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coldvirginbitch · 3 months ago

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Was Hotch Abused?

I offer you my 2,300+ worded thoughts on the matter with episodes included. There's going to be lots and lots of talk about abuse so you're going to want to steer clear of that if that's something you're not cool with but for those of you interested... I give you all the proof I could think of:

Natural Born Killer.

In the eighth episode of the first season, “Natural Born Killer”, we meet Vincent Perrotta. His father was abusive but from the outside looking in, no one knew a thing. Perrotta started drinking at fourteen and committed petty crimes, as well as assault, for pleasure. Going as far as to kill his own father not too long after. But Perrotta is a monster and a psychopath so it’s clear we’re not supposed to sympathize which makes his interaction with Hotch so peculiar.

Hotch is our “Captain America”. A true neutral with an infinity for doing what’s right so it’s inconceivable to compare him to Perrotta and yet Hotch gives us some rather conflicting lines to dissect.

Before Gideon hands the interview over to Hotch, he spends a moment talking with the others out in the bullpen. The whole time he’s leaned back and he’s watching Morgan and Hotch. Now, at this point, we don’t know about the sexual abuse Derek Morgan faced at the hands of Carl Buford but there’s something about the way that Gideon spends the entirety of the conversation only looking at the two of them. Waiting for them to put together what he clearly already has and when Hotch does…

Hotch jumps straight into Perrotta’s profile, asking: “You grew up in a house that looked normal and happy, didn’t you Vincent?”, “But your father beat you every chance he got”

Perrotta excuses it with a shrug, “he smacked me around some, didn’t everybody’s old man?”

Abuse is a complicated thing and, often, abused children just don’t know what their parents are doing to them is abuse. It can be a subtle and outright thing but there’s an element of normalcy to it. The parent’s abuse is as habitual, as minimal as biting your nails to the child. Adults often can’t identify their parent’s past abuse.

With Hotch you learn that his lack of expression is often as telling as his expressions and as Hotch looks back at Perrotta, there’s something so sad about his eyes. His voice goes from loud, assertive to his whispered answer to Perrotta’s question. “No.” As if, well, maybe that’s a question he’d raised once too.

Perrotta doesn’t care about that though and he taunts “well, maybe if yours had you would have learned to fight”. But is it not more telling that Hotch didn’t make a sound? Perrotta got in several hits and the only sound Hotch made was when the wind was literally punched out of him. Not even when Gideon called to him and at that point, Perrotta did not the garrote around Hotch’s throat. That’s another thing mentioned before in the profile and something Hotch mentions to Perrotta directly. You learn to take the beatings, smile even. So, it’s just a little odd how little Hotch responded…

But that’s all nothing, you can take that how you want

Which leads us to the fateful, not everyone comment.

"You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent. When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive and violent household... it's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers"

That can’t mean NOTHING, there’s so much there but there’s something about Hotch’s subtle wording. The way he’s unconsciously slipped himself in there (a very real thing that people do) and he hasn’t even realized it. Doesn’t even know he’s done it until Perrotta pushes and he pauses, asks what Perrotta means. And the subtly of it, the way he doesn’t even mean to that says more than anything else.

“And some people grow up to catch them.”

It’s a super-specific comment to make. He can’t possibly be talking about Derek because he doesn’t even know about Carl Buford yet not to mention saying that about him would be incredibly rude if he were talking about Reid (and again, he doesn’t know about Reid’s childhood yet). So… that really only leaves him because JJ, Garcia, and Elle were not abused.

“P911”

In season two, episode two “P911” the team is hunting down a man trying to sell a young boy, Peter, on the black market. Kevin Rose is an underage boy “selling” himself on the internet while his abusive father has been in prison. I’ll let you just guess who it is that leads the team on finding out more about Kevin.

Your guess is more than likely right-- Morgan and Hotch. Now, we know about Morgan but come on. Nothing to say about it being Hotch who makes the emotional appeal?

The camera even follows his gaze, he’s crouched down (to appear non-threatening because he’s so close) and we watch his eyes take in the scars on Kevin’s chest. You can also note that while Gideon remarks that Kevin’s father was “always drunk, you never knew why he was hurting you, why he was so angry” both Kevin and Hotch look away from him.

AND FUCKING TRY AND TELL ME THE “some grow up to catch them” LINE WAS NOTHING TRY BECAUSE GUESS WHAT GIDEON SAYS? NO, NO GUESS--

Gideon: “At night you’d cry yourself to sleep hoping someone would come and save you”

And it’s HOTCH, HOTCH IS THE ONE TO SAY: “You have the chance to be the one who saves someone, Kevin. You can be the one who answers him, the one who stops his pain.”

PARALLELS PEOPLE THE PARALLELS

“Profiler, Profiled”

I bet you weren’t expecting this one, huh? But there’s something about people who faced trauma that makes it so perceptible to other traumatized people-- they sniff it out like coke to a drug hound. And, just guess, who it is that spends the majority of his time fighting with Morgan? Who knows (like I said about the bloodhound) immediately there is something Morgan’s hiding.

Hotch is angry, he’s upset that Morgan would hide anything. Mumbling about there being “larger implications” and how the team can’t have secrets. With the knowledge of exactly what that secret is it makes Gideon’s eye roll a little telling. Because it’s like they both know but neither will say. Driven home by Gideon turning the attention to Hotch, asking “would you want us profiling you?”

And again Hotch is the one to leap onto the abuse. The one to put the pieces together. Hotch’s anger makes no sense. He says he’s angry that Derek’s keeping a secret but the team has many, way too many. Over the years the team unwraps all kinds of secrets, he’s never angry then. So, it’s not about the implication of a secret at all. It’s what the secret is, like misplaced anger. Anger with himself may be leftover from his own abuse. But still…

Hotch lets Morgan escape. Knows exactly who and what Carl Buford is but all he tells the team is that “he won’t even speak about him”. He always knows how to find the abuse… like I said, a bloodhound.

George Foyet

I know you’re going to find this so fucking surprising but guess who also was abused? George Foyet was beaten by his biological father and his mother didn’t save him so he hates women (bleh, men are disgusting what’s knew).

Now, blah, blah, blah Hannah, I know you’re not about to say Foyet and Hotch are a lot alike-- no of course not. Don’t be silly. What I’m going to say is that they’re foil characters? They accent one another in an opposites sort of way. Foyet is a manipulative narcissist who doesn’t work well with others. Hotch is a guilt-ridden team leader who can’t let The Reaper’s case go. There are meant to be comparisons drawn between them. A good villain does that. George Foyet shows us that Hotch is not at all this removed, cool guy that we’ve previously assumed him to be. He cries in an alley because he blames himself when The Reaper kills a busload of people.

We see he has a rather compulsive nature. He never let The Reaper case go and has very personal ties in this case. Not even after Foyet attacks him, if anything it’s worse. He brings the case file home.

But it’s certainly interesting to see yet another “villain” with that same tragic abusive father and submissive mother come into play with Hotch. We’re nearing a point where it’s getting hard to call it coincidence (and according to David Rossi, there simply is not such thing).

Haunted.

In the second episode of the fifth season, “Haunted”, Hotch voice’s over a Dickinson quote: “One need not be a chamber to be haunted, One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing. Material place.” These quotes are often cheesy, if not a little cliché, but given the premise of this episode is in exploring the ways in which a man’s traumatic childhood has left him now grappling for a truth he can not define… well, maybe we can say the writers were onto something here.

Darrin Call, debatably the Unsub of “Haunted”, was abused by an alcoholic father. We see several signs of it throughout the episode-- Darrin’s delayed speech & severe neglect that leaves Darrin in dirty, hole-riddled clothing. If what we see is not enough, the reports that the team is given on Darrin explicitly state that he was extremely physically abused. It is this abuse that leads to the PTSD that he’s diagnosed with.

As sad and disheartening as Darrin Call’s life is, overall it’s the sort of episode that is forgotten over time. When it’s placed right after the episode that viewers have to watch Hotch say goodbye to Haley and Jack then, who is Darrin Call when compared to the agony of watching Hotch show genuine weakness? After watching Hotch lay in a hospital bed, tears in his eyes wondering if his son will remember him? His fears become our own and after watching George Foyet disarm and mutilate the one guy we’ve been led to believe for five seasons is infallibly, unflinchingly never going to break… well, Darrin Call has it bad but our focus is elsewhere.

It’s on Hotch, right?

The guy who is coming back to the job after only a month (and a day) off to recover. Who Morgan worries might have PTSD but he knows they can’t easily measure because Hotch wrote the questionnaire, he knows all the right answers. Who we see has had new locks installed since the attack and has Foyet’s file sitting open on a table for easy access. Who hears Darrin Call’s life (worked the same job without promotion for years before getting fired, no wife, no kids, a hermit) and bluntly asks why Darrin hasn’t just killed himself.

And let’s just take a moment to break down that comment. Hotch, who in the episode previously lost his wife and child, wants to know why a man who is steadily starting to sound a lot like him hasn’t just killed himself.

And I don’t say “sounds a lot like him” lightly.

Darrin Call has PTSD. Hotch, more than likely, has PTSD

Here are some signs just from that episode: hostility (he yelled at Garcia over something very small), self-destructive behavior (he ran into Darrin Call’s father’s house without a vest, back-up, or telling the other’s what he was doing), and guilt (blamed himself for missing the eye twitching Darrin exhibited because of his years of antipsychotic use)

Darrin Call was abused… this marks the second HEAVILY implied time that Hotch has been compared to another man abused by his father

Vincent Perrotta was the first with that hard to forget the exchange

George Foyet and his notably exactly the same past as Perrotta

“Haunted” feels like it’s supposed to prove to the audience that Hotch is losing it. He distances himself from Morgan, leaving every room that Morgan is in. He doesn’t pick up Garcia’s calls after Darrin Call attacks his therapist. The only glimpse we see of the old Hotch is with Emily, pulled to the side, but his guilt burns and he even brushes her off. Shaking his head and turning his back to her because somehow he should have seen something no one else did.

Throw in Reid’s comment about Call “victims are often drawn to the scene of their first trauma” and we’re painfully reminded of Hotch’s apartment. A place you’d think he’d want to escape but didn’t. The man was stabbed nine times in his own apartment and stayed in that same place. Almost sounds like that statement could be applied to Hotch too.

A dash of Hotch’s own comment about where Call would go to in his confusion and he says “to what he knows”, even the importance of how that orphanage is “where he became Darrin Call”. Where does Hotch go? What does Hotch know? The job.

So… we tally now three total Unsubs that Hotch has this direct relationship with. Three Unsubs with abusive fathers and mothers who couldn’t protect them. Hmm… coincidence?

Brothers Hotchner

Supervisor Special Agent Hotchner is a master of hiding, that is undeniable. It’s hard to see anything behind those furrowed brows and impersonal suits and that’s likely for a reason. However, anyone with a little sibling can tell you that no one on this Earth can and will annoy the ever-loving shit out of you like a sibling.

But that’s not really important. Sean and Hotch don’t talk about their parents. At all. Ever.

Hotch says that when Sean was in the first grade he got sent off to boarding school. “I was the screw-up making bad choices”. Interesting enough of a statement to make but you throw in the rough ages of Sean and Hotch at that time and it’s a little more than just “interesting”. You have Hotch at roughly 14-15 getting into trouble just like Morgan did at that same age (coincidence???).

(now you can certainly look at Hotch’s parentification vs. Sean’s immaturity doubled with substance abuse problems but we’d be stretching. “The Tribe” touches on the parentification but Sean just calls it “the big brother” thing and tells Hotch that he’s not Sean’s father and it’s fine it’s whatever. Hotch is a bit pushy. That’s not new. Substance abuse can just be a problem, it doesn’t have to be bc they were abused but again… a little coincidental)

So... was Aaron Hotchner abused as a child? I certainly think so

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coldvirginbitch · 3 months ago

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there's something so fascinating about the physicality of Hotch. he's tall, strongly built, and he uses that, he's commanding. he's loud, his voice carries well, but he's rarely violent. he's a clean shot, he's steady. that drops when he's not in charge of a situation. his voice gets the softest of anyone on the team. he moves stiltedly. stands awkwardly, like he's trying to shrink - he makes himself look smaller. he fidgets but it's isolated to areas of his body, the rest of him freezes. when he loses control he tears down to bone. screaming in the face of fire, beating Foyet to death. inherent violence tamped down and down. and you know it's there, when he's physically commanding, but it's not far away even when he's not.

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coldvirginbitch · 3 months ago

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The suit stays on.

Warnings: smut, inappropriate use of superhero suit, marks kinda mean at the end

Pairing: Mark x afab reader

@sobbingscripter TYSM for the idea 😽😽

You were bored out of your mind, your midterms having just finished and Mark currently doing his last one. William had already completed his, and was staying at Ricks private dorm, though that was the norm.

You were bored out of your mind, and what else was there to do when bored than to find some more of your boyfriend’s clothes to steal? You flipped through his items, moving past Seance dog T-shirts and other comic book merchandise, your eyes widening as they caught something tucked away in between his hoodies and jeans.

