, not even himself.
So many conflicting thoughts and feelings fly through his mind, but the one that sticks the hardest is—pure Trepidation .
Mark’s suit is now tattered and worn, the bright yellow faded and coated with debris, and most importantly, a dark crimson sheen coats his entire suit. The most prominent areas are his hands, mask, and chest. The freshest blood seemed to be around his mouth. Yet, despite looking so dilapidated, Mark strangely looks like he hasn't missed one singular meal.
Mark just flashes those white, pearly canines at him like he's a fresh meal, the same level as a medium-rare steak.
“I missed you so much. ” He spoke at first hesitantly, like he was too excited to say anything. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every day in that hell, you were like my shining light, you know? My sun.” This Mark rambled on, “But I'm so hungry. I ate them all, but it was never enough, never enough .” Dark and unblinking, his eyes bore into Scott’s, feeding on the panic they found there.
“I thought about how I would get back to you. I needed to.” He continued to croak, voice speeding up in pitch and tone. He steps closer to Scott’s bed, causing him to squirm backward, pressing himself further against his bed frame.
Scott hesitantly opens his mouth to say something, but not a sound comes out. Words finally come to mind. “What do you want from me ?” his voice wavering. No matter how hard Scott tried, Mark always sensed the tremor behind his eyes. He could never hide his fear from Mark.
He became unusually quiet, his face tugging itself into place, a ginormous, unnatural, uncanny grin. “I want to feel that warmth again.”
Mark lunged at him, resembling a wild animal, without the slightest warning.
He was scratching at Scott’s sides with his sharp nails , managing to draw blood, as if he were trying to open Scott up. They tousled like dogs, Mark clearly not fighting as hard, enjoying Scott’s struggle. “I'm begging, come on, come on—“ Mark repeated. Scott rolled out of his grasp, falling out of the bed ungraciously and hitting the hard wooden floor.
He skidded away from Mark in a panic. He sat up quickly, picking up a glass shard off the floor. Scott pointed it at him as if a mere splinter would do anything against a god.
“I need to feel that warmth again. Please.” He whined desperately, looking almost disappointed by Scott’s ‘dramatic’ reaction.
“Fine!” He yelled, “Just let me do it myself! Fucking—Jesus.” Scott muttered, turning the shard to himself.
Scott knew there was no way to get out of this unless he let Mark practically tear his chest wide open. Scott would do anything to get an inch of control. At least he got to dictate the way Mark could crawl inside of him. Scott lifted his shirt, while Mark watched with those eager, hungry eyes he still despised with all his heart .
He reluctantly brought the razor-edged shard of glass to his abdomen, pushing it to the side of his torso. He started to make a small slit, trailing the knife horizontally across his side, a hiss of pain followed, and a thought of how easily he had given Mark what he wanted formed as well.
The bloody slit grew larger by the second, The fluid flowing tantalizingly down Scott’s pale torso, Mark’s eyes never blinking or closing during the entire show, drool trailing down his jaw.
Once he was done, he dropped the bloody shard onto the ground. Scott narrowed his eyes away from the wound, feeling queasy already, the fresh smell of blood attacking his nostrils. This is the true start of his downfall, where he underestimates Mark's hunger .
“Here—“ Scott couldn’t even finish his sentence before Mark leaned down and attacked the bleeding wound with his tongue. Scott groans, the pain sending shivers throughout his body as his sharp tongue creates more Profundity to his flesh.
Scott can feel every movement, every swoop of his oral muscle, licking his meat, drinking his blood like it's the fountain of youth. And Mark just can’t get enough, Mark’s moans being evident, ringing through Scott’s ears, comparable to perverse church bells. Mark raises his two fingers to the puncture, using them to open it more, having more room to move around. Scott wished he could plug his ears, the schk…schk… sound following every movement of Mark’s tongue as it penetrated his soft meat.
Mark’s desperation for Scott was so revolting to him. He realized that and tried to push Mark off of him, but he wouldn’t budge. Like a parasite that had wormed its way into its new host’s fresh body. “That's enough… get off.” Scott croaked, Mark ignored him, pushing himself deeper into the wound. Scott violently shoved him, causing Mark’s hands to travel up to his waist, clutching him in place so he would stop moving.
