#talk about getting stabbed with a smile

[inkpotsprite]

My guy is weirdly happy about getting blades plunged through his chest.

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

GYM CRUSH SIMON

sfw + nsfw. unsafe sex. womb fucking. no condom.

you never planned on becoming a late-night gym rat. it just …happened. like most things in your life, it started with good intentions and spiraled into something you weren’t entirely in control of.

you’d made a new year’s resolution to get in shape— because health, discipline, all that crap— and, in a moment of overzealous optimism, you splurged on a gym membership. a pricey one, to add. the kind that made your bank account cry, which meant quitting wasn’t an option.

there was only one problem. you were busy. between classes, assignments, and the absolute joke that was your sleep schedule, the only time you could consistently work out was well past normal human hours.

at first, the idea of hitting the gym at midnight felt… weird. like stepping into a parallel universe where only insomniacs and questionable life choices existed. but then you considered the alternative— going during peak hours and getting judged for your piss-poor form, or worse, waiting in line for machines behind a dude who was live-streaming his workout.

midnight schedule it was.

it grew on you eventually. the routine became second nature. drag yourself in after class, half-asleep, toss your bag into a locker, and start on the treadmill to wake yourself up. a slow warm-up, music blasting through your headphones, then a mostly half-hearted attempt at strength training.

the people who showed up at this hour were predictable. a few other students— dead-eyed, running on caffeine fumes. a handful of older folks, the dedicated ones who treated the gym like a sacred temple.

and then there was him.

tall. broad. built like something out of a military recruitment ad.

the first time you noticed him, you’d nearly tripped on the treadmill. one second, you were zoning out, staring at the clock, and the next— there he was. buzz cut barely visible beneath the hood of his sweatshirt, arms thick with muscle, veins running down his forearms in stark lines. tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, black ink tracing the ridges of his skin.

(the combat boots were what threw you off. who the hell wore combat boots to the gym?)

he moved through his workout with terrifying

efficiency. no wasted movements, no unnecessary pauses. heavyweights. circuits. the kind of training that looked more like preparation for war than casual fitness. he never looked winded either. no gasping for breath, no pausing to rest, just relentless, controlled effort.

you developed a— not a crush— an appreciation for him. admiration. respect. that was it. not the way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders when he adjusted his grip on the barbell. not the way his jaw clenched in concentration. not the way his fingers wrapped around the weights with an ease that made you feel woefully inadequate.

“it’s a crush,” your friend announced one evening, stabbing a straw into his juice box.

you scoffed, flipping through your notes. “it’s not.”

“it is. i’m fit too, but i don’t see you staring at me like you wanna lick salt off my abs.”

you made a disgusted noise. “jesus, shut up.”

he grinned, tipping his juice box back dramatically. “i’m just saying. the fact that you haven’t even talked to him and yet know his entire workout routine is very-"

“i do not know his entire workout routine.”

your friend raised a brow.

you sighed. “…he does back and legs on tuesdays.”

his brow lifted higher.

“…and arms on thursdays.”

silence.

“right.”

“shut up.”

you’d considered talking to him. maybe asking for tips or making some awkward joke about his frankly ridiculous choice of gym footwear. but he didn’t exactly radiate approachable.

the man looked like he’d rather be waterboarded than engage in small talk.

and you? you weren’t some plucky rom-com protagonist who could charm the brooding loner into friendship with a dazzling smile and sheer force of personality. so, you kept your distance. which was fine. totally fine.

What the hell would you even say? “hey, nice pecs, can I bury my face between them?” he’d call the police on you.

so, you stayed quiet..

until the night you made the monumentally stupid decision to start lifting weights.

in your defense, it wasn’t entirely your idea. you were perfectly content with your usual treadmill-and-machines routine. but then your friend had to go and mock you.

“you’re paying for a full gym membership,” he said, flicking a fry at your forehead, “and you’re not even using the weight room?”

“i use it,” you protested.

“you walk through it.”

okay, fine. he had a point. which was how you ended up here, standing in front of a barbell, mentally preparing yourself to lift it like you were about to perform brain surgery.

you’d done your research— watched some youtube tutorials, read some articles. you knew the basics. foot placement. core engagement. not arching your back like a possessed demon.

you took a deep breath, squared your stance, wrapped your hands around the bar, and— nothing.

the bar didn’t budge.

you frowned, adjusted your grip. another deep breath. still nothing.

okay. you could do this. just, more force. maybe a little momentum. you planted your feet, sucked in a breath, and heaved—

"y’need a spotter?"

you startle so hard you nearly fall backward, breath catching as you whip around. close— he’s close, and jesus, he’s even bigger up close. broad shoulders, thick arms crossed over his chest, pale eyes flicking between you and the barbell like he’s already making peace with witnessing an injury. his hoodie is pulled up like always, shadows cutting sharp over the edges of his jaw, but there’s something vaguely unimpressed about his expression. braced for disaster.

you swallow. "uh."

his brow lifts, expectant, as if this is some kind of trick question. "that a yes or a no?"

"i-" your brain short-circuits. every ounce of confidence you had a second ago shrivels up and dies. "i totally got this."

he exhales sharply, something between a scoff and a sigh. he shifts his weight, one foot bracing slightly forward. "sure you do.

your face heats. you turn back to the barbell, fingers tightening around the metal, and pull. it lifts— barely. your arms burn, hands already sweating, but you’re stubborn. you have it. almost.

"you’re about to smash your fucking face in," he mutters.

you falter— just for a second— but that’s all it takes. your grip slips, the weight tilting. shit, shit, shit!

he moves fast. faster than you expect. before you can even panic properly, his hands brace yours, steadying the bar with zero effort. he’s strong, fingers wrapping over yours for a brief moment before smoothly guiding the weight back onto the rack like it weighs nothing. you stumble back, arms trembling from the strain, but he doesn’t step away yet, just watches you catch your breath.

"right," he says after a beat, stepping back. "now that you’ve definitely got it, mind if i give you some actual pointers?"

you blink up at him, still processing the fact that you almost died, and this guy just saved your life like it was nothing. "you train people?"

"no. just rather not watch someone crush their skull in." which is… fair, you suppose.

you wipe your sweaty palms on your leggings, trying not to look as embarrassed as you feel. "okay. please. teach me."

you and simon— you learn his name by the third day!— slowly fall into a routine, much to his chagrin. he hadn’t expected offering to help you not splatter brain matter across the gym floor would lead to... this. a persistent presence. a shadow in his periphery.

he doesn’t know how it happened, how you managed to wedge yourself into the one place he thought was untouchable, but somehow, you did. and now, you’re there. always. not in an overbearing way. you don’t talk his ear off or force yourself on him. if anything, you’re surprisingly easy to be around. and worse— comfortable. which is fucking dangerous.

a routine starts forming. he hadn’t expected that offering to help you not crush your own skull under a barbell would lead to… this. hadn’t expected that you’d still be here, three days later, four, a week, waving at him when he walks in, bright-eyed and warm despite the ungodly hour. he tries to keep you at arm’s length, really, he does.

but you’re not loud. you don’t force yourself on him. you don’t pry or try to push past his walls— you just exist, alongside him, like it’s a natural thing in the world. you ask him questions, ease him into conversations so seamlessly that sometimes he doesn’t even notice he’s talking until he’s already halfway into answering.

"you ever listen to anything in those headphones?"

he glances at you, then down at his battered over-ear set, blinking like he’d forgotten they were even on. "sometimes."

you hum, stepping up to adjust your weights. "what kinda music?

he hesitates. "depends."

"on?"

"the day."

you narrow your eyes. "that’s not an answer."

"sure it is."

you mutter something under your breath about how “everyone in this gym is allergic to giving a straight answer,” but drop it— he notices that about you. you ask, but you never push. never press. you’re content with whatever he gives, and somehow that makes him want to give you more.

it’s little things at first. small details. he learns that you hate most protein juices but drink it anyway, that you run cold so you always wear a hoodie even when you’re sweating through it, that you hate country music and give him a long, horrified look when you learn that he doesn’t. ("not all of it," he defends, rolling his eyes. "some of it’s alright." you just shake your head at him like he’s beyond saving.)

you learn things too. that his tattoos are actually a full sleeve ("when’d you get these?" "over time." "wow, thanks, that clears so much up."), that he has an endless supply of grey hoodies and sweatpants that he refuses to explain.

"you ever heard of color?" you ask, plucking at his sleeve, and he swats your hand away. "practical," he grunts. "s’not a fuckin’ fashion show."

and then— of course— you fixate on the boots. the combat boots. “okay, but why?” you prod, nudging the toe of his boot with yours. “you know you can wear actual gym shoes, right?”

he gives you a flat look, expression unreadable under the shadow of his hood. “they’re my only pair.”

you freeze. your face twists, and there’s this flicker of genuine horror in your eyes that throws him completely off guard. “simon... are you... homeless?” your voice drops to a whisper, hesitant, like you’re afraid to even ask. his brain short-circuits. he smacks you lightly over the head, more shocked than anything.

"what the fuck- no, i'm not homeless, jesus."

you rub the spot with a pout, still eyeing him like you're not completely convinced. “well, i don’t know,” you mumble.

“you wear the same thing every day, never see you with a bag or a wallet or-”

“drop it.”

“-you don’t even buy pre-workout, simon, who does that-”

“drop it.”

some days, he comes into the gym in a mood. the kind where his head is full of static, his skin prickling with the restless need to exhaust himself into oblivion. those are the days he doesn’t want to talk. doesn’t want to be seen. and you— you notice. you don’t come up to him, don’t pester him or try to joke around like normal. instead, you just stand off to the side, watching him with this soft, wide-eyed expression like some kind of kicked puppy.

it’s unbearable.

like an itch under his skin that won’t go away. it eats at him, gnaws at the edges of his concentration, and before he can help it, he’s groaning and gesturing you over with a sharp flick of his fingers. “for fuck’s sake, just get over here already.”

you grin like you’ve won something, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you jog over, and he regrets it immediately.

you bring him coffee sometimes. at first, he doesn’t know how to react. he just stares at it when you shove the cup into his hands, blinking down at the little scribbled name on the side like it’s some kind of foreign object. he doesn’t even like sugary coffee, but he drinks it anyway.

the next day, guilt eats at him, so he shoves a protein shake into your hands, unwilling to meet your eyes. "s’only fair."

you squint at it, shake the bottle, listening to the liquid inside slosh around. “what’s in it?”

he scoffs. "fuckin’ cyanide."

you take an exaggerated sniff before grinning. “smells like peanut butter.”

his eye twitches. “just drink it.”

and then, somehow, that becomes a thing, too. a habit. every other day, one of you brings the other something— coffee, protein shakes, the occasional energy drink when you can tell he’s running on fumes.

one night, the gym is nearly empty. just the hum of air conditioning, the occasional clink of metal, the low buzz of some forgotten playlist over the speakers. the late hour has driven most people out, leaving only you and simon.

you’re exhausted, arms shaking, muscles burning with that deep, satisfying ache, but you’re pushing for one more rep. just one.

simon stands behind you, watching through the mirror. arms crossed, weight shifted slightly forward. tracking every movement, every shift in your stance, the way your hands tighten around the bar.

"you're on fumes," he mutters, but steps closer anyway, close enough that the heat of him presses against your back.

you roll your shoulders, shake out your wrists. “i got it.”

he exhales sharp through his nose, scoff and sigh rolled into one, but he doesn’t argue. just moves in, bracketing your sides, his presence steadying.

"alright," he murmurs, watching as you adjust your grip.

you brace yourself, pull, and the weight barely moves. your arms burn immediately, tendons screaming under the strain. your grip shifts, fingers trembling, slipping—

his hands are there. firm and certain, sliding just beneath yours, adjusting your hold without taking over. his chest nearly against your back, his breath warm against the top of your head.

"fix that grip, sweetheart."

you do, fingers locking down harder, shoulders bracing. he doesn’t let go, not fully, his palms ghosting over your forearms, steadying you just enough.

"lock it out," he says, quiet but insistent. his hands shift, one flattening against your stomach, the other hovering at your ribs, like he can feel where the tension is pulling wrong, where you need to engage. "push through. i’ve got you."

your breath stutters, something curling low in your stomach, and you force everything into that last pull, dragging the bar up, arms shaking, until you finally lock it out.

his fingers press in, just briefly, a quick squeeze at your ribs. "good."

you hold it for a second before guiding the weight back down, slow and controlled. the second it racks, your body gives, arms dead, shoulders screaming.

you stumble, just a little, and his hands are already there, catching at your waist. warm. solid. fingers pressing in just enough to steady you. they linger, just a second too long.

and then— "good girl."

barely above a murmur, just breath and heat against your skin, but it slams through you all the same.

your stomach tightens. your pulse jumps. you freeze.

you turn, still breathless, muscles trembling from exertion.

and he’s right there. solid. massive. crowding you. broad chest rising and falling, sweat clinging to the fabric stretched over muscle. too close, heat rolling off him, sinking into your skin, and making your stomach twist. up close, he’s all sharp lines and thick muscle, biceps flexing slightly as he rolls his shoulders back, tilting his head down to look at you.

"don’t-" your voice breaks. you swallow hard. "don’t do that."

simon’s brow lifts, lazy. "don’t do what, sweetheart?"

your fingers twitch at your sides. you gesture vaguely, heat curling up your spine. "that. the- the praise."

his mouth quirks, amusement flickering at the edges. "what, telling you you’re doing good?"

"yes."

he makes a sound low in his throat. "why? thought you liked it."

you try to start a defense, but he steps closer, and fuck, there’s nowhere to go.

"you did so good," he murmurs. his hand lifts, brushing over the curve of your waist. "pushed yourself real hard. took every single rep like a good girl."

your breath catches and oh, does he catch on to that.

"you like hearing that, don’t you?" his fingers curl, pressing into your hip. "knowing i’m right there, watching you, making sure you finish strong."

low, warm, approving—

"bet that’s why you pushed so hard," he continues, like he’s musing to himself. "just to hear me say it. just to make me proud."

simon’s eyes flicker to the vein in your neck. his other hand lifts, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, slow, almost tender.

"say it, sweetheart," he murmurs. "let me take care of you.”

“please.”

the rest of the gym is a blur. you don’t even register leaving, don’t remember how you end up outside, only that simon’s hand is wrapped tight around your wrist, dragging you through the parking lot with a single-minded purpose. the concrete expanse is empty except for simon’s truck parked just underneath a street lamp.

simon hauls you into the backseat, the door slamming shut behind him. the truck rocks with the force of it, windows already fogging, the stale scent of leather and the last remnants of his cologne in the air. the streetlights outside cast a dim glow that cuts through the darkness in thin streaks, glinting off the sweat at his temples.

his hands are on you before you can think. rough, impatient. he grabs your hips, yanks you into his lap, drags you down until you crash against him. the heat of him burns through every layer between you.

his hips roll up.

you jolt, hands flying to his shoulders, gripping tight as the thick shape of him grinds against your clit. even through the fabric, you feel everything— the ridges, the weight, the solid pressure slotting perfectly against you.

he does it again.

your breath catches, legs tensing where they straddle his thighs. you try to move, to adjust, but his hands flex, fingers digging in, keeping you pinned where he wants you.

"shh," simon hushes, arm against your skin, grip tightening as he forces you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you. "let me feel you."

his hips drag against you and you react before your brain can catch up, instinct driving you forward, grinding down, chasing the pressure.

his breath stutters, shoulders tensing as he watches you move. the friction grows slicker, hotter, the damp fabric sticking between you.

you glance down— and then you see it. his sweats, darkened, soaked where you grind against him, your arousal leaking through, making a mess of him.

"fuck-"

he exhales sharply, hands shifting, one palm smoothing down your thigh before gripping, pulling you into him.

"that’s it." he’s almost slurring his words now, his hips rolling up to meet yours. "so fuckin’ wet..."

your nails bite into his arms, your body working without thought, hips rolling, pressing down harder. the truck shifts with every movement, the worn leather seat creaking beneath you.

"fuck, baby." his lips brush your jaw. "so messy. feel that?"

you nod frantically and his cock jumps at your eagerness.

his patience snaps.

one moment you’re grinding down against him, chasing the delicious friction, and the next you're scrambling for purchase as he lifts you.

simon shoves his sweats down, and his cock springs free, slapping up against his stomach. it's thick. throbbing. the flushed tip leaking pre, smearing along the ridges of his abs, catching in the dim of the streetlights.

he’s big. not just in length— though fuck, he’s long enough to make your stomach clench— but thick, too. veins run along the shaft, disappearing beneath the flushed, ruddy skin. the head is a deep, aching red, fat and swollen, leaking so much it dribbles down, streaking along his cock, mixing with the slick mess you’ve already made on him.

the weight of him makes his cock hang low even as it twitches, pulsing with the rush of blood. it looks almost angry, the veins along the base throbbing, his whole cock flexing with each slow pump of his fist as he strokes himself, spreading the mess of precum along his length.

simon watches your expression shift, pleased. "knew you’d like that.”

he's teasing but you barely hear it. your eyes stay locked on him, pulse hammering as you take in the sheer size, the stretch you’re about to take—

he shifts his grip, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other around his cock. your hips twitch, instinct making you reach for him, trying to press forward, but he holds you back, squeezes to get your attention.

"look at that..” simon presses the head of his cock against your stomach, dragging it up, smearing wet along your skin. "gonna take all this, yeah? let me stretch that little cunt open?"

"yes- yes, please-"

"fuck." his breath shudders, his hold on you tightening. "greedy thing."

he yanks you forward, spreads your legs wider, fits himself between your thighs, grinds his cock through your slit.

the first press makes you jolt, your whole body twitching, a choked sound slipping from your throat. he groans, gripping your waist, shoving you down, rubbing your swollen clit against the head, dragging himself through your slick over and over again.

"desperate," he muses, almost cruel. "thought you could take me just like that?"

you try to answer, try to say something, but your brain doesn't work, body too busy chasing relief, hips jerking, cunt aching, a mess of whimpers spilling from your lips.

his cock is heavy against your stomach, his tip leaving a damp streak along your skin as he drags it upward. the grip he has on your waist is firm, fingers pressing deep into your flesh, keeping you still, making sure you see exactly how much of him is about to disappear inside you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, lilted by something dark and pleased. “gonna fit all this inside, yeah? stretch that little cunt open real nice for me?”

your breath shudders in your throat. the weight of him, the sheer size, sends a pulse of heat through you, thighs trembling where he holds them apart. he presses his cock higher, smearing himself over your navel, dragging slow just to watch the way your stomach flexes beneath him.

simon's fingers tighten at your hips, anchoring you in place. his eyes flick up, locking onto yours. “still want it?”

you can’t nod fast enough, hands fisting in the hard muscle of his shoulders, your pulse drumming against your ribs. “yes-”

he huffs a quiet laugh before shaking his head. then he moves, his hands shifting to your waistband. simon doesn’t take his time, doesn’t tease— just yanks your shorts down in one rough motion, shoving them past your thighs, tossing them aside like they’re nothing.

your panties are soaked through, the thin fabric clinging to your skin, darker where arousal has seeped into it. his gaze drops, and he groans, fingers flexing against your thighs.

his eyes practically shine as he reaches down, hooking two fingers into the waistband, pulling the fabric to the side instead of taking it off completely. “how long have you been sittin’ here all wet for me, huh?”

then, without warning, he lifts his cock and slaps it against your cunt. the obscene sound echoes between you.

you jolt, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. the weight of him presses down, drags over your swollen folds, smearing your slick along the length of him, leaving him just as messy as you.

simon's breath hitches, jaw going tight for a moment before he grins. “feel that?” he rocks his hips, slow and deliberate, the ridge of his head catching against your clit with every motion. “soaked for me. filthy girl.”

he keeps at it, rutting through your folds, dragging his cock against you in long, teasing glides. every lazy roll of his hips spreads more wetness between you, slick growing messier, needier, your arousal coating every inch of him.

his voice drops lower, almost awed. “you always this wet?”

you shake your head. you're not even sure why you're this wet. it’s obscene, every slow slide of him making a sticky, wet sound, the kind that makes your face burn with embarrassment.

his grip on your thighs tightens. he presses against you harder, lets his cock drag through the mess, smearing it everywhere, making it worse.

“just for me then?” he asks, watching the way his cock glistens, slick with everything you’ve given him. “i kind of like that.”

he lines himself up, pressing the thick, leaking tip against your aching entrance. he lets it catch there for a second, teasing, before dragging it up one last time, rubbing against your clit, watching you twitch beneath him.

then he settles back down, pressing again, the heavy weight of him poised to sink inside.

his eyes flick back to yours. “gonna let me in now, yeah?”

the first push is a mistake. he realizes it the second you tense up, sucking in a sharp breath, thighs trembling where they’re spread over his lap. his cock barely breaches you— just the tip, barely an inch— and your body locks up, refusing to take more.

simon grits his teeth, hands firm on your waist, trying to ease you down, but you’re too tight, squeezing around him like you’re trying to push him out. the head of his cock throbs where it’s barely inside you, thick and unyielding, stretching you too much, too fast.

he exhales through his nose, slow and measured, and tries again. rocks his hips, nudging deeper, letting you feel the weight of him pressing in. but you whimper, body trembling, nails biting into his skin. your walls clench down hard, resisting, and—

he stops. groans, and drops his head back against the seat.

"jesus christ." his palm drags over his face. "knew you were tight, but- fuck. you’re not gonna take me like this."

your face burns. your throat aches. frustration coils hot in your chest. "i’m sorry-"

"oh, sweetheart." simon's hands slide up your back, rough palms smoothing over your skin before he leans back, head tilting, eyes flicking over you. half amused, half exasperated. "you apologizing for having a cunt this tight?"

you sniffle, shifting in his lap, arousal sticky between your thighs. "but i wanted to-"

"you will." his voice is steady, calm, but his grip on your hips tightens. "just gotta take my time, yeah? don’t want you cryin’ when i finally get this cock in you."

you sniff again, blinking up at him, vision blurred, lips parted. "too late."

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "fuckin’ hell."

then his hands are moving again, trailing lower, fingers slipping between your slick folds, pressing in slow.

you jolt at the touch, a sharp, wrecked little sound catching in your throat. simon groans, watching the way you twitch in his lap.

"fuck, baby. so sensitive. all worked up and nowhere to put it, huh?"

you nod, heat crawling up your neck, hips jerking as he rubs slow, lazy circles over your clit. his fingers are thick, rough, dragging through the mess between your thighs, teasing, pressing just enough to make your breath stutter.

"s’not fair," you mumble.

"life’s not fair, sweetheart." his fingers press in again, pushing deeper. one first, stretching you open, curling inside. then another. then a third. his other hand stays on your thigh, keeping you spread, holding you open so he can watch the way you take him.

"gotta get you nice and open." his voice low and warm. "don’t want you breakin’ on me just yet."

you whimper, rocking into his hand, clenching down around his fingers. your clit throbs under his thumb, swollen and aching, every slow grind of his palm sending another shudder through you.

"shh. just let me do this for you, yeah?"

you do. trembling, gasping, grinding down, taking everything he gives until you’re loose, slick, ready.

when he pulls his fingers out, you whine, walls fluttering around nothing.

then his cock is back, pressing against your entrance, thick and hot, teasing for only a moment before he pushes in—

you take him.

the stretch is unbearable. every inch forces you open, slow and deliberate, the thick drag of him pressing deeper than anything ever has. your breath stutters, body shaking, thighs trembling where they rest over his.

"fuck, sweetheart," he groans, voice tight, hands gripping your hips, keeping you still, keeping you from pulling away. "you feel that? squeezing me so fuckin’ tight."

you do. every ridge, every vein, the slow, impossible push of him splitting you open, inch by inch, pressing deep— then he stops.

breath stuttering, you blink at him, dazed, confused, still so empty. "w-why-"

"baby," his voice is almost pained. "m’pressing right up against your cervix. can’t go any deeper."

but it’s not enough. you whimper, hips twitching, shifting to take more, to sink lower. "but i still feel empty, si.."

his jaw clenches, fingers digging into your thighs, trying to keep you still, stopping you from punching a fucking hole through your guts. "jesus, sweetheart. you don’t know what you’re askin."

"please," you breathe, eyes glassy, desperate. "si, please, want all of you-"

he groans, head dropping back against the seat, restraint hanging by a thread. "fuck."

then his grip tightens, and before you can say another word, he forces you down the rest of the way.

"oh-oh my god-" your whole body shakes, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as the thick head of his cock breaches your cervix, slipping into your womb, stuffing you full.

simon grunts, the squeeze of you making his vision blur for a second. "jesus fuckin’ christ."

the moment he bottoms out, your walls clamp down, fluttering, pulsing around him— the pleasure snaps without warning, white-hot, rolling through you all at once.

"fuck- fuck, baby." he curses, the squeeze of your cunt almost painful. his half-lidded eyes are trained on where the two of you connect, the way you gush around him, soaking his cock. "just from takin’ me all the way? filthy fuckin’ thing-"

he huffs a rough laugh, fingers flexing against your hips, appreciating the extra slick easing the way. "makes it easier, at least," he mutters, then starts to move.

it’s slow at first— just enough to let you feel it, to make you ache through the thick drag of him pulling back, just enough to let you whimper at the sheer pressure of his cock pressing against every swollen, overstimulated inch of your cunt.

but you’re already gone.

your lashes flutter, your lips part around soft, wrecked little sounds, your hips twitching even though he’s holding you down, even though you’re already stuffed so fucking full.

"look at you," he murmurs, dragging a palm up your belly, pressing down right where he’s so deep, groaning when he feels the outline of himself inside you. "fuckin’ cock-drunk already, sweetheart?"

you sob, thighs squeezing around his waist, hands grasping at him, trying to find something to hold onto as your hips jerk, rolling forward mindlessly, instinct driving you to take more, take everything.

he groans, gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so he can see all of it.

"can’t even talk, can you? too fuckin’ dumb to think straight."

"s-simon-"

"what, love? too far gone already?"

his smirk is wicked, his grip tight as he presses his hips up, spearing you open all over again.

you scream, body jerking, back arching, thighs trembling around him. "ohh- oh fuck-"

"there we go." his voice is full of praise, full of something dark and indulgent. "there’s my good girl."

he sets a slow rhythm, dragging his cock out until only the thick head is inside you before slamming all the way back in, spearing you open, making sure you feel it, making sure you take every inch.

"bloody hell," he mutterd, feeling the way your walls squeeze him, the way you shudder, the way you drip around him, slick gushing, soaking his cock, ruining his seats.

"listen to that, sweetheart," he groans, shifting his grip, spreading his knees just a little wider to pin you in place. "fuckin’ mess you’re makin."

he glances down, eyes nearly rolling at the sight— your cunt stretched wide around him, slick dripping down to his balls, pooling beneath you.

"christ, love." he has to gasp for breath. "fuckin’ leaking all over me- ruinin’ my fuckin’ truck-"

"s-simon-" you lose your train of thought, babbling incomprehensible strings of words.

"can't think?" simon's grin sharpens. "good. don’t need you thinkin."

then he fucks you properly.

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru gojo is the firmest believer in “happy wife, happy life.” the most unshakable. the hottest. he could be waist-deep in an existential crisis and still be like, “well. as long as my wifey is smiling.”

it’s a religion to him. a sacred vow. a life mission. if you're happy, he's happy. if you're not? well. nothing on this planet will know peace until you are.

it doesn't matter how unreasonable you are being. you want boba at 3 a.m.? he is up, wallet in hand, calling every store in the prefecture and weighing the pros and cons of teleporting to tokyo. you suddenly decide you want to switch meals at the restaurant, even though he was craving what he ordered? done. he'll swap with a smile. even offer you a bite like it was his idea all along. you want the pink cup and not the blue one even though they’re literally identical? absolutely. he will throw the blue one in the garbage. permanently banned.

and if you’re being a little difficult on purpose? poking the bear just to see him pout? he eats it up. you roll your eyes and mutter, “i'm not talking to you,” and he gasps like he’s been stabbed, clutching his chest like a drama queen. “my wife is ignoring me?? my sweet angel? the love of my life?? what did i do?”

(he knows what he did. he laughed when you tripped up the stairs. it was objectively funny. he paid the price.)

he brings peace offerings. your favorite snack. your favorite drink. kisses your forehead and goes, “is it working? are you smiling yet? do i get wife points?” he's literally whining because you're not looking at him. even worse if you are but you're doing the squinty eye thing. the judgmental one. he melts.

satoru will cancel meetings, skip training, straight up dodge calls from the higher-ups if you so much as pout. if you say, “toru, you're pissing me off, stop doing that,” he smiles like he just got a love letter. if you say, “i don't feel like cooking,” he's already tying an apron around his waist and muttering, “say less, princess.”

he doesn’t care if anyone calls him whipped. he knows he is. proudly. happily. he wants to be whipped. he wants to be the poster boy for “husband of the year” with a little sticker that says “will do anything for kisses.”

because at the end of the day, nothing—literally nothing—makes him feel stronger, happier, or more invincible than seeing you spoiled, smiling, and just a little smug about it.

(you should be. he raised the standard.)

[bonsubear]

You're Dead Everywhere But Here │Invincible Variants x Female! Reader x Original Invincible │#1

I don't know how to describe this lol

#1, #2

CW: Slight freakiness?

WC: 3,1k

"This is complete bullshit." You spat, gritting your teeth as you tugged at the tight metal collar that the assholes from the G.D.A had forcibly attached to you. It was blinking a green hue, and each time you went to go and grasp at it with the intention of ripping it apart, it would change to red, sending shockwaves of electricity that hurt like hell.

Putting your arms to your side, you raised a brow at the complete destruction that surrounded you. Blood splatter, broken buildings, and pieces of human remains that laid around only served to fuel your bad mood. Screams of civilians could be heard from the distance and instead of worry and concern flooding your senses, it was only annoyance.

You had been captured and locked away after another fight with Invincible—and you couldn't believe you had been a fool to have been caught off guard. That stupid superhero, Invincible, got into your head and messed with you.

Each time you thought back to the moment back in that cell, a bitter taste flooded your mouth, and you couldn't help but bite your tongue.

"There's no way you've always been like... this." His voice—God, every time he would confront you he'd use this aggravating soft tone as if he was talking to a scared cat—called out to you, trying to reason with you.

"The fuck you know about that, pretty boy?" You scoffed, "How many times are you going to give me these pep talks? This is a fight, not a book club."

"How ever long it takes. You don't hurt people."

"Tell that to the people I sent to the hospital."