His invincible suit.

You knew exactly what you had to do. You’d always wonder how tight the damn thing would be, seeing as it hugged Mark like a second skin. You giggled to yourself, wondering what his reaction would be if he saw you in this.

Stripping, you squeezed yourself into it, the suit catching your body as you pulled it up, up, up… and you were in. You grabbed the mask and pulled it over your face, adjusting your hair around it.

You walked into the bathroom to admire yourself, the way the thing clung onto you, the way it accentuates your features, when suddenly you heard a voice coming from inside the room.

“Babe, I’m back!”

You panicked, wondering what Mark would think if he saw you playing around with his invincible suit. You didn’t want him to think you thought it was a joke, like he didn’t save lives out there in this thing.

Fumbling, you hurriedly tried to get the damn thing off but it just wouldn’t budge. How the hell did he take this off everyday?

“Just a second!” You yelled out, still messing with the suit, trying and failing to get it off you, when he burst into the bathroom.

“Here you are, I’ve missed you so much—”

His eyes trail down your body. Then back up to your face, where the mask was covering everything but your mouth, to your disheveled hair, then back down your body.

You swallow, about to explain yourself when you see that Mark’s got that dark look in his eyes. Like he just can’t wait to lay you down and eat you alive. You just stared at him, dumbfounded, never having imagined that this was the kind of reaction it would have elicited from him.

He’s biting his lip, the black in his eyes blown out, and you just know you’re in for it. He’s inching closer, breaths tumbling out unevenly, and you can see the large tent he’s sporting in his pants.

“Are you… into this?” You ask, watching as he moves closer and closer, until he’s got you pinned against the sink.

He doesn’t answer, instead leaning in and capturing your mouth in a kiss. It starts light, with him pecking your lips. And it’s short and sweet, until it isn’t.

He deepens the kiss, hand coming up to your jaw and angling you the way he sees fit. He pushes his tongue against yours, sucking and biting as he pleases. You feel his hard-on rubbing against your thigh, humping you as he takes his fill.

When the both of you can no longer breathe, he releases you, exhaling a “Fuck. Y'look so sexy."

You smile at him as he pushes his hand through his hair, eyes roving over you, like it’s too much and not enough at the same time.

Mark's fingers can’t seem to stay still. He’s pawing at your hips, your breasts, down to your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh in his hands.

“Mark… please…” you’re begging, and you don’t even know what for.

He’s whimpering, saccharine sounds coming out of his mouth and flowing into your ears, and you feel yourself get wetter. And with his Viltrumite senses, you know he does too.

He picks you up like it’s easy for him, which it is, and carries you out of the bathroom, throwing you onto his bed. He pulls his shirt off, but as you go to try once again to pull off his suit, he stops you, grabbing your wrists.

“The suit stays on.” Is all he says. And you almost cum right there from the look in his eyes. He almost rips his pants and boxers off, tumbling into bed on top of you and resuming his kisses on the lower half of your face.

It’s almost unlike him, the way he’s gripping your hips. You often had quickies here and there, in between classes at his dorm or yours, so you were familiar with how impatient he could get but this was just downright desperate.

And then, without warning, he rips a hole into the suit where your crotch is. You stared at the tatters of blue, yellow and black left on the bed, wondering how he was going to explain that to Art.

But before you can even say anything, he reaches down, spitting on your leaking cunt and pushing two fingers in. You arch your back, moaning his name as he unrelentingly finger fucks you. You feel your first orgasm wash over you, coming in waves as he takes you through it.

Mark pulls out his fingers and sucks them clean, mouth moving down to suck your nipples through the suit. You can feel his cock brushing against your aching center, and although you’re sensitive, you find yourself begging for it.

“Markkk, need you in me”

He pushes himself back onto his heels, admiring you all sprawled out and needy, before he grabs the base of his cock and pushes into you.

He’s rutting into you, so deep and delicious and you can’t even think but you can hear him, chuckling, feel his smirk as he mouths against your chin.

“Fuck… look so good wearing my suit… like it was made for you” And he’s pushing deeper into you, cock kissing your cervix with each punctuated word.

You’re drooling, eyes rolling to the back of your skull and thoughts all gone. You can feel yourself getting close, the feeling slowly building up, but can’t tell him, any words that try to come out sounding like mindless blabbers.

“Too fucked out to speak? Wanna be a superhero but can’t even take my dick” He says, and you’re wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him in impossibly closer.

Oh, how you loved it when he was mean.

If wearing his suit got him this riled up, you’d have to do it again.

Note: this is my first time writing smut so please give me pointers, let me know what I’m missing, let me know what you liked ;) my asks are also open so you guys can send me ideas over there. it also kinda ended abruptly idkkk i feel like this sucks 😭😭😭

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coldvirginbitch · 4 months ago

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tw cannibalism

Sukuna would definitely eat your corpse after you die. No, he's not desecrating you. He simply does not want your body to bear his burdens any longer. You did not need to share his burdens anymore as that is what had gotten you killed.

Burying you meant someone would defile you. Disturb you. Use your corpse against him because at the end of the day, humans and sorcerers alike would do anything to break the wretched four eyed demon that brings chaos and destruction where ever he went.

He doesn't cook you. Prefers to eat you raw to savor your exquisite taste. He would take his time to savor each bite. His mind replaying each and every memory he had spend with you as he chews on your flesh slowly. From the day he had met you to the day he had lost you.

He saves your heart for the last and when he sinks his teeth into the organ, he thinks back to the time you had taken his large hand into your smaller ones and placed it against your chest, showing him just how wildly your heart beats for him.

I love you. You had admitted to him shyly.

And then nothing but a deep pool of blood remains on the futon the two of you had shared together as Sukuna looks up and gazes at the forest from the parted shoji screen of his bedroom.

The silence is deafening.

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coldvirginbitch · 4 months ago

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Heels of Dreams

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: you wear heels for a fancy dinner, but in the end, it’s not your shoes that carry you home. warnings: suggestive, fluff, hotch being the perfect man once again by carrying reader home and taking off her heels, age gap implied, reader giving hotch a hard time about being old. (all i hear is hotch is a boobs man, hotch is an ass man no! hotch is a legs man! he told me himself!) word count: 2k ✧ masterlist

Your feet ached – so much so that you weren’t even surprised when Reid, probably fed up with your quiet whining, casually mentioned over dinner that high heels were originally invented for men. And honestly? That made perfect sense. Only creatures that ridiculous would willingly subject themselves to this kind of torture.

He had then launched into an explanation about how, somewhere in the eighteenth century, heels became associated with women’s fashion, but by that point, you were far too focused on two things to pay attention: the persistent throb in your feet and the slow, deliberate movement of Aaron’s hand as it slid over to rest on your thigh.

That had effectively wiped out any interest in Reid’s history lesson.

It had been a small dinner, one of those rare nights where the girls – Penelope, really – insisted on dressing up. She had made a reservation somewhere far fancier (and significantly less sticky) than your usual bar, declaring it a much-needed change of scenery.

So, you had picked out the prettiest pair of shoes you owned – the ones you knew Aaron liked because he had insisted on buying them for you. He hadn’t even flinched when the price climbed high enough to require a comma, just given you that quiet, unwavering look that made it clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

And now, after hours of balancing on them, you were really hoping that look extended to carrying you to the couch.

“Regretting your choice of footwear?”

You huffed, dramatically shifting your weight onto one leg. “I regret your choice of footwear.”

His brow lifted. “Mine?”

“You picked these out, remember?” You gestured toward your aching feet, the expensive, unreasonably gorgeous shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of your dress. “You practically demanded I get them.”

Aaron hummed, slowing his pace just enough to make you aware of how much effort you were putting into keeping up. The ass. “I don’t recall any demanding,” he said, tone far too innocent. “I seem to remember you trying them on and looking at me like you were hoping I’d tell you to buy them.”

You gasped, stopping in your tracks. “That is not what happened.”

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable – except for the glint in his eyes, the one that only appeared when he was in the mood to toy with you. “No?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No.”

He paused for a moment before asking, “Which one is it going to be?”

“Huh?

“Do you want to walk home in my shoes,” he clarified, like he was offering you something as normal as his jacket, “or am I carrying you?”

You stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was actually serious. “You can’t just carry me,” you argued, crossing your arms.

Aaron arched a brow and before you could react, he took a deliberate step forward, closing the space between you. “You underestimate me,” he said and suddenly, you were very aware of how close he was.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you can – I just don’t think you should.”

His lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. “Why not?”

“Because it’s ridiculous.”

“You’re limping,” he pointed out, not unkindly. “And you’re already dramatic when you’re comfortable, I can’t imagine how much I’ll have to hear about this tomorrow if I don’t carry you.”

“Jeez, you’re making me sound like a real catch.”

His smirk deepened just enough to make your breath hitch. “You are,” he said simply, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “That’s why I’m carrying you.”

And before you could even form a protest, his arms were around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

A surprised yelp escaped your lips as he adjusted his hold, settling you securely in his arms, carrying you like you were weightless. The absurdity of it all – his confidence, the way he did it without hesitation, the sheer ridiculousness of being carried down the street like some sort of Disney princess – sent you into a fit of laughter.

“This is silly,” you managed between giggles, clinging to his shoulders. “Baby, put me down, I’ll walk barefoot.”

“Not happening.” His grip on you tightened, as if the very thought of letting you go was out of the question.

You let out another giggle, looping your arms around his neck for balance – not that you needed to, because Aaron held you like you were made for this, like carrying you home was just another part of his routine. Like it didn’t even require effort.

“Well, at least it’s not too far,” you mused, mid-yawn. “Wouldn’t want you throwing your back out.”

Aaron huffed out a laugh, the warmth of it brushing against your temple. “My back is fine. I think I can manage a few blocks.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, a teasing smile curling at your lips. “You think you can manage? Should I be concerned?”

“I should drop you just for that.”

Your eyes widened in mock horror, gripping his shoulders a little tighter. “You wouldn’t.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a smile “Wouldn’t I?”

Still, you gasped dramatically, clutching him even tighter. “Wow. Threatening to drop your much younger wife? That’s low.”

He sighed, the kind of long-suffering exhale that only came from years of dealing with you. “Here we go.”

You bit back a grin, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I mean, I get it – you’re not as young as you used to be. It must be exhausting carrying someone so full of youthful energy.”

“You do realize I’ve tackled suspects more than twice your size, right?”

“Yes, yes, very impressive,” you conceded with a wave of your hand. “But, you know, they don’t cling to you and distract you with conversation while you’re carrying them.”

“No, usually they’re either trying to stab or shoot me.”

You blinked, considering that. “And I’m the difficult one?”

Aaron didn’t bother dignifying your last remark with a response, he just shook his head, adjusting his grip on you. The movement brought you even closer and you could feel his warmth bleeding into you. If you weren’t still revelling in the absolute delight of being carried, you might’ve admitted that this had been your plan all along.

Eventually, the familiar sight of your apartment building came into view, and you sighed dramatically. “Well, we made it. Against all odds. How’s your back? Need me to book you a chiropractor?”

“Maybe a divorce attorney,” he mumbled, earning a swat at his chest from your clutch.

“Excuse me?”

But before you could demand a proper retraction, he angled you slightly, adjusting his hold so effortlessly it was almost infuriating, and you barely had time to react before he nodded toward the door.

“Kick,” he instructed.

Rolling your eyes but obliging anyway, you lifted a foot and tapped the door open, muttering, “Chivalry is dead.”

“Chivalry is alive and well,” he corrected smoothly, stepping inside with you still securely in his arms. “It’s just carrying a very mouthy woman up the stairs.”

You gasped again, scandalized. “Wow. I think that definitely just earned you a night on the couch.”

“We both know you’d end up joining me anyway. In fact,” he mused, his voice dropping as he carried you up the stairs, “I recall you saying that the best sex we’ve ever had was on that couch.”

Your mouth snapped shut, heat rushing to your cheeks so fast it was disorienting.

“You cannot just say things like that,” you hissed, your head whipping toward the door opposite yours. “We have neighbours. You know Agatha is a night owl.”

Aaron exhaled a quiet chuckle, completely unfazed. “Agatha’s hard of hearing.” He paused then added, “Keys, honey.”

With a dramatic sigh, you started digging through your clutch, fingers sifting through a graveyard of lip glosses and tiny perfume samples you had no intention of ever using but refused to throw away.

Aaron tilted his head, watching with mild amusement. “Need some help?”

“I’ve got it,” you muttered, ignoring his deeply unnecessary smirk as you fished out your keys. “Not all of us have the luxury of bottomless suit pockets.”

“That’s not what they’re called.”

“Whatever, Mary Poppins.”

He shook his head as he patiently waited for you to unlock the door – still very much carrying you.

Finally, your fingers closed around the keys, and with an exaggerated motion, you yanked them out. Aaron hummed, the sound low and pleased, before lowering you just enough so you could reach the lock.

The door swung open and he carried you inside, kicking it shut behind him. He made his way over to the infamous couch. The moment he set you down, you let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, stretching out dramatically. “Ugh. My hero,” you drawled. “My feet may never recover, but at least I died beautifully.”