Scott had finally had enough. “Stop it!” Instead, Mark seemed to get irritated by his constant prattling . And bit his serrated teeth deep into Scott’s hot flesh . His insides burned with anguish as Scott cried out in agony. He brutally kicked Mark with his good leg, repeatedly over and over, till his tongue finally left Scott’s bleeding insides, his head hitting the ground as Scott’s brutal strikes had given him a bloody nose.
“So mean.” Sinister cried out, and Scott’s blood trailed down his mouth.
“I could eat you right up. You would be enough , more than anything I’ve ever had, more tasty than my own blood.” His breath came out raggedly, eyes closed as if he were in heaven. He licked the remaining of Scott’s insides from his lips, not wanting to waste a final drop. Scott just stared at him, eyes filled with untainted disgust, before the feeling of nausea took over. Scott turned his back on Mark before leaning over and hurling out whatever was in his stomach from the night before.
The fear drains from Scott’s body, replaced by a surge of hatred. The moment he sees how desperate Mark truly is—for him—it hits him. It’s pathetic. Clingy. Annoying.
“Get out.” Spite coils in his voice, sharp and unmistakable. “I don’t want to talk, you make me sick.” He snapped, voice oozing with genuine revulsion.
Mark is silent, and Scott is praying, begging that he had left, got bored with him, and went to go find some other guy to fuck with, but that simply wasn’t the case. Mark had made a home in his flesh and burrowed himself deep inside ; he wasn’t going to give up Scott that easily.
“You must be so lonely.” He hadn’t realized how close Mark had gotten to him, his head now lying upon Scott’s shoulder, body pressing against his. Scott’s breath hitched; he felt that if he made one noise, he would be eaten up, stuck in a lion's snarl. Scott felt his warm breath trailing up his ear, “So lonely, being up here in your little castle. I can fix that.” Mark whispered, his voice low and calm. His hands trailed up Scott’s waist, lightly grazing over the bloody cut, “You know I would.”
“I don't want you , I—” Scott stopped speaking. As if Mark was reading his mind, he jumped in to finish his sentence. “Hate you?” His eyes widened with a contorted sense of pleasure. “Say it— I want to hear you say it again, please ,” Mark begged, a small, impatient whimper escaping from his mouth, making Scott feel disgustingly heated .
Scott froze up, his body rigid. He had to reassure himself that he didn’t want this, he didn’t want Mark, or else— he was going to lose it.
Mark slowly and discreetly pushed his leg between Scott’s before he could kick it away, feeling how hard Scott was.
“I hate you. So much.” Scott gritted his teeth, and Mark exhaled shakily into his ear, before letting out a small moan, throwing his head back in ecstasy from merely hearing the words of absolute detestation .
“That's right. But, no one has been inside your flesh like I have.”
Mark’s hand trailed down below his hips, finding its way to his thigh, where his open fracture once lay. Mark’s cold hand suddenly possessively gripped the pale flesh, and a shiver violently traveled up Scott’s spine, almost as if he was being electrocuted.
“I saw you touching the scar I left you when you woke up. Do you think of me when you do?” Mark spoke softly, almost coaxing him into a false sense of security.
“I-“ Scott stammered, eyes darting around the room, trying to find a way out of this situation. “I don't… I can’t…” he whispers repeatedly to himself weakly. He is slipping, further and further into Mark’s hold.
“Aw, c’mon,” he moved his leg slightly from underneath him, causing a small moan to leave Scott’s mouth. “I’ll make you feel really good, just let me.” Mark starts trailing his lips up, nibbling lightly on the skin surrounding Scott’s fragile neck.
And Scott thinks of how easy it would be to give in; he genuinely considers it before snapping out of his daze. But by the time he realizes it's too late.
He is already in Mark’s grasp by the time he realizes. Mark’s grip on Scott’s chin is borderline territorial, as he forces Scott to look at him before shoving their lips together. Scott panics at first, his legs shoveling around, arms weakly banging at Mark’s chest, but Mark keeps him in place, his grip now on his waist, unrelenting and cruel.
Scott hates how many times he’s tasted his own blood, this time is no better. Sinister closes his eyes, as he further protrudes his tongue into Scott’s relenting mouth— It continues to explore his wet cavern, tracing each one of his teeth, down to the singular gum, trying to mark every part of Scott’s wet inside as his.
Scott was becoming paler by the second, Mark’s mouth still hadn't left him, and he couldn’t breathe. Almost as if Mark was dedicated to sucking the life out of him. This time, for whatever reason. Scott didn’t bite back. Like he didn’t want the kiss to end. Scott knew he had to be losing it, going crazy, insane. He didn’t fight— maybe he wants Mark to tear him apart.