"Fine—I misspoke—you don't kill people. Even then, you're different from the other villains." He stepped towards you, pushing past the debris that you caused. "It's not too late to turn a new leaf. Change your ways."

"What makes you so confident in that, hm? Did you take one psychology course and suddenly you know exactly what I'm thinking?" You cackled, an amused smile gracing your lips.

"Maybe." He couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head. "But we've fought long enough for me to know that you pull your punches. You drag out the fight just a few minutes more..." Invincible hesitated, something at the edge of his tongue that he wanted to say.

He cleared his throat, changing his mind. "... and I think you do that 'cause you like the company I give you. And I like giving it to you."

Your breath hitched, a small squeal itching at the back of your throat as you took a step back. What on Earth was he saying? "The fuck you getting at?" You snarled, but the stutter of your words were as clear as day. "I'm going to kill you for this sappy shit your saying."

Invincible's lips quirked into a smug grin, tilting his head to the right just slightly. "I don't think you will. I also think we can be... good friends, you know."

... Friends? Is he delusional?

Invincible eyes flickered behind his goggles, and his shoulders stiffened as he saw an agent had snuck up behind you while he was talking to you--a gun in hand. "Wait, fuck, look out!" He screamed.

You immediately tense, turning on your heel to see what was behind you. Though it was too late, the gun set off and a painful electric bolt stabbed into you. Your body immediately went limp, falling to the ground as you were being subjected to millions of bolts running through your body relentlessly.

"What the hell! I had all this under control, why did you do that?" You could hear Invincible's voice screech out, and a quick whoosh sound approached you. The superhero crouched next to you, cradling your head as he watched you spazz out uncontrollably.

This little shit is acting like he didn't plan this from the beginning. Caught you off guard with that fake friendship shit and have a goon take you out from behind? You should've fucking known.

"Fuck! Your going to be okay, I'm, I'm so sorry." He sounded so apologetic as he continued to cradle your head as if you were a delicate flower. Invincible then shifted his eyes to the G.D.A agent who had shot at you, glaring daggers. "How do I make this stop! Tell me!"

The pain and how tired your body quickly got overwhelmed you, your vision turning black as Invincibe's shouts faded into the distance.

You couldn't believe you fell for the—ugh—friendship talk. You should've known he was just saying that crap to distract you, but with that superhero it was confusing!

Every other super would immediately get straight to business, throwing punches or whatever special power they had when they came on scene and see the absolute destruction you caused. Putting the safety of civilians above 'talking it out.'

Yet with Invincible it was the opposite; he seemed more concerned about you than the wreckage and terror you spread.

Destroying downtown with a maniac laugh escaping your throat? He'd just sigh and shake his head, calling out to you as if he had just caught you in an embarrassing act.

Throwing a civilian in the air at full speed? Oh, Invincible will just catch the dude and go, "Come on, (Y/N)!" In a playful way as if you had gone a little too far with playing around.

"Weirdo." You shivered as you recalled his weird behavior. The next time you see him, you will for sure kill Invincible—or erm, the Invincible of this dimension? You've been dragged out of your cell and been briefed about some evil alternate Invincibles wreaking havoc all over the world. They needed every available resource they got out there to fend off the evil variants.

Well, at least you can practice the best way to kill your Invincible with the knock offs.

You jumped in the air, pushing yourself high so that you could see down below. Squinting, you scanned the area. The destruction stretched for miles, blaring cars and screams filled the air. You saw injured civilians using each other as support as they tried to run to safety.

You averted your gaze—all those governments assholes told you is to fight off variants, not save lives.

"No! Please! Aarrghh!" You heard a blood curling scream screech up ahead and you tilted your head in curiosity as you made your way towards it. Jumping off the destroyed structures like a frog jumping off lily pads.

Peering down, you saw a tall figure standing before a freshly dead body. The skull crushed and the brain spilled out slightly from the cracks. You raised a brow, an unimpressed look on your face as you observed the supposed variant.

He had no mask, his face was fully visible and the mohawk haircut out in full display. His suit was torn on the shoulder, dust sticking to the costume. He had a large shit eating grin on his face, a visible smile line accompanying it.

Is that what Invincible actually looks like without the mask? Huh, I guess he is actually a pretty boy.

Clicking your tongue, you put a hand on your hip as you watched Mohawk Invincible cackle to himself as he turned his head, his back facing you. A sly smirk creeps at the edge of your lips, your eyes dilating like a cat watching its prey unaware of what is behind them.

Without a second to hesitate, you leapt off the structure you were on, raising a fist. Clenching it tightly, you landed a solid hit on the upper part of his back—sending him flying to brick wall. "Score!" You whistled, his legs up the air as his head shoved into a patch of dirt.

Cracking your shoulder, you slowly began to approach Mohawk Invincible, "Those G.D.A suckers kept me in their basement for way too long, my body is all tense. Happy to be out, but sucks I got a shock collar on me." You hummed, talking to yourself as you used the back of your foot to leap from the floor—sending yourself flying to the variant.

"W—"

You sent a harsh kick, sending him flying once more. Though this time, Mohawk Invincible caught himself, digging his hand into the ground. Whipping his head up, he swatted at the dirt dust that accumulated in the air from his body being dragged.

A tight fist met his jaw, sending his head backwards. Clenching his teeth, he whirled his head back, extending his arms and harshly tackling the person who had just attacked him. The variant put his whole-body weight on you and he was quick to grip a hand on your neck, squeezing as his eyes darting to your face as he raised his free hand to beat the hell out whoever ambushed him.

His eyes were angry, but it quickly faded as the dust settled and he saw who was under him. His clenched fist softened, blinking as there was no doubt in his mind that he was staring at this world's (Y/N). You looked the same, your perfect hair sprawled and the color of your eyes he used to stare lovingly staring daggers at him

"Oh shit, (Y/N)?" The variant called out, the solid grip grasping on your neck loosening. Your eyebrows furrowed, a knot in your stomach twisting as the same exact tone the variant was using sounded exactly the same as your Invincible's.

"That's me." You hissed, watching as his gaze flickered to the collar that was on your neck. With him distracted, you took the opportunity to land a hit on Mohawk—his weight lifting. You rolled both of you over, and you connected your hands to his throat, pushing it down.

"How do you know that name?" You questioned. No one should know your real name.

"Fu—Fuck—(Y/N)," He choked out, staring up at you with something you couldn't recognize. Your Invincible always wore goggles so you never had to look into his eyes. You wondered if he had this look whenever he looked at you, and you grimaced as that made you uncomfortable.

The look wasn't hatred, anger, or fear. It was... some form of desperation. Not desperate to live, but desperate for something else. Or someone else.

"It's—It's you. Shit, it's—it's really you." He heaved out, his hands grasping at your arms. He was holding them, not making an effort to tear them away. Hell, he was actually using his thumb to caress you instead of pulling you away.

He sat his neck up, bringing it closer to the chokehold you had on him, looking up at you with half lidded eyes. Your hands that were perfectly molded to touch him, the familiar weight of your body on top of him—Fuuckk, he even got a small whiff of your scent.

He wasn't expecting to find this world's (Y/N) so soon. He held hope that this world's (Y/N) was still alive, planning to go looking for you after he wrecked some shit, but instead you found him.

He didn't expect you to jump him like this with this incredible strength. Are you a super in this dimension? God, right now he doesn't care, this is pretty fucking hot.

Mohawk slid his hands to your waist, squeezing the familiar curve that he used to grab so much. You were sitting on his stomach, but if you just moved your sweet ass a little lower you'd be at a perfect spot. He could just nudge you a few inches down—

You gasped, quickly pulling your hands from squeezing his throat as jumped backwards away from the man. The ghost touch of where his hands used to be on your body lingered, and you shivered as you scowled.

"What kind of perverted freak are you?" You growled, taking a defensive stance.

The variant merely coughed, cackles escaping his throat as he stood up from the ground. He brushed a hand over to his throat, his neck feeling empty without your hands squeezing them.

"What's wrong, babe? Figured your Mark liked being choked with how comfortable you were doing it with me." He laughed, his arms outstretched. "Can't blame a guy for enjoying a sample. You know—I'm kind of itching for another one, round 2?"

You looked at him like he was crazy. "Who the hell is Mark?"

"Your boyfriend, duh."

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"He doesn't bag you?—Ah whatever, friend or something." He rolled his eyes, bringing a finger to rub the inside of his ear.

You continued to stare at him like he was crazy. "I don't know anyone with that name." You hissed, irritated at this odd situation. The fact that he called you babe was driving you further up the wall of irritation.

That seemed to surprise him, his eyes wide. Every single variant had some sort of relationship with you, it was either dating or one-sided love. "Your a super then, right? You gotta know Invincible." He raised a brow, trying to gauge what the hell this universe's Mark was up to for you to not know his civilian identity.

You snorted. "Super? Don't fucking play with me. I'm not fighting you out of a 'heroic duty, I didn't have a choice,'" you rolled your eyes, tugging at the collar that was still beeping around your neck. "But Invincible? Yeah, I know that pretty boy, he's the reason I got thrown into G.D.A's little dungeon and have this zappy collar on me."

Not a super. Huh.

That left him a little dumbfounded, hell, your whole attitude left him dumbfounded. Not that he didn't like it, but more so it was so different. You were soft in his dimension and all the other dimensions according to the other variants about the stories they'd share about you, so this was certainly not what he was expecting.

"... You were captured by the G.D.A? You're not a good guy? Wow. That’s new."

You groaned; you were done hearing the nonsense this Invincible variant was spitting at you. It made you confused and annoyed. Not answering his question, you lunged forward.

He blocked your attacks, dodging your leg kicks and jabs. "So, you’re naughty? I'm getting excited." He jested, biting his lips as his eyes bore into you. God, is he going to talk the entire time? "You're going to definitely like me then. I’m naughty myself, especially in bed.”

"Shut the fuck up.”

“Fine, we can continue this foreplay. Fun!”

“You’re more annoying than my Invincible.” You took a step back as you watched Mohawk Invincible lunge towards you with full speed. You steadied yourself, preparing to lunge towards him as well before a blur of black intercepted.

You dug your feet into the ground, whipping your hand around to see that another variant was here. They wore the same blue and black palette that the Mohawk variant wore, but their face was fully covered by a black mask.

"Ya dick!" Mohawk screeched, pushing off the fully masked variant. "I'm in the middle of something here, go somewhere else!"

The fully masked variant merely slapped the other variant's face to the ground, standing up hurriedly to look at you. He had heard the commotion, and your recognizable voice made his ears perk up.

It's been so long since he heard you speak, heard you breathe. His body started moving before his mind could process that you were alive in this universe.

"(Y/N)..." He breathed out, feeling his whole body go light as he took a step towards you. "Your—Your alive in this universe. Alive and healthy..." His eyes trailed to your figure, and you tensed. "... and strong. That's good."

"What am I supposed to be? Dead?"

"In my universe you died. You were sick." His voice broke, taking more steps towards you. This masked Invincible seemed different from the one with the Mohawk. Sad, but still held that same desperation. "I've missed you; I've missed mom—both of you were my world."

"What is with this sentimental bullshit?" You cut him off, shaking your head. You felt like you were intruding in some sort of sad romcom scene that wasn't supposed to be directed at you. This was really killing your appetite to kill Invincible. "Did we know each other?"

'I' knew that pervert and now this guy too.

He flinched, seemingly hurt from the fact that you didn't know how deep your two's relationship was. "Yeah, in my dimension we knew a lot of each other—"

"—Well I'm not whatever lame ass version you think I am." You cut him off. You eyes darted to the two variants, wondering what to do next. If it was just, you and Mohawk, you could've had the shot to kill him. But two of them? Maybe it's best to sneak off. It'll be even worse if more Invincibles showed up.

Worse in a fighting aspect as well as worse in... whatever you call this strange phenomenon that was happening with these variants. Some alternate versions of you apparently had relations with these mentally unwell men, and you didn't want to find out how many more Invincibles had the googly eyes for you.

"That's okay. As soon as we find mom you can get to know me, and I can get to know more of you when we go home."

"Hey! I found her first, I get dibs, dipshit!" Mohawk sprang to action, his face contorting at the assumption that the masked asshole would be the one to take you home. He jabbed finger into the masked variant, shaking his head. "Go cry to your mommy! I was here first, fair and square."

"Don't talk to her as if she's an object!"

"Waaa! Waaa! That's what you sound like!"

You sweat dropped at the scene, they were acting like two children fighting over a toy. Though it worked great in your favor to escape from this situation. Turning on your heel, you were ready to make a break for it.

"You're both immature." A cold voice called out. You looked up, seeing two Invincibles hovering in the air.

One adorned the signature colors of Omniman, a red cape attached to his shoulders, while the other was wearing a white uniform. The Omni-Invincible had his arms crossed as he looked down, his head tilted at you.

"Let me guess, you two know ‘me’ too?"

"Yes." They both answered. The red one looked over to the two variants that were squabbling with each other a few seconds before, but the white one kept his eyes on you. Unmoving.

I'm getting out of here.

You jumped into the air, bolting through the sky. Though you could hear something whirling a few feet behind you. Guess you weren't going to escape so easily.

Maayybee I’ll do a part 2 since I didn’t get to write Sinister Mark and barely did interactions of Omni Mark and Viltrum Mark 😈😈 hope you like this blurb thing? Sorry I don’t know the terminology HAHSHA

[oceantornadoo]

when you first start talking to simon riley, you want to check yourself into an insane asylum.

you like to think you’re cool, you’re chill, you’re nonchalant. but he takes eight hours to text back, sending you a “come over.” text at 7pm like he hadn’t just ignored you the whole day. you complain to your friends, of course, which is a terrible move when they tell you to drop him and if he wanted to, he would! and you think he does (want to), he’s just so insanely nonchalant about it. so the next time he comes over, chinese takeout in hand after not texting you back since 8am, you go a little crazy…

you open the door for him, stepping back awkwardly when he tries to peck your forehead. he practically shrugs it off, toeing off his boots before setting the food down on your table. “got tha’ dish ya like.” you nod, forgetting his back is to you. simon unpacks the boxes with precision from the bag, not stopping until it’s all laid out on the table. you’ve been quiet for a while, unusual since you’re the talker of the bunch, and that creeping feeling that’s been sliding up his skin finally sets its hooks in him. he turns around curiously, brows furrowing at the sight of you still standing by the door, biting your lip with a timid look and wet eyes. “love?”

you shake your head with a watery smile. “can we talk?” simon follows you as you walk to your couch, feeling like he’s been dropped into an op with no details. he doesn’t know what’s wrong, just that you’re hurting and he seems to be the cause of it. “i just…don’t get it. how you’re acting so normal.” you’re twisting your hands together. “somethin’ happen, love? got me confused.” you give him that small, weak smile again and it’s like you’ve stabbed him in the heart. “you- you barely talk to me all day and then you just come over here like it’s nothing. it’s just so hot and cold and i’m wrecking myself over it when it’s so clear you don’t care. i’m just so confused, si.”

simon runs through his memories. he texted you good morning, you texted it back, then he went about his duties for the day until he was finally free to ask about dinner. hadn’t even picked up his phone in the meantime, security risks or just plain busyness being the cause. “‘ve been busy, sweetheart. ‘s why i asked t’ come over when i was done.” you shake your head, biting your lip. “it’s the modern day, simon. everyone’s on their phones. i don’t think you’re as into this as me, and that’s fine, but i just want to know!”

now simon’s the one shaking his head, pulling out his phone. he might not be tech savvy but he does know this move from johnny, the fucker constantly complaining about his screen time. he pulls up the screen time tracker and turns it to you. “not everyone.” you’re a bit shocked to be honest. his screen time is ten minutes for the entire day. a few in the morning when he texted you and nothing until nighttime, when he texted you again. you’ve never seen anything like it.

“‘m not a big texter an’ we don’t use personal phones for work, so it’s jus’ a brick i leave at home or lug around. ‘s nothin’ on you. been thinkin’ about you all day, to be honest.” your mouth is open, honestly. any other man would have never shown you their minute-by-minute screen time, would have begged off the “busy” excuse while having been on social media for four hours. simon, by all standards, is genuinely different.

“so, you do like me?” he nods stiffly, gloved hands reaching for you. you slide into his lap easily, tucking your face into his neck to hide your heated cheeks. you’d even shed a few tears over this, how embarrassing. “‘course i like you, sweetheart. an’ im sorry if it didn’t feel like it. let’s have it out, yeah?” you nod into his skin and he takes a deep breath, pulling you closer to his heart.

from that day on, you compromise with phone calls. when he’s got a few minutes and you’ve hit a lull at work, he’ll call you. it’s better than any text in the world - hearing his gruff voice asking questions about your messy coworkers or dinner plans. not so nonchalant as you thought.

-

i wish this was from personal experience but unfortunately for me, it’s closer to the men not responding for days but having a screen time of six hours.

[starpens]

୨୧ㅤִㅤׄ COUGH SYRUP ― GOJO SATORU.

satoru is a bit of an idiot who will do anything to get you to speak to him after an argument.

𓈒 ݁ ₊ content ﾉ fem reader, clingy satoru, established relationship, mild argument, fluff, not proofread, randomly started missing my boy :( <3

satoru can’t function when you’re upset with him. 

he knows he should be an adult about it — he is an adult, after all. he should give you space, let you simmer down. most people do not do things such as send one hundred and fifty text messages (he counted each of ‘em; you left him on read one hundred and fifty two times. who does that?) to your phone while you’re in the middle of grocery shopping and they most definitely do not take a sick day because their significant other is mad at them. 

 but then again, satoru isn’t like most people. 

which is why he’s currently sprawled out on the sofa in the middle of the day, wrapped in your favorite throw blanket — one that still smells faintly of your perfume. tissues litter the coffee table and floor around him, an unconvincing movie set of misery. call him manipulative, but it’s the only thing he’s got left in the tank since, for the last seventy-two hours, you haven’t spoken more than five words in a sentence to him. 

you’re his main source of enrichment, his brain stimulated by your sweet kisses and good loving so when you take that away, you’re stripping away his heart and soul. he’s got nothing left. he might as well die.  

in satoru’s brain, he figures that surely, if he’s coughing up a lung, you’ll feel bad for him and start talking to him again. in sickness and in health, right? 

by the time you walk through the front door after making a quick run to the supermarket for groceries, he’s in full performance mode, clutching his stomach with a groan. 

the sound is so realistic that you feel a sudden stab of worry, wondering if he’s injured. rushing into the living room, you find all six foot three of your boyfriend balled up on the sofa, looking like walking death. 

or trying to, anyway. 

“satoru?” you ask, eyebrows arching as you set your grocery bags down on the floor, taking out your phone and glancing at the time on the lockscreen. “why are you home? it’s eleven am.” 

“baby,” he groans pitfully, looking up at you. his glacier blue eyes are red rimmed and shimmering suspiciously — like he squeezed them shut repeatedly until he got the desired effect. satoru sniffles for good measure, huddling into the blanket. “i’m sick,” he announces, his lower lip wobbling, dragging out the last syllable like it physically hurts him to say it. 

“sick? you seemed fine when i left this morning,” you say, taking a step forward. you reach out a hand, pushing back his wintery locks to check for a fever. his skin feels normal, cool to touch even. your eyes narrow. you’re dubious — satoru never gets sick, yet it is his favorite act whenever he’s in the doghouse and wants attention. that, and he’s a terrible actor. you purse your lips, irritated. this is what he does instead of just apologizing? 

“i wasn’t fine emotionally,” satoru whines back. “i’m heartbroken here. it’s debilitating my health rapidly.” 

your expression doesn’t budge and satoru’s pout deepens when he realizes you’re not buying it. he clutches the blanket tighter around his big body, exaggerating a shiver for good measure. “you’re my life force, angel. my happiness. my —”

“stop it,” you interrupt and hold up a hand, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. you’re mad at him — you are. “but let me get this straight. you called out of work because i wasn’t talking to you?” 

“it was a medical emergency. do you have any idea what it’s like to go hours without hearing you voice?! without seeing you smile at me? you wouldn’t even let me use your body wash last night so we could share the same scent. i barely survived the night. any longer and i’d be a goner,” he sighs dramatically, then remembers he’s supposed to be on his last leg and hacks, phlegm rattling in his throat. 

“you’re obsessed,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to hold firm. but your damned heart has selective memory and it is making an appearance again, rapidly forgetting why you’re still mad at him. oh, you had a right to be upset over what he did, but it seems insignificant now when he’s in front of you, groveling like a servant at a throne. 

“angel, come on,” he presses, sitting up on the sofa and reaching for your hand, hurt flashing bright across his eyes when you step out of range. if you let him pull you down on that sofa with him, he’ll sweet talk his way into you forgiving him without consequences. he’ll do that anyway, but you won’t make it easy for him. “i’ll do anything to make it right.” 

“don’t angel me. you can’t just manipulate me into forgiving you with your big pretty eyes,” you wag your finger at him. “i bet you don’t even know what you did.” 

“i know, but it’s working, ain’t it?” he grins, shamelessly dropping the congested tone in his voice. “and i know what i did,” he scoffs. “you’re mad at me about that thing.” 

yes, that thing.

two nights ago, your body pillow — your very expensive, weighted body pillow which happened to have a giant render of your boyfriend on it, went missing. you’d commissioned it to have something to cuddle with on those nights when satoru is away on business and you miss him in your shared bed an unhealthy amount. you’d become a little too attached to it, though, while satoru wanted nothing more than to burn it. 

“he has a name,” you hiss, swatting satoru’s knee as you struggle not to laugh. “don’t call mr. comf-toru-ble a thing! he’s sensitive.” 

“see?” satoru says, scrubbing a hand over his handsome face before gesturing around wildly. “you even named it.” 

you give him a sharp look. “he cost me an entire paycheck— an entire paycheck that three days ago, you gave to the garbage collectors because i was cuddling him instead of you!” 

“i was feeling neglected!” he defends, voice pitching higher in his affront, placing a hand on his chest. “you spent the whole night with it. meanwhile, i— your husband— was right there, cold and alone. i can’t let me steal my wife.”

“we’re not married, satoru,” you remind him, then pout. “unlike my husband, the pillow doesn’t hog the covers, snore, or throw out things that i really like.” 

“it’s not hogging the covers, it’s redistribution of them for my comfort,” he grins playfully, but upon seeing your serious expression, he concedes, sobering up. in truth, he knows he messed up and went too far. it was childish to throw out something that you bought because of his frequent bouts of absence. maybe if he was around more, you wouldn’t need to cuddle with body pillows that look like him. “look, baby. i’m sorry. it was a moment of weakness. it’s not everyday i gotta be in competition with myself, but i’ll make it up to you! i even ordered you another one.” 

“a moment of jealousy, you mean,” you counter, but there’s no real bite behind your tone now.

“hey, you gotta see it from my perspective though. it’s kind of crazy seeing you cuddle with a pillow that looks like me when the real thing is right here,” satoru gestures down the long line of his body, though it looks more comical than inviting when he’s wrapped like a overstuffed burrito in your throw blanket.

“mm,” you nod, “well, maybe if the ‘real thing’ is a good boy, i’ll cuddle him more often.” 

“deal,” he answers immediately and when his muscular arms shoot out from behind the blanket and reach for you this time, you let him. his arms circle around your waist, pulling you into his lap. it was just a few days of silent treatment, but satoru wastes no time tucking his face against the dip of your neck, breathing in your sweet scent like you’re something precious and rare he lost ages ago and is just discovering again after eons. 

he’s squishing you, he knows it, but god he hates it when you’re mad at him — and you, in return, hate being at odds with him too. you both make too much sense to each other to be apart, and there’s upset in the balance of the world when the two of you are in an argument. 

“worst seventy-two hours of my life,” satoru blows out a breath of relief, the air tickling the hair at the nape of your neck, drawing a shiver down your spine. “never do that to me again, angel. you hear?” 

“don’t throw out my customized satoru merch again and i won’t, baby,” you coo, smiling. 

“you’ll still choose me over the other guy though, right?” 

“we’ll see, ‘toru, we’ll see,” you answer playfully, yelping when he darts in to nip at your ear in retaliation.

getting comfortable in satoru’s lap, you lean in to put the both of you out of your miseries and forgive him with a kiss when you get a whiff of menthol and childhood memories wafting from his chest.

 ��are you wearing vaporub?”

[luna-azzurra]

Write Rivals With Chemistry So Hot It Hurts

╰ Rivalry isn’t hate — it’s obsession True rivals aren't just like, “ugh, I dislike you.” They’re watching each other. Studying. Matching moves. Thinking about each other when they shouldn’t. Hating how much they notice the other person. Rivalry is two sides of the same coin: hatred’s messy little sibling is fascination.

╰ Let them know exactly where to hit—and hesitate The best rivals know exactly where to stick the knife. Childhood wounds. Secret fears. Insecurities no one else sees. But the most powerful moment isn't when they stab, it's when they hesitate. When they flinch. When the reader sees the care underneath the kill shot.

╰ Make every win personal Every victory between rivals should feel like flirting with a knife’s edge. They don't just beat each other; they get under each other's skin. "I outsmarted you" translates directly to "I'm the only one who really sees you." (And no, they're not ready to talk about why that makes them insane.)

╰ Layer the attraction under everything You don't have to write "he found her hot" every five seconds. (Please don't.) Just lace it into the friction. The way they notice each other’s hands. The way a sarcastic smile feels like a slap and a kiss at the same time. Let it be unspoken, which somehow makes it ten times louder.

╰ Give them one private, honest moment and then destroy them for it That one late-night conversation. That brush of honesty. That accidental partnership in a bar fight. That glimpse of trust that leaves them both raw and feral because now it’s personal. Now it hurts. And guess what? Neither of them is stable enough to handle it like adults.

╰ Let them wound each other in ways no one else can Rivals with chemistry are like: “I know your softest place. I know where you hurt. And maybe I’m the only one who could ever touch it.” Terrifying. Intimate. Sexy. Self-destructive. Delicious.

╰ Don’t make it easy to flip to love If they hook up too soon, it’s cheap. If they confess too soon, it’s fake. They have to fight it. They have to screw it up. They have to almost kiss and almost kill each other in the same breath. The reward is sweeter because it’s hard won.

╰ Make them jealous, but make it messy Not cutesy "oh no I'm jealous" moments. Ugly jealousy. Pride-shredding, shame-inducing jealousy. Watching their rival smile at someone else and feeling like they're drowning in acid and denial. Bonus points if they pretend they’re above it and then spiral anyway.

╰ Tension isn’t just in the fighting, it’s in the silences It’s the stare across the room that says “I hate you and I want you” with zero words. It’s the hand that lingers a second too long after pulling them out of danger. It's the unsent text. It's the "accidental" meeting. Sometimes not speaking burns hotter than the screaming matches.

╰ Remember, they don’t want to ruin each other, they want to matter At the core of a rival/chemistry dynamic is one truth: “I want to matter to you more than anyone else does.” And they’ll deny it. And fight it. And wreck themselves over it. (And we, as the readers, will eat it with a goddamn spoon.)

[witchywithwhiskey]

what good girls get after movie night

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

summary: movie night in avengers tower gets interesting when you and bucky barnes test the limits of your secret relationship.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), thunderbolts* spoilers, smut, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, edging/orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, come eating, semi-public fooling around (under a blanket during movie night), 'need to be quiet so we don't get caught' trope, sneaking around/secret relationship, dirty talk, light degradation, praise kink, teasing, biting, pet names (sweetheart, baby), established relationship, both bucky and reader are members of the new avengers—let me know if i missed something!

word count: 3.1k

a/n: here's my first ever entry for @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer event!! idk yet how many weeks i'll be able to write for, but i'm gonna try to do a couple at least. and to start us off, we've got a very dirty Bucky Barnes and some New Avengers tower shenanigans 😅 hope y'all enjoy! ♡

prompt: “Mind your own damn business.” | [Secret Sex/Relationship | Embarrassment | Denial]

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

It was movie night in Avengers Tower—or rather, New Avengers Tower—and you plopped down in one of the end seats of the overstuffed couches in the lounge. 

You always made sure to show up early so you didn’t end up crammed between John Walker and Ava Starr. Their bickering could ruin any movie.

Sure enough, the pair entered the lounge not long after you, arguing about who won some sparring match during their training that day, and whether it was cheating for Ava to use her powers. She was threatening to phase into his room and stab him while he slept as they took their seats on another couch. 

You breathed a sigh of relief that they weren’t sitting near you. The seat next to you was still open, and you had hopes for who would take it—though you tried not to look hopeful as the others filtered in. 

Alexei Shostakov, Yelena Belova and Bob Reynolds entered the lounge a few minutes later. Yelena flopped down on the floor, while Bob sat on the couch closest to her, the two of them having a conversation that was much more civil than the continued bickering between John and Ava, which had devolved into threats of bodily harm.

Alexei went straight for the remote to the massive TV before settling into the lounge’s only recliner armchair. Everyone had long ago agreed that was always his spot because he fell asleep five minutes into the movie and snored like a fighter jet mid-battle.

Just before Alexei hit play on the movie, Bucky Barnes slipped into the lounge and took the empty seat next to you. Immediately, your heart began to beat a little faster, and you tried to hide your joy as you looked around at the others on the team.

You’d spent hours wondering whether everyone else knew you and Bucky were sneaking around together, trying to keep your relationship secret so it wouldn’t get back to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. Neither you nor Bucky knew how Val would react, and you both figured it was easier not to find out. 

That night, no one was paying you and Bucky any mind—Yelena was snapping at John to shut up while Alexei’s recliner creaked loudly as he settled into it. You figured they either hadn’t noticed how close Bucky was sitting to you, or they didn’t care. 

Knowing The New Avengers as you did, you truly couldn’t determine which was more likely to be true. 

Finally, the movie began. The sound was turned up to a nearly deafening level, and you let your worries about what the team did or didn’t know fall away. 

A few minutes in, Bucky grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and he casually tossed it over the two of you. When you looked at him and caught his eye, the ghost of a smirk danced at the edge of his mouth, and you shot him the barest smile in return.

Glancing around the room, you made sure everyone was engrossed in the movie before curling into Bucky’s side. You threw your legs over his thigh while his metal arm wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you into his body. 

Ducking your head, you hid a pleased smile as you got comfortable. Your body relaxed into Bucky, your fingers holding the blanket up to your chin so it covered as much of your entwined limbs as possible. 

Snuggled up with your secret boyfriend, you settled in to watch the movie in peace. But Bucky had other ideas.