You watched as he crossed the room with that same grace, making his way back toward the door. He slid off his suit jacket, draping it neatly over the back of a chair before reaching for the lock.

He made his way back over to you without a word, nudging your legs apart just enough to settle between them, sinking onto his knees. His fingers went immediately to the delicate strap of your heels, the pads of his thumbs brushing against your skin as he worked.

“Wow. Didn’t even have to ask.”

Aaron barely glanced up, his focus on your ankle as he did his best to undo the tiny buckle – one-handed, no less, because his phone and wallet were still in his grip. “I take care of what’s mine.”

Your stomach did a little flip, but you refused to let him win just yet.

“Hold these.” He pressed his phone and wallet against your stomach, and you took them instinctively.

Your fingers brushed over the wallet – the one you had given him for his birthday last year, the worn leather soft and familiar against your palm. You turned it over in your hand, shaking your head. “Oof. Trusting me with your wallet? Big mistake, Hotchner.”

He slipped the first shoe off your foot. “Spend whatever you want,” he murmured, his fingers wrapping around your ankle, lifting it slightly. “Take whatever you want. Take everything.”

Before the words could even land, he dipped his head and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your ankle. His lips continued to trail lower, placing another kiss just above the curve of your foot, then another, his movements achingly tender.

You exhaled a quiet, contented moan, your body melting into the cushions as his touch worked its magic. It was like he knew – of course he knew – the exact places that hurt, the spots that had been aching for hours, and now, with nothing more than his lips, his touch, his presence, he was undoing all of it.

Like he needed to make it better.

Like he wanted to erase every trace of discomfort you’d felt all night.

His hands skimmed up your calves, pushing your dress up, fingertips pressing gently into the sore muscles before his thumbs followed, kneading warmth back into you.

Then, with that same patient care, he reached for your other foot, undoing the second buckle. The strap slipped free and he set the shoe aside before his hands returned to you, skimming up the length of your legs.

And then his mouth followed. Kissing. Worshipping.

His lips trailed over your shin, each kiss pressing something deeper into you – something that made your chest feel full.

His breath was warm against your thigh when he mumbled, “Marry me, baby.”

You blinked down at him, another giggle slipping from your lips, light and breathless. “Aaron, we’re already married.”

You felt him smile against your skin.

“Marry me again.”

Another kiss.

“And again.”

Another.

“And again.”

Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging it slightly, your heart stuttering as warmth curled deep in your stomach.

He looked up then, eyes full of love, lips hovering just above your skin.

“As many times as you’ll have me.”

And just like that, you knew – you’d say yes to him a thousand times over.

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coldvirginbitch · 4 months ago

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aaron hotchner who takes you from behind with a big, warm hand between your shoulder blades to keep you bent over his usually crisply made bed. a thumb drags up and down the line of your spine as he hushes your whimpers. you're trying to be quiet, you really are, but his cock is thick and insistent and heavy, stretching and filling you until every step tomorrow will remind you of its shape

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coldvirginbitch · 4 months ago

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coldvirginbitch · 4 months ago

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how do you think Aaron and reader who are married, react to both being called ‘Agent Hotchner’ and they both answer? That’s so cute, I could just imagine Derek smirking and Rossi having a proud dad moment

the hotchners

AHHH I LOVE THAT cw; bau!reader, established relationship, typical cm case talk, playful banter/fluff 🥰

"The unsub is devolving, they’re getting more reckless," Derek thought aloud, clicking his pen in hand. "He dumped the last victim in a public place, rather than the usual, secluded spot."

"They're losing control." You inputted in agreement, your eyes darting across the conference room table to him.

Aaron leaned down on the table, still standing, but with his palms pressed against the surface. He was next to you, and this stance allowed him to be ever so slightly closer. Your heart warmed by his proximity, as any displays of affection were at a minimum when in the field. You were happy he was just close by. "The next victim will probably be someone they can’t control-"

"Agent Hotchner?" A voice came from behind, hindering the conversation.

"Yes?" Both of you answered swiftly, out of habit, though it was a new habit for you. Your tickled eyes met Aaron's, your nose scrunched up slightly in amusement.

Derek grinned, swiveling back and forth in his chair in observance. Rossi raised his hand to his mouth casually, concealing a chuckle.

The voice in question, one of the local police department's officers, even hesitated himself, as if he didn't know which Hotchner he were to rely the information to.

As soon as you and Aaron got engaged, the discussion of whether or not you'd take his last name was on the table. To avoid confusing situations like these, or to prevent any reputable prejudices. It was rare, but every so often you received grimaces from bystanders, both in the field and in the office back home. Marrying your boss? Either tremendously romantic or something to be frowned upon.

But in the end it was unanimous; you wanted his last name, and as did Aaron. It was even more important to him. A symbol of a bond he couldn’t wait to share with you; an acknowledgment of the life you were about to build together. You and him. The Hotchners.

"Uh- sorry to interrupt. The victim's fiancé is here for their interview. They're waiting in interrogation." He stammered, his gaze switching between the two of you.

"Thank you. We'll send someone in shortly." Aaron replied, politely dismissing the officer. He kept his trained demeanor, but you could hear the laughter underneath his voice.

As his footsteps trailed away, you nudged Aaron, humorously bumping your shoulder into his upper arm.

He kept his gaze on the files laid on the table, his lips spread in a soft smile as he slowly shook his head.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Dave." He didn't even need to look up.

"Hey!" Dave commented, his tone light as he spoke. He held up his hands in surrender, but that didn't diminish from the proud gleam in his eyes; it also happened to be the same one he had adorned on your wedding day. "I didn't say a thing."

"Oh, but it's written all over your face." You quipped also, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

"Just when I thought the two of you couldn't be any more married." Derek rolled his eyes, playfully as his lips pulled back into a grin. "What's next? Have you mastered the art of the ‘yes honey’ yet, or is that still a work in progress?"

"Please, that was perfected before we got married." Aaron remarked as he relaxed his posture, straightening up. He flashed a smile in your direction, speaking over Morgan's cackle. "Isn't that right, honey?"

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coldvirginbitch · 4 months ago

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Backseat Tension

A cramped car, too little space, and Mark’s lap becomes your seat.

You don't even remember how it happened or how the hell you ended up in Mark's lap. Something about there not being enough space, and him saying “You can just sit here.” Like it was no big deal.

The car ride was cramped, squished in the back with bags and boxes from Rick helping William move into his new college dorm. You tried to squeeze into a corner, but there wasn't enough room. Not with all the stuff piled in the backseat. Boxes of books, bags of clothes, and a few random things that Rick hadn't packed right. The space was a mess, leaving you no choice but to sit on Mark’s lap.

Now here you are.

Stuffed in the backseat, on his thighs. Not only that.

It's hot.

No windows down, no nothing. The Ac in the front is blasting but you couldn't feel it, but you could feel his hands resting low on your waist. His breath warm against the side of your neck.

And every bump in the road has you feeling him.

The tension is insane.

You try not to move and ignore the way his thighs shifted beneath you. Your shorts are definitely not doing a good job of separating the two of you.

You feel him,

God, you feel everything.

Ignoring those dirty thoughts of what would happen if you just had five minutes alone. Ignoring how his hands have slid a little lower or how his fingers twitch, like he's fighting every instinct not to pull you closer. His lips ghosting over your shoulder, just enough to make you shiv–

“Is everything good back there?” William’s voice suddenly cuts through the silence.

You froze

Mark stiffens under you.

You sit up straight, way too fast. “Y-Yeah! All good! Great, even.”

Rick glances as William with a sly smirk. “You sure? Kinda quiet back there..” You swear you hear William snort.

Mark pressed his face into your shoulder, biting back a groan. “They know,” he mutters under his breath.

You whisper, “Do you have to be this close?”

“I'm not doing anything” he lies through his teeth, but the grip on your waist tightens just slightly. You can feel how hard his breathing is, how hard he is beneath you. You pretend not to notice the bulge underneath you.

Another bump in the road. Mark lets out a shaky breath, his lips ghosting your skin. “Stop moving so much.”

You glanced towards the front seat. Rick is adjusting the music, but William? He's peeking in the rearview mirror with a knowing look. “Beheave back there” William says in a playful voice. “Or we’re kicking you out.”

Mark leans in closer, whispering to you. “We wouldn't even make it to the sidewalk.” You know he's teasing but his voice, the way he said and how he's looking at you, like he means it.

You swallow hard and try to focus on anything else, the road, the music, the way William and Rick are bickering over directions.

But all you can feel is Mark.

The second William pulls into the gas station, you know.

Oh you know.

Rick’s talking about snacks, asking if anyone wants something from inside the gas station and Williams’s too busy reading the pump instructions like he doesn't already know how gas works. But Mark has that look. Ready to pounce on you look.

“You stayin in the car?” He asks in a low voice. Your heart skips a beat. “Yeah. Why?” Mark doesn't answer. Not with words anyways.

You shiver at his touch, his hands move higher. Cupping your breasts through the thin fabric of your shirt. “They'll be gone for five minutes.” Pulling you closer, “And I've been dying for hours.”

You try to say something clever but he captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss. His mouth moving against yours with a hunger that takes your breath away. His tongue slipping past your parted lips to explore every inch of your mouth.

Hard and needy.

You moan into the kiss, your hands tangled all in his hair. The kiss is messy and sloppy. The car rocks slightly, just a little at first but enough for you to pull back. "Mark–"

“They can’t see us,” he cuts in, voice thick, eyes half lidded. “Windows are foggy and you're shaking.”

You are. You haven't even noticed and the worst part? You don't want to stop. “Look at you” He breathes heavily. “You wanna get caught don't you?” You can feel your arousal building up, your panties soaked with your juices. “Shut up,”

The car creaks and rocks with every shift of your hips.

You try not to moan. His mouth sucking on your breast while his hands fondles and pinches your nipple. Grinding on his thighs, letting out a sound you couldn't even describe, feeling the urgency. You reach down, fumbling with the button of his jeans.

Desperate to feel his skin against yours.

And then–

A muffled voice from outside. “Yo Mark! You want a drink?” William’s shouting from the gas station door. You stopped. Lips swollen, legs trembling.

Mark bites back a groan, forehead pressed against yours. “If he comes back right now. I swear im-”

You slap his chest. “Get it together!”

He chuckles. “You're the one on top babe,”

You cleared your throat. “Red slushie” you said, voice barely steady.

“We’re not even halfway done.” He whispered.

And he was right, you were nowhere near finished.

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coldvirginbitch · 4 months ago

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CLAIMED BY A VILTRUMITE — viltrum! mark grayson

WARNINGS: homicide, world domination, mention of breeding/ pregnancy, smut, oral sex (fem receiving), dubcon? Pregnancy

MINORS DNI

The world was peaceful.

The sun still rose in the east, setting cities ablaze in gold. The air carried the scent of morning coffee and wet pavement. People laughed, worked, lived—blissfully unaware that it was all about to end.

You remember that morning vividly. You had gone about your day like any other, watching the news over breakfast, scrolling through your phone. It was mundane. Normal. Until the sky split open. They came without warning.

No declaration of war. No demands. Just the cold, merciless force of an empire that had done this to countless planets before. Viltrumites.

They descended like gods, tearing through human defenses as if they were nothing. Entire squadrons of jets were crushed mid-air, missiles swatted aside like toys. They didn’t fight a war—they exterminated.

The ones who submitted were spared. The ones who resisted? Slaughtered.

Men, women, soldiers, civilians—it didn’t matter. Billions of humans, and yet they were so insignificant against the might of the Viltrum Empire. Within days, the world fell. Governments collapsed. Cities were left smoldering ruins. And standing above it all was him. Mark Grayson.

The conqueror of Earth. The one who had once fought for humanity, now ruling over them with an iron grip. He had embraced his Viltrumite heritage, his mercy a thing of the past. He killed without hesitation, without remorse. The city burned around you.

Thick plumes of black smoke swallowed the sky, choking out the sun. Screams rang through the air—some distant, some far too close. You ran, your lungs burning, your legs aching, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

The rebellion was lost. You had known it the moment the Viltrumites arrived, descending like executioners from the heavens. What little resistance remained had been crushed, just like the last city, and the one before that.

And now they were here.

The others were already dead. The fighters you had once stood beside, the people who had promised that you had a chance—all gone. Their bodies littered the streets, broken and lifeless. And soon, you’d be just like them.

Unless you ran. So you ran.

You didn’t look back as the heavy footsteps of Viltrumite enforcers echoed behind you. You didn’t hesitate as you darted between collapsed buildings, lungs heaving, heartbeat slamming against your ribs like a war drum.

But it wasn’t enough.

Something shot past you—a blur of speed and power. A gust of wind sent you stumbling backward as he landed in front of you, blocking your only escape.

Mark. The moment you saw him, your stomach twisted. He was different.

Not the Mark you remembered, not the man who once fought for Earth. His suit—black and blue, the Viltrumite insignia bold against his chest—was stained with blood, fresh from another massacre. His golden eyes glowed beneath the haze of fire and destruction, his expression unreadable.