Scott’s movements became slower, faltering, before Mark finally removed his lips from his. He was finally able to breathe, as he held his chest, letting out a shaky exhale.
But Mark wasn’t done, as soon as Scott had this break, he grabbed him by his hair, forcing him into another brutal kiss once again. He was so eager to devour him, and Scott was none the wiser.
Before Scott could react, Mark disconnected their lips, leaving a trail of saliva between them, before he leaned down, needy eyes traveling back to the Side of Scott’s abdomen.
Mark leaned down and sank his teeth into the already bleeding wound, his sharp canines stayed burrowed inside his flesh, Scott screamed, wailing in agony. Blood spilled out of his flank rapidly, and Scott wanted to vomit again, but there was nothing left in his stomach.
Instead, an incomprehensible string of whimpers and mewls left Scott, as Mark fully removed his mouth from Scott’s body, eyes wide open, filled with euphoria.
Scott lay on the ground, now literally, missing a piece of himself— clutching his side with his shaky hands, trying to stop the bleeding— or anything, just do something.
Mark wouldn’t stop glaring at him as he chewed on Scott’s crimson tissue. The sounds were vile, with every bite, he heard a pop of blood in his mouth; Scott couldn’t decide if he wanted to hold his injury or cover his ears. Mark finally swallowed Scott’s remains with a loud gulp— his entire jaw covered in his crimson tide.
“Sorry. I really couldn’t control myself anymore, I mean, you understand, right?” Mark chuckles to himself, licking Scott’s remaining blood off his lips. Scott’s eyes go wide with rage, hitting him with a hateful glare. “Fuck you!— fucking crazy— asshole!” He curses through clenched teeth, the pain slicing too deep to bear as fresh tears spill down his face.
Scott lay there curled up on his side in agony, clutching his side in pure anguish. “You’re just so sweet. God, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give you up.” Mark moaned, a vile grin appearing on his face, before crawling on top of Scott, straddling him.
“You think, I didn’t notice how hard you got when I was tongue fucking your flesh?” Scott’s face was crimson; he looked away, but Mark forced Scott to look at him, pulling his hair sharply, feeling strands of it disconnect cleanly off his skull. He palmed Scott through his sweatpants, his sickening arousal being put on display, causing a silent gasp to spill from Scott’s lips.
“So stubborn. Won’t admit anything.” Mark shook his head in disappointment, then simply rolled his eyes. “But it's okay, I’ll make you.”
“You..” Scott mutters weakly, his entire body on fire. “I hate you—hate!” He chokes out before Mark’s hands reach his hips.”I'm going to kill you after this!” Scott yelled, accepting Mark’s unruly advances, his voice filled with frustration. He would never blatantly admit the hatred he had for Mark was laced with something else, more wanting in comparison.
“I’ll make you say those words, over and over again,” Mark swore solemnly, a slight quiver in his voice, he was so excited to rip and tear as his present, all for him.
Mark just can’t wait to dig in.
He pulls down Scott’s pants with a simple gesture, ignoring Scott’s throbbing cock begging to be touched, But Mark is unfortunately too excited, too eager for his own pleasure.
Scott’s thighs are jerked apart by strong hands. Mark presses his palms into Scott's waist, curling them around his body, hoping to leave bruises.
He uses the blood trailing down from Scott’s bite wound, coating it on the same two fingers that he had put inside Scott once before. “Perfect." Mark’s voice drips with desire as he spreads Scott open.
Scott’s breath catches in his throat, he chokes on his saliva. "I can't... I'm not..." But the words falter in his throat as Mark’s cold fingertips tease against his entrance, sending shocks of pleasure through him. Scott’s body betrays him, pushing into the touch, pleading for more.
"Shh," Mark coos gently into Scott’s ear, his voice soothing, betraying.
Mark opened him up easily, one finger following another and another… Scott grabbed back, shamelessly, hands grasping, reaching out to scratch at the other man’s arms, back, anywhere he could latch on and hurt, draw blood, fuck up his skin so Mark could remember him too. That was his way of resentment, fighting back, even if he did want this.
Yet, Scott’s face practically burned with embarrassment for being so easy. He felt immense shame for the lack of resistance at the beginning, but once that third finger hit, he forgot all about his guilt, releasing a loud moan in response.