While everyone else was focused on the TV, Bucky shifted so he was curled more around you, his hand slipping onto your knee beneath the blanket. 

Just that touch had tingles of warmth dancing up your thighs to settle heavily between your legs, your body already beginning to crave Bucky’s. But with the team littered throughout the room, you did your best to ignore your reaction to Bucky’s touch. 

Then, oh so slowly, Bucky began to slide his hand up your thigh. His palm was blazingly hot through the thin cotton of your leggings, teasing you with his heat when you truly wanted him to be touching your bare skin. 

The higher his hand got, the less you could ignore it. Especially when his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh, earning a choked whine from you. 

“Bucky,” you gasped on the softest exhale you could manage, well aware that there were two other super-soldiers in the room. No matter how loud the TV was, there was always a chance someone would hear you, or—god forbid—sense you another way. “We can’t.” 

Lifting your head, you looked around the lounge with quick, sharp eyes. 

Thankfully, Alexei was already asleep, the loud rumbling of his snores drowning out the quieter moments of the movie. Bob looked totally engrossed in the TV and Yelena was playing with one of her knives while she kept an eye on Ava and John, who were bickering again, though about what you couldn’t tell.

“Shh, sweetheart, watch the movie,” Bucky murmured teasingly in your ear, clearly having done his own sweep of the room and noting that no one was paying any attention to the two of you. 

Bucky took advantage of the team’s distraction to slide his hand even higher up your thigh, until his big palm was cupping your pussy through your leggings. It was all you could do to bite down on your plush lower lip and hold back the sharp gasp that wanted to escape. His hand was so big and it felt so good pressing between your thighs.

A smirk slashed across Bucky’s face, his hungry eyes watching your expression closely so he could devour each and every one of your reactions. He pressed his fingers into your throbbing slit, watching as your lips dropped open and your eyes went hazy from the pleasure pulsing in your pussy.

He kept rubbing your cunt, and you knew the moment he realized you weren’t wearing any panties under your leggings because a soft growl rumbled in his chest. You’d already soaked through your leggings, and you were certain his fingers were growing wetter and wetter with every swipe of your pussy.

“You’re such a little slut, baby,” Bucky purred, ducking his head so his mouth was right against your cheek. You could feel the rasp of his stubble against your skin, and you squirmed on his lap, trapping his hand between your thighs, which only made him chuckle. “You wanted this, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

His words were so condescending and filthy, they had your heart racing in your chest, battering against your ribs. Embarrassment heated your cheeks, but you didn’t protest Bucky’s accusation—because he was right. You had foregone wearing panties hoping it would give Bucky easier access to do exactly what he was doing.

“You wanted to fool around during movie night, didn’t you, baby?” Bucky murmured, his impish grin pressed into your cheek. “You wanted me to rub your bare pussy through your leggings while the rest of the team are right here.”

It was so dirty, what the two of you were doing, but you didn’t want to stop. So even though his last words weren’t a question, you nodded. You lifted your eyes and looked at Bucky from under your lashes, letting him see all the naked desire in your expression. 

Bucky’s grin widened, turning wolfish and hungry as his eyes sparkled in the dim blue light of the TV. His hand rubbed your pussy harder, thumb pressing tight circles into your clit, dragging you tenaciously toward the edge of your release. 

“They could catch us at any second,” he warned, his voice still low enough that only you could hear. “And then they’d know just what a filthy little slut you are for me, huh?”

“Bucky, please,” you rasped on a stifled sob, turning your head and burying your face in Bucky’s neck. Your shoulders trembled, fingers curling into fists as you clung to his t-shirt. The pleasure rolling through your body was made even more overwhelming by the need to keep quiet.

“Don’t worry, baby, I won’t let them catch us,” Bucky rumbled soothingly, his hand between your thighs slowing to draw out your pleasure. “You just be a good little slut—stay quiet and let me play with your sweet, greedy cunt during the movie.”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered into Bucky’s neck, pressing a kiss to his skin as you spread your legs wider for him beneath the blanket.

“Good girl,” he cooed against your temple, making you quiver from the pleasure. 

For a long while, Bucky rubbed your dripping cunt through your leggings, getting the fabric soaking wet while stoking your pleasure to a constant, burning heat. He was merciless, playing with your clit and your puffy pussy lips as if trying to get you to slip up and make a sound.

For your part, all you could do was try to be good. You muffled your moans in the warmth of Bucky’s neck, huffing out soft mewls and breathless whimpers that were drowned out by the movie playing on the TV and Alexei’s snores.

When you thought Bucky was going to edge you like that for the entire movie, he pulled his hand from between your thighs. Without warning, everything sharpened around you, your mind surfacing from the haze of constant pleasure.

Despite the reprieve from his torture, you nearly whined at the sudden loss of Bucky’s touch. Your fingers curled tighter in the soft cotton of his t-shirt and you were about to say something—but then he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your leggings and slid his big hand inside.

Bucky’s warm, calloused fingers pushed between the messy, swollen lips of your pussy, and the feeling was so good—so filthy and exquisite—that you were nearly helpless to it. At the last second, you ducked your head and sank your teeth into the hard muscle of his pecs to stifle the moan that demanded to spill free.

A grunt came from Bucky when you bit him, and you lifted your head in time to catch him glancing furtively around the room. When it was clear that everyone else was distracted by the movie or each other, you both breathed a sigh of relief. 

Bucky’s fingers, which had stilled against your pussy, slipped deeper between your thighs. Two pushed into your hole, spearing you open and sinking inside you to the knuckle. They stretched you deliciously, stroking against your sensitive inner walls, and for a moment, you forgot yourself.

“Oh god, Bucky,” you breathed on a sigh of delight, pushing your face into his neck in a belated attempt to muffle your sounds of pleasure. He smelled like salt and leather and you wanted to lick him and moan with abandon.

“Shh, ya gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” Bucky chided you, his tone warm with affectionate teasing. “You don’t want anyone catching us, do you?”

Pleasure was throbbing through your body, so sharp and insistent, you could hardly bring yourself to care about getting caught anymore. You just wanted some relief—you wanted to come.

“Need you,” you whined as quietly as you could manage. “Please,” you begged pitifully, tugging weakly on Bucky’s shirt, as if that would sway him toward giving you what you wanted. 

A reprimanding growl rumbled in Bucky’s chest and when he spoke, his mouth brushed against your ear, his words filling your head. 

“If you can be a good girl and be quiet for the rest of the movie, I’ll take you back to my room and show you what good girls get,” he said, and then, as if deciding to make his point even clearer, he went on. “Good girls get to come on my big, fat cock while I spill my seed in their greedy, hungry cunt.”

His words were a lightning bolt straight to your pussy, and you nearly moaned again. You had to bite down on the base of Bucky’s throat to stifle the sound, and as soon as it passed, you pulled your mouth away to respond.

“I can be good—I can be good, I swear,” you promised in a rushed babble, a whine in your tone as you nodded your head against Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Good girl,” Bucky purred in your ear, his metal arm tightening around your shoulders and tucking you deeper into his chest. All the while, his fingers fucked your dripping hole slowly, torturously, ramping up your pleasure before easing you back down.

Bucky brought you to the edge three more times before the movie ended, rumbling in your ear to be a good girl and not come on his fingers so he could reward you later. It was a near thing each time, but you managed it, your body trembling more and more beneath the blanket concealing your bodies.

He’d let you wind down after each edge while he slipped his hand from your leggings and licked your desire from his fingers. His eyes would glimmer with barely leashed lust as he held your gaze, making you watch him taste you while you quivered in his arms. Then he’d start the process all over again.

By the time the movie was over, you were wound so tight, you knew you’d explode the second Bucky slid his cock into your aching, hungry cunt. And you couldn’t wait another minute for that release. 

The second the credits began to roll, you yanked Bucky’s hand from your leggings, the super-soldier letting you free his fingers with a low chuckle. Then you tossed the blanket off your overheated bodies and hopped up, heading straight for the door with Bucky hot on your heels.

“Where are you two going?” John called as you tried to make a hasty escape, drawing all eyes to you and Bucky. “Don’t tell me you guys are tired already, we only watched one movie! Bucky might be ancient, but what’s your excuse, rookie?”

“Mind your own damn business, Walker,” you snarled, hurling the comment over your shoulder as you picked up your pace. 

You didn’t care anymore if the team knew about you and Bucky and what you got up to when you were alone in the tower. All you could think about was the pounding pulse between your thighs and your need for release. 

Looking over your shoulder, you caught Bucky’s eye, and he looked just as desperate and hungry as you felt. With a jolt of understanding, you realized he didn’t care if anyone else knew either, and the thought made you smile happily at him. His wolfish grin answered you and urged you on.

As the two of you retreated from the lounge, you heard John whining to the others, “What’d I say?” The last thing you heard was everyone else—save for Alexei, who was still asleep in his chair—laugh at him.

Once you were out of sight of the team, Bucky hauled you over his shoulder and took off. He jogged through the winding hallways of the tower until he got to his room. There, he pushed quickly through the door and locked it behind him, before tossing you down on the bed.

“Leggings off now, unless you want me to tear them off you,” Bucky growled, already yanking his clothes off. 

You grinned at his impatience, as if he wasn’t the one who’d tortured you for the last two hours by edging you during movie night. But you decided to save your teasing for later, because you wanted him too badly to say anything. Instead, you just tore of your own clothes as quickly as you could.

Then Bucky was on you, his hips bullying between your legs, his cock smacking against your wet, needy pussy. Your thighs spread wide to welcome him into your body, your lips parting on an obscene moan when he crushed you into the bed with his heavy form. 

In one thrust, he was inside you, and you let loose an uninhibited scream of pleasure that filled his room, bouncing off the walls and shattering the stillness of the night. 

Just as you’d predicted, you came the moment Bucky slid home inside your pussy, your release helped along by the way he was grinding the base of his cock into your clit. He knew exactly what he was doing, pushing you over the edge with relentless efficiency. 

And you were helpless to it. The pleasure coursing through you, crashing over you in blissful waves had you trembling and whimpering beneath him, riding out the overwhelming release with your thighs wrapped tight around his waist.

“That’s it, sweetheart, you’re coming like a perfect little slut on my cock,” Bucky praised you, brushing kisses to your cheeks before capturing your lips in a filthy kiss. “You were such a good girl, so quiet and perfect for me while I played with your pretty pussy.”

Bucky started rolling his hips, thrusting into you with deep strokes of his cock, filling you up over and over again. You could feel the twitching and throbbing of his hard length, but he didn’t let up, just set a brutal pace, pounding into your cunt. Before your release had even fully subsided, he was urging you toward another.

Gripping your jaw in one hand while he braced himself on his metal arm, Bucky held your face still, his eyes locked on yours. There was a promise of pleasure in his feral gaze, in the slash of a smirk on his face, and you couldn’t help the eager grin that pulled at your lips at his next words. 

“Now it’s time for me to show you what good girls get after movie night.”

Bucky Barnes was a man of his word, and show you he did. He fucked you long and hard, making you come so many times you lost count, until the evidence of your pleasure was seen in the uncontrollable quivering of your exhausted thighs and the amount of come—both his and yours—making a mess as it spilled from your body. 

Meanwhile, the rest of the New Avengers team gave Bucky’s room a wide berth for the night. They all had a good idea about what the two of you got up to when you slipped away from the others to be alone; they all knew about your “secret” relationship and your not-so-secret cuddling during movie night. (Thankfully, that was all they knew about.) 

Well, everyone knew about you and Bucky Barnes except John Walker. But he was always the last to figure out anything. 

All told, it was a pretty standard movie night in the New Avengers Tower.

thanks for reading!! comments and reblogs are always appreciated ♡

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

[bi-writes]

hi! i was thinking if you could write an older!boyfriend simon x reader BUT reader is john price's daughter so is kinda of a forbidden and secret relationship !!!! they've been dating for a long time now until john finds out !!!!!

18+

"how is she?"

"doing well, john. but you don't have to worry about her anymore, you know that right? she's not yours to worry about."

"she is mine. i know she's not..." john huffs. "she may not be blood, but she's mine, yeah? so when i ask 'ow she is, you tell me, kate. can we agree on that?"

"sure, john. she's in georgia. her russian got very good. if you want to know my honest opinion, i think she'll be one of my best."

"well...i wouldn't stand for anythin' less."

"john?"

that voice is music to him. he turns, taking his hat off, and he laughs, genuinely, when he sees you. his whole face lights up, and you make your way to him. it's been months since you've seen him in person--even though he makes you send him constant updates about what you're doing and where you are, you find yourself missing this man and the warmth he gives off whenever you are in his proximity.

he's always looked at you so kindly. he's always taken care of you. whenever you pick up the phone, he's always answered.

"'ello, bug."

he crushes you in a warm hug. he puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds you to his chest, and the tension in his shoulders deflates now that he has you with him.

"hi, john. miss me?"

"well...you were the only one with sense in my house."

"you live alone, john."

"aye."

he pours you a hot cup of tea before he makes you tell him all about your new posting. most of it is classified, and you tell him that, but his face lights up when you talk about the new skills you're learning and all the opportunities that kate is giving you. his face scrunches a little when you talk about the more dangerous ops, but john never has the same regard for his own life.

the mess hall gets busy once dinner time rolls around. his men were not expecting you, and that much is clear when they see their captain even enjoying a meal in public and not secluded in his office. you smile at his sergeants, but when your gaze lingers a little longer on the doors, johnny just nudges you with his elbow.

"miss the big guy?"

"what? no."

"he had a long night last night," he wiggles his eyebrows at gaz, who just laughs a little. "i might need to try the whole brooding, scary look LT has got on. attracts the most bonnie things, fuckin' christ."

your plate flies when you stab at your food too hard. the cutlery clatters as it hits the floor, and you jump a little, swallowing.

"are you alright, bug?"

"huh? yeah, oh...yeah, just...fucking clumsy. i...i'm gonna...find the toilet."

the blood is rushing in your ears as you make your way out. you're vibrating, hot inside, and you feel him before you see him, even in your anger.

when he pulls you into the shadow of a nearby supply closet, you swipe the blade out of your boot and hold it up against his throat. even through the mask, the blade bites, and he hisses as you hold him up against the wall there.

"don't fucking touch me," you snarl, and ghost's eyes are bright and alive as he holds his hands up defensively.

"wot--"

"and don't what me," you snap. "actually, don't fucking talk at all, you cheating, manipulative, british piece of shit--"

"look so pretty," he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. "did you do y'r hair, baby?"

"i will kill you."

"'s olright. last thing i see'll be you."

"i'm not fucking kidding, simon!"

he bends a little, tilting his head, and you breathe out through your nose as he leans his forehead against yours.

"reckon ya spoke t'johnny."

you scoff. "told me all about your winnings last night, lieutenant."

"was no winnings, love, don't be so fuckin' naïve." simon swipes at the handle of the blade, curling his gloved fingers around your wrist and forcing it away from him. "y'r just mad cause y'r cunt missed me."

"don't flatter yourself, asshole."

"so if i pull your knickers down right now, y'won't be drippin', swee'eart?"

"that's irrelevant."

"'s not. turn around and bend over."

simon's sorry, so he eats your pussy from behind. he gets down on his knees, and the crack of them satisfies you immensely, up until you feel his mouth between your cheeks, tongue slicking up your folds. you brace yourself against the wall, palms flat against the concrete as he puts two gloved hands against your ass and spreads you wide to fit himself nicely there. he hums, groans, makes you whine as he slurps obscenely into your cunt, laving at the drip of you until the taste of you floods his mouth.

"simon..." you whimper. "tell me i-it's not true."

he presses a wet kiss to your ass, biting it firm.

"'s not true, love. promise."

"fuck your promises," you sniffle. "you're a professional liar."

"tha' 'ow it's gonna be, innit? not gonna trust me? believe me?"

you rest your forehead against the cool wall, and the shadow of him envelopes you when he stands. he grunts a little as he gets to his feet. his big hands squeeze at the curve of your waist, and you close your eyes when you feel his breath against your neck.

"i'm sorry, simon."

"for wot?"

"i just...i like you so much. so much."

"come 'ere," he murmurs in your ear. he pulls your hips back, pressing your ass against his pelvis, and you dig your nails into the wall when you hear his belt buckle and zipper. "my pretty girl. my pretty, pretty girl."

"i missed you s-so much, simon."

"i know, love. quiet now. someone'll hear."

it's not the worst place you've fucked. you've snuck quickies in the rec room. behind the mess hall. met up in filthy gas station toilets, fallen into the backseat of a car in the parking lot of numerous military bases. even once, you deigned to suck his dick in his office, and you had to hide behind his couch when john came in to ask about an op.

john had a rule. his men were off-limits. he should've thought about that before he hired a man straight out of your wet dreams for his stupid fucking task force.

you're weak. and simon is a man.

inevitable.

you're a mile into pound-town when someone interrupts. simon is cock-deep inside of you, pelvis up against your ass, one hand braced around your throat and the other squeezing your ass. your eyes are rolled back into your head, and there's drooling coming out of your mouth. it's hot, disgusting, filthy to let him have you like this, but it's been weeks since you've seen him, and the phone calls aren't enough.

you love talking to him. you love when he talks to you. he'll never be annoying to you, you'll never get tired of him, but the distances hurts. you want simon to be all around you--inside of you, against you, his voice in your ear and his mouth against yours and his warmth your only sheet, but you can't bring yourself to do more than this.

you're too afraid of disappointing people. you're too scared of simon's rejection. if your relationship is nothing but fun, nothing but sex, you can pretend it isn't real, but you're just lying to yourself now.

you babble, and it sounds like love, but then the hallway light blinds you, and familiar blue eyes nearly kill you.

"jesus christ!"

simon puts his body in front of yours to cover you, using a harsh boot to kick the door closed. you squeak, covering your face with your hands, and you groan audibly as simon pants against your back.

"fuck--" you gasp. "oh...fuck, fuck, fuck!"

simon buries his face into the crook of your neck, laughing a little.

"bloody hell," he breathes. "reckon we're fucked, huh, love?"

"it's not funny, simon! we're in so much trouble!"

"well..." he squeezes your throat gently, tilting your head back. "could still finish. no sense in pretendin' now."

"you are not going to come when he's probably waiting for us outside."

"i'm balls deep in my favorite girl," simon mutters. "could come just fine. just say the word."

"you're disgusting."

"mmm..." simon squeezes your hips. "keep talkin'. i like when y'talk t'me like tha'."

"fucking asshole."

"yeah...yeah."

"you stupid, immature, unhinged pain in my ass--"

"fuck."

well.

you're definitely never leaving this room.

[evilgwrl]

ExHusband!Simon x Reader

You Want a Divorce? (Two)

Note: I feel like this is so bad im sorry!!!!

CW: Angst, titty sucking, passionate asf sex, simon missed ur pussy and you very much and vise versa, breeding kink, PIV (no protection, pls use it irl), squirting, simon eats the FUCK out of ur pussy, multiple orgasms, praise, hint of degradation, possessive!simon, OVERSTIMULATION, slight daddy kink… sorry

Part One

It was a quiet ride, the subtle sweeps of cars fleeting by as Simon gripped the wheel, eyes trailing off to the side to look at you briefly. Your head was leaned against the window, your knees knocking together anxiously as your daughter babbled in the back, cooing about how Mummy and Daddy were now back together.

You tried to hide the shed of tears that filtered across your iris, every small childish mumble like a stab to the gut as you listened to the genuine happiness in her tone. You would turn around occasionally with a small smile as you reached out to tickle her foot, giggles filling the car.

Simon pulled in, the car bouncing slightly as it hit the gravel carpark, his hand swerving into a spot before he turned to the back. “You excited, baby?”

Ella’s face lit up as she fumbled to take off her seatbelt, “Get me, Daddy! Get me! I wanna see the lions!” It was refreshing knowing she still viewed Simon as her hero, no matter how distant he was in their lives. You knew that even though your ex-husband was rarely around, his time with them did everything it could to mend the time apart. Toby woke up at the commotion, the toddler having slept the whole way there despite his older sister’s constant bickering about what animals she had to see first.

Everything seemed to flash past you as you walked inside, the whir of kids and noise sending your brain into overdrive as your eyes flickered to Simon with Ella swinging around on his shoulders and Toby kicking his legs in the stroller. You looked away; breath shaky as you attempted to compose yourself. This was supposed to be a happy day, for all of you, yet seeing him with your children, something that was supposed to be normal, felt so distant and unknown. Gathering yourself, you plastered a fake smile, hands reaching out to pinch your son’s cheeks as you grabbed the stroller.

Your heart hammered in your chest for the remainder of the day, fingers tingling with anxiety that bled into your veins, consuming your lungs with what seemed like everything but oxygen. It was a series of squeals and commotions from your young ones, their elation evident through the bright glow of their face, soft red resting on the apples of their cheeks. As the day quieted down, Toby slumped in the stroller as you tucked him into the car seat, his new plush crocodile cradled into his arms, mouth wide open as subtle breaths snored out.

Ella was cradled into Simon’s shoulder, her shoes half hanging off as she clutched onto him, dead asleep. You settled into the ride home yet your anxiety only seemed to heighten. You were alone with Simon, with no kiddish voices to break the tension, brown orbs glaring into the side of your face.

“Should we talk about this morning?”

You scoffed. “You have some nerve asking to talk about this morning,” you screamed into a hush, “What you did was completely disrespectful. Not only did you break into my house and kick my date out, but you left our kids in the car! What the fuck were you thinking?”

He cleared his throat, almost like he wanted to hold back how he felt. You noticed the white in his knuckles as he gripped the wheel, right eye twitching as he stared at the squiggles of tar ahead. “I don’t want our kids growing up thinking it’s normal for parents to separate. They need their mum and dad together, y/n.”

The world silenced for a second, the screams of the wind rushing past you seemed to slow as your voice cracked, seeps of emotion pouring out as you choked on your breath, “Then you should have fought for your family, Simon. There is no us anymore, it’s just them. They’re all that connects us now.”

You felt like all the ivory had been sucked out of your eyes, endless pits of your pupil consuming you whole, blurring your vision with fog as you blinked, hot streams of liquid salt spilling onto your cheeks, brimming at the cracks of your lips as you sniffled. You could feel his hesitation as he looked at you.

His words regurgitated in his throat as he stammered, tangled limbs reaching out to grip yours as you pulled away.

“Just drop us home.”

Your eyes had dried now, soft stains of bare skin caving through your foundation as you smudged your fingers against it. Simon stuttered as he pulled up to the driveway, tyres screeching to a halt as you sat in silence.

The soft strum of fingers caught your attention as you turned around, the innocent face of Toby looking back at his parents, tongue blabbing out of his mouth. “Dadda! You have dinner?”

“No, sport. Daddy’s gotta go-“

“Yeah, baby. Daddy will have dinner with us.”

You blinked at your own words, Simon’s surprised expression meeting yours. The wrench in your heart would never subside, the entirety of the beating organ still belonging to your ex-husband, but being a mother was a sacrifice. And you would sacrifice yourself in every existence you become one if it meant your children didn’t have to battle the same internal wounds.

“They’re tucked in,” Simon said, voice soft as he noticed your withered body in the couch. Your hair was messy now, strands spitting out as you anxiously tucked them back in, smoothing them down with the dampness of your palms as you ran around all night, ushering to the demands of your children.

“Thank you.”

You felt ill, your tongue cascading down your throat as you palmed at your knees, desperate for him to leave yet desperate for him to stay. Simon stilled, keys jangling in his hand before he sat down next to you, his weight disrupting the couch as he shuffled around.

“I need you to know that I did want to fight for you, y/n. I have counted every single day since you handed me those papers, waiting by my phone every single night on deployment hoping for you to text me, call me, fuck - blow my phone up. I never wanted the temporary absence that we had apart become permanent. Everything I said,” he breathed, voice cracking slightly as he looked away, “Everything I said on October 6th, 7 years ago, I meant. You weren’t supposed to get away from me - I shouldn’t have - I shouldn’t have let you get away from me.”

It was strange. Simon was never one for feelings, the brutality of his job allowed for any harsh emotions to crack through his fingers as he pulled a trigger, any dampness of tears would sweat through his skin as he pummelled a blade into an enemies head.

But it was you. And you weren’t violent, or any enemy, you were his wife, the person he vowed his entirety too.

Your anxious cascade cracked as you whimpered out a sob, chest heaving as you buried your face, tight with tears, into the pillows of your hands. You felt warmth spread through you, the texture of Simon’s fingers burning through you like wildfire, every ember he felt scorching through your flesh as he pulled you in.

Arms tangled together, intwining like wool as he wrapped you into his chest nimbly. A zephyr ran through you, your wrists clutched in his hands as you straddled him, the weight of you feeling like the grandest treasure upon him.

It was nothing strange, nor sexual but Simon recognised that cry, the differing pitch as you shuffled your frame into his. Simon knew you like the back of his hand, every crevice, every crease, every scar. He knew your backstory, and the one you made up to impress people. He knew the hex of the colour of your eyes and the print of your thumb. No papers would take that away from him.

Soaked eyelashes clumped into one as you looked up at him, orbs resembling once of a doe, innocence seeping through every inch of a salt-stained tear. His eyes met yours, apertures of cocoa reflecting your weary frame as you gripped onto him.

“Let me come home, please.”

Simon’s voice was desperate, it was raw, any shed of arrogance erased through the lines, eyebrows knotted together as he rubbed at the small of your back.

Your nod was subtle, but he could practically hear it, calloused hands gripping at the plush of your cheek and seeping through the tip of your spine, thumb rubbing at your earlobe as he clutched onto you.

Hot, seething pricks ran through your limbs as your lips connected, saline lining your mouth as he lapped at the heat of your tongue, rough groans leaving his lips as he savoured the taste.

Any diffidence left your body as familiarity sunk back into you. Hands pawed at the globe of your ass, gripping the flesh as anguished limbs wrapped around Simon’s waist.

With an easy tug, he lifted you, your hands wrapping around his neck as he pulled you in closer, teeth kissing. You never questioned Simon’s strength, and you wouldn’t start now as you felt your back hit your mattress.

He tugged at his shirt, the black fabric pooling on the floor as you sucked in a breath. Your eyes traced every scar, lighter flesh engraved into the skin of his torso, a short trail of hair disappearing into his pants as you stared at his burly physique.

Simon gripped at your shirt, the material practically ripping before his hands were at your chest, grabbing at your flesh desperately as you tangled your fingers into your bra, sliding it off. His mouth was hot on your chest, the sound of moans and pants filling the air as he positioned himself between your legs, teeth grazing the hard nubs, sucking with fervour as you whined, your hand at the base of his head, cradling it.

“Missed these so fucking much,” he practically whined, groping your tits as he pinched your nipples, lips sucking deep marks of possession into the soft skin. Your pants were desperate, begging him for more as you pulled his hair, fingernails clawing at his scalp.

Your hands fumbled with your pants, hips raising as he slid them off, clumsy fingers chucking them across the room as you laughed, lips connecting once more in a giggly state as his thumb pushed against the wetness of your panties.

“Missed how fucking wet you got for me. Such a good fucking girl,” he groaned, fingers rubbing at your heat through the thin cloth eliciting a pained moan from you.

“Simon - I need more, been so long.”

He choked out a laugh as his fingers hooked into the fabric, lace dribbling down your leg before he mewled at the sight of you. His hands held your thighs apart, your soaking cunt on display as it throbbed, slick folds glistening in the poor lighting.

“Prettiest fucking pussy,” he choked out to himself, placing your legs over his shoulder as he knelt down. Your back arched as you felt his tongue lick a long stripe of your pussy, his body seething for a taste of you as his lips found your neglected clit.

He lapped at you mercilessly, your cries and moans moulding into one with the filthy squelches of his mouth against your heat. Long digits circled your entrance, teasing you, before they curled in.

Your eyes rolled, pools of ivory exposed as you let out a guttural moan, your thighs tightening around his ears as he smirked against your pussy. Cocky fingers rubbed at the right spot, favouring the clench of your tight hole as he pulled every noise he could get from you.

You were barely cohesive as he lapped at your slick, the throbbing of your clit edging him on as he soothed your g-spot with the pad of his fingers. The coil you had only ever felt with Simon began to build, the familiar sensation pooling in your stomach as you stuttered out a whimper.

“Si- too much - I’m gonna-“

“That’s it baby,” he cooed, pulling away from your pussy for a second to take in your expression as you came, your face contorted with pleasure as your legs jerked, pussy wrapping tighter around his abusing digits as he fucked you through it with them. You looked down at him, saliva and your slick coating his mouth and chin as he grinned.

You stammered out a groan as his mouth attached back on your pussy, slurping up your liquid gold as you attempted to push his head away in overstimulation.

“Oh my- fuck - Simon - too much,” you whimpered your words commanding him to continue as he guzzled around your clit, teeth grazing the sensitive bud as your legs shook uncontrollably.

It wasn’t long before the continuation from your previous orgasm rose again, heat swarming your lower belly as you screamed out, your hand slapping over your mouth as you felt Simon’s spare hand wrap around your thigh, squeezing tightly.

You pulled at his hair, tugging at the ashy roots before you were gushing around his fingers and tongue again, sloshing liquids soaking your sheets as he groaned at the taste, mouth lapping it up with vigour. You whined in humiliation, the overwhelming pleasure becoming too much as you heaved.

“Si - no more -“

“I’m sorry baby, too fucking good. Will never get enough of your pussy.”

His words were filthy yet only held the truth, his continuous slurps against your heat causing your body to jerk as you relentlessly bucked your hips. Simon’s abuse continued on your pussy, your pussy gushing and coming another 6 times before he was satisfied, the sheet under you drenched in both your slick and squirt as Simon milked your overwhelmed cunt, claiming he was “making up for the months lost”.

You were dry heaving, throat dry as he captured your lips in a kiss, the taste of you infiltrating into your glands as you groaned, his hands reaching to tug at your breasts as he took in your fucked out state, legs jiggling and twitching as your pussy convulsed at the number of orgasms he dragged out of you.

You felt like you had been lying here for hours, yet you weren’t satisfied. You would only be content when he was inside you, stretching you to the brim as he pumped a load inside your worn-out hole.

“Simon - please - I can’t… I need you now,” you were practically crying, tears shedding at the brim of your eyes, bottom lip jutting out as he tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, slicking back the sweat on your forehead.

“I know baby, done so well for Daddy, hm? Even after all that you still need to be plugged full of me don’t you?”

You nodded as a harsh slap landed against your clit, your body jolting as you squeaked. “Yes, please,” you cried, “Please Daddy.”