Your breath hitched, panic clawing up your throat.

“No—no, please,” you gasped, turning to run the other way.

You didn’t make it a step.

A hand shot out, faster than you could react, gripping your arm with enough force to make you cry out. You thrashed wildly, shoving, kicking, trying to pry his fingers off, but he didn’t budge. His grip was like iron, unyielding.

“Let me go!” you screamed. “You bastard—!”

His other hand moved so fast you barely registered it before it was over your mouth, muffling your cries.

You let out a muffled scream, still struggling, still fighting—but he just sighed, as if you were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

“Shh,” he murmured, tilting his head, his golden eyes flickering with something almost amused. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Your nails dug into his wrist, but he didn’t even flinch. His grip didn’t loosen.

You kicked harder, twisting violently in his hold, your muffled screams growing more frantic. Your body ached, muscles screaming from the force of your struggle—but Mark was unmovable.

“Hmph.” His lips curled slightly, his grip shifting as he lifted you effortlessly off the ground. You yelped into his palm, your legs kicking uselessly in the air. “That’s cute.”

Terror swelled in your chest, ice-cold and paralyzing.

You knew what happened to the people the Viltrumites captured. They were executed. Or worse.

But Mark… Mark wasn’t killing you. He wasn’t letting go, either. Your eyes burned as you glared at him, your muffled screams turning into broken, furious sobs. But he only watched you, his expression unreadable, his golden eyes darkening with something possessive.

“I told you,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re mine.”

And then, without another word, he took off into the sky—dragging you with him.

The world blurred into streaks of color as Mark shot through the sky, carrying you like you weighed nothing. The wind roared past your ears, tearing at your clothes, stinging your skin—but you were too consumed by panic to feel the cold.

Your screams were still muffled by his hand, your body twisting violently in his grip, but it was useless. He was too strong.

Mark didn’t flinch. Didn’t even acknowledge your struggling. He held you firmly, effortlessly, like a bird carrying prey back to its nest. Terror clawed at your chest as the burning city below shrank, fading into darkness. Where was he taking you? What was he going to do? You didn’t want to find out.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you did the only thing you could—you sank your teeth into the flesh of his palm. Hard. Mark’s breath hitched. For the briefest moment, his grip faltered.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You ripped your head away, gasping in air, and screamed—

“HELP! SOMEBODY—!”

A mistake. You barely had time to register the flicker of irritation in Mark’s eyes before the air was stolen from your lungs.

In a blur of motion, he flipped you in his grasp, twisting you so that your back was against his chest. One of his arms coiled around your waist, pinning you completely, while his other hand shot up—gripping your chin and forcing your head back against his shoulder.

Your breath stilled.

He had you locked in place, your body completely immobile against his. His fingers dug into your jaw, tilting your face upward so you were forced to meet his gaze.

His piercing eyes burned into yours.

“You don’t listen very well, do you?” His voice was low, almost amused—but there was something dangerous lurking beneath it.

You were panting, chest heaving, heart hammering against your ribs. You couldn’t move. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you struggled, you couldn’t move.

His grip wasn’t just strong—it was final. Like a predator subduing its prey.

Mark exhaled slowly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “If you scream again, I’ll make sure you regret it.” You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming wildly.

His fingers tightened around your chin for just a second longer, like a silent warning—then finally, finally, he eased his grip. But he didn’t let go. He didn’t loosen his hold on your waist, didn’t stop pressing you firmly against him as he continued his flight.

Your breath shuddered. You were trapped. Helpless. And completely at his mercy. Minutes stretched into eternity before you finally saw where he was taking you. Your stomach dropped. The Viltrumite stronghold.

A massive tower loomed in the distance, sleek and impossibly tall, a fortress overlooking a world that no longer belonged to you. The lights of the city below were dim, the streets eerily quiet. No resistance. No more fighting. Because there was nothing left to fight for. Your hands clenched into fists.

Mark didn’t slow as he approached the highest balcony of the stronghold. He landed with barely a sound, touching down gracefully before finally—finally—setting you on your feet. Your knees buckled. You would’ve collapsed if not for his grip, his arm still wrapped around your waist. He laughed. A quiet, knowing chuckle, like he was enjoying how weak you were beneath him.

You gritted your teeth, shoving at his arm, hating how effortlessly he held you still. “Let me go.” His head tilted slightly, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

Then, to your shock—he actually did. His arm slipped away, and you stumbled forward, your legs unsteady. Your first instinct was to run. You didn’t get far. The moment you turned, a powerful force slammed into your back—not hard enough to hurt you, but strong enough to pin you.

Your chest pressed against the nearest wall, your cheek flush against the cold surface. Before you could even breathe, Mark’s body was against yours, one arm braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip firmly. Your stomach twisted. He caged you in completely, his breath warm against the side of your face.

“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” he murmured. You trembled, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. He was so close. Too close. His warmth surrounded you, his strength pressing into every inch of your body.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to show fear. “Anywhere but here.”

Mark hummed thoughtfully, as if considering your words. Then, after a beat, he leaned in even closer, his lips just brushing the shell of your ear. “That’s too bad,” he whispered. “Because you’re never leaving.”

Soft sheets. Heavy silence. The lingering scent of something unfamiliar.

Your eyes fluttered open, and for a brief, blissful moment, you forgot where you were.

Then reality came crashing back.

Your breath hitched as you sat up too quickly, your head swimming. The room was dimly lit, the walls lined with sleek, unfamiliar designs—Viltrumite architecture. It was too big, too open, yet it felt suffocating.

You weren’t home.

You weren’t anywhere familiar.

You were his.

A quiet rustle caught your attention. Your stomach twisted as your eyes darted toward the figure seated at the edge of the massive bed.

Mark.

He was watching you, golden eyes sharp and unreadable. His posture was relaxed, one arm resting against his knee, but the weight of his presence was unbearable.

“You’re awake,” he said simply.

Your hands clenched the sheets beneath you. “Where am I?”

“My chambers.” You flinched. His chambers. Your gaze darted toward the door. Your only escape. You didn’t get the chance to move.

“I wouldn’t,” he murmured, his voice almost amused. “Unless you want me to drag you back again.”

Your jaw tightened. You sat stiffly, every muscle coiled, prepared for—what? Another fight? What was the point? He was stronger. Faster. Unstoppable.

And he had already won. Mark exhaled, rubbing his fingers together idly, as if considering his next words. “Things are going to be different for you now.” You didn’t respond.

“You’re mine,” he continued, voice smooth, patient, like he was explaining something obvious. “That means no one else touches you. No one else talks to you. No one even looks at you unless I allow it.”

Your stomach twisted. “You speak to me,” he said firmly. “Only me. You obey me—because I am your mate now.” The word sent a shudder down your spine.

“You—” Your voice cracked. You swallowed hard. “You can’t do this.”

Mark’s lips curled slightly. “I already have.” Your hands clenched into fists. “And what if I refuse?”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, tilting his head. “You won’t.” The certainty in his tone made your skin crawl.

He studied you for a long moment, eyes flickering over your face, your tense shoulders, the way your fingers gripped the sheets like they were your last lifeline. Then he sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

“There’s something else,” he murmured. “Your role.” Your stomach churned. “You are human. And humans are… compatible with Viltrumites,” he said. “It’s why we take them as mates. Why we breed with them.”

The breath was stolen from your lungs. You stared at him, barely processing the words, your pulse roaring in your ears. Mark held your gaze, unblinking. “You will bear my children one day.” Something in you broke.

Your entire body curled in on itself, your arms wrapping around your knees as you pulled them to your chest, as if that could make you smaller, make you disappear. You dug your nails into your arms, chest tightening with something you couldn’t name.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Mark said nothing at first. He just watched as you folded into yourself, as your breathing grew shallow.

Then, softly, you whispered, “Why me?” Mark’s expression didn’t change. “Why did you pick me?” Your voice wavered, raw and exhausted. “Why not just… kill me?”

Silence. Then the bed dipped slightly as he moved closer. Before you could recoil, his fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face upward. Your breath stilled. Black eyes bore into yours, unblinking.

“Is that what you prefer?” he asked quietly. “Me killing you?” You swallowed hard, your lips trembling. You couldn’t speak. Mark exhaled through his nose, his thumb brushing absently over your chin.

“You’re not like the rest,” he murmured. “You are everything I desire in physical form.”

His grip tightened slightly, firm yet careful. “That is why I chose you.” Your heart pounded in your chest. He meant it. Every word. You were trapped. Bound to him. And no matter what you did—no matter how much you fought—you were never getting away.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Mark’s eyes flickered downward, his thumb catching the corner of your lip, almost thoughtful. Then, after a long pause, he finally released you.

“You’ll learn,” he said simply, standing to his full height. “In time.” And with that, he turned, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of his chambers.

You sat there, frozen in place as the door clicked shut behind him. The room felt colder, quieter. The absence of his presence was suffocating in its own way, as if his very existence had filled the space with an undeniable weight.

Once the final echo of his footsteps faded away, the tears you had been holding back finally broke free.

They fell in steady streams down your cheeks, warm against the cold air of the room. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been holding them back until now, how much it had hurt to just breathe in his presence, knowing what he was making you become.

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, desperate to regain some sense of control—but it was useless. The tears came anyway. This was it. This was your fate. How could you ever escape?

You couldn’t fight him. You couldn’t outrun him. Mark was everything you weren’t. Stronger, faster, better in every way. You had seen it in the way he handled you with ease, like a man swatting at a fly. There was no way out.

You couldn’t even dream of fighting back, not when his eyes burned with such terrifying certainty, not when the weight of his claim hung over you like a suffocating fog.

He had taken you. He had chosen you, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Your chest tightened, suffocating with a grief you couldn’t quite place. Was this what it was always going to be?

Would you only ever exist to carry his children, to be a vessel for his legacy, until you died?

The thought twisted something deep inside of you. The idea of living your life trapped in this cage of his design, a never-ending cycle of submission, helplessness, and breeding.

Tears pooled at the base of your neck. The thought of never feeling free again was unbearable. How could you ever live like this?

You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around them as you buried your face in your knees, muffling your sobs. There was no escape. There was no future for you. Just a long, painful existence of being nothing more than a means to an end.

And what happened when you couldn’t give him what he wanted anymore? When you couldn’t bear his children anymore? Would he discard you then? Or would you just fade away—forgotten, alone, trapped in the grip of a man who didn’t care about anything but his own desires? You wanted to scream, to lash out. But you had no strength left. You cried in the silence, feeling the walls close in on you.

You woke with a start, your body stiff and disoriented, a sharp breath escaping your lips as your mind struggled to catch up with reality. The warmth of the room, the softness beneath you, and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat close to your ear were all foreign sensations.

It only took a moment before you realized: You were not alone. Panic surged through you. You froze, every muscle in your body locking up as you became aware of the arms wrapped around you. The pressure of a body against yours, heavy and solid, sent a wave of dread through your chest.

You were in his arms.

Mark.

His chest rose and fell with slow, deep breaths, his face tucked into your hair, his warmth radiating through you. He had somehow pulled you into his embrace during the night, and now—now—he was holding you like you belonged to him.

You instinctively tried to pull away, your body jerking with the desperate need to escape, to get out of his grasp, but his hold only tightened.

A deep, almost purring sound vibrated in his chest, and you could feel his fingers shifting, adjusting their grip around you. The pressure of his body against yours was suffocating. His scent filled your senses—familiar and intoxicating, mixing with the scent of the sheets and his skin.

You couldn’t breathe.

“Shh,” he murmured softly, his voice low and smooth like velvet, laced with an authority that sent a chill through your spine. He pulled you back in, securing you more firmly against his chest as you tried to squirm away. “Don’t fight it.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to push him off, to demand answers, to make him understand that you couldn’t stay here, in his arms, in his world. But your words were lost.

As you tried to protest again, trying to move, his hand slid into your hair, fingers tangling through it gently but firmly, pulling you closer as he whispered, “You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

Your body froze at his words. The harsh reality of what that meant, what he had already claimed, set in like a weight on your chest. You could feel your pulse racing beneath his touch, but there was no escaping him.

Mark’s other arm slid around your waist, holding you in place as if you were nothing more than a doll in his grasp. You could feel the strength in his body, the raw power that had already subdued you so many times. His hold on you wasn’t just physical—it was absolute.

“Relax,” he said again, his voice softer now, but still carrying that same edge of dominance. “You don’t need to fight me.”

But how could you not?

You weren’t sure whether the tears would come again. You hadn’t cried in front of him before, but now, curled up in his arms, so helpless—so small—you couldn’t suppress the tremor that racked your body.

“Please…” Your voice was barely a whisper, your throat raw, but you still tried. “Let me go.”

Mark’s body shifted slightly beneath you, and you felt him exhale, like he was considering your words. His chest rose and fell beneath you as he let out a low sigh, the sound vibrating through you.

“You’ll get used to this,” he said, his fingers tracing lightly along your back, almost gentle. “You’re my woman now. This is how it is. You don’t have to fight it.”