At some point, Mark’s fingers slipped out, and Scott let out a pathetic whine, leaving him feeling empty. He could hear the fresh tearing of his suit, a mystery of how he got it patched up from last time.
Mark pushes Scott’s knees almost up to his chest, the tip of his cock threatening at Scott’s hot twitching entrance, that stupid grin Scott hates with all his heart returns, plastered all over Mark’s blood-soaked face, making Scott watch as he slides into him. Mark uses all his strength to sink his tip into Scott’s aching hole.
Scott’s eyelashes flutter before his hips are seized harshly, the edges of Mark’s sharp fingernails cutting into his skin. And brutally forced down around his cock. His warm slick hole sucking Mark in all the way. Scott screams, incomprehensible grunts and whimpers leave his mouth as he practically mewls with bliss. His entire body is enraptured; he can’t focus on anything, yet the throbbing pain moving around inside of him.
“So, full-so full take it out take it out—“ Scott sobbed in pain, Mark merely ignored his cries as he drilled himself in, each thrust deeper than the last, as if he was trying to permanently mold his insides–Mark using him more as a toy than anything. Scott can’t see anything, his eyes are too blurred with tears, the taste of his own blood lingers on his tongue, and he feels so full. “So warm and tight, just like your flesh…” Mark spoke dreamily before he licked a long stripe of tears off Scott’s face.
Mark trailed his cold hands up Scott’s body, making sure every one of his nerves would be marked, his touch seared into his skin. Scott hadn’t been touched in so long and hadn't been taken care of; it was electrifying, as small whimpers escaped from Scott’s lips, a delirious gaze on his face.
There was too much going on, too many sensations, all mixed with the electric ache on his side, a cruel mixture of pain and pleasure taunting him. Mark shushed his cries, yet relentlessly snapped his hips back and pushed further into him.
Scott couldn’t control himself anymore, He wanted Mark to ruin him, sink his teeth into him, and never let go. Be permanently marked by him inside and out.
“Please!” he chokes out, voice cracking, tears slipping down his cheeks in silent streaks.
“Please, what?” Mark tilts his head, mockingly curious, a lazy grin curling at the corners of his mouth, seizing all movement inside Scott.
“Please… fuck me.” His face turns a deeper shade of red from the words coming out of his mouth. After all, the more pain, the less he doesn’t have to think anymore. He doesn’t realize what the words really mean to Mark, but it's too late; the damage is done.
Mark snarls like a rabid dog, forcing his legs apart further, deepening the angle of his cock until there's no more room in Scott’s mind for thoughts, he can’t think of anything, but the new increasing tension in his lower stomach. “Love you, so much,” Mark whines out, the word love unraveling from him again and again—soft, broken, and endless like a church prayer.
Scott can practically feel him poking into his lower intestines, with every thrust, he hits the floor hard once again. His eyes roll back, eyelids fluttering. “Hate you… Please!” Mark gnaws into the meat around Scott’s neck, careful not to pop an artery, scarlet trickles down his chest, as Scott chokes on his saliva, before the words of ‘hatred’ slip from his lips once more, whispered on repeat like a broken record, skipping over the same poisoned phrase.
Mark’s cock shudders, as every ounce of his ‘love’ empties inside of Scott, before forcing Scott to look at him while he used a few extra thrusts to fuck the cum further into him. He doesn’t pull out, instead keeping himself warm around Scott’s tight hole. He trails bloody kisses down his neck, as Scott repeats the same words, “Hate you” under his breath, his eyes empty, his mind, most importantly, vacant .
Mark finally lays his head on Scott’s chest in an affectionate manner. “I love your heartbeat,” Mark murmurs, his voice repugnantly sweet, as his fingers drummed slowly over Scott’s sternum, favoring the rhythm underneath his ribcage.
“It would be a waste to let it stop beating.”
The words leave a bad taste in his mouth. Scott closes his eyes and sounds around him grow muffled, distant, like fading static, before Mark taps him on the cheek, bringing him back to reality. There's so much blood, everywhere, on him, on Mark.
“Another round, and then I’ll patch you up. After all, I can't have my favorite toy dying on me.” A massive smile appears on his face, showcasing his pristine white teeth, now coated with bright red. “I'm going to make you so much better, you’ll see.”, he grips Scott’s thighs, already turning a deep purple from the last time.
Scott’s eye twitches, remembering their promise. He's going to fulfill it somehow. He will.