His hands were like clockwork, tearing at his jeans as they released his cock, a satisfied groan leaving his body as he gripped at the tent in his pants, a sticky wet patch soaking the material before his length throbbed out, angry tip slapping his stomach as a trail of precum glistened against the base of his cock.

His dick was flushed red, begging for release as he ran it through the squelch of your sopping folds, rubbing against your manipulated clit as you moaned.

Your hands gripped his head as he leant down to kiss you, his arm holding him up while the other positioned himself at your entrance. He stilled for a moment, cock almost pressing in before he whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

The words were soft yet meaningful, your eyes interlocked as he began to push inside, your mouth gasping open as you clutched onto his shoulders. It was hard when you were together all those years to get accustomed to his frightening length, and now it had been a year and the stretch was searing through you.

“I know, sweet girl, you can take it. Such a tight cunt for me, so fucking good.”

Fingernails clawed at his back as he pushed in, your whines muffled by the palm of his hand as he held himself up his elbows. “Holy fuck,” he spluttered as he bottomed out, his lips connecting to your neck as he sucked, resting inside you for a second as you whimpered.

The burn slowly faded as you rutted against him impatiently, the tip of his cock resting against your sweet spot as you gasped.

“So fucking impatient, always been such a slut for me. Haven’t you?”

You nodded, whining as he began to move, moving his hips slowly as he rubbed inside you perfectly, your mouth wide open as your head lolled back. A series of expletives tipped from your tongue as you choked on the air, Simon’s pace picking up at your dramatic noises.

“Fuck - taking me so well-“ he grunted, hands groping at your tits as he watched your pussy absorb his length. It was an obscene sight and he loved it. Every fibre of your being belonged to him and it was something he constantly craved.

“All fucking mine - shit - my fucking pussy,” he grunted, thumb rubbing at your clit as you mewled, twitching below him as he spat, “my fucking wife - got the tightest fucking cunt just for me.”

You clenched around him at his words, knowing it was true as his balls slapped against your ass, skin spanking against each other as the sound filled the room, ecstasy roaring through both of your veins as you made love.

The squelch of your pussy was taboo as he lapped in the missed sound. His eyes took in the way your body reacted to every movement, no matter how small. He took in the way your breasts bounced with each thrust, lower stomach bulging as he pounded into you.

“Fuck - Simon - oh my God,” your words were a mere blabber, barely making sense as you clutched onto him, pulling him down to meet your lips.

“I can’t pull out, baby - fuck - gotta cum in this pretty pussy. Give you another kid, hm? - shit -“

His hips didn’t falter as his pace fastened, chasing his own high as he rubbed at your clit, your breaths growing shallow as your orgasm began to build. “Gonna fill you with my cum until it takes. Need your belly round again and your tits full - such a good fucking mum, makes me so fucking proud.”

His words were the final straw as the build up in your stomach popped, your whole body convulsing as your pussy clenched around him, a loud groan leaving his throat before you felt the hot splashes of his cum pumping inside you.

“That’s it baby, milk my cock. Such a good fucking girl for Daddy, gonna break you apart everyday on my cock until you never forget who you belong too.”

He didn’t pull out immediately, his cum plugged inside you as some seeped out, rolling down the crevice of your ass below you. Your eyes shut, gentle pants leaving your lips as you felt Simon’s absence before a soft cloth was wiped gently across your sex and masculine arms were gripping onto you, carrying you into the guest room before engulfing you into a thrill of heat, Simon’s chest against your back as you fell asleep.

TAGLIST: @kiiwiipie @nijiru

Disclaimer: im sorry if this is disappointing im super tired :(((

[mytherapyisreading14]

Hey could you write a fic with post prison Reid where the reader has a crush on him and she doesn’t think he likes her so she keeps it to herself and when they are on a case she she’s Spencer manhandle the unsub and she gets kinda distracted because she wants him to manhandle her and then he finds out about her crush and then he kinda teases her about it then he fucks her like really rough sorry if that doesn’t make sense 😭 also could you make the reader have a thing for his hands lmao

Don‘t get Distracted

Summary: You got distracted when Spencer arrested the UnSub during your current case - he noticed and confronts you back in the hotel.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Smut, some Fluff (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: Mentions of Knifes and stabbing, dirty talk, kissing, making out, unprotected sex (don’t do that), choking, spanking, orgasm denial, dom!spencer (kinda)

Word Count: 2,9k

Author’s Note: I’m sorry it took me so long to finish this🫢 Anyway, I hope you like it! :)

It isn't like you are trying to fall for Spencer Reid. In fact, you do your absolute best not to. You keep it professional. Friendly. Safe. Because if there is one thing you are sure of, it is that he doesn't feel the same. It isn't anything he does. He isn't cold or rude to you. Quite the opposite – he is kind and polite. But never more than that.

You aren't the type to be noticed by someone like him. Not after everything that happened. Prison changed him, and if there is ever a chance he looked your way before, it is long gone now. So you keep your crush a secret, but some days make that harder than others. Like tonight.

You sit on the edge of the bed, files spread all around you, but your focus is on Spencer. He stands by the window, arms crossed, eyes scanning the city below. You can tell he is thinking. He looks tense. Focused. Hot.

And all you want is to be close to him. To touch him. To tell him you noticed the way his smiles have grown rarer since prison, and that you missed them. That you missed him. But you don't.

-

The next day, everything shifts. You are closing in on the case, currently on the way to arrest the UnSub. The farmhouse where he is holed up looks like it could collapse any second. You, Spencer, and Morgan decided to split up. You take the back and step over a few broken door frames, your flashlight shining in the dark. A few minutes later you hear a noise.

You recognize it’s Spencer’s. "I need you to put down the knife. Now." You sprint toward the voices, and what you see nearly stops your heart. The UnSub takes a step forward and tries to stab Spencer in the stomach. But Spencer, he is faster. He sidesteps, catches the man’s wrist, twists it back, and then shoves him up against the wall with a force that makes you shiver.

One arm locks the guy in place, while the other brings out the cuffs. He works quick and controlled. And god, you are not okay... Your feet move on autopilot, but your brain doesn't. You can barely think past the rush of heat that explodes inside you at the sight of him. It is like watching a completely different version of him. You stare and just can’t look away.

He turns to you when it’s over. "You okay?" he asks. "Uh—yeah," you manage to breathe out. "I’m fine. Just... Didn’t know you have that in you." His mouth twitches into something between a smile and a smirk for a second. "Prison teaches you a few things." You try to play it cool. You really do. But your cheeks are already burning.

-

Back at the hotel, you tell yourself to forget it. That it’s just adrenaline. That the reason you’re so flushed has nothing to do with Spencer’s hands and everything to do with the takedown. Yeah, sure.

You avoid him the rest of the evening. Bury yourself in reports, avoid eye contact at dinner. Because the idea that you’ve reacted so obviously… and that he might’ve noticed? Absolutely mortifying. So when there’s a knock at your door around 10 p.m., the last person you expect to see is him.

“Spencer?” you blink. He stands there, holding two cups of tea like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “I figured you might need a distraction,” he says. “The last few days were intense.” You hesitate. Just for a second. Because what is he doing here? Still, you step aside. “Yeah. Uh… thanks.”

He sits beside you on the edge of the bed, hands you the tea, and for a while it’s quiet. Then he breaks the silence. “So… you were staring.” You freeze mid-sip. “What?” you ask, trying to act confused. “At the farmhouse.” He turns his head, watching you. “You looked surprised. And a little… flustered.”

“I was not—” you start, but he interrupts you. “You were,” he says, and this time there’s something different in his voice. He’s teasing you. “And then Garcia texted me something… interesting.” Oh god. You already know what’s coming. “No,” you say, but he nods, clearly enjoying himself.

“She said you made a comment about me. Something along the lines of… ‘if Spencer ever wants to manhandle me like that, he can.’ ” You nearly drop the tea. “She did not say that to you,” you say. “She did,” he says with a smirk. You think about an excuse, anything that might save you from total humiliation. “That is—I mean—I don’t mean it like—”.

He tilts his head. “Don’t you?” You blink at him. “I - no, and I… I think you don’t even like me like that.” His expression softens instantly. The teasing fades, just enough for something real to shine through. “What makes you think that?” he asks gently. You shrug, suddenly very aware of how close he’s sitting next to you. “I don’t know. You never… looked at me that way. You always seem kind of... distant.”

Spencer is quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I guess I do.” He looks down at his tea, then back at you. “The truth is… after prison, it was hard to let anyone in. I didn’t feel like myself. I didn’t really trust myself for a while. So I kept my distance.” He pauses. “Maybe I was trying too hard not to look at you that way.”

That shuts your brain down completely. “You were?” you whisper. He nods once. “Ever since I got back. Maybe even before that.” You didn’t expect that, but when his words settle, you grin. “So… what now?” you ask him. He leans in, eyes flicking to your lips for just a second. “Still want me to manhandle you?” he asks with a smirk back in full force. “Spencer!” you say, blushing and playfully hitting his arm.

He laughs and sets his tea aside, hand brushing your knee as he stands. “I’ll take that as a yes.” You stare up at him, still sitting on the bed, heart pounding against your ribs. He is looking at you differently now. “You’re seriously enjoying this,” you say with a shaky voice. “Enjoying what?” he asks, acting oblivious. “Teasing me,” you say, and his smile widens.

“Of course I do.” You roll your eyes playfully. “You’re insufferable,” you say. “Maybe,” he murmurs. “But you still want to kiss me.” You open your mouth, probably to deny it - or argue - or make some sarcastic remark, but nothing comes out. Because he’s already leaning down. And then, finally, his lips brush against yours. It’s barely there at first, but the moment you kiss him back, everything shifts.

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb tracing your cheekbone as his mouth moves against yours. You let out a quiet sound you don’t mean to, fingers curling into his shirt, and that’s all it takes for the kiss to deepen. Spencer’s other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer against him and the heat between you is impossible to ignore now.

His lips part slightly against yours, breath hitching when your hand slides up to his neck. The kiss turns messier then, hungrier. Like all the months of silence snap at once, and now there’s no holding back. He exhales against your lips. “You have no idea how long I wanted to do this,” he admits. “Try me,” you whisper, and he kisses you again, harder this time.

You gasp softly as he guides you back onto the bed, one hand bracing beside your head, the other trailing along your waist. His body hovers over yours. His lips ghost down to your jaw, then just below your ear. Your fingers tangle in his shirt, desperate to keep him close, to make this real.

“Spencer,” you breathe out while his hand is sliding under the hem of your shirt, your legs brushing against his. He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. “Tell me you want this,” he says, voice rough and low, “tell me you want me to fuck you.” You look up at him, skin flushed, chest rising and falling in sync with his. “Please Spencer,” you whisper, “I - I need you to fuck me. I need you to fuck me hard. Now.“

For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move. Just stares at you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you — like he can’t quite believe this is real. Then he leans down and kisses you again. "If at any point it gets too much for you, just let me know. I don't want to hurt you," he says with a worried look when he pulls back again.

A feeling of warmth and security spreads through you. "You look cute when you're worried," you tease him. "but I don't break easily,“ you say and wink. Then his hands are back on your waist, your back, your skin — everywhere at once. You can’t stop touching him, can’t get close enough to him.

The tension between you, held back for so long, finally melts into heat, passion, pleasure and love. His fingers hook around the hem of your pants and he pulls them off in one quick motion. Your top comes off next, then your bra and panties, that are already soaked through. His eyes trail over your body hungrily and he starts to kiss down your neck slowly.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he whispers in your ear and a shiver runs down your spine. His words and all the kisses make you even more desperate and you can’t help but buck your hips against him. You can feel his erection and want more but he pushes your hips back down. “Someone’s needy,” he says, not giving you what you want yet. “Spencer, please. Don’t make me wait,” you whimper and he chuckles.

He keeps kissing down your body - your breasts first, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. You observe his actions and seeing his big, slender hand around your breasts is a sight you didn’t expect to enjoy this much. You moan his name and he looks up and follows your gaze. “Like what you see, angel?” he asks and you nod. His hands continue to roam over your body, down to your stomach and between your thighs.

He keeps his eyes on you, observing every little reaction before he finally runs his fingers through your folds. “So wet, is this all for me?” he asks and you nod. “Words, angel. Tell me how good I make you feel,” he says, stopping for a moment. “Y-yes. All for you,” you breath out and he looks satisfied.

With one finger he starts to trail circles around your clit, slowly applying more and more pressure before slipping a finger in. It feels so good and you cover your mouth with your hand in order to stop meaning out loudly. Spencer however doesn’t like it, he immediately reaches for your hand and pulls it off. “No, don’t do that. I want to hear you moan for me for me angel.”

He adds another finger and starts to pump them in and out faster, keeping one finger on your clit the whole time. You can’t help but lean forward to watch his hand again, knuckles buried deep inside you. “Looks like my hands are quite a distraction to you,” he says and chuckles again before his other hand wraps around your throat, squeezing just perfectly.

You don’t respond, too focused on the pleasure and how good his hand looks buried inside you. With the sight in front of you, the feeling of his fingers inside you and his hand wrapped around your throat it doesn’t take long for your orgasm to build up. Your legs start to shake slightly and you clench around Spencers fingers. You’re almost there when he suddenly pulls out. You whine. “Spencer, what the hell are you doing? I was so close!” you curse.

“I know. But I to feel you come around my cock,” he says before he starts to take his clothes off. When he unbuttons his pants your eyes widen. He’s certainly bigger than you expected. He starts to stroke his cock and you can’t help but watch him. Even though you can’t wait to feel him inside you, you enjoy watching him. Then he leans down and spreads your legs further apart.

He lines himself up at your entrance, sliding through your wet folds and teasing your clit again before he finally pushes inside you. “So tight and wet for me, angel. You’re all mine now,” he says. He gives you some time to adjust before he starts to pound into you. He leans down next, sucking on your neck and breasts, leaving hickeys everywhere and claiming you as his.

The room is filled with your moans and whimpers and when Spencer looks down and sees his cock sliding in and out of you he groans. You wouldn't have thought that something could turn you on even more, but hearing him groan certainly did. “Oh god, so good. Pl - please, don’t stop,” you manage to breath out, your mind already lost in all the pleasure.

His grip on your hips tightens and he increases his pace. He can feel you clench around him and almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. He applies pressure on your clit again, playing close attention to your reactions and when your close again he pulls out of you. “A- Again? Are you fucking serious?” you ask furiously. You can tell he enjoys the control he has over you. “I hate you so much right now,” you say but he just grins.

“Say it like you mean it,” he says before he suddenly grabs you and flips you over. You’re on all fours now, ass up in the air facing him. He immediately slides back into you, pounding into you hard from behind and hitting new angles and reaching spots you never could. One of his hand slides up your back and into your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail and pulling hard.

Your back arches up and you can feel your body pressed against his. His other hand suddenly comes down on your ass, spanking you. You moan out his name so loud that you’re afraid your neighbours know now what you’re doing in here, but you don’t really care. “That’s what you wanted, am I right? For me to fuck you? To spank you?” Your eyes roll back in pleasure and you’re too overwhelmed to answer him.

Spencer how ever doesn‘t like that. The hand he just hand in your hair goes down to your throat again while he gives you an another spank. “Answer me,” he says and slows down, pressing you against his body and leaning down next to your ear. “Tell me how much you love this,” he whispers in your ear. “I- I love this. I love it when you fuck me hard, Spencer,” you say quickly, afraid that he’ll not let you come at all if you don’t.

“Good girl,” he says and kisses the spot behind your ear gently before he picks up his pace again. You can feel him twitch inside you, telling you that he’s getting close now too. “I’m gonna tell you when you’re allowed to come. I want us to come together, do you understand?” he asks as if he’s read your thoughts. “Yes,” you breath out quickly before you get too lost in the pleasure again.

He thrusts into you again a few times before he slides his hand forward, teasing your clit with his fingers again. “Come for me, angel. Now,” he says and you let go. Your orgasm crashes over you and you never had one this intense before. You can feel him twitch inside you before he finishes too. For a second you see stars. When you finally come down, he lets go of you and slides out.

You lay down together, completely out of breath and he pulls you in his arms. Neither of you say a word but he holds you close to him, gently stroking your hair. It’s a quiet, peaceful moment but after a while Spencer speaks up. “You should go to the toilet now. I don’t want you to get UTIs,” he says and you groan. “You know how to ruin a moment, don’t you Dr. Reid?” you joke and he laughs.

“I’m just worried about your health, angel,” he says and leans down to kiss your head. “We can still cuddle when you come back, okay?” he says and you smile. “Definitely. You don’t get rid of me that easily,” you tease him. “Good. Because I don’t want to. Now hurry, I want you back in my arms.”

[mercvry-glow]

Stubborn love

parings. jack abbot x reader

summary. you take your son to pitt-fest, expecting to have a day filled with love and quality time. little do you know the universe has other plans for you instead.

warnings. gun violence, mass shooting, pitt-fest, hospital setting, reader and her son get shot, reader and jack are parents of a twelve year old boy, implied age gap (jack late 40s, reader mid/late 30s), medical inaccuracies, established relationship, hurt/comfort, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. I just keep outdoing myself guys, idk what to do with all this power I have. I'm trying a new thing out when it comes to scene switches so hopefully this isn't choppy and I hope you love this as much as I do! This was a request for the very special @pear-1206! as always I hope you enjoy and any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 7,200+

It was supposed to be a fun day for you and Owen—a little mother/son bonding time while Jack finally got some much-needed rest after a long string of night shifts. The plan was simple: spend the day at the festival, just you and your boy, then meet up with Jack later for a nice dinner.

You and Jack had talked it over, and now that Owen was twelve, you both agreed it was fine for him to go. Especially since you’d heard Robby and Jake would be there—it felt safe. Familiar.

“You brushed your teeth, right, baby?” you called from the kitchen, glancing toward the living room where Owen sat, controller in hand, eyes locked on the TV.

“Yeah, Mom!” he shouted back, not even turning around. He was clearly deep into whatever video game world he’d dropped into, and since he wasn’t in school today you allowed it. 

You shook your head with a small smile, humming along to whatever song the  Alexa was streaming. Duke, your rambunctious Boxer puppy—and one of Owen’s birthday gifts from last year—was currently attacking the already-worn kitchen rug like it had personally offended him. You nudged him with your foot as you rinsed a coffee mug.

“Leave it, bubba,” you muttered playfully. Duke gave a happy little bark and pounced again.

Just then, you heard the soft click of the front door, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots being kicked off and dropped in the entryway. You didn’t have to turn around to know it was Jack.

“Hey,” came his gravelly voice, low and tired, but warm. You turned to see him standing in the doorway, running a hand through his messy, silver curls, still in his black scrubs. His badge clipped to his pants and his stethoscope hung loose around his neck.

“And the graveyard king returns,” you said, drying your hands on a towel. “How bad?”

He groaned, stepping into the kitchen and leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. “Three codes. One stabbing… Had a vet come in,’” He said softly. “Didn’t make it.”

You sighed softly, wrapping your arms around his waist as he melted into you for just a moment. “I’m sorry baby, how about you go shower? We’ll be out of your hair soon, and you can get some much needed sleep.”

Jack leaned down again, this time kissing the side of your neck before pulling back. “You sure you don’t want to join me? I’m pretty sure the kid is glued to the TV.”

“Nope,” you said, gently pushing him toward the stairs. “You need sleep, and Owen has been dying to leave early and he definetly doesn’t get that from me.”

“Speaking of,” Jack called over his shoulder as he walked away, “Owen! Brush your teeth!”

“I did!” came the indignant reply, followed by the telltale sound of the controller hitting the floor as Owen finally got up.

Jack glanced back at you with a tired smirk. “Just making sure.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the dishes, smiling to yourself as Jack stalked off to go see his son. 

It was shaping up to be a good day.

You had no idea how fast everything would change.

-- 

When you had officially gotten to Pitt-Fest a few hours later the air was warm, with a gentle spring breeze brushing your skin as you and Owen made your way from the parked car toward the heart of the festival. The streets were already buzzing with music, food truck smells, and early crowds. You smiled to yourself—this was going to be a good day. 

Owen was practically skipping beside you, eyes wide as he took everything in. “Mom, look! They’ve already got the funnel cake truck open! Please, please can we get one now?”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Owen, it’s barely even lunchtime. Don’t you want to save that for later?”

He gave you that crooked, charming grin—so much like Jack’s—and you sighed with a smile. “Alright. One. And we’re splitting it.”

Within minutes, you were both sharing a messy, powdered sugar-coated funnel cake, your fingers sticky as you wandered past booths and rides. It felt good to unplug, to just be with your son. The chaos of life, Jack’s odd shifts, and your own never-ending schedule faded into the background.

“Hey—Jake!” Owen suddenly shouted, tugging your hand as he spotted someone up ahead. “C’mon, Mom!”

You glanced up, surprised to see Jake—The son of one of Robby’s exs, and a boy you had watched grow up—waving from a grassy patch near the basketball shoot-out game. For a moment, your eyes scanned the area, expecting to see Michael with him, like he said he’d be. Instead, you were greeted with the sight of someone else entirely: a nice looking young woman in a cropped denim jacket and oversized sunglasses, sipping something pink out of a mason jar.

Jake ran up to Owen, already mid-hug and mid-laugh, the two boys catching up like no time had passed.

“Hey Mrs. A!” Jake said brightly, a little too loud over the music. “Didn’t know you guys were coming!”

You blinked, confused, a light smile on your face as you gave the young man a hug. “I thought Robby was bringing you?”

“Oh—no,” he said, waving a hand. “He’s working today, I guess. We didn’t want the passes to go to waste, so he just said I could bring someone.”

“Jeez, he didn’t mention that when we talked yesterday.” you put a hand on your hip, thinking of all the ways you could scold the older man—maybe have Jack do it for you, he was “scarier” anyway. 

Still, everyone looked happy. Owen clearly had his attention on the two older kids, laughing and as he tried to convince both Jake and Leah to come with him to the makeshift basketball court. 

So you stayed chill. 

“Well, I’m glad you guys are having fun,” you said, easing into a comfortable flow of watching Owen and chatting with Jake and Leah. “Well that’s too bad he couldn’t come, Owen was looking forward to seeing Mikey.”

“Totally, but you know how it is with him.” Jake said, glancing down at his phone before wandering off a few feet to take a picture of Owen and Leah playing.

You exhaled slowly, watching Owen light up when he made a shot, Jake clapping and ruffling his hair as his girlfriend cheered. 

It wasn’t quite what you’d planned—but as long as Owen was smiling, you could roll with it. “Do you guys need any more money?” 

Jake wandered over again, glancing up from his phone as he slipped it into his pocket. “Nah, we’re good. I’ve got some cash and Leah’s got that apple pay.” He grinned, nudging her playfully. “She’ll sell her soul for a blue slushie.”

Leah rolled her eyes but smiled. “Facts, but we’re all good for now, promise Mrs. A.”

You nodded, still watching Owen line up another shot with intense focus, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth like he always did when he was concentrating. You’d seen that same expression on Jack’s face a hundred times.

“He’s getting good,” Jake said with a little pride in his voice. “Kid’s got an arm.”

“He’s been practicing,” you said with a smile. “Jack set up one of those hoops in the driveway. He won’t admit it, but they have this little competition going.” 

You laughed softly, relaxing just a little as the chatter and music of the festival surrounded you. The scent of popcorn and cotton candy floated on the breeze. For a moment, it felt simple again. Safe. Happy.

“I’m glad you guys came,” you added, genuine this time. ���Owen would’ve been bummed if he hadn’t seen you guys.”

“Anytime,” Jake said. “Seriously. He’s like my little brother.”

Leah smiled, looping her arm through Jake’s. “He’s really the cutest.”

You watched as Owen ran off again, clutching a neon green basketball he’d just won, Jake breaking away from you and Leah to jog after him with mock dramatics.

“Dude, wait up! You're not even giving me a chance to shoot!”

Leah laughed and gave you a quick smile. “We talked about going over to bumper cars, would it be cool if we took Owen?”

You hesitated just a beat, glancing toward the vendor booths where more families were starting to trickle in. But Jake was a good kid. He always had been. And even if Leah was still new to you, she seemed to genuinely care about Owen’s safety.

You gave a small nod. “Just stay close, okay? And if you guys need anything at all—call me. I’ll be right here,”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jake said with a salute, already herding Owen and Jake in the other direction.

As soon as they disappeared into the crowd, you sank back down onto a nearby bench and pulled out your phone.

 Two texts from Jack:

Tryin for another hour of sleep. 

Love you.

 And a photo from earlier that morning in the living room—Owen holding Duke and grinning like a maniac.

You smiled, heart tugging, and quickly switched out and tapped on Robby’s contact. It only rang twice before he picked up.

“What’s up,?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t you ‘what’s up’ me, Michael”

A pause. “Uh oh. What’d I do?”

“You bailed, Robby,” you said, but your voice was more amused than angry. “I told Owen you were coming. I told him he’d see his Unlce Mikey. You could’ve given me a heads up that Jake was showing up with his girlfriend instead.”

“Okay, first of all,” Robby said, unapologetic and teasingly, “I did mention I was thinking of coming in this week.”

“Yeah, but I assumed you wouldn’t, like you always do.”

He sighed. “I know, I know. I was gonna come for a few hours, but then the damn place turned into a warzone. Got six traumas in two hours and some poor intern—don’t even ask.”

You groaned, rubbing your temple. “Ugh, you men and your ER.”

“Right?” he said brightly. “Anyway, Jake really wanted to go, and he asked if he could bring Leah. I figured he’d be safer with you somewhere nearby.”

You narrowed your eyes, even though he couldn’t see you. “You pawned him off on me.”

“Nooo,” he said, clearly grinning. “I strategically aligned him with a responsible adult.”

“I’m not his mommy, Michael.”

“You might as well be his aunt, considering how much that kid loves you and Jack.”

You shook your head, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “You owe me.”

“Fine, fine,” he said with exaggerated suffering. “Family dinner’s on me next week, and I’ll buy Owen whatever overpriced plush nightmare he begs you for today. Deal?”

“Deal,” you said. “But I’m serious, next time give me a little warning before I walk into the teenage boyfriend-girlfriend babysitting arrangement.”

“Noted,” he said. “I gotta go—sounds like someone just puked on my staff, again.”

You snorted. “Good luck with that.”

He hung up, and you slid your phone into your pocket, glancing off in the direction Owen, Jake and Leah had gone. You could hear laughing—real laughing and it felt good.

You stood, brushing your hands on your jeans deciding it was time to go find the kids. You followed the path toward the bumper cars, weaving through groups of kids in matching school T-shirts and moms balancing drinks and phones. The sun was climbing higher now, casting a golden glaze over the whole venue, and the noise level had kicked up—music from the small stage nearby, the low grind of ride mechanics, children shouting and laughing, a vendor calling out about fresh churros.

It should’ve felt cheerful. Safe.

But there was a pulse in your chest that hadn’t been there earlier. Not panic. Not dread. Just… something. Like when a summer sky shifts ever so slightly and you know a storm’s coming, even if no one else has noticed yet.

You shook it off.

The bumper cars were up ahead, and you spotted Owen immediately—slightly crooked in the seat, steering like a maniac, laughter spilling out of him. Jake was driving the opposite direction, aiming like he was on a mission, while Leah leaned over the edge of the railing with her phone, filming it all and giggling.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and waved when Owen spotted you.

“Mom! Did you see that one? I spun Jake out!”

You grinned and gave him a thumbs up. “I saw, Baby!”

Leah smiled and came over to stand beside you. “He’s really good behind the wheel.”

“Just like his dad,” you said with a soft laugh, eyes still locked on the ride.

But then something flickered at the edge of your awareness—a man a few yards back, pacing near the ticket booth. Alone. Hood up despite the warmer weather. Not totally weird, but it pinged something instinctual.

You looked away, telling yourself not to start imagining things. 

You were in mom mode. 

You were overthinking.

Still, your gaze kept drifting back. The guy had stopped pacing now and was just standing there, hands shoved deep in his sweatshirt pockets.

You reached for your phone again, just a quick glance. Nothing more from Jack.

Beside you, Leah nudged your arm. “You okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, just… watching.”

“Totally get that. I get nervous watching people get on roller coasters. Like I know they’re strapped in, but what if—”

She cut herself off and shook her head. “Sorry. That probably didn’t help.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “I just… like to keep an eye on things.”

The ride ended, and Owen came barreling out of the gate, freckled cheeks flushed. “Can we do the tilt-a-whirl next?”

“Let me guess,” you said, ruffling his hair. “Jake and Leah want to do it?”

“Uh-huh!” he laughed.

“Alrighty, but I’m gonna join you this time. I can’t let you three have all the fun, right?” You squeezed Owen’s shoulder gently. 

You glanced back in that direction they had walked and spotted them about twenty feet ahead, Jake with his arm draped lazily over Leah’s shoulder, the two of them laughing about something on her phone.

As you took Owen’s hand in yours, you looked back toward the ticket booth.

The man was gone.

You scanned the area, telling yourself it was nothing. Maybe he left. Maybe he was just waiting for someone. Maybe he was never looking at anyone in particular.

But your skin was prickling now.

The crowd was growing thicker. The music seemed louder, a little too chaotic. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay grounded.

No sirens. No screams. No reason to panic.

But still—you reached into your bag and made sure your phone and wallet were exactly where you left them.

--

A bit later, You were leaned against the wooden railing near the edge of the food truck circle, letting the scent of fried dough and grilled sausage fill your nose while you scrolled through the pictures in your phone.

Owen’s smile was huge in every shot—hoisting the giant stuffed dinosaur he had choosen over his head, standing triumphantly on a painted podium outside a carnival game, laughing mid-spin in a blur of motion next to Jake and Leah.

Your heart squeezed, warmth blooming beneath your ribs. It hadn’t been the day you’d expected, but maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe this was even better.

You chose your favorite one—Jake had crouched behind Owen with a goofy flex, and Leah was pretending to kiss Owen’s cheek while he squirmed away, red-faced and thrilled—and attached it to a new message.

We’re having the best time. Gonna let them do one or two more rides, before we head to the restaurant ❤️

You hit send, then slid your phone back into your bag and looked up—just in time to see Owen dart off toward Jake and Leah, who were lining up for the swings just outside of the food trucks.

You followed slowly, keeping them in sight but giving them space. The wind picked up slightly, carrying voices, music, and the metallic squeak of carnival rides. You rubbed your arms—goosebumps, despite the warm day.