You swallowed, pressing your face deeper into his chest, feeling his heart beating steadily beneath your ear. The thudding sound of his heartbeat was steady, unrelenting. And you hated it. You hated how safe it sounded, how you couldn’t escape.

His grip on you was unyielding. You were his now. And no matter how much you fought it, no matter how much you screamed inside your own mind, you couldn’t escape.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Mark murmured, almost as if reassuring himself as much as you. His fingers lightly traced the side of your face, and you could feel the slight pressure as his thumb moved over your cheekbone.

You couldn’t stop the involuntary shudder that ran through you. Mark tightened his hold slightly, bringing you even closer, his breath hot against your neck. “And I won’t let you leave me. You belong to me.”

Mark’s lips brushed against yours, slow and deliberate, as his hand slid to the back of your head, holding you in place. You instinctively tried to pull away, to break free, but his grip tightened, his touch firm and commanding. His kiss deepened, not allowing any room for resistance. His mouth moved over yours with a possessiveness that made your pulse spike, and for a moment, you could do nothing but breathe him in, trapped under his control.

The weight of his kiss pressed down on you, and despite yourself, you felt your body stiffen in response, fighting the feeling of intimacy that he was forcing upon you. You wanted to scream, to push him away, but the way he held you, the way he had you—there was no escaping it.

And then— a knock.

The sound of a sharp knock at the door cut through the moment like a blade, pulling you both out of the haze of desire and control.

Mark groaned, pulling away from you with an almost reluctant sigh, the warmth of his body leaving you as his presence shifted. His golden eyes narrowed, frustration clear on his face as he stood and moved towards the door. You remained frozen in place, the cold air hitting your skin where his body had been, making you shiver.

Without a word, Mark opened the door, revealing a tall, slender Viltrumite woman standing in the doorway. Her short hair was cut into a sharp, angular style, and her stance was confident, commanding. She had her arms crossed over her chest, eyes locked onto Mark with a mix of urgency and irritation.

“We need to talk,” she said, her voice sharp, carrying authority.

Mark’s expression soured slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Can this wait?” he muttered, glancing back at you with a faint, almost apologetic look in his eyes. “I was in the middle of something.”

The woman didn’t flinch. “It’s important,” she replied curtly.

Mark sighed, his gaze lingering on you for a moment, the expression in his eyes unreadable. His hand moved to your shoulder, his touch gentle, almost as if trying to reassure you. “Prepare yourself for when I return,” he said, his voice low but firm.

You couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down your spine as he said the words. There was something about the way he spoke to you that left no room for doubt, no room for choice. You would wait. And there was no way out of it.

Mark turned away, his powerful frame moving past the woman without another word. The door swung shut behind them, leaving you alone in the cold, empty room.

Your heart was still racing, the silence that followed their departure suffocating. You hugged your knees to your chest again, the chill of the room seeping into your bones.

What was happening? Was this truly your life now? A life that revolved around him, where your only purpose was to wait for his return, to be his… woman?

The questions plagued your mind, but there were no answers. Just the waiting. Just the silence. And Mark’s words hanging in the air like a heavy weight.

You shivered again, the reality of your situation sinking deeper into your chest. You looked around the room, your gaze sweeping over the sparse, cold space. The walls were smooth and unyielding, made of some kind of metallic material that felt both impersonal and intimidating. There was little to anchor you here—no comfort, no familiarity, just emptiness.

The bed, large and imposing, was the focal point of the room, with clean, crisp sheets that contrasted sharply against the harshness of the surroundings. A few essential items were scattered around: a simple table with a glass of water, a chair, a dresser that held nothing but a few folded clothes, and a single window that offered a glimpse of the outside world—though, what good was it now?

There was no escape from this place.

You pushed yourself to your feet, the coldness of the floor sending a shiver up your spine. Your bare feet made no sound against the smooth surface, the silence pressing in on you like a heavy weight. Every corner of the room felt like it was closing in on you, suffocating you with its lack of warmth or life.

Everything here was designed for efficiency, for control, not for comfort. Mark had stripped away everything that could make you feel even a fraction of ease. You were left with nothing but the bare essentials, just as he saw you.

An object. A vessel. A means to an end.

You reached out to touch the smooth surface of the table, running your fingers over it absently. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of it all.

What did he want from you? What had he planned for you?

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the silence wash over you. The weight of the unknown was heavier than the air itself.

Would this be your life now? Would you remain here, in this cold, sterile space, only to wait for him to return and claim you once again? You shivered. The thought of it filled you with dread, but what choice did you have?

Time dragged on slowly, each minute feeling like an eternity. You paced the room, then sat, then stood again, your mind unable to settle. The silence was overwhelming, pressing in from all sides, leaving you with nothing but your own racing thoughts.

You thought about the woman who had interrupted, who had taken him away from you so effortlessly. What did she want? Why had she come here, to him, when everything about this place—everything about him—belonged to you now?

But that thought didn’t bring comfort.

Instead, it only deepened the sense of hopelessness that was growing inside you.

The hours ticked by, though it felt as though the world outside this room had stopped entirely. The absence of sound, of people, of anything familiar, left you alone in your thoughts. And those thoughts were consuming. What was your purpose here? What did Mark expect of you when he came back?

Your body had started to ache with exhaustion, and before you knew it, the weight of your own tiredness overcame your anxiety. Your body sank into the bed, your muscles too tense to relax but too fatigued to stay alert. The sheets were cold, but the weight of your fatigue was heavier. Your eyelids fluttered, then closed, and despite the fear gnawing at you, sleep took you.

It came in waves, brief and uneasy. Your dreams were fragments, fleeting images of running through empty corridors, of Mark’s piercing eyes watching you from the shadows, of you trying to escape, but never quite succeeding.

And through it all, there was a lingering feeling of being trapped—trapped in your own mind, trapped in this room, and trapped in his control.

You shifted in your sleep, arching your back as someone gripped onto your thighs. Something wet and sloppy was licking and sucking at your clit, your nails drug into the sheets and you whimpered, waking up. You looked down, panting, “wait.. mark!” You squeezed his head, and he hummed, still sucking on your clit. You could feel yourself going to finish soon.

Each stroke of his tongue designed to bring you maximum pleasure. Mark's hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he worked his magic, his mouth moving in perfect rhythm. The sensation was almost overwhelming, your body responding eagerly to his touch.

As the moments ticked by, your pleasure built, Mark's efforts pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your hands found their way into his hair, guiding him, urging him on as the tension inside you reached a boiling point. And then, in a burst of ecstasy, you came, the release washing over you like a wave, leaving you breathless and trembling.

As you came on his tongue, crying out before he pulled away. He smirked, his lips inches from your own, “you taste so sweet my beloved,” you shivered. His bare chest pressed against your own, when did you become naked?

“I’ve prepped you enough, your body is now ready.” He kissed you, slipping his tongue in your mouth. He lined himself with your entrance. Sliding in slowly, and you sucked in a breath, your hands going to his chest. Surprisingly, you didn’t push him away— not that you could, but you didn’t want to. Not right now. He stayed still once he was as deep as he could go, stoking your face in comfort. “You’re perfect.” He whispered, kissing you once more.

He slowly pulled back out and pushed back in, repeating the motion. His thrusts made you go inside, his cock dragging on your walls— sucking him in. Your nails raked down his arms, his back, anywhere you could reach.

As the night wore on, Mark's passion only grew stronger. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both rode the waves of ecstasy. He fucked into you like a jackrabbit, holding you close. Whispering about how beautiful you will be, carrying his children, standing by his side while he rules this world. You felt like you were one with him, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

As the pleasure reached its peak, Mark's eyes locked onto yours, his gaze burning with desire. You felt like you were drowning in the depths of his eyes, unable to look away. The world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in a sea of passion and desire. He thrusted deep inside as he came for the third time that night.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Mark's arms wrapped around you, holding you close. You felt like you were safe, protected from the world outside. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart beating in time with yours.

You lay there for a moment, basking in the afterglow of their passion. Mark's fingers stroked your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As you caught your breath, Mark's lips met yours in a gentle kiss. You felt like you were melting into his arms, unable to resist the sensation. His eyes locked onto yours, his gaze burning with desire.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His hand rested on your stomach, kissing your head. You didn’t respond, didn’t know what to say. He then shifted, “I will return.” In a flash he was gone, and you were alone again.

The room was silent, save for the steady rhythm of your own breath. It felt as though time had slowed, the moments dragging on in a haze of exhaustion, discomfort, and confusion. The air was thick, heavy with the aftermath of what had just happened.

You lay there, your body still, though every part of you felt like it was buzzing with a strange mix of emotions. Your mind raced, unable to grasp onto any single thought for too long. There was no clear answer to the confusion that clouded your mind—no clarity to the sensations that lingered in your body.

Mark’s weight was gone, but the impression of him was still on you, in you, and all around you. His presence had imprinted itself on your body, your mind, and your very soul in ways you didn’t know how to comprehend. The cold sheets, once warm beneath the heat of his body, now felt distant and alien as you curled into yourself, trying to reclaim some semblance of comfort.

You tried to sit up but were too tired, too drained, too overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it all. You didn’t know what you felt—relief, guilt, shame, confusion, or something darker. What had just happened? What did it mean?

But the truth was undeniable. You were marked by him. Literally and figuratively. He had taken you, claimed you, and there was no going back from that. No escaping him.

The scent of him still lingered in the air—earthy and sharp, an essence that seemed to cling to your skin. His hands, his lips, his voice, all felt like they were branded onto you in a way you couldn’t remove. It was as if you were now bound to him in every way.

Your body ached in places you didn’t know it could. His touch had been firm, possessive, and though there had been a part of you that had wanted to fight back, there was nothing you could do to resist. It was over, and now you were left with the aftermath—the consequences of his claim.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling a tear escape and slide down your cheek. You hated yourself for it, for feeling weak, for feeling like you had no choice in the matter. But no matter how much you wanted to scream, to run, to fight—it was clear now.

You couldn’t escape.

The door creaked open suddenly, and Mark’s silhouette filled the doorway. His gaze met yours immediately, his eyes dark, unreadable.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was soft, almost too soft, the same tone he used when he spoke as though he owned you—like it was nothing more than a casual inquiry.

You didn’t answer at first, the weight of his question hanging in the air, thick and suffocating.

But then, finally, your voice broke through, shaky and uncertain. “Why?”

Mark’s gaze didn’t waver. He stepped further into the room, his posture casual, yet there was something predatory about the way he moved. “Why what?”

“Why me?” You swallowed hard, the question catching in your throat. “Why did you do this? Why did you claim me like this?”

He was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he spoke, his tone colder now. “Because you’re mine. You always were. I only made it official.”

Your chest tightened at his words, your hands trembling. He saw you as property—nothing more.

He moved toward the bed, sitting on the edge with a quiet sigh. “You’re a part of my world now, whether you like it or not.”

The finality of his words hit you like a hammer to the chest. You weren’t sure if it was the sadness, the frustration, or the despair that made your breath catch. The man who held you now—the man who had broken every boundary, every limit—was now the one you were bound to in ways you couldn’t escape.

There was no going back. There was only this. Only him. Only his world. And as Mark laid back on the bed, his arms folded behind his head, you realized something you already knew but had been too afraid to acknowledge: your fate was sealed.

You curled onto your side, your arms instinctively wrapping around your stomach. The warmth of your body pressed against your skin, but it felt like a barrier between you and everything that was happening, a futile attempt to shield yourself from the reality that was crashing down on you.

The thoughts churned in your mind like a storm. You had once dreamed of motherhood, of a quiet life—meeting someone kind, building a home, maybe raising one or two children in peace. You had imagined it so vividly, so clearly, that it had felt like it was within reach. The idea of a family, of love, seemed so natural, so right.

But now?

Now, you didn’t know what you wanted anymore.

Mark’s claim on you—his ownership of you—had shattered everything. The fear of being trapped in this life with no choice, no voice, gnawed at you constantly. What kind of life would you have here? A future where you were only a vessel for his children? The thought of carrying his child, of being nothing more than an instrument for his bloodline, terrified you to your core.

You pressed your hand against your stomach, feeling the slow thrum of life inside you, though there was nothing to show for it yet. Would this be your future? To bear his children?

The idea that your body could be used in this way was suffocating. You hadn’t asked for any of this. You hadn’t asked to be pulled into his world, to be his possession, to be subjected to his needs and desires. You never imagined your life would turn out like this.

But what could you do? What could you possibly do against him?

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to silence the rising panic in your chest. The idea of being a mother was something you once cherished—now, it felt like a nightmare.

The cold, metallic walls of the room seemed to close in on you, pressing in from all sides. The thought of carrying Mark’s child, being tied to him in such an intimate, irreversible way, was enough to make you shudder. It wasn’t about the child itself—it was about what it would mean. About being trapped in this life, with no way to break free.

But you couldn’t even begin to process it.

You thought of the future, and it felt like a distant, unreachable place. The life you imagined—the one that was filled with love and warmth and choice—seemed like a dream. A faraway dream that had already slipped through your fingers.

Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, as the weight of it all pressed on you. What had you become? What had he made you into? A prisoner? A breeder?

You hated that your future was now tied to him, tied to the Viltrumite legacy that had no room for softness, no room for the quiet life you once dreamed of. You wanted to scream, to lash out, but your body was weak from everything that had happened, from the forced submission, from the overwhelming terror.

Would you ever get to choose your path again? Would you ever be able to make your own decisions? Or were you doomed to be just another tool for him to use, to manipulate, to bend to his will?

You curled tighter on yourself, holding your stomach as if you could somehow protect whatever part of you was still yours. But you knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same again. And you didn’t know if you could ever accept it.

The next morning, the light filtering in through the window was muted, casting everything in a dull, lifeless glow. It was quiet. Too quiet. You still felt the heavy weight of the night’s events pressing on you, and the remnants of your fear clung to your skin like a shadow. But as the minutes passed and you tried to steady your racing mind, a strange sense of detachment began to settle in. This was your reality now, for better or worse.

You hadn’t seen Mark since the night before, but you knew he would come for you. He always did.

As if on cue, the door opened, and Mark stepped inside. His presence was unmistakable—powerful and commanding. His eyes immediately found you, assessing you with a cool, controlled gaze. His demeanor hadn’t changed; if anything, he was more guarded, more intense. It was as if the connection between you, the bond he had forced, was only tightening with each passing moment.

“Get up,” he said simply, his voice firm but not unkind.

You hesitated, staring at him for a moment before slowly sitting up. There was no point in defying him anymore. Not here. Not now.

He didn’t wait for you to ask any questions. Without another word, he extended his hand to help you up. You took it reluctantly, but the moment your fingers brushed against his, the warmth of his touch seemed to settle deep within you. It made everything worse, more confusing. He was both the source of your fear and your desire, and it made it impossible to escape the pull he had on you.

Without a word, he led you out of the room. You followed him, walking side by side, the air between you heavy with unspoken tension. His pace was steady, confident—each step seemed deliberate, as if he was marking his territory in every inch of the space you moved through. You couldn’t help but feel small next to him, out of place in this cold, unfamiliar world that was now your prison.

His eyes never strayed far from you, scanning the surroundings with a vigilance that bordered on obsession. He was protective of you, though you didn’t know whether it was out of genuine care or a desire to control you. Either way, he kept his presence close, constantly hovering, as if making sure you wouldn’t stray too far.

You couldn’t understand it. He was dangerous. He had made it clear that you belonged to him, that your life was now something he controlled. But still, there was an odd tenderness in the way he moved with you. His touch was possessive, but there was something almost comforting about his attention. It left you confused—torn between fear and something you couldn’t quite place.

“Stay close,” he ordered softly, his voice low and commanding, but with a hint of something else you couldn’t quite decipher.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. What could you say?

You continued walking, the halls stretching out before you, filled with shadows and cold steel. Mark led the way, and you followed, the heavy sound of your footsteps echoing through the emptiness of the facility.

Though you walked beside him, you felt as though you were miles apart. His presence was suffocating in its intensity, and yet, you couldn’t deny that there was something else there—something that made your heart beat a little faster, something that made you crave his proximity.

The conflicting emotions twisted inside you, each one vying for dominance. You wanted to break free from him, to scream, to run. But at the same time, you couldn’t ignore the pull he had over you. It was like a constant tug at the edges of your soul, and no matter how much you wanted to fight it, you couldn’t break free.

As you walked side by side, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was your new reality. Was this what you would have to accept—being constantly by his side, under his watchful eye, never able to break free? Was this really your life now?

Your body tensed when Mark’s hand brushed against your arm, a fleeting touch, but it was enough to send a wave of heat through you. His eyes flicked down at you, assessing, then he turned his attention back ahead.

“Don’t stray,” he murmured. “Stay by my side.”

You didn’t respond. How could you? For a moment, as you walked together in silence, you felt the weight of his words settle heavily around you. There was no escaping him. No escaping this. And for better or worse, you were bound to him.

The days blurred into one another, each moment a repetition of the last. There was no time to process, no space to breathe. You were being consumed by the life that Mark had forced upon you, dragged through a whirlwind of emotions and events you couldn’t control.

You learned quickly that resistance was futile. Every time you tried to defy him or push away from his touch, the consequences were swift, and they always left you feeling smaller, weaker. Mark was always there, his presence constant, watching over you, ensuring you never strayed too far from his grasp.

You were taken to the doctors—humans, ones who had been forced into working for the Viltrumites. They were skilled, capable people, but their hands were tied. Their loyalty was no longer to their own kind, but to the brutal, unyielding alien race that had enslaved them. They had no choice but to submit, to continue their work under the shadow of the Viltrumite regime.

The sterile, cold environment of the medical facility felt like a mockery of everything you had once believed in. The white walls, the beeping machines, and the presence of the doctors made it clear that this was no longer a place for healing—it was a place for control.

You lay on a cold table, your body still recovering from the ordeal Mark had put you through, as the doctor—a man with dark, tired eyes—examined you. His hands were gentle, despite the obvious bitterness in his demeanor, as he ran the scans over your body. He glanced at the results, his expression unreadable, before turning to Mark, who stood by your side, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Twins,” the doctor confirmed quietly. “You’re pregnant. Two. Healthy.”

You didn’t know how to feel. Shock, disbelief, fear—each emotion was intertwined, a knot in your stomach that only tightened with each passing moment. Mark didn’t react with joy, as you might have expected. There was no warmth in his gaze, no satisfaction in his smile. Instead, his face was unreadable, as if this was simply another task he had completed, another duty fulfilled.

He looked at you, his eyes scanning you with an intensity that felt suffocating. His lips curled into the faintest of smirks, not one of joy or happiness, but one of cold satisfaction.

“Mission accomplished,” he murmured, as if speaking to himself more than to you. “You’ve done your part.”

The words stung, but you couldn’t find the strength to fight back. What could you say? What could you do? You were trapped in a life you hadn’t chosen, forced to carry his children, your body now a vessel for his legacy.

Mark turned to the doctor. “Ensure she’s well taken care of. I don’t want anything to happen to her or the children.”

The command was simple, and the doctor nodded in response, though there was a hint of resignation in his gaze. You could see the defeat in his eyes, a man who had long ago given up on any hope of escape or resistance.

Mark’s attention returned to you, and for a brief moment, the coldness in his expression softened—just a little. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, the gesture oddly tender, but still commanding.

“You’re safe now,” he said, his voice low, almost comforting in its certainty. “No one will touch you. You’re mine, and you will remain under my protection.”

The words were meant to reassure you, but all they did was deepen the hollow feeling inside you. You didn’t want his protection. You didn’t want to belong to him. But there was nothing you could do.

You were his—his woman, as he had called you. And now, you were carrying his children, two of them.

The weight of that reality settled on you, heavy and unrelenting. The idea of being tied to him forever, through these children, was terrifying. You had never imagined your life like this. You had once dreamed of a family, but not like this—not in the cold, unforgiving world that Mark had dragged you into.

Mark didn’t wait long before he spoke again, his voice low and steady, as though laying down a law. “You will be kept safe, untouched. I won’t allow anyone to harm you or the children. Understand?”

Your gaze met his, and for the first time, you saw something that might have been concern in his eyes—something that wasn’t just control, but a flicker of possessiveness that went beyond the physical. You didn’t know what it meant, but you knew one thing: you were no longer just a woman to him. You were the mother of his heirs.

And that fact, more than anything, sent a chill through you.

PART TWO

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coldvirginbitch · 4 months ago

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Little Notes, Big Feelings

Notes in your locker, simple, and anonymous. A little bit sweet. You never expected Mark Grayson confessing that he likes you. ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

It started with a note, neatly folded and tucked in between the vents of your locker. Just barely sticking out and impossible to miss.

You were half asleep still rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes. grabbing the little slip of paper “Pop quiz in Johnson's class today. Hope you studied. (I didn't, Whoops.)"

You blinked at it, turning it over just to see no name, no clue on who wrote it. Just a simple, neat handwriting, and a tiny smiling doodle of Seance dog in the corner. You glanced around the busy hallway, scanning faces. But no one seemed to be watching you. Just students going to their class, laughing with their friends, and stuffing books into their bags.

Weird. But sweet.

After that notes kept coming, little messages that made you smile. “Did you see the new episode of Seance Dog? Crazy right?” Other times they would be personal. “You looked really happy today.” You kept every single one, tucking them into your notebook like they were little treasures. You found yourself looking forward to them, and you wanted to know them too. So one afternoon you decided to write back, slipping a note into your own locker. Leaving it right where the mysterious writer had been placing theirs. “Okay, secret admirer, your turn. Who are you?”

The next morning a reply was waiting. “If i tell you. It ruins the fun doesn't it?” You let out a huff, fine.

If they wanted to play, you’d play. The back and forth went on for weeks! You had asked what their favorite color was (Yellow but sometimes blue) . Some were rants about a new superhero sighting or how the cafeteria’s chicken nuggets are a danger to society. “The cafeteria nuggets are definitely a health hazard. Stay safe out there”

There's a response the next morning, “RIGHT?? I'm glad someone gets it. Also I can neither confirm or deny that I saw one of those nuggets move.” The messages became part of your daily routine, a little secret, something that made the school day a little brighter.

And one day you found a note that made your heart drop.

“Would it be weird if i said i kinda like you?” Your fingers trembled slightly as you held the small piece of paper. This wasn't just playful anymore, this is real. At this point you needed to know who it was.

You waited, keeping an eye out at your locker, hoping to catch them in the act. Whoever they were, they were good at being sneaky. So you tried a different approach.

You left a note in return, simple and direct. “Not weird. Kind of sweet, but I think i'd like it more if I knew who you were.”

The next day there was no note, and after that, nothing. Your heart sank, had you scared them off? Had they changed their mind? It gnawed at you, making you realize just how much these silly little notes meant to you.

And then it finally happened. You were at your locker, gathering books for your next class, when a voice behind you cleared their throat. “Uh… hey.” You turned around to face the stranger and there he was. Mark Grayson, moving nervously on his feet, his easygoing confidence nowhere to be found. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes but you could see the pink creeping on his cheeks.

It clicked instantly. The handwriting on the notes, the way he always looked in your direction in class when you weren't paying attention. Mark, who was sweet and awkward, always rambling about comics and superhero movies.

“You're-”

He exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for days. “Yeah it's me.” Your heart fluttered, warmth flooding into your chest.

Mark Grayson, you'd noticed him, you never thought if he had noticed you but he had. And for a long time apparently, “So.. was that too weird? He asked hesitantly. “I can stop if-” You shook your head, a small smile creeping onto your face.

Pulling out a pen from your purse and grabbing his wrist, before he could question it, you scribbled onto his palm.

“No, not weird at all.” When he read it, his entire face lit up.

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coldvirginbitch · 4 months ago

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thinking about an alternate mark whose first and only objective in the invincible war is to get to you. you were his first love - his only love, and he's missed you desperately...

in your universe you were too nervous to make a move and now it's too late since mark and eve are basically meant for each other... so when chaos hits and all the invincible variants come to wreak havoc and mark rushes to make sure you're safe, you don't understand why he's not out there saving the world with eve.

you're in his suffocating embrace when you ask him this and he stiffens briefly, before pulling away to look down at you. his eyes so full of adoration and he asks: "who's eve?"

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coldvirginbitch · 4 months ago

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𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝐸𝑥𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ; mark grayson / invincible

summary: in every universe, mark grayson turns into his father and seals his destiny as a true viltrumite. what if things are different this time?

pairing: fem!reader x mark grayson.

trope: childhood best friends to lovers + fate gives love a chance.

genre: fluff + angst + slow-burn romance.

warnings‼️: crude language + spoilers for s3 (mark’s variants) + amber & eve never get w mark but r goated wingwomen & friends for reader + william, rick & rex r goated wingmen for mark + 2 jealous!mark moments + the tiniest moment of tension + multiverse talk + a mention of the chicago incident feat. scott / powerplex + REX LIVES 🗣️‼️🔥🔥 + a short & sweet kiss scene.

word count: 9,973.

random disclaimerrr: when eve said “you don’t deserve this” 😞 like he always just out here suffering 💔 kate, immortal, cecil & scott pmo so bad like bruh can y’all just pls stfu pls 🙏🏽 I CANNOT BELIEVE MY GOAT REX IS DEAD LIKE BRUH HOW 😭😞💔 but the 2 ppl majority of the fandom hates get their happy ending… mkay… happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jks1uv

────♡♡♡────

Mark Grayson has always liked you.

It was the first day of school, 2nd grade homeroom. The first day of school was always nerve wracking but this time was different.

His desk was next to you per the seating chart and you were the last kid to come in.

You were wearing a black t-shirt with some white bows on it and sky blue jeans with pink flowers embroidered on the pockets. White twinkle toes with pink and purple rhinestones.

Your hair was styled in 2 ponytails with cute bows on the bands.

Your eyes bright and a shy smile on your lips.

