Explore the world, one post at a time
ᥫ᭡. Part 1! (Part 2 is up)
Tags (pls read): Domestic violence, themes of abuse, choking (not as a kink), almost fainting, sinister mark is his own warning. Notes: I tried to make the reader seem bad but you know, anyone can look good next to fucking lucifer over here.
There’s a crash, and your bookcase breaks into many halves when Mark throws a lamp at it. The glass shatters, sending the wood splintering across the room. You cover your face with your forearms.
“You always do this. You always fucking do this!” He huffs like an aggravated bull. The sound of his voice just makes you sigh in annoyance, your eyebrow twitching at the mess. Which apparently, is enough to set him off.
Enough to scream so loud the walls shake slightly. “What? WHAT?” With the speed of a viltrumite, Mark slams you into the wall of the living room, his forearm against your neck, holding you high, “Got something to fucking say?”
You feel your face instantly flush and you kick his chest and scream, clawing at his arms, he barely deters. “Mark-" You sputter, "Put me down!”
He puts you down. Or rather, drops you so you fall on the wooden floorboards. You wheeze in a breath and cough painfully, trying your best to fill your lungs with oxygen with a sharp intake of air. You bring your hand to your neck, trying to feel at it as you cough. Your eyes are familiar with the sight of wooden floorboards, even with your vision unfocused.
“That’s what you get… for being smart with me.”
His hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him, you instinctively hold his wrist. When you glare, he grips you with such vigor that you’re afraid your jawbone might shatter under his hold. You breathe madly, still not recovering from the choking he had decided to give you.
He leans in closer, “Are you done?” His voice sounds like he’s speaking through a broken megaphone, and you’re starting to see double of the bastard.
You feel your eyes droop and your head spin. Nonetheless, you spit blood on his face, “Go to hell.”
His hold on your jaw turns crushing, but even with all the pain in the world, it won’t stop you from acting in spite of Mark. Never will. And when he sees the unadulterated hatred in your eyes, he yells, but lets go of your face harshly, your hand immediately going to your jaw. You hiss, finally feeling the burn.
He paces around the room with shaky fists. He never really could accept that you didn’t love him. Though technically, you wouldn't call whatever twisted form of affection he has for you 'love'.
He's hyper aware that with one more wrong move, you’ll die. So, he directs his punch to the wall instead.
“Why?” He says shakily, with his fist still connected to the wall. “Why, why, why, why?” He punctuates each word with a punch, the last one breaking a hole in the wall.
Still unsatisfied, and still brimming with anger, he turns his line of view to you. You're completely still on the floor with your forehead to your knee, panting.
He clenches his fists, they continue to shake. “I do everything for you. I make sure you’re fucking spared, you even have a goddamn house.” He gestures to the place, the one that is now in complete ruins, “And you’re still. So. Ungrateful.” He laments. You don’t hear him.
He continues to bitch (all he’s good for, anyway). You’re starting to come down from the dizziness, feeling the bruising on your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot something painfully bright green in your monotone living room.
You mistake it for a trick of the eye, your dizziness playing with your perception. But you see it, just out of the corner of your vision...
You double take, and it’s real. You tense. Some kind of wormhole that whirls in on itself. A portal that’s ripped the fabric of reality momentarily. Even Mark's shut up.
It’s presence darkens the room, but it’s green makes up for it by illuminating, casting you in it’s bright glow.
You squint your eyes, leaning forward on your arms, “What the–”
You see something, like a mini movie, but it’s blurry, and you can barely catch a sliver of it. However, you can hear it.
It’s… Mark’s voice. If you had the strength, you’d turn to him, because it somehow sounded less irritating than it always does.
Before you could question who was talking (because that soft voice couldn’t be Mark’s.), you see yourself walk into frame, talking to someone chirpily. You look healthier, stronger, your expression relaxed.
“The fuck is this?” Mindlessly, you lift a hand to silence Mark as you try and pay attention. Somehow, he doesn’t comment on your ‘rudeness’, letting it slide. Or perhaps just as taken aback by the portal’s abrupt presence.
Then, there’s Mark…you’re talking…laughing with Mark. He looks so…different. Much younger, much cuter, much softer.
You don’t know how long you’re staring for, completely astonished at what it is that you’re seeing— But without your permission, it leaves just as suddenly as it came, swirling in on itself, disappearing into a wisp. It dissolves into the tiniest of sparks, leaving you with the deafening silence of the room. You blink, sitting back down on the floor.
You hate Mark, you really do, and you would never speak up to him first unless he had threatened to saw you in half or something. But this time, you couldn't help yourself, “You just saw what I saw, right?”
“Of course I did, I have eyes.” He says far too quickly, you’re too tired to roll your eyes.
Without even thinking about it, you lift your arm up. Mark takes it, lifting you up, “Was it an illusion?”
“Because it's so hard to believe I'm actually nice somewhere.”
You ignore his insistent grumbling. “So, it’s a different reality.”
You shrug off him rather forcefully and walk to the bookcase, the one that now looked more like a crime scene than anything peaceful. You crouch down and filter through the fallen books.
Mark crosses his arms, “What are you doing?”
You move a piece of wood weakly and look under it, “You could have ruined any piece of the house, by the way.” You chastise.
“Well, I specifically wanted to upset you. So that’s that.” He says matter-of-factly. He walks over and lifts the wood piece without effort. You crawl under it to try to find what you’re looking for.
“Not even a thank you?” He says when you ignore him. You crawl out and sit on the floor with your legs crossed, a book in your hands. He lets go of the broken wood and it snaps under its own weight. He puts his hands on his hips and looks down at you as you flip through the pages.
“I’ll ask again, and I want an answer this time. What are you doing?”
You land on the chapter you were looking for, splaying your hand on the page. You blink at it, and a soft smile spreads across your face, “Mark," You begin, "Do you want to expand your damned viltrumite empire, or not?” You say calmly.
He bites his lip when you say his name like that, but a sadistic smile makes its home on his face. “Well, don’t fuckin’ keep me waiting then.”
You feel a sense of peace amidst your headache, like the clarity after a cry, because you had just hatched an idea, a brilliant idea, to get rid of Mark, forever. Where he’ll be gone some place far, far away. And you doubt he’s bright enough to come back all on his own. Ridiculous in his perseverance at times, but not at all brilliant.
The book in your hand shakes, you’re convinced he’ll think it’s just because you’re still in pain.
“There is this man, his name is Angstrom Levy.”
He laughs, “What a terrible name to have.”
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a/n: I think this is weird on top of being non-canon compliant? But im gonna expand on it nonetheless because i have some ideas