Something felt off again.

You couldn’t place it. Not yet.

It wasn’t a sound or a flash—just that shift in the air, like the pressure had changed, like someone had cracked a door you hadn’t noticed before.

Then came the first pop.

You paused.

One loud crack, sharp and clean, like someone popping a balloon too close to your ear. Heads turned. A few kids were startled.

Another pop. Then two more.

Your eyes narrowed. Not fireworks. Not part of the festival.

The music from the central stage screeched to a halt.

Then the screams started. One. Then several. People began moving—first walking quickly, then running.

Gunshots.

Your throat closed around your breath. You turned wildly—where were they? Where was Owen?

“Baby?!” you shouted, pushing forward, weaving between bodies, looking everywhere. “Owen!”

Then—blessedly—you saw him. Near the swings, crouched low behind a bench, Jake in front of him like a human shield, Leah’s arm around both of them.

You sprinted. Didn’t think. Just moved.

When Owen spotted you, his face crumpled. “Mom!”

You dropped to your knees, pulled him into you with a force that knocked the air out of both your lungs.

“Stay with me,” you whispered, kissing his temple. “Don’t let go of my hand.”

Jake’s voice was shaking. “We need to get out of here.”

You nodded fast. “This way!”

And as the shots rang out again—closer, louder—you ran.

You didn’t look back.

You clutched Owen to your side, your arm curled tight around his head, forcing him to duck as you moved. Jake was behind you, shouting something to Leah—but the noise was too loud. Screams. Sirens now, maybe? No—just more shots, ricocheting in the air like firecrackers set loose in hell.

People were stampeding. You could barely think, barely see. Your only goal was to get to the back of the lot—to the edge near the petting zoo where the fence dipped and the parking field beyond opened up.

You turned a sharp corner, skidding in the dirt. “Almost there,” you panted. “Just hold on—”

A deafening crack shattered the words in your throat. You didn’t have time to scream.

Leah gasped behind you—then collapsed, dropping like a ragdoll with cut strings. You barely saw her hit the pavement, but Jake screamed.

“Leah!”

You turned just in time to see blood—too much—pooling around her chest. Her hand twitched, trying to reach for Jake.

“No, no, no,” he was shouting, dropping to his knees, trying to cover the wound, but it was—It was her chest.

She was probably already gone.

You wanted to go to them. You tried. But then Owen let out a shriek—piercing and ragged—and your body jerked like you’d been electrocuted.

You looked down.

Blood. Owen’s blood.

“Baby—”

His leg gave out and he crumpled. You dropped with him, hands flying to his side where the crimson stain was already spreading through his little T-shirt. Not the leg. Higher. Too high.

“No, no, no—look at me, look at me,” you begged, pressing your hands to the wound. “Stay with me, I’ve got you, it’s okay—”

Another shot. You flinched violently, instinctively curling over him as a sharp, white-hot pain tore through your side. It took your breath. Took your words. You tried to move and screamed instead.

Jake’s voice broke through—panicked, breathless. “Go! Take him—GO! I’ve got Leah—he’s still shooting—GO!”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. But you pulled Owen’s body into your arms anyway, teeth gritted against the blinding pain, and ran.

You didn’t see where Jake went. You didn’t know where the gunman was. You only knew you had to move.

People ran in every direction—ducking, diving, falling. You stumbled into someone, nearly lost your grip on Owen, then shoved forward again. The access road was ahead. So close.

Owen was crying weakly, clutching your shirt.

“Stay with me,” you rasped, your vision blurring. “We’re almost there. I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

And then—

A fence. An open gap. You fell through it. Literally fell—knees buckling, your body slamming into the grass, but you kept him with you.

Dirt. Blood. Sirens now, real ones, screaming somewhere far too far away.

Owen wasn’t screaming anymore.

He was too quiet.

And Jack still didn’t know.

And you couldn’t feel your legs. Couldn’t feel much of anything but the sticky warmth of Owen’s blood on your hands, your shirt, your arms.

Your side throbbed violently, each breath more shallow than the last, but you didn’t let go of him—not even for a second. You cradled his face, kept pressing your trembling fingers to the side of his neck, checking—still there. Weak. Faint. But there.

“Owen, baby,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Come on. Open your eyes for me.”

His lashes fluttered. A faint sound, maybe a whimper, left his lips.

You dragged yourself upright, blinking through sweat and tears. The access road stretched out behind the fence, gravel and dust dancing in the air from the chaos erupting just beyond it. You could still hear screams. Distant shouts. Faint sirens that weren’t close enough. 

Not fast enough.

“Stay awake,” you begged, your forehead pressing to his. “You can’t go to sleep, okay? You keep your eyes on me. Dad’s waiting for us. You’re gonna tell him about the dinosaur, remember?”

Owen whimpered again, a soft, slurred, “It hurts.”

“I know, baby. I know. But we’re gonna fix it. I promise—just—just keep talking to me, okay? Tell me your favorite ride. The best one today.”

His lips moved, barely audible. “The swings.”

You nodded, choking out a broken laugh. “Yeah? You were so cool. I saw you.”

A car engine revved.

You blinked.

A dark SUV skidded into view down the gravel path, braking hard just a few feet from you. The passenger door flew open.

Two strangers—one man, one woman—rushed out, eyes wide at the sight of you on the ground, covered in blood.

“Oh my god, Travis—” the woman gasped. “He’s a kid—he’s just a kid!”

“Help us,” you rasped, trying to lift Owen toward them. “Please—we need help..”

“We got you—we got you, hang on,” the man, Travis, said, already crouching to help lift Owen gently from your arms while the woman scrambled for the first aid kit in the back seat.

“No ambulances are getting through,” she muttered, already pressing gauze to Owen’s wound. “Too many people. We’ll get there faster.”

You tried to push yourself up, but your body screamed. Your side. Your leg. It was all catching up to you now.

“I can’t—” you whispered, dizzy. “I have to go with him—I can’t let him go alone—please.”

The woman looked up, eyes soft and certain. “You’re coming. I promise.”

Together, they got you both into the back of the SUV—Owen laid gently across your lap, your hand never leaving his.

The car peeled out, gravel flying behind it.

You looked down at your son. His hazel eyes were barely open, face paling. “Hey,” you whispered. “Stay with me. Almost there. You’re so brave, baby”

The gauze soaked through. Blood was on your arms, your stomach, your thighs—his blood—and the sticky warmth of it made you tremble.

His breath hitched. Too shallow. Too fast.

"You're okay, baby," you murmured, voice thick, trying to stay calm as your own side throbbed with a pain so sharp you could hardly breathe. “You're gonna be okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Owen whimpered faintly, the sound barely there. You ran your fingers through his curls, kissed his forehead, even though your vision was dimming at the edges.

“You're doing so good,” you whispered, your forehead resting against his. “You’re the bravest kid I know. Just stay with me a little longer, okay?”

The woman in the front passenger seat turned back to check on you. Her hands were still red from pressing on Owen's wound before the drive. “We’re almost there,”

“PTMC?” you croaked, not even caring how broken your voice sounded.

She nodded. "Yeah. That’s where we’re going."

You exhaled, one tiny shred of relief carving through the pain. Jack has to be there. Robby’s there.

If anyone could save him—it was them.

You gripped Owen tighter, your injured side screaming in protest. You didn’t care. You’d hold him together if you had to.

“I’m sorry,” the woman, who you still didn’t know the name of, said quietly, her eyes flicking to yours. “About the girl—your friend. The one who got hit before you ran. We saw her.”

You swallowed hard. Leah’s face flashed in your mind. Jake’s scream. The sound of her body hitting the ground.

“She was only seventeen,” you rasped, barely above a whisper.

No one said anything for a moment. The only sound was the roar of the engine and the panicked rise of sirens all around the city.

You felt the car lurch forward again as the driver turned onto the highway. You leaned back just a little, blinking up at the ceiling as your arms trembled beneath Owen’s weight.

"You're almost there," you whispered again, not sure who you were saying it for—Owen, or yourself.

And just like that—over the next rise—the skyline broke open.

PTMC loomed in the distance, lit up like a beacon. Like hope.

You closed your eyes for half a second, just to breathe, and then nothing. 

--

The SUV barreled into the PTMC ambulance bay, tires screeching against the pavement. Dr. John Shen was already there, clipboard abandoned, gloves snapped on ready to assess the new victims. The back door of the SUV flew open before the car had even stopped moving. 

A man leapt out, shouting, “Two gunshot victims—one kid, one adult!”

Shen was moving before the words finished. He ducked his head in, already scanning.

A boy—maybe eleven or twelve—was sprawled across a woman’s lap, his small frame slick with blood. His face was gray, eyes barely open, breath shallow. The woman underneath him was slumped, her arm still draped protectively around him. Blood covered her side and leg, a wound visible just below her ribs.

“Red tag!” Shen barked, pointing to the boy. “GSW to the abdomen—fading fast. Let’s move!”

Nurses swooped in. One of them reached to lift the boy, but Shen stopped them.

“Neck check first—don’t move him if there’s spine trauma!”

“Clear,” another nurse confirmed. “He’s bleeding bad—BP’s crashing.”

“Start a line in the bay. Tell everyone we’re coming in hot!”

Shen leaned in as the boy was gently transferred to a gurney. The boy groaned, a high, weak sound—and Shen breathed a sigh of relief. Still responsive. Barely.

Then he turned to you.

You were unconscious now, skin dull and damp. Pulse fluttered beneath his fingers—weak but steady. He checked your airway. No sign of obstruction, but there was clearly pain before you went under. Shen noticed the streaks of red down your arms—defensive wounds. 

Clearly you protected him.

“Pink tag,” Shen said quickly. “Delayed but stable for now. Get her to Zone C—secondary triage. Start fluids and monitor LOC.”

One of the ER nurses glanced, “She doesn’t have an ID yet—came in under civilian transport.”

Shen nodded. “She’s the kid’s mother. Keep them in proximity—she’ll want eyes on him as soon as she’s conscious.”

He turned back to the gurney now flying down the hallway.

“Who’s taking him?” he asked.

A voice answered just ahead: “Me.”

Robby was already pulling on gloves as he met the team halfway to the trauma bay. His face went sharp the second he saw the boy, expression turning from clinical to personal in a flash.

“That’s Owen,” he said, voice low. “That’s Jack’s kid, is his mom with him?”

Shen’s eyes didn’t widen, but something about him froze for half a beat.“We’re rolling her in next, you’d better work fast,” he said, already moving to the next case rolling in.

Robby swallowed hard, glancing toward the second gurney now being wheeled away. His stomach twisted.

Robby shoved the bay doors open with his shoulder just as the gurney was wheeled in. Owen was barely conscious, his head lolled to the side, skin pallid and clammy. The heart monitor was already hooked up and showed a weak but present rhythm.

"Vitals?" Robby asked sharply, already snapping on a gown and grabbing the ultrasound probe.

"BP is 78 over 44 and falling. He's tachy—160s. Resps shallow, sat's at 90 on non-rebreather. GSW to lower left quadrant, exit wound in the back. Looks like bowel involvement, maybe nicked the iliac."

Robby exhaled tightly. 

Stay focused. 

Just stay focused.

"Owen?" he called gently, kneeling beside the bed as they worked. "Hey, bud. It’s Mikey. I’m right here with you, okay?"

Owen’s eyelids fluttered. His lips moved like he wanted to speak, but only a soft noise came out. Robby gripped his hand.

"You don't have to talk. Just stay awake for me. You’re doing so good."

"Two large bores in," one of the nurses confirmed. “Hanging fluids now.”

“Get type and cross, send for four units of O-neg and get trauma surgery on standby,” Robby ordered. “I want FAST up now—we’re wasting time.”

Robby moved quickly, scanning the belly.

“Free fluid,” he muttered. “Left side. That’s blood. We’ve got internal bleeding—he’s not waiting.”

“He needs the OR now,” one of the trauma residents said.

“No,” Robby snapped. “Not until he’s stable enough to make it there. Get Jack. Tell him—tell him it’s Owen.”

Everyone paused for just half a second.

“Do not stop working,” Robby barked, pushing the urgency into motion again.

He leaned over Owen, brushing damp curls away from his forehead. "You're strong, kiddo. You got that from both your parents. You're gonna pull through this, but you gotta stay with me, okay? Just a little longer."

Another nurse leaned in with a pressure dressing. Robby applied it himself, firm and fast. The bleeding had slowed a little, but it was coming from deeper in the gut. He knew what this looked like. And he knew it could turn fast.

The OR doors were already being prepped upstairs for him.

Robby’s hands didn’t shake—but his jaw was clenched so tight it hurt. He couldn’t let his mind drift, to what he saw when they pulled Owen out of that SUV. He didn’t know how bad your injuries were. He didn’t know if you were even awake yet.

But right now?

He had one job. 

And that was to keep Owen alive.

--

The ER was fucking chaos. Codes left and right, everything in a constant movement, and the relentless hum of machines from all over. Jack was no stranger to this—he was in the pink zone, handling the more critical victims of the shooting. But despite his calm, practiced demeanor, his mind was anything but at ease.

He had been pulled in for the shooting response, already working through the wreckage, when he heard the news. You and Owen had been caught in the crossfire, though hopefully safe.

His stomach dropped at the thought.

Keep it together. They’ll be fine, he told himself. 

But nothing about today felt fine.

His gloves were soaked in blood as he continued to check vitals, giving orders, and directing the chaos around him. His pulse was still high, but it wasn’t just from the workload—it was the fear gnawing at the back of his mind. 

Where were you?

"Dr. Abbot, you’ve got a new Jane Doe over here," a nurse called out, snapping him from his thoughts.

He turned quickly, heart skipping in his chest. “What’s her status?”

"She’s stable, for now. GSW to the abdomen. Blood loss is moderate, went clean through. Civillians brought her in from the scene."

Without waiting, Jack followed the nurse toward the trauma bay. His mind raced, jumping to every conclusion. 

Could it be you?

When they arrived at the bed he saw you —his wife, unconscious, blood staining your clothes and skin. Quiet and umoving, but the machines around you were steady. 

His breath hitched.

“Get a line in, start fluids,” Jack barked, moving swiftly into action. His hands trembled as he checked your vitals, his mind moving a mile a minute.

Breathing was shallow, but there was still a pulse. The blood was too much. Too much to be a coincidence.

A nurse rushed past, checking on the other patients in the area, but Jack couldn’t tear his eyes from your figure. He reached out, brushing his fingers gently over your arm. It was warm, but the color drained from his face as he saw the blood pooling on the sheets.

“Vitals?” Jack demanded.

“Stable for now. She’s unconscious, but her body’s holding up,” the nurse answered quickly.

“Stay with her,” Jack ordered, his voice low and tight with barely-contained panic. “I need to know the moment her condition changes.”

He pulled back, trying to get his bearings, but the weight of the situation was suffocating. He couldn’t focus on anything else but you and he still had a job to do.

As he moved to step away, another nurse caught his attention, speaking in quick bursts. “Dr. Abbot, we’ve got another one going up to surgery—this one’s a kid, Dr. Robby said he came in with this Jane Doe.”

The word kid stopped Jack in his tracks.

His heart leaped in his chest, and his pulse roared in his ears. He took off without thinking, his legs moving as fast as they could. 

Owen.

He rounded the corner to another trauma bay, hoping, praying it wasn’t too late. The sight of the gurney brought him to a halt.

They were already wheeling Owen inside, the boy unconscious, his body pale and covered in blood. A small part of Jack’s mind screamed to reach out, to grab him, but the doctors and nurses were already in motion, preparing to take him up to surgery.

He stepped forward, but Robby was already there, directing the team.

“Owen’s been hit pretty bad,” Robby said, his voice tight with concern. “We’ve got him stable for now, but it’s touch and go and we need to get him upstairs, Brother.”

Jack didn’t even get a chance to ask more. He could only stand there for a moment, his mind spinning, before he was called back to the pink zone.

His wife—his wife was still lying unconscious just down the hall. Owen was going into surgery, fighting for his life. And he was supposed to be the one in control. But right now, he was helpless, and he had to keep working. “Fuck this…” 

“I know- I know this is horrible timing, but we still have people to help… They’re in good hands, you know that.” Robby placed a gloved hand on his shoulder, hoping it gave him some sembelence of comfort. 

“If something happens to either of them…” 

“I know…” 

-- 

The world felt hazy, like you were waking from a dream—or maybe a nightmare. Your body ached, and your head throbbed with the sharp sting of exhaustion. You blinked your eyes open slowly, the sterile white lights above you blinding at first. The beeping of a nearby monitor and the faint scent of antiseptic filled your senses, grounding you back into reality.

You tried to move, but your limbs felt heavy, as if they didn’t belong to you. Then you remembered—the shooting. The panic surged back in waves. The flashes of gunfire, Owen, Jake, Leah…

“Owen..?” Your voice cracked, barely a whisper as you turned your head toward the sound of the soft shuffle of footsteps.

Jack was sitting next to you, his hand wrapped around yours. His face was drawn, hazel eyes dark with exhaustion but filled with an intense, unwavering focus. He hadn’t left your side.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, leaning forward. His voice was rough, as if he’d been speaking to you in his sleep. “Hey, you’re awake. Thank God.”

You blinked, trying to focus, trying to piece everything together. “Owen... where is he?” Your voice shook, panic still clawing at your chest.

“He’s upstairs,” Jack said, brushing your hair back from your face gently. “He’s in recovery, he’s going to be okay.”

You exhaled shakily, trying to absorb his words. 

Owen’s okay. 

He was alive. 

You felt a strange weight lift from your chest at the thought, but it didn’t stop the rush of emotions from flooding through you.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “How... how bad was it?”

Jack hesitated for a moment, the corner of his lip pulling into a tight, controlled line. “You’re both lucky,” he said, squeezing your hand, his voice quiet. “You both took a bullet, but it’s not as bad as it could’ve been. Just some stitches, a lot of blood loss. You’re going to be fine. You’re tough.”

You closed your eyes, relief and exhaustion mixing together. Your body felt weak, but hearing Jack’s voice, feeling his presence, calmed the swirling storm in your chest.

“I don’t remember... I don’t remember much after we uh- we got in the car.” you said, frowning. The last clear memory you had was trying to get Owen to safety. 

Then... everything blurred together.

“Hey,” Jack’s voice softened as he leaned closer, his thumb brushing over your knuckles gently. “You did everything you could. You kept him awake. You got him here.” He paused, his voice breaking just slightly. “You saved him.”

You blinked, the words sinking in. You had kept him conscious. You had gotten him to PTMC. It was all coming back in pieces. You wanted to apologize for not being able to do more, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you closed your eyes and tried to focus on your breathing.

“Are Leah and Jake okay?” you asked after a moment, though you already feared the answer.

Jack’s expression darkened, and his grip on your hand tightened slightly. “Leah didn’t make it,” he said quietly, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “Jake is with his mom now though,” 

You felt your heart ache at the thought. Leah had been so full of life, so young. And now, she was gone.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. You couldn’t help it.

Jack was quiet for a moment, rubbing gently over your hand in comforting circles, offering his own type of peace. “I know. I know, baby,” he said softly. “But we’re here. We’re here, and we’re gonna make it through.”

The words didn’t erase the grief, but they gave you a small thread of hope to cling to.

You turned your head, your eyes searching for Jack’s, and found them filled with that same unwavering strength that had always been there. The strength you needed.

“How’s he doing?” you asked softly, still wanting to know about Owen, even as your body begged for rest.

“He’s alright” Jack repeated, nodding slowly. “They’re keeping an eye on him, but the doctors are sure he’s going to pull through. Kids are strong, and he’s just like his mom.”

You smiled weakly, your heart swelling with love for your son and husband. For a moment, the exhaustion and the fear melted away, and all you could focus on was the fact that you had made it—together.

“You need to rest,” Jack said gently, his voice low as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll see if we can move you up to his room too…”

You nodded, your eyelids heavy. You let the warmth of Jack’s presence settle over you, a comfort you hadn’t realized you’d been craving so desperately.

“Love you,” you murmured, barely conscious as sleep began to pull you under.

“I love you, too,” Jack whispered back, his voice soft but steady.

And with that, you finally let yourself drift off, knowing Owen was safe and that they would be there when you woke up again.

--

Sometime later the hum of monitors and soft beeping were steady and low, like the pulse of the room itself. You sat upright in the wheelchair Jack had brought you in, a hospital blanket draped over your lap, your fingers laced with his. Just sitting here beside Owen was enough to crack you wide open inside—every breath a small miracle.

Owen was awake.

Groggy and a little pale, his eyelids fluttered half-shut as he blinked up at the ceiling, shifting weakly against his pillow. His little hand rested beside him, wrapped in a peds-sized blood pressure cuff, wires trailing from his chest to the monitor, a nasal cannula nestled beneath his nose.

Your heart squeezed at the sight of him. He looked so small. So young. But he was awake—and alive.

“Hey, baby,” you whispered, brushing your fingers gently over the back of his hand.

His eyes fluttered open a bit more at your voice, and he turned his head slowly toward you. “Mom?”

You choked on the word before it could leave your throat. You smiled instead, nodding quickly, leaning as close as your body would allow. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m here.”

Owen blinked slowly, his eyes finding Jack beside you. “Dad’s here, too?”

Jack stood from where he’d been crouched at your side, wiping at his eyes quickly as he walked over to the other side of the bed. “Hey, buddy,” he said, voice rough as he leaned down and kissed the top of Owen’s head. “Of course I’m here,”

Owen gave the smallest smile, tired and lopsided. “You came.”

Jack huffed a short, shaky breath and laughed gently through it. “Of course I came, I work here, dork.”

You looked between the two of them, your eyes misting over again. You reached out and touched Owen’s arm gently, your hand trembling with relief. “You scared me,” you said quietly. “You really scared me.”

“Scared me too,” Owen mumbled, his voice raspy. “But… I think I’m okay.”

“You are,” Jack said, looking at you. “The surgery went well. Robby’s keeping a close eye on you too.”

You nodded, your body still aching, your side wrapped and sore, but none of that mattered now.

Owen blinked slowly, brows furrowing as memories tried to catch up with him. “Where’s Jake? And Leah?”

You and Jack exchanged a glance—one of those heavy, silent ones you’d both learned to read over the years.

“Jake’s okay,” Jack said gently, sitting back down beside the bed, resting his hand on Owen’s foot through the blanket. “He’s gonna be just fine.”

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat. “Leah…” You paused, blinking hard. “Leah didn’t make it, sweetheart.”

Owen stared at you, his lip trembling just slightly before he turned his face toward the ceiling again, eyes glistening. He didn’t say anything, and neither did you.

You reached for his hand again, and he held onto you tighter this time.

Jack stayed sitting next to you while on the bed, his hands settling on your shoulders as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You closed your eyes and let it settle in—the three of you in this small space, this quiet moment of stillness after the storm.

“We’re okay,” Jack murmured against your skin. “We’re okay now.”

You nodded, eyes fixed on your son, who was already starting to drift off again under the pain meds. The road ahead would be long—grief, recovery, healing—but right here, right now, you had each other.

mercvry-glow 2025

[digitald0rk]

ANIMAL ATTRACTION

𓏵𓏵 DON'T LET HER GET AWAY ! mark grayson ( invincible ) x fem reader ( catwoman ) synopsis : in which mark tries to put a kitty back in her cage. warnings ⤻ swearing, suggestive content, you are a tease <3 mentions of blood, sexual tension, grinding? no actual smut. w.c : 3.5k. notes — mark's still a rookie hero ++ new to the GDA so yeah :3 he's trying his best! not to let his hormones control him. title is indeed a swr reference.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ taglist ! @vm4879bb-blog @fairii-majii @hihowyoudoin00 @rayaaa4444 @wadehowl3tt @luvvcharxo @lacesoflove @urmyvalentine1 @sweetb3rry

this wasn't how it was supposed to go.

the plan was simple: retrieve the stolen jewels from the infamous thief and then take care of said thief.

so why the hell is he just staring at you from the shadows as you toy with one of the shiny red rubies, holding it up and watching as the moonlight reflects off it prettily.

“mark,” cecil's voice rings in the half viltrumite’s ear, “are you there? can you hear me kid?”

“huh? i mean yeah, yeah i’m here.”

“you catch the thief yet?”

“uh no but i’m getting to it”

liar, it's been twenty minutes, he could easily overpower you — but he hasn't, yet.

“i’ll talk to you when i’m done okay? don't want her getting suspicious or something.”

“you know i can see you, right?”

oh fuck.

a nervous chuckle escaped his lips at that, he floats closer to you sitting on the roof — all clad in that leather body suit that makes him feel lightheaded and that damn smile, you know what you're doing, there's no way you don't know the effect you have on him. he rips his gaze away from your thighs, taking a deep breath to calm himself down.

“what you did was not very nice,” he says dumbly, his voice cracks slightly at the end and he wishes the ground would swallow him.

“oh i'm well aware invinciboy.” holy shit are you teasing him? you're still playing around with the gem in your hand, it's like you're not scared or even slightly fazed by his presence, he's not sure how to feel about that.

“ah, so you know who i am?” he huffs a little proudy, “you know stealing is a crime right?” he asks, again a very dumb question but his brain is a little fried right now especially with the way you're looking at him like that.

“i’m gonna have to take you with me,” he manages to say.

“a man who knows what he wants,” you put the ruby back in the sack full of other similar precious jewels and walk closer to him, hand pressed against his chest as you lean over to whisper in his ear, “i like that.”

he's going to die.

his heart jumps at the action — beating way too fast, it's almost painful, he's sure you can hear it too.

“listen lady, you're coming with me,” he says weakly, stepping away a little and trying to put some distance between you two for his own sanity, god you smell good.

“go on and try, pretty boy,” you challenge him, holding his gaze as you step away too — you sound a little too confident, too sure of yourself.

he'll just have to put you in your place.

or maybe he won't, he feels dizzy all of a sudden before his head starts pounding and eyes start getting heavy, he groans at the pain.

and just like that, you're swinging the sack over your shoulder and getting ready to run away, looking back at him through your mask, the wind making your suit's tail sway.

“wait,” he pathetically calls out, his body feels weak — what on earth have you done to him?

you throw his way the now empty small dart, with a pointy needle attached at one end, that you stabbed him with, which was probably filled with some sort of drug or worse poison, he assumes. so that beating of his heart wasn't that painful for no reason, you had stabbed him huh? he should've been more careful — shouldn't have underestimated you.

he tries reaching for you again but his knees give out, making him fall onto the cold rough floor of the building's rooftop, he grunts and looks up at you as he tries to keep his eyes open.

and you have the audacity to blow him a kiss playfully, “we'll meet again invincible,” you even send his way a wink for good measure before you make your escape, effortlessly moving to jump from one rooftop to another, landing precisely each time.

mark reluctantly falls into a slumber, hearing cecil’s worried voice as his eyes shut down.

he feels groggy and disoriented when he wakes up in the all too familiar GDA patient rooms.

“about time,” cecil’s voice makes him sit up a little bit straighter as he tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

“how long was i out for?”

“almost six hours.”

it was supposed to be a simple job, in fact he only took it because he needed a break from all the intense, hard hitting, leaving-him-with-severe-injuries missions. he knows cecil is disappointed — heck, he's disappointed with himself too.

“get some rest kid, i’ll send someone else to take care of her.”

“no let me, let me fix my mistake, let me go after her again,” mark says without thinking. it's his job to stop crime, he'll do it no matter what  — is it also an excuse to see you? maybe. 

cecil sighs, “fine. but you better get that damn cat in her cage. and don't hold back this time.”

he's going to see you again. 

“why are you smiling?”

“i’m not!”

“give me that bag right now,” mark demands.

the GDA was able to track you down easily — or maybe that's what you wanted, as donald had suggested earlier.

now here he is, standing in front of you in your little hideout, the bag of precious gems behind you as you guard them with a charming smile.

“i don't appreciate your tone, sweetheart.”

“well i don't appreciate you stabbing me with a sleeping drug either.”

“heard you superheros don't get enough sleep, i’m just trying to look out for my favorite one, love.”

you're messing with him — it's working, the thought of him being your favorite in any kind of sense makes his cheeks heat up.

“don't make me use force, cat,” he threatens, walking closer. except you don't back down, you never do and it annoys him deeply. he takes a hold of your neck and pins you to the wall behind with a loud thud, the sack worth probably millions momentarily forgotten — his eyes trained on you as if he's waiting for you to validate him, his strength.

“choking? well that's certainly kinky.”

“what?” he stammers out, he knows you're enjoying this — his cheeks are flushed from both the proximity and your words.

“you heard me,” you smile up at him like he can't just crush your bones in a second of he wanted to, “didn't take you for such a bold one,” you muse aloud, nails lightly raking against his suit from his neck down to his chest, the action sending a shiver down his spine that settles low in his gut, a familiar heat starting to bloom down there.

“you're coming with me,” his voice is rough as he turns you around so your front is pressed against the cold wall and he pins your hands behind your back with one hand while the other rests on the back of your neck.

his eyes not so subtly take in the view — the leather of the black suit clings to your body deliciously, the slight arch of your back and the way the fabric stretches across your thighs and ass has his breathing hitching.

“enjoying the view back there invinciboy?” you sway your hips side to side as if to taunt him which makes him huff, the sound annoyed but undeniably laced with some sort of fondness.

“you're so annoying,” he whispers into your ear — just like you did before you decided to drug him and knock him out.

mark presses himself against your body almost unconsciously, gulping when he feels the swell of your ass rub against his very obvious hard problem.

“is that a gun or are you just excited to see me?”

“shut up,” he mutters, embarrassed but still wishing you'd continue to grind back on him to offer him some sort of relief — relief which he hasn't been able to get ever since your first meeting.

“well then maybe you should put my mouth to good use.”

excuse me? his mouth goes dry at your comment.

and for a moment his teenage hormone driven brain even considers the very obvious inappropriate insinuation before he snaps out of it at cecil’s voice.

the bag.

mark drags you with him, manhandling you — something which you look a little too happy with but he doesn't comment on it, instead he grabs the bag with his free hand that's not restricting your arms but it feels suspiciously light.

so he empties out its contents carefully and lo and behold, it's only filled with a handful of gemstones — the bottom is filled with cotton and other trash of no use.

he glares at you, scoffing when you only playfully bat your eyelashes at him, feigning innocence.

“where's the rest of them?”

“maybe they turned into wool?” you shrug and his eye twitches.

“don't play dumb with me cat, where are they?” his patience is running thin.