“Hi.” You bashfully said to him.

“Hi.” He said back in a daze.

His seven year old heart was fluttering and he was as red as a tomato when he realized it was you! You were the girl whose empty desk he was seated next to!

You always shared homeroom, if not, recess with him in elementary school.

Then came middle school, where you had at least 2 classes with him.

High school was a bit easier as you saw him 3-4 times a day, and that’s not including clubs or other extracurricular activities.

He spent 11 years like that. Seeing you in class, in the hallways, at lunch or after school.

Your relationship with him never wavered. Your character was still the same even after new chapters and opportunities for development.

He’s endured some insane shit, but he’s so happy the one constant in his life remained consistent.

────♡♡♡────

“You still have a crush on her?!”

“Shut up, William. Or do you want the whole world to know.” Mark chides.

William snorts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world (it is). “The whole world already knows, it’s just your dumbass that’s somehow oblivious.”

“Give the lover boy a break.” Amber lightly teases.

Mark sighs and rubs his face with his hands, trying to hide the redness creeping up on him without his consent.

“Is that her?” Rick points towards Mark’s dream girl.

But what he forgot to mention was the living explosion (literally) walking alongside you.

“What’s he doing here?” Eve’s surprised Rex decided to step foot on college campus willingly.

William subtly side-eyes Mark and makes a desperate attempt to hold in his laughter by squeezing Rick’s hand.

Mark slowly stands, a confused look on his face.

“I’ll… go find out.” He says it like a question, like he’s unsure if that’s what he should do.

Amber and Eve share a knowing look.

“You’re funny.” You say as you catch your breath.

Rex shrugs nonchalantly and smirks. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

You’re shaking your head and are about to say something when you see Mark in front of you.

“Mark.” Your eyes crinkle as you smile.

You go in for your usual hug and Mark accepts it.

Unbeknownst to you that he’s making wide eyes among other facial expressions in a desperate attempt to make contact with the other male.

The hug lasts for a second longer and you ignore the butterflies that swarm your belly, deducing that he probably just wanted to hug you a bit longer.

No big deal you think as you’re screaming inside the longer you feel Mark’s arms around your waist.

When you meet Mark’s face, he allows himself to give you a tight-lipped smile.

“Mark, this is-”

“Rex! Heyy, how’s it going?” He chuckles nervously and rubs the back of his neck.

Your eyebrows furrow and you tilt your head a bit. “Yeah… wait, you guys know each other?”

Rex is enthusiast with his reply. “Fuck yeah! This is my best bro.”

He slaps Mark’s back with a confident grin and the “bro” laughs awkwardly.

You know, one of those ‘ha ha ha’ type laughs.

“Okay. So, um, Mark?”

“Yeah?” Aaand his voice cracks.

You politely ignore it but Mark wants to die inside.

“I was wondering if you were still down to go to the mall?”

Mark knows you’re attentive and take your friendships seriously, which isn’t old news. But he can’t help feeling special that’s you remembered a thought from a couple days prior.

“Only if you’ll buy me boba.”

Mark never lets you buy him anything if he can help it, and that’s how it’s always been.

You insist, he’ll deny; but that doesn’t mean his sentiment isn’t nice.

You blink and softly smile at his bargain. “Deal.”

Rex hums thoughtfully, a hand at his chin and his gaze on the sky.

“Can I join? I don’t have anything going onnn~” He suggests in a sing-song manner.

“No, you can’t!” Mark suddenly yells.

You look at Mark with furrowed brows. “Mark, don’t be rude.”

“Yeah, Mark, don’t be rude.” Rex repeats with a sly expression.

Mark deeply exhales through his nose and puts on a fake smile. “Rex, can I talk to you? Alone.”

“Sure!”

He follows Mark about 15 steps away from you.

You decide to sit down on a bench nearby and watch some TikTok to pass the time.

“Hey, so, um- quick question: what the hell are you doing here?”

Rex scoffs. “What, I can’t come visit my bro?”

Mark quirks an eyebrow and crosses his arms, unimpressed.

Rex puts his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll be honest. I was here to talk to you about Cecil,” He looks over at you and sighs dramatically.

“But?” Mark presses when he sees Rex eyeing you.

“I see a hot girl and I can’t help myself, you know?” He smirks knowing he’ll rile Mark up and get the exact reaction he wants.

Mark immediately gets in his line of sight, making Rex back up a bit from the fast and unforgiving wind.

“Woah, man! A little warning next time before you almost blow me away?”

Mark ignores him. “Don’t call her that.”

The truth is, Rex came to campus with a purpose.

Mark never talks about you, but Eve may have let your name slip into conversation a few times.

Rex may be aloof and jerk-ish but he’ll be serious when it’s time.

He’s seen the way Mark’s face changed every time Eve mentioned you; his head would tilt slightly, he’d have a small, unnoticeable smile on his lips.

Rex suspected a crush and he was right! Of course he was, look at the way he’s being defensive of you.

There was just one problem, he didn’t know how you looked. He asked Eve and she was suspicious, but when he revealed his own suspicions, she indulged him.

So, the two of them made a plan with Amber, William and Rick; Operation: Get Mark To Man Up and Admit His Feelings Before You Slip Away.

- FLASHBACK -

“She’s wearing a PINK t-shirt with ripped blue jeans. Oh, and a black backpack.” William directs.

“Pink shirt, black backpack, ripped blue jeans. Got it.”

“PINK as in the brand, not the color.” Amber reminds.

“Wait, what? So what color is the shirt?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s dark green..? And the logo is an even darker shade. ” Eve remembers.

Rex is so unimpressed.

“So, let me get this straight; she’s wearing a shirt from the brand PINK, but it’s just dark green?”

“I’d say you’re on the right track.” Rick chimes.

“This shit is ridiculous. I mean, seriously. Why can’t you girls just wear stuff that warrant normal descriptions?”

“Shut up, Rex.” Amber and Eve say simultaneously.

- FLASH FORWARD -

“Alright, her unwanted, meddling knight in shining armor.”

Mark is about to defend himself against that true baseless allegation when William and Rick find him.

“What’re we gossiping about?”

There’s a glint in William’s eyes, the kind you don’t miss if you’re paying attention to the very specific lilt in his tone.

“Oh, I was just telling Marky boy here,”

Mark side-eyes Rex at the ridiculous nickname.

“How he’s Y/n’s unwanted, meddling knight in shining armor.”

William claps his hands together. “That’s actually an accurate assessment.”

Mark’s offended. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

Rick clears his throat as a guise to hide the very subtle laugh itching his throat.

“Sassy.” William says impressed in his best friends comeback skills.

Rex gets a phone call and excuses himself, giving William a crisp high-five and Rick a chest bump.

“Go get your Juliet, Romeo!” He cheers.

William shakes his head as he guffaws at the man.

“Dude, he's hilarious. How come you've never introduced him to us before?”

“Do I really have to answer that?”

William rolls his eyes at him.

“Anyways. When are you gonna tell Y/n you love her, again?”

“William!” Mark whines.

Rick smiles and expands his thinking.

“He meant to say, you should tell her soon. Before she's with someone else and leaves you to collect the pieces of your broken heart.”

“Not gonna lie, that's exactly what he needs to hear right now.”

Mark can't lie, either.

“Yeah. You kinda ate with that.”

William cringes and Rick winces with embarrassment.

“Hey! So, uhh, never say that again. Hope this helps!” William makes a finger heart.

“Wha- but I used the phrase correctly! Oh, come on guys, really?”

- MEANWHILE, WITH AMBER & EVE -

Amber and Eve thought it’d be a good idea to have a quick chat with you while you were waiting on Mark.

They casually brought up relationships and basically implied that ‘men ain’t shit’, but you disagree with that attitude.

“I dunno... Mark’s a good guy.”

“Oh yeah, for sure! Mark’s one of the good ones.”

Eve nods along to Amber’s statement.

She reminisced on her fair share with toxic relationships. She deliberately left out how it was with Rex but that’s okay, you don’t need to know that…

“Are you and Mark..?”

You feel your cheeks warm at the thought but you’d be lying if you deny your feelings for him.

“No.” You state with your head down and hands in your lap, playing with a ripped thread on your jeans.

“Huh. That’s a shame.” Eve comments.

That gets your attention.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that you and Mark seem…”

“Ideal.” Amber completes smoothly.

Your wide eyes and mouth agape give you away.

“You've never thought about him like that?”

You have, but how do you admit this to Mark’s coworker and friend without it getting back to him?

You think Amber and Eve are cool, they’re nice to you; but they're more Mark’s friends.

To you, they're friends of a friend.

Amber senses your hesitation and sat down next to you.

“We won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Eve locks her lips with an imaginary key and throws it away.

That elicits a small laugh out of you, making you feel a bit more confident to share your secret.

You look over and see Mark and Rex still talking, now joined by William and Rick.

You contemplate for a moment before admitting it.

“Yeah.” You breathe out.

Eve hums in thought. “Let me guess, you don’t want to say anything in case it’ll fuck up the friendship?”

You gasp lightly at her spot-on description. “How’d you know?!”

She just shrugs nonchalantly and Amber bites her tongue to point out how obvious the entire situation is.

“I do like him, a lot... but what if he doesn’t feel the same? I would've ruined something special for something selfish and it would stay with me forever.”

You rant to the 2 girls you’re closest with and somehow, it feels right. You dismiss the thought of them turning out like the average mean girls in a teenage rom-com.

“But what if he does like you back?” Eve proposes.

“Then he’ll have to make the first move.” You shrug obviously.

“I know that’s right.”

You feel giddy from Amber’s approval.

She’s always been the type to keep it short and sweet but once you get her talking? She’ll always keep it real.

“We gotta go but we’ll see you later?”

Eve's already planning on the next hangout because she likes you enough to wanna help. She doesn’t like a lot of people so consider yourself special!

“Oh! Uh- yeah! Sure, that works with me.”

“It’s settled then.”

“See ya, Y/n.”

Coincidentally, you see the boys leave, leaving Mark to come to you.

“Shall we?”

“We shall.”

────♡♡♡────

“Just let me try it.” Mark whines.

You shook your head and stood your ground. “It'll be gone in under ten seconds.”

He gasps dramatically, a hand to the heart like a lady of the opera. “You don't have faith in me?! I am a superhero-”

“I'm sure that's what they say.”

Your sarcasm isn’t foreign but he grows quiet at the remark.

It just slipped out so easily, without care or regard. You immediately try to make it right.

“I’m sorry, Mark.”

“No, no. It’s okay. You didn’t mean it like that.”

Ever the sweetheart but you refuse.

“No, it isn’t.” You stop walking. “I was careless with what I said and it’s not right.”

He looks at you with appreciation and gives you a smile. “Thank you, Y/n. It feels nice to be seen as I am.”

That both warms and saddens your heart.

You know how much he’s been through and even though you’ll never truly understand, you know he can still count on you. You’ll be there for him and that’s gotta mean something.

“Of course.”

You and Mark spend the next hour chatting and idly checking out things in the stores.

You wander into the dress and gown section and are completely in awe of the collection. Every color you can think of in every style: silky, thigh cut, halter top, strapless.

Your hands run through the material and you’re reminded of the spring formal coming up soon.

Not everyone gets the chance of going but you have a friend who extended the courtesy of inviting you and a plus one.

You recall the last time you went to a dance: your senior year of high school's prom. It was memorable. You were a part of a small group that went together; consisting of your friends.

You took photos with Mark and danced with him for a bit but not like anything you wished. There's nothing romantic about screaming club anthem lyrics while getting twerked on but since it was Mark's ass, you didn’t complain.

That was the first and last time he accepted drinks from William, by the way.

You chuckle quietly to yourself in memory of that glorious night when Mark comes up behind you.

"You ready to go or do you wanna try some of them on?"

You take another look at the gorgeous dresses and think.

Mark's hoping you say yes.

He won't admit it anytime soon and despite him already thinking you're the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, prom night solidified that for him.

You had him starstruck.

His heartbeat sped up, adrenaline rushed through his veins and conjured up a swarm of butterflies in his stomach.

SImply put, every feeling and action that describes a man in awe of a pretty lady was an accurate depiction of him.

“Nah, maybe some other time.” You decide.

Mark nods, looking forward to the future dress tryouts. “Okay.”

────♡♡♡────

You have dinner with Mark, Oliver and Debbie.

Mark flew out and brought home some authentic pasta and garlic bread from Italy.

You rolled your eyes playfully and claimed he was being “extra” but reevaluated your statement when you thought about it.

If you could move that fast, you'd go to another country to have their finest food as well.

“It's so good to have you, honey.”

Debbie was always so nice to you, it made you feel happy and proud of yourself knowing someone's mom wholeheartedly accepts your presence in their kids life.

“It's good to be here.”

“Are you gonna stay the night?!” The purple little boy asked full of hope.

You didn't want to let him down but you had no choice.

“I'm sorry, Oliver, but not tonight.” You ruffle his hair and give him an apologetic smile.

You know he's bummed out when he doesn't sound that infectious laugh and tell you you're messing up his hair.