“fineeee, they're in the vault down there, under the desk.”

he's still wary of you — for good reason, but he knows he can stop you if you try to run away and plus his main priority is those stupid gems so he lets you go, moving to locate the said vault.

he manages to find it, entering the passcode you gave him and opens the metal vault.

mark immediately gets hit in the face with some sort of gas can which leaves him coughing and wheezing, the purple colored gas leaking and making it hard to see, even his eyes start watering a bit as he tries to find where you are.

you yelp when he ends up yanking your tail, dragging you right to him and where the fuck did you get that mask? of course you planned everything till the end, you always do.

he's about to catch you, once and for all but you catch him off guard, pulling the dirtiest, most unfair trick in the book, a kick right to his family jewels. ouch.

he winces loudly and stumbles back a little, the purple haze only getting more dense as the seconds tick by making it even harder to see, he can make out the faint sound of your pretty voice through the gas mask, “sorry!” yeah right, you don't sound sorry at all.

his eyes feel heavy, not this again — does this woman have a thing for knocking people out or something? mark thinks as his consciousness starts to fade out, the sound of your footsteps fading away as well.

and just like that you've slipped through his fingers. again.

he'll catch you, just you wait.

he wakes up after god knows how many hours, why the fuck is he all tied up with a mirror in front of him — he groans in frustration when he comes to the conclusion it's probably your doing.

i mean who else would draw cat whiskers and a dot on his nose and leave him tied up in the same spot he was once again outsmarted by you — it is humiliating and he is definitely not turned on by the idea of you tying him up to do something else. nope. no.

oh right there's cecil, clearly not amused.

“mark.”

the younger man sighs, he knows he's in for it.

much to his surprise, the stolen jewels — half of them, were found in the same bag behind some important political building which mark would know of if he did actually pay attention in class and wasn't busy day dreaming about catching you, chasing after you — the thrill of it all is something he craves.

he knows you steal from the rich, but it's still a crime. 

so when he catches you in the act of seemingly stealing another thing, in broad daylight this time, that honestly he could care less about, he wastes no time flying over and grabbing your tail — okay, he may or may not have a thing for pulling on it.

“cat.” he tackles you to the ground, palms sweaty at how close you two are— which to his amusement you look very happy about, being underneath him like this. it's almost as if you planned this too.

your bodies pressed together has him acting up, a soft almost imperceptible sound leaving his mouth. the softness of your chest against his, your nails lightly raking up and down his arms, he feels himself getting worked up.

“invincible.” you smile up at him like you can see right through him, like you know how red his face is beneath that mask.

“come on, just hand over whatever you've stolen.” he grunts when you swiftly move to roll over with him, he's now under you.

“you mean your heart? oh sweet boy it's right there,” your place your palm flat against his erratically beating heart, “although it seems like it will jump out any second,” you chuckle, those annoyingly alluring eyes staring right into his soul.

“stop that.” he says weakly even though his hands move to settle on your hips, his mind already going a mile a minute as he takes in the position you two find yourself in.

“stop what?” you shift slightly on top of him, sitting up and he pathetically chases the friction of your leather clad body rubbing against his bulge, a small sound escaping his lips much to his horror.

“looking at me like that.” it makes his skin feel like it's on fire.

wait, no why are you getting up?  goddamnit it no!

mark can't help but gasp when your heeled foot rests on his chest, the heel slightly digging into his suit, the pressure is delicious and so is the view — you standing over him, looking down at him like that, like you'll eat him alive, he's not sure how his heart hasn't given out yet. if omniman finds out about this he's sure his father would never look at him the same.

and then you drag the heel down, from his chest down to his needy aching clothed cock and gently apply more pressure by shifting more of your weight onto it and he moans so prettily — a familiar throb settles between your legs.

he desperately bucks his hips up, but you pull away completely, leaving him flushed and panting oh so horny.

“you're evil,” he frowns up at you, reaching to tug on your suit's tail, holding back a chuckle at your little gasp as you lose your balance.

“you seem to enjoy it.” you're not wrong.

you throw his way the small pouch you stole before jumping down to make your escape like you always do, leaving him needy, conflicted and confused each time.

he sighs as he undoes the strings closing the pouch to open it, curious to see what you'd given up on so easily.

his jaw practically falls to the floor.

you fucking tease.

it's a pair of panties — your panties, a small note falls out of the pouch too, “have fun sweetheart,” it says, as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

he should've known, those wide eyes of yours as he caught you “stealing” were just for show.

he resists the urge to just relieve himself right then and there, hands toying with the soft fabric of the material in his hand, mouth going dry as he rubs his thumb across the gusset, mind going into overdrive.

god, does this mean you know that he's a pervert and touches himself to the thought of you?

he needs a cold shower.

with the way everything is going in the superhero business, mark decides to quit GDA to clear things up and just help people without cecil barking orders at him.

it definitely has nothing to do with the fact that cecil had to witness you two being horny bastards, grinding on each other because holy shit did you look good with blood on you.

mark blamed it on some villain's “sex pollen” afterwards, both cecil and him knowing it's a damn lie.

yeah no, he's going to stay away from cecil for a bit, that was embarrassing — although he has zero regrets.

“sorry for you know . . . kicking your balls and making you lose your job.”

you say it so casually like you didn't just once again somehow manage to knock him unconscious when he was on his way back to his house from a mission — where the hell are you getting all these resources and equipment from anyways?

and now he's here, hanging upside down by some flimsy rope that you both know he can easily break, but he won't.

last time he used his strength, you ran away and that did not sit well with him no matter how much he tried to deny it.

so he'll indulge you in your antics as long as your attention is on him and him only.

“apology rejected.”

you act wounded at his words like he's ripped your heart out or something with the way you're clutching your chest all dramatically, the action makes his lips twitch into a small smile.

“well that won't do,” your eyes sparkle with that gleam, dangerous and all too familiar to him, “how can i make you accept my apology then, invincible?” 

it seems like you already have something in mind because you're leaning closer and closer, until your lips are only an inch apart from his.

except obviously you don't act all suave about it and have to say some shit like, “damn your lips are dry as hell,” which makes him laugh more than self-conscious, he knows they're not dry — he's been taking care of himself a lot more ever since you've stepped into his life, you know just in case you two kiss or something, a small innocent, okay maybe not innocent, but nevertheless a fantasy that he certainly does not dream about everyday.

his dad did not tell him that being a superhero comes with whatever this is, he was never told it meant being stuck with an annoyingly hot woman who he's ready to do a concerning amount of things for, just for the rush of adrenaline that he's sure he's grown addicted to.

just like he's grown addicted to your presence.

“i think you need to moisturize them,” you clear your throat, your flirty facade breaking the tiniest bit, eyes glued to his lips.

and he's not that dumb. he knows what you want and lucky for you he wants that too — maybe even more than you.

“yeah i really do, think you can help me out with that cat?” 

“i think i can,” your lips brush against his teasingly — but you're holding yourself back, giving him the option to back away if you've read into the situation wrong but he doesn't. instead he firmly presses his lips against yours and for all the innuendos that get thrown around between you two and the undeniable sexual tension, the kiss is sweet, almost tender — his lips moving in tandem with yours.

it lasts for what feels like an eternity — but not nearly enough when you two pull away. he immediately regrets the action.

he doesn't need to breathe, he needs you.

mark chases your lips, fully expecting you to tease him about his clear desperation but you don't, you kiss him back, again.

“is my apology accepted now?” you mumble against his lips, he chuckles at your words having completely forgotten about that, “yeah,” he gives you a lopsided grin that has you smiling back.

“you gotta work on your morals, kissing a thief? now that's just low invincible”

“no no it wasn't kissing, remember? you were-”, he tried to do air quotes before realizing his hands are still tied, “you were helping me moisture my lips, no?” he teases you back, the playful banter flows easily between you two, like always.

“oh right, my bad, moisturizing.”

“i think my lips are still dry though.” he sheepishly says, hoping you'll kiss him some more.

and you do.

this is so wrong, he knows that, but your lips against his feel like heaven, your hand cupping his jaw oh so gently like he's made of glass just feels so right.

he stiffens slightly when he feels you lick a strip up his face. you menace, his eyes snap open and look at you in mock disappointment.

“are you ever not horny?

“that's bold coming from you invincible.”

“you're gonna leave me blue balled again, aren't you, you tease?” he sighs exasperatedly.

you gasp, “at least take me out on a date first,” your faux offense is adorable — like you haven't been making his life a literal nightmare with all those teasing touches and heated gazes.

he forgets whatever he was about to say when you gently force his jaw open, thumb tracing his jawline while you slide a piece of paper in his mouth, “close your mouth,” your tone alone is enough to make him obey, closing his mouth — teeth holding onto the paper’s edge.

“good boy.”

mark feels himself getting hot and bothered at your praise. he holds your gaze, hoping for an explanation.

“my number, love.”

oh, so you weren't messing around for once.

you press one last kiss, to the tip of his nose before hopping onto some building's ledge, your body moving gracefully, once again leaving him hanging — quite literally this time.

© digitald0rk 2025. do not steal, repost or translate any of my work. want more? click here ★

[quickestgold]

Still Life: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: Jack always expects the unexpected, both as a doctor and a partner. But when your water breaks during a citywide blackout, the pressure to deliver your baby safely grows with each contraction, trapping you, him and Robby in a single, still moment of life and loss.

Warnings: Angst, as always; Pregnant reader; Features a graphic, traumatic birth > Similar to the birth scene in the show. Pls don’t read if this sounds too heavy for you!! (everyone lives)

Word count: 2.7k+

A/n: Yes, this is a cliché baby-born-in-an-elevator story, but the show gave us Abbot/Robby x Elevator and Collins mentioned getting stuck while giving birth, sooo what can I say, we're here now, aren't we. Something something about the enclosed space being a metaphor for birth etc. I’m also very passionate about raising awareness for birth trauma / birth related injuries + these are my emotional support sad boys, so I had to… Enjoy <3

“I’m not giving my baby an old white guy name” you deadpan, leaning against the nurses' station, glancing up at the board with a playful grin. Ellis and Shen chuckle at your honesty, Princess and Perlah enjoying the show from a distance.

As if summoned, “Oh I know you’re not talking about us” Robby counters, him and Jack suddenly appearing next to you.

“Well I know she’s not talking about me!” Jack adds lightly with that dry humor you love so much.

"All I'm saying is, Frank is a great name for a little boy." Langdon argues from his side of the station, hands on his hips. "Frankie. Frankie Jr., the possibilities are endless..."

You roll your eyes, though you can't help but smile fondly at the camaraderie, a warm feeling growing in your stomach.

Though it might be something else.

"Maybe we should go for a name that doesn't sound like he's already retired", Jack quips, his eyes meeting yours. Something about the way you're leaning against the station, catches his attention, worry flickering in his eyes.

The storm outside has been growing since the start of your shift, a low rumble in the distance interrupts the friendly work banter.

As if on cue, you feel another tightening in your lower abdomen, this time a sharp stab that makes you wince. You brace yourself against the counter, careful not to let anyone notice.

You're 40 weeks pregnant, but you know it's not active labor... yet.

Jack is already so prepared, so meticulous. You don't want to worry him more than necessary.

“Well, my vote’s for something classic”, Robby says cheerfully. “Like, um… Robby. Simple, strong.”

"Good thing you don't get one." Jack raises an eyebrow as he steps behind you, putting an arm around your waist instinctively. With ease he holds up your belly, taking some of the weight off your back. He gently pecks your cheek, whispering into your ear. "You okay?"

You lean into his embrace, taking a breath of relief, as you feel the pressure building inside you again.

Before you can respond, the storm outside shifts from a distant rumble to something more urgent. You hear the first crack of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning that lights up the hospital windows.

“So much for having a quiet night”, Shen laughs.

You instantly shush him, loudly. Everyone's reaction's are instantaneous, Princess and Perlah cursing in Tagalog.

Ellis: "Fuuuck!" Langdon: "You always do this!"

As usual, Shen manages to jinx whatever team is unlucky enough to work his shift.

The elevator doors close with a jarring ding. The tightness in your belly flares again, but you grit your teeth and try to ignore it.

Jack and Robby stand by the doors, arms crossed, like they're guarding something precious.

You lean back against the cold metal walls, the tightening growing again, unable to find a position that's comfortable.

Even in this enclosed space, you can hear the wind howling from outside. The lights flicker, then, without warning, the power cuts out entirely, as the elevator halts to a stop.

You hear Robby curse as the emergency lights turn on, their blue glow casting everything in a surreal light. The elevator now feels even smaller, almost womb-like.

Fuck.

You groan softly, hoping Jack doesn’t catch on.

But of course, he does.

“What was that?” He turns to look directly at you, concern written across his face.

You avoid his gaze. “Nothing, I’m fine."

You say it so unconvincingly, you almost laugh at yourself.

“I can see that.” It's the same skeptical tone he uses with Santos and the other interns. It's charming actually.

“When did you start having contractions?” Robby asks, like he’s already claimed you as his patient.

You hesitate, but there's no point lying. “This morning.”

“You’re joking.” Jack is by your side in a heartbeat, torn between putting a hand on your belly or pulling out his stethoscope. Torn between being doctor, partner or father-to-be.

“I’m okay. Really.” You try to reassure him, gently touching his forearm.

That’s when you feel the warm liquid rushing down your legs, a puddle growing beneath you.

Jack and Robby's eyes drop to your feet, then up at each other. They exchange a look, no words needed. This is happening.

“I- I didn’t realize…” You breathe, dazed.

“You didn’t realize you were in pain?” Jack asks, incredulous.

“I’m always in pain, Jack", you bite back. “Ever since you knocked me up!”

You groan, turning around to lean your elbows against the wall, letting your head drop. Your breath is already ragged.

Jack’s hand finds your back, rubbing slow, grounding circles.

“I’m not having our baby in an elevator…” you pant.

“I’m afraid, we are, love.” Jack whispers gently, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

You let out another sharp groan.

“I need to examine you. Is that alright?” Jack’s voice shifts into professional gear. He pulls gloves from the pocket of his trousers, swiftly slipping them onto his hands.

You nod, squeezing your eyes tightly shut.

He lines up behind you, slipping a hand into the back of your scrubs and reaching down.

Once he’s measured with his fingers, Jack’s eyes flick up to find Robby’s, a mixture of panic and surprise flashing across his features.

Robby reads him instantly. He steps in without a word, steadying your shoulders. His grip is firm and reassuring.

“What?” You gasp.

Jack leans in close to your ear, voice soothing, but urgent. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your already burning cheek. “Honey, listen to me. We’re having this baby now.”

You groan again, louder this time.

Robby’s frown line softens, his lips forming a genuine smile. He and Jack share a warm look, full of excitement.

“No. No!” You shake your head. "Not here."

No prenatal bag. No birthing playlist. No epidural.

“I need to have a proper look, okay?” Jack says calmly, though his hands move quickly.

“Wonderful." You laugh through a groan. "This’ll make a great story for group therapy.”

Nothing says professional boundaries like giving birth in front of your boss.

“I won't look." Robby promises, quickly turning away. "But I am a doctor, you know", he chuckles.

"Not mine, you're not." Your lips form a playful smirk. "This will do wonders for your patient satisfaction scores", you add with a wink.

The air suddenly feels a bit lighter.

Jack kneels down, gently parting your legs and slipping your pants down to your knees.

His eyes widen, before whispering. "You're in active labour, baby", his voice softer now.

Robby doesn't hesitate, rushing to the elevator doors, trying to pry them open. With a metallic screech, they slide just wide enough for people to pass supplies and equipment through. But you haven’t quite reached the next floor.

“Not enough to get her out,” Jack mutters.

You lean forward and peek through the small opening.

Your cervix is probably bigger than that…

“Dana!” Robby yells.

Dana appears instantly, dropping to her stomach to peek inside. She finds you leaning against the wall, pants down, legs shaking. Jack holding you up.

“Jesus. Y’all got terrible timing you know that!”

“We need fresh gloves, blankets, a BOA kit, baby warmer, fetal monitor, anything you can pass through.” Robby orders.

Dana’s already on it, shouting over her shoulder.

Jack turns to you again. “Do you want to sit or get on your knees? What feels more comfortable?”

“I- I don’t think comfortable is the word I’d use right now." You groan. "Feels like I’m being split open front to back.”

“I know. I know." Jack’s hands are already guiding you down. "Let’s get you on the floor okay?”

You drop to all fours.

It’s so goddamn hot.

Your hair sticks to your face, salty water stinging in your eyes, the vein in your forehead threatening to pop.

You tug at your scrub top and Jack understands instantly, pulling it over your head. You sway back and forth, now only in your bra, nothing else.

Groaning. Panting. Cursing.

Jack is beside you, gently massaging your back. He moves with you, trying to match your rhythm.

He’s grateful Robby takes command, barking orders to the team above, in full doctor mode. Focused, clinical.

“You’re doing so good.” Jack whispers.

Another contraction rips through you.

Jack glances at his watch, then over to Robby, who places a surgical blanket on the floor, hooks you up to cables and machines to monitor your and the baby’s vitals.

You curse loudly. “What the hell did you do to me, Abbot!”

“I’m sorry. You can do this.” He takes your hand, squeezes. “Let's meet our boy.”

The next contraction comes fast, stealing your breath. Jack doesn’t need to look at his watch, he knows.

It’s time.

Robby positions himself behind you, breaking his earlier promise. But you forgive him, if it means having your husband by your side and not two doctors competing for who's running this.

“She’s crowning.” Robby announces. His hand applies gentle but firm pressure, to keep the baby from delivering too fast and to prevent tearing.

Jack’s hand trembles slightly in yours.

“Y/N, I can see the head. I need you to push on the next contraction okay?”

You nod your head, almost frantically.

Jack takes a deep breath, for both of you, instructing you to follow his rhythm.

A deep, guttural growl tears from your chest as you push.

And push again.

The sensation overwhelms you. The burning, the tingling, the stinging.

The ring of fire.

“That’s it. Catch your breath before the next one.” Robby's steady but kind voice anchors you. “I need one more big push. Three, two…”

Jack’s voice is soothing in your ear, but you barely register it. You’ve never experienced anything like it.

You’re not even fully in your body anymore.

How long has it been? Minutes? Hours?

You feel another contraction approaching, but Robby suddenly halts you.

“Stop. Y/N, don’t push! Not this time."

“I- I have to.” You groan, almost sobbing.

“No.” Robby's voice is low, sharp.

Jack’s head snaps up.

Something's wrong.

“Baby’s shoulder is stuck on your pelvic bone. I need to release it.”

Jack turns pale, tightening the grip on your arms, preparing for the inevitable.

“I’m sorry,” Robby mutters, but before you can react, his hand breaches your entrance.

The pain is unimaginable.

Is he rearranging your organs?

You scream into Jack’s chest, muffled and desperate. He tightens his arms around you, attempting to ease your pain.

“J- Jack…”

“I know, I know, I’ve got you.” Jack's voice breaks. “Robby…"

“Hang on…” He's still rummaging in there.

"I'm sorry", tears streaking down your face. You look up to find Jack's eyes. "This is my fault... I should've-"

“Look at me. Hey,” Jack says, commanding your gaze. “We’re okay. You hear me? You and me. We’ve got this.”

“What’s going on down there?” Dana shouts from above.

“I need you to lie on your back, Y/N” Robby instructs. But before you can register his words, Jack has already flipped you around. Your bottom lowered against the floor, Jack sliding behind you to brace you in his lap. His arms wrap around your legs, pulling them up and in.

“Lean into me, baby.” Jack’s voice is soft. He closes any distance between you. Practically melting into your body.

“Okay”, Robby breathes, applying suprapubic pressure. “Let’s take a deep breath.”

You feel his hands, firm against your lower abdomen, pushing the baby downward.

“Dana! Call Dr. Ingram, from the NICU, we need him.” Robby shouts towards the elevator doors.

You swallow hard. “Please... Please tell me I'm not having a fucking c-section in an elevator.”

Robby glances up briefly. His voice is low, focused. “Not planning on it.”

He reaches in again, one hand sliding beneath the baby’s head, working carefully to release the shoulder.

Another sharp stab rips through your abdomen. It feels like someone's clawing their way out from the inside, making your vision blur.

“Fuck Robby!" You cry out, voice breaking. "Please stop.”

Though you know he can't.

“Got it.” He suddenly announces. “On the next contraction, you push again.”

Your head feels light, but you know you can’t give up. Not now. Not yet.

3, 2, 1….

You push. With everything. Every muscle. Every breath. Every part of your being.

Until...

A sound cuts through the air.

Crying. Tiny, fragile, crying.

Not yours.

Not Jack’s.

Definitely not Robby’s.

Your eyes snap open. And there he is.

Your baby boy.

Robby lifts him carefully, umbilical still attached, assessing, drying and finally, placing him gently on your chest.

You can feel an unfamiliar but indescribable warmth flood you.

A sob escapes your lips, but this time not from pain.

You've never felt a love like this. Pure and sweet. Instant.

Jack leans in, showering your forehead in kisses, then your boy.

“You did so good, my love." Jack whispers. "So fucking good.” He wraps a blanket around you both, trying to shield you from the cold, from the storm, from everything.

Robby watches the three of you, his own emotions evident in the way his eyes glimmer in the light. He waits a few moments before he's back in professional mode, clamping the cord and letting Jack cut through it.

But they know it's not over. You do too.

You feel another contraction coming…

"The placenta", you murmur.

Robby nods. “One more push for me. Ready?”

He presses into your lower abdomen, a familiar pain ripping through you again.

“There we go." Robby says quietly. "Congratulations mom and dad.”

But...

The moment of bliss suddenly turns into horror.

The world around you starts to fade.

You feel Jack’s arms tense as Robby rips your baby from your chest, passing him through the narrow gap in the elevator doors to Dana’s waiting hands above. You feel the cold breeze against your exposed chest, the loss of warmth from your boy.

What the fuck is he doing? Skin-to-skin is supposed to be longer than this!

You want to argue. Shout at him, but your body won’t let you.

Why are you lying flat on the floor? Where's Jack?

You stare at the ceiling. Your heart starts to race.

You know what this means.

You hear Robby’s voice change. Tighter. Urgent. Then Jack’s voice joins him, both of them shifting into clinical, practiced motion.

Massive blood loss.

If they can’t stop it you’ll need a hysterectomy.

Or worse.

Their words are distant, blending into the chaos of your wandering mind.

“Spike a liter of saline.” “Starting uterine massage.” “Dana! Two units from the blood bank.” "Balloon is past the cervix."

Panic rises in your belly. It travels up to your chest, then your head.

Robby’s movement are frantic now. Jack's too, eyes wide with terror.

Their hands are on you, moving, pushing, pulling, trying to keep you from slipping away.

Jack drops to his knees beside you, instantly at your face, cupping your cheeks with gloved hands slick with sweat and... blood? “Hey,Y/N? Hey.”

You blink slowly, your breath shallow.

“What- what if we name him after my dad?” Jack suggests with an unserious grin.

His deadbeat, boys-don’t-cry, toxic-masculinity-in-person father?

Another time you’d have burst into laughter. And that’s what he’s trying for. A reaction. Anything.

You blink up at him, your lips twitching. It’s a fragile smile, but it’s real.

"Michael.” You whisper.

"I'm here", Robby reassures, working steadily.

No. You gesture weakly. "Th-the baby. Mikey for short."

There’s only one Robby, so that’s the next best thing.

You and Jack want Robby to be the godfather, though he doesn't know yet. He's an important person in both of your lives. And now he's brought your son into this world.

You're glad he's there. For you. And your boys.

Especially if this goes badly...

Jack snorts, but quickly realizes you’re serious. Robby's eyes widen.

“Yeah. I like that.” Jack says softly, nodding, overwhelmed with love and fear.

Jack gently places an oxygen mask over your face, hands trembling as he brushes the soaked hair from your forehead, trying to comfort you in any way he can.

Your eyes flutter open, finding his. Memorizing him.

Jack leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, whispering things you don’t hear.

Then he feels it. The absence of your breath.

The stillness.

A moment frozen in time, reflecting the fragile balance between life and loss.

Jack's eyes shoot to Robby's, desperate.

But Robby doesn’t stop. Not for a second.

He’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back.

Back to Jack.

Back to your boys.

And he wiiilll. As promised, everyone lives. But I had to end it here - for the drama lolz... Pls lmk what you think <3

Part 2: Still Alive

[hyuckiefluff]

playing with fire

pairing: mark!haechan x fem. reader genre: college au, smut, rivals to fwbs wc: 12k+ summary: mark and haechan can't stand each other's guts, but they want the same girl... and maybe she wants them both, too. content warnings: unprotected sex, threesome, oral (f+m receiving), semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, sex tape, jealousy, marking, hand job, fingering, multiple orgasms (like a lot!!), double penetration, a little bit of mahae action (couldn’t help myself), orgasm denial, aftercare. a/n: all i’m gonna say is that this was completely self-indulgent. i just haven't been the same since 82+ pressin came out and this is the result. i don’t think i’ve ever written so much smut for a single fic before omg. it's rlly a lot i apologize in advance. ps: stream 82+ pressin, 1999 and the aoty aka the firstfruit.

all your life, people let you get away with things. maybe it was your soft face, your sweet smile, or the way you tilted your head when you lied. they thought you were innocent.

but anyone who actually knew you, knew better.

you were full of fire, tucked neatly into a deceptively small frame. and by fire, you meant you were horny. always had been. sex wasn’t your entire personality, you just liked it—frequently and with whoever could keep up. so when two gorgeous boys started fighting over you, you didn’t think twice. even if those boys hated each other’s guts.

you were just stepping into the cafeteria when a low whistle caught your attention. you glanced over your shoulder and saw haechan strolling in.

you rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched at the corners. 

“can’t stay away from me, huh?” you said when he finally caught up, his arm sliding over your shoulders easily.

“you know i can’t, pretty” he murmured, voice close enough to your ear to make you shiver. “you coming over tonight?”

you fold your arms across your chest, purposefully pressing your cleavage together. his eyes dropped right on cue. you knew he loved this shirt. or rather... he loved your tits in this shirt.

“i was there last night, hae. i can’t play favorites, it makes the other boys in my roster jealous,” you said sweetly, brushing a kiss to his cheek and stepping ahead.

“there’s no roster,” he said with a cocky grin, catching up easily. “i know that.”

“oh, don’t be so sure.” you waved at someone in the distance. haechan’s head turned just in time to catch mark lee smiling at you from across the room.

his face soured immediately. “mark lee? really?” he scoffed. “you can do better than that idiot.”

you looked at him, catching the slight twitch in his jaw. you smirked. their little rivalry was so amusing to you.

“remind me again why you hate him so much?” you ask as you drop into your seat. haechan slid in beside you, tugging your chair closer without effort.

“because he’s a manipulative dickhead who pretends to be some righteous good guy,” he muttered, fingers playing with the strap of your tank top.

“so... like half your friends?” you arched a brow. 

“why are we even talking about him? let’s talk about us” he groaned, leaning in to kiss you but you dodged, making his lips brush your neck instead.

“since when is there an us?” you laughed, pushing him off half-heartedly.

“since you let me fuck you against every surface in my dorm,” he said smugly.

“don’t think that makes you special,” you replied, patting his chest.

your hand lingered there a second longer, reminding you how toned he actually was. easy to forget with that sweet face and mouthy attitude.

“i’m definitely your favorite though,” haechan grinned, leaning in again and this time, you let him kiss you. his mouth moving slowly but greedily against yours.

across the room, mark was stabbing his lunch violently. his plastic knife bent halfway through his sandwich.

“okay, you’re scaring me,” jaemin said, side-eyeing him. “who’re you trying to murder with your eyes?”

“no one,” mark muttered, dragging his eyes away.

jaemin followed his gaze and snorted. “ohhh, is that your girl?”

“she’s not my girl,” mark grunted. “we’ve just been… talking.”

“yeah? well, looks like that’s all you’re gonna be doing,” chenle chuckled next to him, biting into his sandwich.

“fuck off” mark said, chucking a crumpled napkin at chenle’s face.

“i’m pretty sure she was with jay last semester,” jaemin added, watching mark’s reaction with barely concealed amusement.

“and wonbin,” chenle said through a mouthful of food.

mark’s jaw ticked. “what exactly are you guys trying to say?”

“relax,” chenle raised both hands, smirking. “we’re just saying she’s clearly not into exclusivity.”

“whatever,” mark muttered, pushing his chair back. “like i said, we’re just talking.”

“uh-huh, sure” jaemin said with a knowing grin. “play with fire if you want… just don’t act surprised when you get burned.”

┈─★

mark couldn’t stop thinking about what the guys had said. it wasn’t even like he wanted anything serious with you. but still, the way you clung to haechan, only to turn around and flirt with him like your eyes hadn’t just been heart-shaped for the biggest dumbass on earth… yeah, it was starting to piss him off.

he was stewing in that frustration, gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary on the way to the store, when he spotted your car on the side of the road.

he pulled up behind you without thinking.

your face lit up the second you saw him. you were sweaty and flushed from the heat, but still so damn pretty it made something sharp twist in his chest.

“mark!” you said his name with so much relief he had to glance away, suddenly shy.

“hey,” he said, climbing out of the car. “need help?”

“please… i don’t know what happened. it just died on me” you pouted, arms crossed under your chest. “i barely made it off the road."

mark blinked, trying not to focus on your lips—the same lips that had kissed all over his neck last week at that party.

“okay, let’s take a look,” he muttered, walking over to the hood you’d already popped open.

he leaned over the car and tried to focus, to remember what he even knew about engines. he wasn’t a mechanic, but he knew enough not to look stupid in front of you.

you stood beside him, your shoulder kept brushing against his arm every time you leaned in to “check” what he was doing.

“you think it’s serious?” you asked, biting your lip .

mark glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “hard to tell. your battery might’ve just died.”

“ugh, great,” you groaned dramatically, flopping against the side of the car. “this day already sucked.”

“you’re lucky i was driving by,” he said, wiping his palms on his shorts. “you could’ve been stuck here for a while.”

you smiled at him sweetly, reaching for his hair and playing with it. “thank you for rescuing me, my knight in shining armor.”

mark froze for half a second.

“don’t do that,” he said quietly, eyes still focused under the hood.

“do what?” your voice was all fake innocence, and when he finally looked at you properly, you were leaning back just enough for your shirt to ride up and show the barest strip of your waist.

“you know what” he muttered.

you tilted your head, teasing. “we’re just talking, mark.”

he exhaled sharply. “yeah, well... i’ve had enough of that.”

you blinked at him, not catching the double entendre fast enough. before you could say anything, he stepped closer. not touching you but close enough that his chest brushed yours.

“you keep looking at me like that, saying things like that and then you go and let haechan put his tongue down your throat in front of everyone,” he said, voice low and raspy. “and don’t say it doesn’t mean anything.”

you stared at him, heat curling in your stomach.

“i wasn't gonna say that”

mark gave you a dry laugh, shaking his head. “then stop playing with me.”

you smiled, slow and wicked. “maybe i want both of you.”

mark’s jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to your lips as he licked his own, and for a moment, you thought he might actually kiss you right then and there—hot, frustrated, angry.

instead, he took a step back.

“your battery’s dead,” he said, eyes still burning. “i’ll get mine and jump it.”

and just like that, he walked back to his car, leaving you breathless and grinning like a devil in the sun.

he popped the hood of his car and grabbed the jumper cables, avoiding your eyes the whole time. you watched him work with brows furrowed, arms flexing every time he connected something or reached for a clamp. he was mad.

and you loved it.

“okay, try turning it on now,” he called out, stepping aside.

you slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine coughed before finally coming back to life.

“yay!” you grinned, hopping out. “mark, you’re a lifesaver.”

“don’t mention it,” he said, closing your hood.

you stepped out and leaned against the car again. “what would i do without you?”

he walked over slowly, wiping his hands on his shorts. “probably flash your pouty lips at some other poor guy and get him to do it for you.”

you raised an eyebrow. “are you calling me manipulative?”

“if the shoe fits.”

you took a step toward him. “you didn’t seem to mind when i was kissing you last week.”

“didn’t say i minded,” he said, voice low again. “but i’m not interested in being one of your toys.”

“aw,” you pouted the way you knew he couldn't resist. “but you play so well.”

mark’s mouth twitched.

“get in your car,” he said instead, walking away again.

“got tired of me already?” you called after him, teasing.

“no. i’m telling you to leave before i do something i’ll regret.”

you didn’t move. “like what?”

mark stopped and sighed, you giggled to yourself thinking you’d successfully managed to frustrate him. but then suddenly he turned back and stopped right in front of you, so close that your back was nearly pressed against the car.

“like remind you exactly what you’d be missing if you pick haechan,” he said, eyes flickering down to your lips.

you swallowed a smirk. this was so much more interesting than you thought it’d be.

you tried to lean into him, but he immediately backed up.

“drive safe,” he said, heading to his own car without looking back.

you stood there, heart racing, staring after him and thinking how you’d get both of them alone in a room without them trying to rip each other’s throats.

┈─★

you figured if you were ever going to bring up your little fantasy to life, mark needed to be wrapped around your finger first. haechan would be easy to convince—he was practically already halfway there. one breathy moan from you and he’d be on his knees.

mark, on the other hand… he needed more work. not because he wasn’t into you, but because he had that whole gentleman with a moral compass thing going on. sweet. respectful. frustratingly hard to seduce without making it feel like you were the one being played.

in other words, you had to lock in.

so instead of texting or sliding into his dms like usual, you started showing up where you knew he’d be. but this turned out to be more difficult since the guy was literally everywhere and nowhere at once. you found out from a mutual friend that he worked two jobs, volunteered for three different campus orgs, was part of the baseball team and somehow still managed to keep a spotless GPA.

you went to every place he frequented, including the music store where he part-timed at, but he wasn’t there, “you just missed him” the other workers said.

you almost gave up for the day until something caught your eye past the chainlink fence by the baseball field. someone was pitching solo.

and there he was, mark lee in all his sweaty glory.

“hey there, slugger,” you called out, leaning your arms on the fence as he straightened up and turned around, wiping sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. it lifted just enough to show the cut of his abs.

he blinked at you in confusion for a second before recognition hit and his mouth tugged into a crooked little smile. “yo… what are you doing here?”

“you looked lonely,” you said, pushing the gate open and walking toward him, “mind if i keep you company?”

he shifted, catching the ball in his glove, clearly trying to be nonchalant but his eyes didn’t lie—they dragged over you like he hadn’t seen a girl in weeks. you were wearing a tank top you knew made your tits look phenomenal, and you were sure he noticed.

“sure,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “i’m just messing around, anyway.”

“well, i like messing around,” you replied, tone smooth as honey, letting the double meaning land. 

mark chuckled nervously. he was flustered, a cute little blush spread across his cheeks and down his neck. you were definitely getting to him.

“you want a turn?” he asked, gesturing to the bat.

you raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “are we still talking baseball?”

his lips twitched. “depends… what are you talking about?”

you reached for the bat, letting your hand graze his fingers. “guess you’ll have to find out.”

“you ever even held one of these before?”

you took it, pretending to examine it seriously. “i mean, i’ve seen a league of their own like… twice.”

mark laughed, the sound bright and easy. “that’s a start.”

he showed you how to stand and the proper way to hold the bat, stepping in behind you with a respectful distance—no unnecessary touching or cheap moves. you could feel his warmth at your back, his voice in your ear as he adjusted your grip.

“okay, just swing through when the ball comes in. don’t overthink it.”

“easy for you to say, coach.” you glanced over your shoulder and caught his eyes on yours.

for a second, neither of you moved. you realized how pretty his eyes were from this close, they were round and bright looking at you.

then he stepped back and toward the pitching mound with a sheepish little smile. 

“alright, give it a shot.”

your first swing was absolutely tragic.

mark laughed again, clapping once. “okay, that was adorable but we should review the basics.”

the next twenty minutes passed like that—him showing you how to swing properly, you pretending to take it seriously just to mess with him. you both ended up out of breath from laughing more than anything else. and by the end of it, you were glowing in the sun, hair a mess, tank top slightly clinging to your skin.

“okay, okay,” you finally said, wiping sweat from your brow, “i need a break.”

mark nodded, picking up the scattered balls. “dugout’s over there. i’ll grab us some water.”

you ducked into the dugout, the shade instantly soothing your sun-warmed skin. your legs were a little shaky from all the running around, but your heart wasn’t only thudding because of the exercise. you watched mark jog over to the cooler, shirt sticking to his back, his hair damp and curling at the edges. he looked so good it was unfair.

he came back with two bottles of water and handed you one, settling beside you on the bench. his thigh brushed against yours briefly before he shifted away to give you some space.

“not bad out there,” he said, twisting open his bottle. “your form’s a little weak, but you’ve got potential.”

“mm, and here i was trying to impress you,” you said, sipping. “guess i’ll have to try harder.”

he huffed a soft laugh and glanced sideways at you. “you’re doing fine, just… need a little discipline.”

“are you volunteering for the job?” you tilted your head.

mark stayed silent for a second. he was watching the field now, fingers drumming lightly on the bottle in his hand. “i know what you're doing”

you raised a brow. “oh yeah?”

“you don’t need someone messing around with your head. or your body. you deserve more than some dumb fling.”

you leaned back on your hands, letting your knees fall slightly open, enough to test him. “you ever think maybe i don’t want more?”

his jaw tensed. he didn’t look at you right away, he was trying really hard to keep his eyes anywhere but your legs. “you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you said simply. “you think i don’t know what i want?”

he finally looked at you and the way his eyes moved over your face—it wasn’t lust. it was frustration. like he wanted to do something but had spent his whole life learning to hold back.

you leaned in, your voice softer now. “you keep talking like i’m some sweet girl who needs protecting, mark. but i don’t want that from you.”

he swallowed hard. “what do you want, then?”

you smiled, slow and a little dangerous. “i want you to stop pretending like you don’t want this too.”

he blinked, then he exhaled and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, laughing under his breath like he couldn’t believe what he was about to do.

“this is a bad idea,” he murmured.

“maybe,” you said, leaning just a little closer. “but i promise it’ll feel good”

mark didn’t answer but his eyes dropped to your mouth and stayed there. he looked like he was working through every possible reason to pull away, but none were winning.

“you should probably leave,” he said after a beat, voice rough. “before i forget how to be a good guy.”

you leaned in so your leg was now on top of his. “i’m not asking you to be a good guy, mark.”

he closed his eyes and shook his head. “don’t say that.”

“why not?”

“because if i touch you like i want to,” his eyes opened again, darker now. “i won’t be able to stop.”

“good,” you said, voice low. “i don’t want you to.”

he turned toward you, one hand gripping the bench behind you.

“you’re not making this easy,” he said.

“i know, but you can trust me”

his gaze flicked to your lips again. then your neck. then back to your eyes.

“you’re serious?”

you nodded, slow. “you think i’d be here if i wasn’t?”

mark let out a breath through his nose. “fuck.”

you watched his knuckles flex on the bench, how he was clearly using every ounce of willpower to stay still. his shoulders were angled toward you now. his jaw was tight, eyes darting like he was thinking ten steps ahead and still getting stuck on you.

you reached out, brushing your fingers over his forearm. “if you’re gonna kiss me, just do it already.”

he didn’t move right away but when he did, it was careful. one hand slid behind your neck, thumb brushing just under your ear as he leaned in. his lips touched yours softly.

but you didn’t want soft.

you pushed in, lips parting just enough to deepen the kiss, and that was when his restraint cracked. his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you into the bench. he kissed you harder this time, all that tension finally bleeding through.

you smiled against his mouth, whispering, “see? doesn’t that feel better than being good?”

his answer was a low groan against your lips, his hand slid up, fingertips grazing the bare skin where your top had ridden up. he paused there, like he was waiting for you to stop him.

you didn’t.

instead, you moved into him, straddling his lap without breaking the kiss. his breath hitched the moment your hips settled against his, and that tiny reaction was all the confirmation you needed. he wanted this as much as you did. even if part of him was still trying to talk himself out of it.

“touch me more,” you said, tilting your head to nip at his jaw. 

his hands finally slid under your shirt, splaying across your back, pulling you flush against him. your body molded to his like it had always belonged there, and his lips found yours again.

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned low in his throat. his hips bucked up before he could stop himself, and your breath caught when you felt how hard he already was under you.

his hands moved lower over your ass, gripping tight as he shifted you against him again. it was getting hotter in the dugout, clothes sticking to skin, breaths growing uneven. your lips were swollen, your thighs shaking just slightly from the tension. he kissed down your neck, tongue brushing a spot that made your spine arch.

“fuck,” he whispered, his lips ghosting along your jaw. “you drive me crazy.”

you rolled your hips again and mark’s head dropped back with a groan. his hands moved higher under your shirt, fingers brushing the band of your bra before hesitating.

you tugged your shirt up a little more for him, eyes locked on his. “you don’t have to ask.”

his gaze flicked up to yours and then he pulled your shirt off in one smooth motion, his mouth going straight to your collarbone, trailing heat down your neck. one of his hands cradled the back of your head while the other held your waist steady as you started grinding down against him again, both of you breathing harder now.

his fingers found the clasp of your bra behind you, fumbling only once before it came loose. the second it did, his mouth was on you, leaving open-mouthed kisses across your chest as your hips rolled harder.

you dipped your head, kissed the top of his ear, and whispered, “mark.”

it came out breathy, almost reverent. the sound of his name from your lips snapped whatever restraint he had left. his hands gripped your thighs, and in one quick movement, he stood—lifting you effortlessly as you clung to him, legs tightening around his waist.

your back hit the dugout wall with a soft thud, and he was on you again. teeth grazing your neck now, nipping and licking and kissing like he wanted to mark every inch of your skin.

you gasped, hips rolling against the hard press of him through his jeans. he hissed through his teeth, grinding back.

“mark, more please.” you moaned, eyes locked on his.

he growled something filthy and wrecked and then his hands were tugging at your waistband, fingers slipping beneath to palm the curve of your ass again, rougher this time. you arched into him, head tipping back as he pressed hot kisses along your throat, sucking hard enough to bruise.

your shorts ended up somewhere on the floor along with your shirt. and mark—sweet, tortured, trying-to-be-good mark—was rutting against you like he’d lost his damn mind.

“tell me what you want,” he said into your skin, breath hot and shaky.

you leaned in, lips at his ear. “everything.”

he groaned like the word punched him in the gut. his hand teased over the edge of your panties, fingers just barely brushing where you were soaked for him. he inhaled sharply, head dropping to your shoulder, and you could feel his restraint fracturing all over again. 

“jesus christ,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “we shouldn't be doing this here.”

he barely registered the sound of your breathless laugh before you dropped to your knees, eyes locked on his as your hands slid up his thighs. he looked down at you like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“let me give you what you need,” you murmured, undoing the button on his jeans with practiced ease. 

“fuck,” mark breathed, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers brushed over him through the fabric of his boxers. he was so hard it looked like it hurt. you smiled seeing his reaction as you traced the outline of his cock.

he looked like he wanted to say something—some last-minute plea for control—but then you tugged his boxers down and wrapped your hand around him.

his knees nearly buckled.

you leaned in, lips brushing the flushed tip, tongue teasing just enough to make him choke on a groan. he gripped the edge of the dugout bench behind him to keep himself from falling over.

“shit—fuck, baby, please—” his voice cracked as you took him in deeper, mouth hot and wet and so fucking perfect. his hand found your hair, fingers trembling as he tried to resist the urge to thrust into your mouth.

you wanted him to lose it. wanted him unhinged.

you bobbed your head slowly at first, letting him feel every inch of your tongue, your lips, the way your throat clenched around him. when you moaned, his hips jerked and he cried out.

“jesus, i’m not—fuck, i’m not gonna last.”

you pulled off with a slick pop. “it’s okay, cum for me markie.”

before you could take him backs into your mouth again, he hauled you up, lips crashing into yours roughly. his hands found your ass again, lifting you onto the bench like you weighed nothing. your panties were gone in seconds and then he was pressed against you, panting against your mouth.

“you’re sure?” he whispered, voice shredded

you stared into his eyes, wrapped your legs around his waist, and said, “mark. fuck me already.”

not a second after, he was slamming into you with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt in one desperate thrust. the air was knocked from your lungs, nails scraping down his back as your bodies locked together in the filthiest kind of synchronicity.

his rhythm was brutal from the start, hips crashing into yours like he’d waited years for this. like every time he'd looked at you, every time he’d jerked off with your name on his lips, had been leading to this exact moment.

“you feel so fucking good,” he panted against your neck. “i can’t—I’m gonna—fuck, you’re perfect.”

you were both sweating, panting, lost in each other. the dugout echoed with obscene sounds of skin slapping skin and your moans mixing with his broken groans.

“i’m close,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked. “tell me where you want it. please, baby—tell me.”

your fingers gripped his jaw, lips brushing his. “inside. fill me up.”

he moaned your name—screamed it, even—as he came, body shaking, strong arms locked around you. he held you through every wave, and didn’t stop fucking you until you came seconds after.

when it was over, when your bodies were spent and trembling, he collapsed against you, breathing hard, mouth still pressed to your neck.

“that was fucking amazing,” he whispered, laughing breathlessly.

you kissed the side of his head and smiled, knowing that you had him exactly where you wanted him.

┈─★

the rest of your week was spent with mark, who– slowly and against his better judgment– was developing a full-blown addiction to you.

but you couldn’t neglect the other half of your fantasy.

which is why you were now outside haechan’s dorm. he’d been ignoring your messages for days, which wasnt like him at all. and you were almost sure it had to do with how often you'd been with mark lately. 

you walked in without knocking and found him in front of his pc, hand stuffed into his sweats, fist working himself slow to some filthy porn on the screen.

he didn’t even notice you walking in at first due to his headphones. but he must've felt you behind him because he jolted, yanked his hand out, and scrambled to close the tab like you hadn’t already seen everything.

he spun around in his chair, cheeks flaming, trying to hide the clear tent in his pants.

“ever heard of knocking?” his voice came out annoyed but strained.

you crossed your arms, amused. “is this what you’ve been ignoring me for? gooning in your room all day?”

he didn’t answer, just looked anywhere but at you.

you stepped in closer and looped your arms around his neck.

“don’t be mad,” you whispered, brushing your lips close to his ear. “i came here because i missed you.”

“really?” he finally muttered, still not looking at you. “what happened to your new boy toy?”

“don’t tell me you’re jealous,” you said with a little smile. “mark’s not the first guy i’ve been with since our arrangement. i thought you were fine with that.”

he scoffed. “yeah, well… the other guys weren’t fucking idiots.” his eyes finally flicked to yours, dark and sharp. “plus, i doubt he makes you feel as good as i do.”

“then do something about it,” you whispered, dragging your nails along the nape of his neck. “remind me why i started fucking you in the first place.”

his hands were on you in a flash.

he grabbed your waist and hauled you onto his lap. the second you straddled him, he bit your bottom lip before kissing you deep.

“you want a reminder?” he growled “fine, but you’re gonna take what i give you”

you ground down against him and felt how hard he still was. this wasn’t some casual rebound fuck to him—this was territory. there was rage and lust and twisted affection in every move he made.

his fingers tugged your shirt up, mouth trailing fire along your neck, teeth scraping and marking.

“bet he doesn’t know how to touch you like this,” he murmured, slipping a hand under your waistband and cupping your already wet pussy. “bet he doesn’t even know what you like.”

“he’s learning,” you teased, smirking just to provoke him.

he scoffed and shoved your panties aside, pushing two fingers into you at once, hard enough to make your hips jerk.

“not like this,” he whispered darkly. “he can’t make you this wet with just his fingers, can he?”

you gasped, clutching at his shoulders as he curled his fingers deeper.

“god, you’re such a little slut for attention,” he chuckled “running to him just because he’s nice? is that what you want? a nice little boy?”

you could barely breathe now, body rocking into his hand with every word.

“you don’t want nice,” he hissed. “you want me. you want the one who knows how to break you and put you back together with a single fuck.”

your moan came out broken and sharp, your hips grinding down faster now. he was watching you fall apart, biting his lip like it was the only thing keeping him from slamming you down on the floor and reminding the entire dorm who you belonged to.

“say it,” he demanded. “say i’m the one you want. say his name doesn’t mean shit to you when you’re dripping for me like this.”

“you are,” you choked out. “you’re the only one i want, hae.”

he shoved his chair back with a grunt, stood with you still wrapped around him, and carried you to the bed. dropping you onto the mattress with a promise in his eyes, already yanking his sweats down.

“gonna fuck you so hard you forget what his voice even sounds like,” he muttered.

and from the look in his eyes—you knew he meant it.

he crawled over you, and with a quick peck to your lips, he slid his cock into you. you were so familiar with his size after so many fucks that it didn't take long for you to adjust and for him to start moving.

he switched your positions quickly, knowing how much you liked riding him. his mouth was on your chest, spit-slick and possessive, and his hips snapped up in a brutal rhythm from below you. he’d been talking the entire time— filthy words laced with jealousy and obsession.

“so fucking wet for me,” he groaned into your skin. “he could never get you like this.”

you moaned louder at that, clenching around him.

haechan reached over without breaking his rhythm, grabbing your phone from the desk behind him. you barely noticed at first, lost in the sensation of him buried so deep inside you, but then you heard the soft ding.

he pointed the camera down, letting it capture the view between your thighs, where you were split open and soaked, riding his cock like your life depended on it.

“what are you doing?” you gasped, half-laughing, half-panting.

“just making something for your little boyfriend,” haechan said with a smirk, his voice syrup-thick and mean. “he probably wants to know what you’ve been up to.”

he angled the camera to get your face, your tits, your hips grinding down as he fucked up into you. his hand slid up your stomach, fingers wrapping around your throat just enough to make your pulse jump under his thumb.

“look at the camera, baby,” he purred. “let’s show mark how you really beg.”

you bit your lip but obeyed, dragging your gaze to the lens. your expression was wrecked—eyes glassy, mouth open, cheeks flushed.

“that’s it,” he growled, snapping his hips up even harder. “show him who you belong to.”

the hand not holding the phone slid down your spine, grabbed your ass, and slammed you down onto him with a force that made the bed frame groan.

“you hear that, mark?” haechan muttered into the mic, his voice suddenly colder. “this is what your little good girl sounds like when someone actually knows how to use her.”

you whimpered shamelessly, as his cock dragged right against that spot inside you that made your vision spark white.

“she’s squeezing me like she’s never been fucked before,” haechan kept going, still holding the phone. “you ever get her like this, huh? you ever make her cum just from your cock and a few mean words?”

 he thrust into you hard and deep, so deep you cried out, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders.

“oh, that’s so much better,” he grunted, pulling back and slamming in again. “bet he doesn’t hit that spot, hm? bet he doesn’t know how deep you like it.”

you moaned loudly, the sound echoing against the dorm walls. he held the phone steady with one hand and gripped your jaw with the other, turning your face to the lens.

“tell him who makes you cum.”

you gasped. “haechan—fuck—you, you do—”

he grinned like the devil.

“good girl.”

the sound of skin slapping, the way your body arched into every thrust, the sweet, broken whines he pulled out of you—it was all being captured. and he made sure of it. shifting the angle, filming your tits bouncing, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, your lips mouthing please, more without even realizing it.

“gonna send this to him,” he muttered darkly, “maybe i’ll wait ‘til he’s all alone at night, thinking about you and then—bam.” he snapped his hips harder, making you gasp. “he’ll see you stuffed full of my cock.”

you clenched around him and he hissed.

“yeah, you like that. you love being filmed, dirty little thing.”

you were shaking now, pleasure boiling up in your gut as he kept fucking into you with brutal precision. all while recording you. all while imagining mark’s face when he saw you like this.

your thighs were already trembling from how many times you’d rolled your hips over him, the coil in your lower stomach drawn so tight you could scream.

haechan’s hands gripped your waist, keeping you just barely in rhythm as you rode him, the slow drag of his cock inside you leaving you teetering at the edge. your hands braced against his chest, fingernails digging into his sweaty skin. you were so close you could taste it.

“that’s it,” he murmured, voice gone low and raspy. “fuck yourself on me. let mark see how desperate you get.”

“haechan—fuck, please—i’m gonna cum—”

suddenly, his hands snapped up to your hips and stopped you. his cock still twitching inside you but he wasn't moving anymore.

“no, you’re not,” he said, eyes dark. “not yet.”

your head fell forward, lips parted in disbelief. “what?”

he leaned in closer, lips brushing your throat. “you wanna cum?” he asked, and you nodded, hips instinctively trying to grind down again.

he didn’t let you.

“then beg for it. look into the camera and beg for me.”

you shuddered. his voice wasn’t teasing anymore. it was burning hot with jealousy and the need to have control over you.

“tell mark you’re not allowed to come unless i say so. tell him you’re mine.”

you stared at him, wide-eyed, chest heaving, and then turned your head to the camera. your voice shook as you whispered, “please… please let me come. i need it. i can’t take it, hae, i—”

his hand slid up your back, grabbing your hair and tugging gently so your neck arched. he bit along your jaw, voice low and sharp against your ear.

“say it like you mean it. say it loud. i want him to hear what a needy little slut you turn into when you don’t get what you want.”

you swallowed, lips trembling. “please…please, hae, i’ll do anything…just let me come—”

“nah,” he muttered, tightening his grip and slamming up into you once. once. just enough to make you cry out and chase the friction, but not enough to give you what you needed.

“you don’t get to cum until i say so. and i’m not saying shit until you look into that camera and tell mark whose cock you fucking love.”

your body was on fire, everything inside you begging for release, but you obeyed. because your orgasm lived in his hands now.

“it’s yours,” you gasped, eyes flicking to the lens. “it’s always been yours. not his. he can’t fuck me like you do.” you lied.

“mmm, now that’s the energy,” he grinned, hand trailing down between your legs to barely graze your clit. “feel that? you want it, don’t you?”

“yes, yes, please—i need it—”

“you’ll take every fucking inch, keep grinding that soaked little pussy on me slow, and i’ll think about letting you come.”

you did as he said. he made you ride him in slow, teasing circles. every drag was torturous, your body screaming for a release you weren’t allowed to have. tears prickled in your lashes, your mouth open in a string of whispered begs.

“look how perfect you are when you’re desperate,” he murmured, finally rubbing slow circles over your clit. “this is what he needs to see. you fucking breaking apart on my cock.”

you whimpered something incoherent, your entire body trembling when he finally granted it.

“cum for me, baby. show him what he’ll never fucking have.”

you shattered instantly, mouth open in a silent scream, grinding down on him with a rhythm you couldn’t even control anymore. and he filmed all of it. the high-pitched moans, the tears, the way you collapsed against his chest completely undone. and when his orgasm hit soon after, he captured his cum dripping out of your used cunt. 

when your breathing slowed and your thighs stopped shaking, he clicked off the recording and kissed your temple.

“that should keep him up at night.”

┈─★

the next time you saw mark, it was at a party hosted by one of the student organizations. haechan was there too, for your pleasure, and you knew tonight was going to be the night you finally brought your twisted fantasy to life.

the plan was simple. get both of them to your apartment. 

and it was all going well until haechan yanked you into the bathroom, and before you could even think, you were on your knees, taking him in your mouth.

by the time you left the bathroom, your makeup was a mess. the lipstick smeared across your face was a dead giveaway of what youd been doing. haechan went off to get a drink, and you quietly retreated to the living room, sitting in front of a mirror to fix your face.

mark was talking to his friends across the room, but his eyes never left you. he hadn’t spoken to you in a week after receiving the video. he was pissed, sure, but it wasn’t as though he was surprised. he knew you had some kind of relationship with haechan. but to film it and send it to him? that shit crossed a line.

what bothered him most was that he couldn’t bring himself to delete the video. every night, he ended up jerking off to it, his mind filled with the image of you begging for that jerk’s cock.

he noticed haechan walk by, nodding to a few people along the way. when their eyes met, he smirked and started walking toward him.

mark’s lip curled into a scowl as the younger boy stopped in front of him, leaning casually against the wall.

“what’s up, lee?” haechan’s voice was light, almost too fucking smug. he slapped mark’s back with exaggerated force. jaemin and chenle exchanged glances and walked off when they caught the tension.

“did you get my video?” haechan asked, his eyes still glinting behind his cup, the stupid little grin never fading.

“i did,” mark replied coldly. his voice was almost a growl, thick with disgust. “what kind of man records a lady during sex?”

haechan chuckled. “if you watched the video, you’d know she was very much into it.”

mark’s jaw clenched “whatever. you don’t fucking deserve her,” he spat, his words dripping with venom.

“and you do?” haechan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “please, she’s not into the whole gentleman act.”

mark’s smirk was all teeth now “then why does she keep coming back to me?”

haechan’s eyes narrowed, but the grin never left his face. “her lip gloss is still all over my cock, so i’d say there’s really no competition here…”

mark’s hand shot out, slapping the drink from haechan’s grip. he grabbed the younger boy by the collar, yanking him in close. everyone around them hushed and someone muttered oh shit.

that’s when you stood up and pushed your way through the crowd. when you reached them, you shoved them apart with a force that surprised even you.

“what do you two think you’re doing?”

your voice cut through the room like a whip—sharp enough to make a few of the partygoers flinch. mark’s fist was still clenched in haechan’s shirt, and haechan didn’t look even the slightest bit bothered. in fact, the smug bastard looked like he was thriving in the chaos, like he’d been waiting for this moment all goddamn week.

mark let go first, reluctantly, his eyes still locked on haechan’s. “he started it,” he muttered like a sulking schoolboy who’d just been caught throwing punches behind the gym.

“bullshit,” haechan scoffed, brushing off where mark had touched him. “he’s just mad he’s not the one you were sucking off ten minutes ago.”

you grabbed mark’s wrist before he could swing. “enough.” you looked at both of them. “you’re both acting like idiots. are we seriously doing this now? at a party?”

“he's talking about you like you’re some kind of trophy.” mark growled.

haechan scoffed. “oh, please” 

you could feel the eyes of half the party watching the drama with beers in hand. you tilted your head, walking up between them.

“you two are being childish.”

mark’s eyes dipped down to your lips, shiny from the fresh coat of gloss. a hint of it still smeared down your chin as a confirmation of everything haechan just said. he hated that no matter how pissed he was, he still wanted to grab you, shove you against the wall, and remind you how good he could make you feel.

“so, how about you stop wasting time on this pathetic pissing contest…” you continued, circling behind them slowly, “and come dance with me.”

you walked straight toward the dance floor, the bass vibrating through your heels and into your spine. you didn’t even turn to see if they were behind you. you already knew they were.

you stepped into the crowd, backlit by strobes, and then turned around slowly, one hand held out toward mark. his brows knit together at first, unsure. then he stepped in, hand sliding into yours.

your other hand reached for haechan, and that cocky smile curled across his lips before he grabbed your waist instead, pulling himself flush against your side.

“what’s this, baby?” haechan murmured against your ear.

you just smiled and rolled your hips into him at the rhythm of the music.

mark stood closer now, his chest brushing yours with every beat. his hands hovered like he didn’t know where he was allowed to touch, until you guided one to your hip.

you tipped your head up and kissed him first. your fingers fisted in his shirt as your lips dragged across his—tongue sliding against his until he forgot why he was mad in the first place.

but then you pulled away and turned, grabbing haechan by the jaw and kissing him too. open-mouthed. filthy. 

you felt mark tense behind you. you could almost hear his breath hitch as he watched.

but you didn’t stop.

your hand reached behind you, pulling mark closer until he was pressed against your back. your lips were still on haechan’s when your other arm looped around mark’s neck, forcing them both into your orbit.

in the chaos, in the rhythm and push and pull of bodies, your head tilted just enough to make room, and their mouths brushed.

they didn’t even realize at first. your body was between them, but it was hard to see whose hands were where, whose breath was in whose lungs. they were kissing each other before they even registered it. and when they did?

there was a second of stunned silence between them, and they both froze.

“fuck,” haechan muttered.

mark stared at him like something short-circuited behind his eyes. and then he kissed him again, rougher this time. 

you looked at them with a victorious smile on your lips.

when they pulled away, lips swollen and chests heaving, you saw the look on both their faces—equal parts frustration and lust. and you knew… this was the moment you had been waiting for.

you didn’t even wait for the song to end.

your hand shot out, fingers latching onto the front of mark’s jacket, then you grabbed haechan’s wrist and tugged them both forward.

“we’re leaving,” you said, voice low but commanding.

mark looked like he wanted to argue but you didn’t give him the chance.

you turned on your heel and walked out.

and like the two moths they were, they followed the flame.

┈─★

your apartment door slammed shut behind them, the tension snapping into something feral the second the lock clicked.

“you—” mark started, but you cut him off with a kiss. filthy, fast, and impatient. his hands went straight to your waist, pressing you back against the wall as his mouth opened under yours. he tasted like alcohol and haechan.

the later boy soon stepped behind you.

his hands slid under your shirt, palms hot against your bare skin, and his mouth was right by your ear. “so you really want both of us, huh?” he whispered, “you’re that fucking greedy.”

you reached back blindly, curling your fingers into his hair as you pulled away from mark.

“i want to figure out who deserves me more.”

haechan shoved mark backward—not hard, but enough to reclaim space. and mark let it happen for a second, jaw tight, watching as haechan spun you to face him and kissed you deep, tongue fucking into your mouth.

but then mark was there again. his hands on your hips, his chest flush with your back, and this time, he kissed haechan.

really kissed him. it wasn’t an accident or in heat-of-the-moment.

mark leaned around you, lips capturing haechan’s mid-moan, his fingers curling into your waistband as their mouths crashed. it was clumsy at first and then it turned hungry.

the three of you moved together, a mess of hands and mouths and breathless gasps. clothing peeled away between kisses, bodies pressing against each other with no room left for shame. by the time you hit the couch, you were half-naked and drenched in anticipation.

you shoved mark down first, straddling his lap, grinding against him as haechan knelt beside you.

“who gets to fuck you first?” haechan asked, his voice hoarse and teasing.

you smiled, biting your lip as you looked down at mark.

mark's breath hitched beneath you, his eyes flicked up and then down to where your soaked panties were rubbing against the thick outline of his cock through his jeans.

"fuck," he muttered, head tipping back against the couch as you rolled your hips again, just to watch him squirm.

haechan had one hand running up your thigh, the other palming the bulge in mark’s jeans with a wicked little grin. his own erection poking through his boxers

"you're both hard already," you whispered, your voice sweet and venomous. you leaned forward, brushing your lips against mark's ear. "and i haven’t even gotten naked yet."

"then fucking do it," mark growled.

"ask nicer," you cooed.

haechan laughed, low and breathy.  then he kissed your inner thigh, right above where the fabric was sticking to your soaked cunt, and said, "i’ll ask for him—take it off, baby."

you stood up and pulled your shirt over your head. no bra. both of their eyes dropped to your chest in an almost comical way. you hooked your thumbs into your panties and slid them down. by the time you were naked, both boys looked like they were seconds from breaking.

you dropped to your knees between them and unzipped mark’s jeans first, pulling his cock free and stroking him slowly, twisting your wrist the way you knew made his eyes roll back. he groaned, head falling forward to watch you. 

then, without warning, you leaned sideways and took haechan into your mouth instead.

mark cursed under his breath. haechan let out a deep, shaky breath, hand immediately tangling in your hair. you sucked him slow, wet, deep, letting the mess coat your lips as you kept stroking mark at the same time.

“you’re unreal,” haechan gasped, hips twitching. “fucking slut.”

you pulled off with a filthy pop, a string of spit connecting your lips to the head of his cock. "you like watching, mark?" you asked, turning your head just enough to meet his eyes as you jerked them both off side by side. "you like seeing how good i take his cock?"

mark's nostrils flared. then his hand was in your hair too, tugging you toward him, and you let him push into your mouth—let him fuck into your throat until you gagged, until your eyes watered, until his cock was slick with spit.

“jesus christ,” he muttered, voice ragged. 

haechan reached over and grabbed mark’s jaw, turning his face toward him to kiss him.

their mouths crashed messily. they kissed like they hated each other for how much they wanted this.

you sat back, breathless, watching their lips collide with yours on both their cocks, and you moaned—because this was it. this was your fantasy.

they broke apart with a gasp, and you grinned.

"let’s go to my room," you said.

but you barely made it down the hall before haechan spun you around and pressed you to the wall, his mouth crashing into yours. he kissed like he wanted to bruise you. hands groping, lips biting, tongue deep and fast and hungry.

mark’s hand was already sliding up under your thigh, lifting your leg so he could step in behind you. his breath ghosted over your neck, and his voice was a low growl against your skin.

“you like letting him touch you like that?” he asked, pressing his hips into your ass so you could feel exactly what he meant. “you gonna let me fuck you after he’s had his way with you?”

you moaned, letting your head fall back onto mark’s shoulder as haechan’s hand slid down your front and cupped your pussy, two fingers slipping through the mess between your legs.

“she’s soaked,” haechan smirked. “god, you’re such a filthy little thing.”

“fucking ours,” mark said, and even haechan didn’t argue with that.

they walked you to the bed like wolves with prey between their teeth. when you climbed onto the mattress, you didn’t even get time to settle because mark grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up and spreading you wide.

haechan knelt in front of you, his cock already leaking. “open that pretty mouth again, baby.”

you did. obedient, dripping, desperate.

mark’s fingers slid into you from behind as haechan pushed into your mouth. your moan vibrated around his cock, and he cursed under his breath, thrusting deeper. mark’s pace picked up, his fingers curling just right—fucking you open, getting you ready.

"you’re gonna take us both,” mark said, and it wasn’t a question.

he lined up behind you just as haechan pulled back, breath ragged, stroking himself as he watched your ass push back toward mark instinctively. mark slid in slowly, inch by inch until you were full.

"fuck—" mark’s voice cracked. "you feel s’good."

haechan grabbed your chin to tilt your face up. “look at me while he fucks you,” he said, voice thick with lust. “wanna see your face when you cum all over his cock”

mark started thrusting harder, faster. your hands clawed at the sheets, moans falling from your lips in broken little gasps as your body rocked between them. haechan was watching every twitch of your face mesmerized.

and then he kissed you again, teeth dragging your lower lip before he shoved his cock back into your mouth.

it was obscene.

mark pounding into you, cock hitting the deepest spot inside your gummy walls, while you choked around haechan’s cock, spit dripping down your chin and onto the sheets. both of them moaning and touching you like they didn’t care if they left bruises so long as you kept begging for more.

“fuck—” haechan’s voice cracked, hips twitching as your mouth kept taking him, sloppy and hungry. “gonna cum on your tongue, baby. don’t even think about stopping. take it. take it.”

behind you, mark’s breath was a rough growl against your ear, his grip digging harshly into your hips as he drove into you desperately.

“you feel this?” he hissed, voice shaking. “tight little cunt, soaked and squeezing the fuck out of me. you like being used like this, don’t you?”

 you moaned so hard it came out as a choke around haechan’s cock, spit and precum leaking from the corners of your mouth.

your orgasm ripped through you like a scream you couldn’t voice, your thighs shaking, core clenching so hard around mark he nearly lost it.

“fuckfuckfuck—” he groaned, ramming into you until his hips stuttered and he came deep inside you, cursing through gritted teeth as you milked every drop from him.

haechan didn’t stop. even after mark collapsed forward against your back, he kept thrusting into your mouth, hips slapping your cheeks as he muttered incoherently, “fucking angel like this… ruined slut… fuck—”

your eyes rolled back, drool spilling past your lips as he came with a loud moan. his cum flooded your mouth so fast you gagged on it. he didn’t even pull out right away but just held your head there, watching your throat work as you tried to swallow around the mess.

mark looked down, chest still heaving. “jesus,” he muttered, watching the cum drip off your chin, pooling under you. “she looks fucking destroyed.”

your body collapsed face-down across the sheets, arms trembling, legs still spread and twitching. your skin burned from the heat of them, from their hands, their mouths. and still—they weren’t done.

mark sat up slowly, eyes locked on the cum leaking down your thighs. he reached down without a word, dragged two fingers through it, and spread it back up into you.

“don’t waste it,” he muttered, his voice low, hoarse. “not after you begged for it.”

haechan was still in front of you, watching the whole thing with a lazy grin. he leaned in, wiped the mess from your chin with his thumb, and smeared it back across your lips. “open.”

you did.

he shoved his thumb in, and you sucked weakly.

“god, look at you,” he whispered, thumb still in your mouth. “so fucking pretty like this. dumb and dripping with our cum.”

mark pushed in two fingers next, fucking it deeper into the mess between your thighs. “she’s still clenching,” he said. “greedy even now.”

you whimpered into haechan’s hand, your thighs shaking again. the overstimulation was biting at the edges of your spine like static.

“she can take another,” haechan said. “can’t you, sweetheart?”

you didn’t reply fast enough so mark grabbed your jaw and turned your head. “you want us to stop?”

you blinked, dazed.

“…no.”

“then say it.”

“don’t stop,” you whispered. “please…”

haechan was behind you before you could think, spreading your ass with both hands like he was admiring a ruined piece of art. he bent down, spit pooling from his mouth and landing right on your hole before he dragged two fingers through the mess of mark’s cum still leaking out of you.

“look at this,” he muttered, spreading you wider, thumb rubbing slow circles. “she’s dripping with you, mark. you gonna let me fuck her like that?”

mark didn’t answer. he just sat back with his legs spread, cock half-hard and twitching back to life as he watched you squirm. 

“she said not to stop,” mark said finally, voice like gravel and heat. “so don’t.”

haechan lined himself up and slid in slowly until you were choking on your own moan, fingers clawing the sheets again. your body was trembling from the overstimulation but he didn’t care. not even a little. he gripped your hips and started fucking you in hard, rough strokes that made the whole bed creak.

“every sound you make is fucking delicious,” he grunted. “i'm gonna hear you when i jack off for a week straight.”

you cried out, and mark moved toward your head, grabbing your chin and lifting it.

“open your mouth,” he said. 

you did and he spit into it. it hit your tongue, thick and warm, and he didn’t even wait for you to swallow before he slid his cock between your lips.

“don’t you dare stop sucking.”

your throat was sore from taking haechan earlier and your pussy was raw from how hard you’d already been fucked—but none of that mattered. not when they were both moaning. not when mark was muttering how pretty you looked drooling around his cock. not when haechan was rutting into you like he had something to prove.

“she’s not even thinking anymore,” haechan gasped. “just moaning and crying for us—fuck, she’s perfect.”

you didn’t realize your second orgasm was coming until it hit you harder and meaner than the previous one, tearing through your overstimulated nerves until your body convulsed and your throat released a garbled cry around mark’s cock.

mark came first this time, groaning as he pulled out just in time to jerk himself off all over your face until his cum painted your cheeks, your lips, your tongue.

“look at you,” he breathed. “fuck.”

haechan came right after, buried to the hilt inside you, hips stuttering as he flooded you again. his cum mixing with mark’s cum.

you were twitching against mark’s thighs, completely fucked out.

but they didn’t even leave you alone then.

mark pulled you up so you were fully on top of his chest, and ran a thumb over your ruined lips while his other hand slid between your thighs again, fingers stroking the mess they’d made.

“you’re not done,” he whispered.

haechan leaned in from behind, kissing your neck, biting your shoulder. “we’re gonna clean you up from the inside.”

your limbs trembled, your thighs were soaked, your throat ached but your moans still came out soft and needy, like begging had become your first language.

mark’s hand moved between your legs, fingers slipping back inside you with zero mercy. your pussy twitched around him, hypersensitive, every motion making your whole body flinch—but fuck if it didn’t feel good. 

“you’re gonna cum again,” he said, more command than promise. “and again. and again. until we say you’re done.”

haechan moved on top of you, curling around you like a possessive snake.

“you hear that, baby?” he whispered “you wanted both of us… this is what that means.”

his hand snuck between your thighs, meeting mark’s fingers. two sets of fingers working inside you, scissoring, curling, fucking you through the wreckage of your last orgasm and dragging you right into the next.

you were crying now, quiet tears streaming down your cheeks as your body betrayed how good it felt. your hips rocking against their hands, head thrown against mark’s shoulder.

“good fucking girl,” mark breathed, watching your face with that reverent hunger. “look at her, haechan. she’s crying and still begging for more.”

“she’s ours,” haechan said simply, dragging his tongue along your neck, tasting the salt of your tears. “no one else gets her like this.”

and then—as if coordinated—they both moved faster.

your moans cracked into a sob, and you grabbed for mark’s arms as you came again. hard. your body shaking against his, your vision going white around the edges.

“one more,” mark muttered, watching your pussy clench and flutter around his fingers. “you can give us one more, can’t you?”

“she can,” haechan said, now sucking a bruise into your shoulder. “she’s such a good little toy.”

you couldn’t even speak. just gasps, sobs, a whimper of please—though none of you were really sure if it meant please stop or please keep going.

“we’ll stop when you can’t remember your name,” mark whispered, fingers still deep inside you.

he pulled his fingers out of you with one last deep curl, just to watch the way your hips jerked from the sudden loss.

haechan crawled down, hand on your thighs, pressing you into the mattress as he dropped to his stomach in front of your core

"be still," he licked his lips and then his tongue was on you.

licking up everything—all of it—his spit mixing with their cum, slow and messy, like he was trying to taste every second of what they'd done to you. he groaned against your cunt, burying his face between your legs as you sobbed, so overstimulated you couldn’t decide whether you were moaning or crying.

mark brushed your hair out of your face with a hand that was far too gentle for how he’d just destroyed you. he leaned down, kissed your tear-slick cheek, and whispered, “you’re doing so good, baby. letting us use you like this.”

his voice dropped lower, mouth brushing your ear now. “you’re ours. you know that, right? nothing left for anyone else. ”

you nodded. your throat too raw, and lips too bruised to speak.

“she’s clenching again,” haechan called from between your thighs, laughing, breath hot against you. “she’s about to fucking cum on my tongue.”

and fuck—you did.

your whole body jolted violently, and mark had to kiss you to keep you from screaming out. you cried into his mouth, so wet, so wrecked, and still grinding back against haechan’s mouth.

“fuck,” haechan groaned, pulling back just enough to kiss the inside of your thigh. “you taste like a dream.”

“i need to fuck you again” mark said, shifting back behind you. “slow this time. deep. so you remember my cock after tonight.”

haechan didn’t argue.

he just moved, lips dragging up your thighs  as mark pulled your hips back up.

he slid into you again and you whimpered.

"breathe, baby," he whispered. "you're okay. i've got you."

haechan curled up in front of you, kissing your mouth now, slow and messy. his hand found your throat and he squeezed softly.

you looked up at him, saw his gaze flicker over your shoulder to where mark was moving behind you. and fuck if that look wasn’t hungry.

"you two gonna keep pretending this isn’t about more than me?" you whispered, voice raw but daring. “you’ve been dying to touch each other. do it.”

mark froze, cock still buried deep. haechan didn’t blink.

you rolled your hips enough to make mark gasp—and then you turned your head and said it again.

“touch him.”

haechan’s hand slid down slowly, fingers ghosting over your thigh first… then lower… until he reached between your legs and brushed mark’s cock where it was buried inside you.

"fuck," mark grunted, voice cracking slightly.

haechan smirked, leaned over your shoulder and whispered in mark’s ears, “do you like it, lee?”

he curled his fingers around mark’s cock, still moving in and out of you, and started stroking him.  touching you and him in the same stroke. mark groaned into your skin, grip on your hips tightening.

“don’t stop,” mark gasped, voice lower than you'd ever heard it. “fuck—don’t stop.”

you moaned too, completely overwhelmed now watching the two of them break for each other.

"who knew you were this needy?" haechan taunted.

"shut up" mark groaned, hips faltering.

haechan leaned forward again, brushing his lips against mark’s jaw.

“shut me up,” he said, soft and dangerous.

mark hesitated for a second and then their mouths crashed together.

it was brutal and desperate. they kissed over your back like they were fighting for dominance, like they were starving for it.

mark kept fucking into you as they kissed, pace getting rougher now, hips snapping with every gasp. haechan kept stroking you both, his fingers moving between your clit and mark’s cock, never giving either of you a break.

haechan broke the kiss first, panting, lips swollen. “she’s gonna come again,” he muttered, fingers rubbing harder. “fuck, she’s squeezing you so tight.”

“i’m close, too” mark groaned “i’m gonna—”

you came first, clenching around both haechan’s hand and mark’s cock. your whole body spasming as the orgasm slammed through you.

mark came soon after with a gasp, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you again. he only pulled out 

haechan didn’t stop touching you. didn’t stop kissing mark. until he’d wrung every drop out of both of you.

it was quiet for a moment.

both boys still half-tangled with you, one on either side. haechan’s mouth trailed down your body, licking over bruises he’d left earlier, until he settled between your thighs again. he kissed your inner thigh, then the other, lips dragging against sensitive skin, breathing in the scent of your ruined cunt like it was perfume.

“she’s still fucking soaked,” he muttered. “how are you still this wet?”

“because she knows what’s coming,” mark said, taking your hand and guiding it to his mouth. he kissed your fingers. then your wrist. then up your arm, slow and careful.

then he sat up and lifted your upper body into his lap, turning you around and cradling you against his chest as haechan started licking long, slow strokes up your pussy again.

your legs trembled, your hands dug into mark’s thighs. you weren’t just being eaten out, you were being devoured.

“you’re gonna take us both this time,” mark grunted into your ear. “not one at a time. both.”

haechan looked up, eyes gleaming.

“ever been filled in both holes, baby?”

your breath hitched. you couldn’t speak but your body said yes.

mark shifted behind you again, this time lining himself up lower. haechan moved between your legs, stroking himself slow, teasing the head of his cock through your slick folds.

“you ready?” haechan asked, breath hot against your mouth.

you nodded.

and then they were both pushing in at the same time.

one in your pussy, one in your ass.

and fuck—you lost your mind.

your mouth dropped open in a scream you didn’t even hear. you were full in the truest, filthiest sense of the word.

they groaned in unison, both of them stilling once they were fully buried inside you.

“holy fuck,” mark gasped. “she’s so tight like this—”

“don’t move yet,” haechan hissed, eyes fluttering shut. “fuck. she’s milking us.”

but you did move. you rolled your hips, whimpering, desperate for more friction. and then they started thrusting.

together.

deep, slow, alternating, syncing like they were choreographing the destruction of your sanity.

your body jolted between them with every stroke. you were moaning, begging, babbling things you couldn’t understand. their hands were all over you—mark’s on your breasts, haechan’s on your throat, their mouths kissing every inch of you they could reach.

“this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” mark growled. “us… fucking you together.”

“she was made to take us like this.” haechan breathed, watching your eyes roll back. 

you didn’t just come this time. you broke. sobbing and clenching down on both of them as your orgasm hit like a bus. they didn’t even stop, they fucked you through it, fucked you through the twitching and the tears and the oversensitive spasms until you were just a mess of yesyesyes and pleasepleaseplease.

they came together. mark first, biting your shoulder, thrusts deep and hard. then haechan, with a strangled moan, spilling inside you with one final snap of his hips.

you didn’t know how long you were out—could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours. the world felt muted. like your body had been peeled open and left raw in the best way. your limbs wouldn’t move right. your skin was still tingling. your chest rising slowly like every breath was relearned.

mark was the first to move. he didn’t speak, just rolled you onto your side gently, cradling your body lgently. he reached for the sheets, wiped between your thighs with careful strokes, even as your legs twitched and your whole body flinched at the contact.

“you alive?” mark asked softly.

you hummed. barely.

“good,” haechan said. “because imagine explaining this to the paramedics.” he kissed your shoulder, tongue dragging over the sweat there.

you laughed—more like a broken giggle—and they both chuckled too.

mark leaned in, brushed your hair back from your face. “you okay?”

you nodded, and when you whispered “yeah,” he kissed your temple.

“you need water, or—?”

“i need to feel you again,” you said.

he blinked, then smiled fondly.

haechan slid a hand up your stomach, resting between your breasts. “she’s addicted,” he whispered, and you could feel the grin in his voice. “she’s not even cleaned up and she’s already asking for more.”

you turned your head slightly. “so stop teasing me and touch me.”

mark’s fingers were already trailing back down your side. “not to fuck you again,” he said, “not yet.”

he looked at you softly, but serious. “we’re gonna clean you up.”

haechan slipped out of bed and disappeared for a second, then came back with a warm cloth. mark took it, and the two of them cleaned your body. wiping gently between your legs, kissing the insides of your knees. haechans tongue licked along your hip just because he wanted to.

“look at this mess,” he murmured, dragging the cloth through the mixture of their cum and yours. “we fucked you so good. you’re still dripping.”

you whimpered.

mark kissed your thigh. “we’ll fill you up again,” he promised. “after you rest. after we take care of you.”

“and when you wake up,” haechan added, crawling up beside you, “you’re getting marked again, so no one even thinks about touching you.”

┈─★

the first thing you felt the next morning was heat. not the kind that fades when the blankets shift. no, this was body heat. the weight of someone’s thigh tangled with yours. the press of a chest at your back. the warm exhale of breath across your neck.

your eyes blinked open slowly.

and both of them were still in your bed.

mark was behind you, arm slung over your waist, breath warm against your shoulder. haechan was in the front, legs tangled with yours and one hand resting against the underside of your breast like he’d fallen asleep mid-grope.

mark stirred first, pressing a slow kiss to the back of your shoulder. “morning,” he mumbled, voice deep and sleep-rough.

you hummed. “you stayed.”

“of course,” he said like it was obvious.

haechan groaned, stretching. his hand slid higher and squeezed your tit without even opening his eyes. “if i’d left, i would’ve had to jerk off in the dorm thinking about this,” he muttered. “no thanks.”

you laughed softly, body curling between them. “are you always this charming in the morning?”

mark chuckled. “only when we wake up next to a gorgeous girl.”

“mm,” haechan hummed, finally opening his eyes. “speaking of…”

he pushed the blanket back and looked you over like he was unwrapping a gift.

“what?” you asked, even though you knew exactly what.

mark leaned up on one elbow, gaze sweeping from your face to the marks on your neck, down to the faint bruises on your hips. his hand brushed them lightly, almost in awe.

“we did a number on you,” he murmured.

“yeah,” you said, voice light. “you gonna apologize?”

they both smirked.

“no,” haechan said, already moving to kiss down your chest. “we’re gonna do it again.”

[vxlvted]

How do you think angry sex with Chris would go? Like, after a fight, maybe a jealousy fit? We all know he is hella respectful, but I truly believe in this case his mouth is spitting fire. The degradation is on another level, he'd say and do the most messed up shit. Of course, afterwards, he would be a puddle to your feet.

Jealous

synopsis: Chan seems to think you and Jisung are a little too close.. and he gets a little jealous…

tags: smut, afab!reader, possessive (lowkey kinda toxic chan i think. idk but he’s very possessive), degradation, unprotected sex

a/n: idk what to think of this? I lowkey hate it lol, but let me know what you think!

You, Jisung, Minho, and Chan are hanging out in Jisung and Minho’s shared dorm. You’re currently curled up on the floor near the coffee table, practically leaning into Jisung as the two of you share a ridiculous story from when you went out to eat earlier that week. His hand brushes your arm while he mimics someone’s voice and you double over laughing.

Across the room, Chan watched. He’s sat on the couch, one ankle resting on his opposite knee, jaw tight, arm sling over the back like he’s comfortable—but he’s not. His eyes flick to you, then to Jisung, then back to you again.

Your laughter is too.. free. Jisung is sat way too close. And you haven’t looked in Chan’s direction once in the past ten minutes.

He tells himself it’s nothing. You love him, not Jisung. But the way that you tilt your head at him with that soft smile, it stabs at something hot and unsettling in his chest.

You finally—finally—glance over to him. Chan’s gaze doesn’t waver. The look in his eyes is a little darker than usual, hooded and unreadable, but you don’t comment on it. You just offer a soft smile before standing up.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, the words directed more towards Jisung than him, as you head your way down the hall towards the bathroom.

The second the door closes behind you, Chan pushes himself to stand and quietly slips out of the room following right behind you. You’re halfway though washing your hands when there’s a soft knock on the door. “…It’s me.” comes Chan’s voice.

You blink, staring at the closed door.

“Can you let me in?”

Your stomach flips, you unlock the door and crack it open. Chan doesn’t wait, he pushes inside and shuts in behind him, and it locks with a click.

“What the hell was that?”

You narrow your eyes, “What was what?”

Chan scoffs, “You two were all over eachother. What the fuck was that about?”

You roll your eyes, “He’s just being nice.” Chan stops in his tracks, jaw clenched, eyes dark.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know what you were trying to do.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not allowed to laugh with our friends? Am I supposed to sit around with my head down so no one gets the wrong idea?”

“I’m not stupid. You were flirting with him.” Chan whisper-yells, keeping his voice low so that the two in the living room don’t hear him.

“I wasn’t even flirting. You’re just being insecure,”

In one second he closed the space between you two, hand gripping your jaw firmly, tilting your face so you had no choice but to meet his furious gaze.

“I’m not being insecure, but if that’s what you think, fine. But don’t you dare act like you didn’t know what you were doing in there.”

You inhale sharply as your back hits the counter. “Chan..”

He bites his lip, “I just want you to remember who you belong to.” His mouth crashes onto yours before you can even think of a response, a mix of anger, frustration and desperation. His hands grip your hips, backing you into the counter and lifting you onto the counter like you weigh nothing.

“You want attention so bad?” He hissed against your mouth, “You’re gonna get it. Every. Fucking. Inch of it.”

You gasp against his lips as the cool marble meets the backs of your thighs and he swallows it greedily. His hands are already under your shirt, skimming your waist, pressing your bodies closer.

“You think I didn’t notice the way he looked at you?” he mutters against your mouth, dragging your shirt over your head. “The way you leaned into him?”

Your jeans are gone before you even realize he’s unbuttoned them, you tug at his shirt in retaliation, teeth grazing his jaw as he yanks it over his head and throws it somewhere behind him.

One hand slips between your legs as his mouth trails down your neck, teeth grazing your skn. You squirm beneath his hands, heat pooling fast and thick into your stomach.

You’re whimpering when his hand slips under the elastic of your panties and his fingers rub against you slick folds. He smirks against your neck. “That’s right. Only I get to touch you like this, make you this wet.”

“You like making me jealous, don’t you?” he growls. “You like when I lose control over you.”

You shake your head, breath ragged as you try and grind your hips against his fingers. “I don’t—I wasn’t trying—“ You cut yourself off with a moan as he presses one finger into you. You pull him closer by the front of his hoodie to try and connect you lips again.

Chan groans in response, deep and desperate. “You’re mine,” he grits out, finger quickly thrusting in and out of you, curling every so often to hit that one spot. “Say it.”

His words were filthy and his tone was mean. You let out a strangled moan, “Yours.. I’m yours.” you whisper. But the sudden loss of his fingers as he slides them out of you makes you whine, hips instinctively changing his hand.

You barely have anytime to catch your breath when you feel him slide into you and you grip his shoulder with a loud moan.

“That’s it. Louder.”

You let out chocked moans and whimpers of his name again and again, tears begin to run down your cheeks and your voice cracks as he thrusts into you with a ruthless rhythm. “Look at you,” he groans, lifting a hand to gently wipe your tears away. “So needy for me now.”

You bite your lip when you feel his tip graze onto your sweet spot, tucking your head down to his shoulder. His fingers tangle in your hair to pull your head back up.

“Don’t hide now, baby. You wanted this. Acting like a brat all night so that i’ll fuck you like this, yeah?” You shakily nod against his neck in response.

He gives a sharp tug that pulls a loud moan from your lips. So much for trying to be quiet, there’s no way they didn’t hear that, but at the moment, you couldn’t care less.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Good girl. Let everyone hear you, baby.” His voice send a shiver down your spine. He shifts slightly, adjusting your legs so that your thighs are wrapped tightly around his waist. The new angle has him driving harder and deeper into you, and you can help but grind your hips down against him, desperate to meet every thrust.

His hand grips your hips, holding you in place like he’s afraid you’d disappear. Every thrust is rough, angry, desperate. He makes you feel every word, every breath.

You voice starts to falter a bit and your legs tremble around him. “You gonna cum for me?” he groans into your ear, “Cum on my dick baby, c’mon.”

You let out a moan and your body trembles with your release. Chan keeps thrusting into you as your legs fall slack around him, no longer able to hold themselves up. “Please—too much.” You whine as your nails dig into his arms. “Chan—“

“You can take it. Just a little more.” He grunts. Each snap of his hips sending an overwhelming wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You feel the pace of his hips falter against you and his voice cracks with each hushed moan that escapes his lips.

“Fuck. I’m so close-“ he breathes. You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a desperate kiss, the two of you swallowing each moan that escapes each others lips.

“Come inside me.. please,” You whimper against his lips. Chan lets out a strained grunt in response, his thrusts growing faster, more desperate as he chases his own pleasure. One hand drops between your bodies, and his fingers rub at your clit in harsh, relentless circles. The overstimulation makes your breath hitch and you cry out as you feel another climax quickly building.

His hips still, and you feel him twitch inside you as spurts of warm cum begin to coat your walls. The sensation of him releasing inside you sends you spiraling all over, and your climax crashes over you as your legs tremble against the counter.

There’s a long silence filled with nothing other but the sound of your heavy breathing. Then you feel his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you close.

“I.. You know I didn’t mean that right?” Chan murmurs into your neck, voice hoarse and wrecked with emotion. “I was just…fuck. I was jealous. I’m sorry. I took it out on you, and I shouldn’t have.”

You don’t answer right away, your body still trembling. You finger find their way into his hair, gently threading through the strands. “I know,” you whisper. “But really, I wasn’t trying to do anything.”

He pulls back enough just to look at you, guilt flooding his eyes. “I know, I know. I just.. the thought of anyone even looking at you like that, touching you..” He trails off, jaw clenching as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“It messes with my head.” He admits softly, “But it’s not your fault. I just can’t lose you. Even though I know the kids would never.. the thought of someone else even trying just—I’m sorry.”

“You’re not gonna lose me.” Your voice is a bit hoarse, but there’s no hesitation in it. The reassurance seems to calm him a bit and he nods. He finally pulls out, breathing still a bit shaky. His fingers lazily trace your thigh as he watches, completely hypnotized as a slow, messy is of both yours and his cum begins to slowly drip out of you and down onto the counter.

“Fuck..” he mutters, low and gravelly, thumb brushing your inner thigh, almost in awe. “Look at that…”

You chest still rises and falls with each shaky breath you take as you glance down than back up to watch as he steps away and grabs some tissue for you (and to clean the counter).

You smirk, “You think Jisung will be mad that we fucked in his bathroom?”

Chan lets out a breathy laugh and his eyes flicker to yours. He leans forward, kissing your collarbone.

“Oops,” he murmurs, voice low and smug and clearly not sorry in the slightest.

“It’s no secret, i’m sure they heard,” His words send a flush down your neck. “I’ll just turn the fan on when we leave.”

You laugh, quiet and breathlessly, taking the tissue he offers you to clean yourself up while he cleans the counter.

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