“Oh.”

You feel Mark's gaze on you and when you look up, he offers a sympathetic smile.

“I can stay until it's time for you to sleep.”

You know you've got him, it's an offer he can't refuse.

He's all smiles now and hugs you by the waist, his head laying on your chest.

You smile and hug him back, your head laying on his.

Mark cleans the table and Oliver takes out the trash while you help Debbie with the dishes.

“It doesn't matter how many times I say “no”, does it?”

You hum and shake your head. “Nope.”

You make small talk while you dry after she scrubs and rinses. About college, your plans after college, Mark.

“What about him?” You wonder.

“I mean, how has be been since...”

You see a look of helplessness on her face.

Debbie may be his mother but even she is not immune to the conflict of secrecy in her son's life.

You instantly feel bad.

Mark always tells you everything but to have his own mom ask you things about her son makes the situation complex.

You turn your head over your shoulder and see Mark playing a video game with his baby brother.

When Mark told you about Nolan, what happened to them on Thraxa and the events that unfolded afterwards, you didn't know how to respond.

As if hearing Nolan reveal his plans for Earth and call Debbie a “pet” wasn't heartbreaking enough, you were there with Debbie when Mark was brutally assaulted by his own father.

Then you hear of Nolan's second family he while the first one was still trying to keep it together and deal with the devastating aftermath of the biggest betrayal.

You almost cried when Mark broke down about Angstrom Levy hurting Debbie and Oliver.

You were out of the country on a field trip with your classmates when that happened. Devastated was an understatement for how you felt to hear both Mark and Debbie in the hospital from William.

Mark shamefully admitted to killing Angstrom, thinking that would sever the bond between you two. He expected you to be afraid of him, no matter how awful he’d feel about doing that to you.

It was the total opposite, you embraced him and let him cry on your shoulder. You let him feel everything but you also let him feel your hand in his.

You looked him in the eyes and told him that he did what he had to do and if killing Angstrom was the solution, then so be it.

“Mark told me everything. From seeing Mr. Grayson—”

You see a flash of hurt in Debbie's eyes at the mention of his name and almost forget that before he was known as Omni-Man, he was Mr. Grayson. He was Mark's dad.

“—again and about Oliver. Up until Angstrom and how the last thing he did was hurt you and Oliver.”

Debbie drys her hands and looks out of the window above the sink.

You can tell she’s disassociating. Her eyes seem so far away and crestfallen.

You don’t know if she’s getting much sleep but you also can’t imagine getting any if you were her.

You put a hand on her shoulder and she’s visibly shaken out of her thoughts.

“He’s gonna be okay, and so are you.”

She looks at you like you’ve lit up a candle at the end of a very dark tunnel.

Debbie leans in for a hug, eliciting a small sigh when you strengthen the embrace a little.

You figured she should feel taken care of for once.

“Thank you.”

You hear her sincerity and make a mental note to talk about this with Mark later on.

Oliver is tired out from having a “good playdate” with you and his older brother.

You tuck him in for the night per his request and can't help but feel the warmth from taking care of him touch your heart.

He's a growing boy but despite the many changes one goes through due to that constant stage of life, his feelings for you don't change.

Mark loves how much Oliver loves you. He loves seeing 2 of the most important people in his life get along so well, secretly admiring the way you've grown a soft spot in his mother's heart, too.

“They grow up so fast.” Mark attempts to humor.

You hum and try your best not to cry dwell on the bittersweetness of that phrase.

“Yeah.”

You're sitting on Mark's bed, looking fondly at the one of many drawings the kid made for you.

You softly exhale and bring up the conversation you had earlier with Debbie.

“Mark, I have something I want to talk to you about.”

He looks at you knowingly. “I know.”

Your eyes widen a bit at that revelation. “You do?”

He nods, a pursed smile on his face. “I have super hearing, remember?”

How did you forget that?

You close your eyes and exhale sharply, feeling silly for forgetting that power of his. “Right, duh.”

You don’t want to push the conversation if he’s not feeling it but you want to know if you did the right thing.

“I... didn’t overstep… right?”

“Oh, no. No, you didn’t.”

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I… haven’t had the best time talking to her about the things I say to you.”

You nod in understanding.

“I felt bad when she asked you how I’m doing. She should be able to ask me that.”

He’s guilt-stricken and it makes you feel dejected.

“Mark.” You put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard talking to your mom about your inner turmoil but you’re all she has.”

Who does Debbie go to when she wants to discuss the matters of her heart? Who’ll listen when she wants someone to talk to?

“You give her the strength to carry on so let her give you some peace of mind, hm?”

Mark’s eyes shine with a strong fondness for you, his mind wiped clean of all things difficult and heart ten times lighter.

You’ve always understood him, whether he explains himself or not. You could always just know.

Your heart and emotional intelligence are perhaps his favorite things about you.

“You okay?” You ask, worried you’ve overstepped again.

“Never been better.” He promises.

A soft smile graces his lips as he leans in to hug you.

You accept it with an equal gentle expression and when you feel his arms wrap around your middle, you feel good.

Mark is invulnerable but not when it comes to the war between his mind and heart, that’s when you step in. And when you do, there’s always a resolution found in great clarity.

You feel his heartbeat above yours and unconsciously, they sync. His breathing evens out with yours.

It feels intimate, this hug.

You’ve hugged him a million times before but none of them have felt quite like this.

A heavy weight on his shoulders has evaporated and you can feel his gratitude.

“I don’t know how to thank you.” He murmurs.

You tilt your head back a bit so he can see you. “Then don’t.” You shrug, like it’s the most obvious answer.

He chuckles lightly and blinks at you, a tight-lipped smile on his face.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of his arms loosening around you and replacing the warmth with his hands on your hips.

You subconsciously gulp and watch his eyes flicker towards your eyes, lips then back to your eyes.

You don’t know if it’s your mind playing tricks on you, but you swear he moves his head a little closer to you; just enough to barely touch noses.

Your stomach is in a frenzy and your hands feel clammy.

Is this really happening?

But then, like a switch being flipped off; he gingerly clears his throat and backs away.

You blink, catching yourself in a daze and he gets up to put on a movie.

He acts like he wasn’t just about to kiss you, as if that chemistry was just a figment of your imagination.

You don’t have the guts to say anything, to ask the obvious. So, you also pretend that you two weren’t just about to fulfill your biggest ‘what if?’ scenario.

────♡♡♡────

“Oh, wow… that’s crazy.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.”

It was nice to hear sympathies from the only people who you could afford to talk about this with. They’re also the only people who wouldn’t go and spread the telltale truth of the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“I can’t believe he fumbled this badly.” Amber facepalms herself in disbelief.

She sighs in exasperation and plops down on your bed with an arm covering her eyes.

Eve doesn’t move from her position; leaning on your wall with her arms crossed and her face in thought.

“What if he doesn’t like me like that?” You wonder aloud.

Amber peeks an eye out from under her elbow and Eve shakes her head.

“No, no, no. Trust me, that’s not it.”

“Don’t seem so sure.” You grumble as you pick at your nails to distract yourself from the heartache.

Eve sits down beside you and thinks about her words carefully. “Mark… well, I won’t defend him; he is kinda stupid.”

“Kinda?” Amber argues.

That makes you grin a bit.

“But he’s also your best friend, and you’re his. Maybe he doesn’t know how he feels but he does know that you’re not worth the risk of something he’s unsure will ever happen.”

Somehow, she put things into a perspective you’ve never thought about before.

“I never thought about it like that.”

You feel Amber sit up.

“That’s because it’s a confusing situation. Seeing both sides of the story might help you make some sense of the situation.”

You nod, already having potential answers to your unanswered questions. If not real answers, you’ll settle for theories. It’s still something.

“Thank you, guys.”

Amber winks at you. “Anytime.”

“Of course. We're rooting for you both.”

You shyly smile when Eve nudges your shoulder.

“So," She claps her hands together. “what should we do to commence our very first sleepover? Omegle?”

Amber is concerned for the first time at Eve’s expense.

“Umm...” You pout your lips to the side.

“I don't find the idea of accidentally getting flashed the most... thrilling.” Ambers grimaces.

“Yeah.” You nod.

Eve has a sly look on her face, one that says her proposition comes with an entertaining twist.

“Trust me, I have an idea.”

────♡♡♡────

“Okay, that was pretty fun.” Amber concedes.

You laugh softly to yourself, remembering the events from the previous night.

The 3 of you decide to go out for lunch, finding the night an excellent moment for bonding.

“What was fun?”

Mark pulls a seat up at the table you're occupying.

“Mark? How'd you know we were here?” You query.

Mark looks just as confused as you but before he could answer, Eve does it for him.

“I invited him.”

“Oh. Okay.”

You don't have a problem, it's just that you thought this was gonna be “girl time” as you like to call these moments.

It would've been nice to know, at least.

Amber attempts to start up a conversation but little did you know; this conversation was a part of Eve's “idea” she mentioned the night prior.

“We went on Omegle last night.”

Mark's eyebrows raise in surprise. “Did anything happen?”

You understand the underlying message to be, “Were you victims to any unsolicited sexual advance?” and find it kind of sweet that Mark cares enough to have that be his first train of thought.

“Yeah, actually.” Eve notes as she takes a bite of her burger.

“Y/n's got herself a loverboy.”

You choke on your drink. Exploding into a fit of coughs, you hope it kills you.

Mark is quick to pat your back and try to aid in helping.

When you catch your breath, you look over at him awkwardly and thank him.

“Don't mention it.” He humbly said.

You make it a personal mission to never bring it up. Ever.

Amber continues to fuel the fire.

“Yeahhh.” She sighs. “He's Russian and was all, like, ‘Your eyes are like the ocean and I am a merman.’.” She puts on her best Russian accent and giggles when she nails it.

“Mm!” Eve makes a noise of enthusiasm, adding on to the punchline. “And then he said, ‘They are so deep, I can drown in them.’.”

“The fuck?” Mark grunts under his breath. “But mermen can swim.”

Honestly, he thought it was fucking stupid. Even if this guy was a “merman”, he'd be able to swim. Drowning is totally out of the question.

“Yeah, but it was the thought that counts.” Amber spoke before eating a fry.

“It was pretty corny.” Eve seemingly agrees with Mark.

“See?! I knew I wasn't the only one.” Mark nods to himself.

“But...”

His smile drops.

“I gotta admit, it was kind of romantic.”

Mark can't believe this.

Is romance really dead? Aren't punchlines supposed to make sense?

He knows it's only romantic because the guy's Russian. Okay, so he has an accent. So what? That should pardon his inadequacy of flirting?

“You guys only ate it up because he has an accent.”

Mark narrows his eyes as he takes a curly fry from your plate.

Amber and Eve side eye each other with mischief as they see you enter the ring.

“I thought it was kind of sweet, you know? At least he tried.” You counter.

Mark tilts his head, clearly bewildered. “You mean to say that you actually liked that?”

You don’t like his accusatory tone. “It wasn’t that bad, Mark.”

He rolls his eyes and begs to differ. “Wasn’t that bad- it made no sense! He definitely pulled that shit out of Google’s top thirty best flirty lines.” He puts air quotes around best.

“Oh, would you look at that? I actually have to go do that... thing.” Eve slowly rises from her seat.

“Yeah, me too.” Amber flashes a sweet smile.

They’re gone before you can impose.

“They really just left.” You say to no one.

Mark is still somehow going. “I just… I dunno.” He says, defeated.

“Mark, it wasn’t that deep. He liked my eyes and said some line that made me feel nice. That’s all.”

He nods like he understands but he really doesn’t.

“He’s no Mr. Darcy.” You settle as you take a sip of your milkshake.

Mark smiles at that and you’re confused.

“Why’re you smiling?”

“I knew it! I knew you couldn’t possible swoon over that ridiculous, nonsensical one-liner.”

You laugh incredulously. “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just knew he couldn’t be your type after that. Sure, you like them romantic but with genuine thought.”

He says that so confidently, with such attention, it makes you feel nicer than the Russian’s compliment. He makes you feel seen with that keen observation.

You nod to yourself, lowkey impressed.

“Mkay.” You simply say.

His gaze flickers towards you at the seemingly confusing, neutral response.

“What.”

“What, what?”

“You said that like you’re not convinced.”

You deeply exhale, not wanting to argue anymore. “Mkay.”

His eyes widen a bit and he snaps at you like he’s just discovered the phrase: ‘eureka!’.

“That, right there. That’s what I mean.”

You rub at your head as if you’ve got a headache but you doubt you won’t get one soon.

“Elaborate.”

You’re sticking with as little words as possible if it means to get to the point.

“Are you mad at me?” He asks with worry coating his tone.

You shake your head, unsure of what’s happening. “I just don’t know what’s gotten into you today. You’re in this strange mood to argue.”

He blinks.

You’re right.

Arguments are a rare occurrence in this relationship.

“We never argue.” He realizes regretfully.

Your eyes trail up his form and you see the uncomfortableness etched onto his outline.

“I’m sorry-”

“Sorry-”

There’s a pause, one that melts the lingering awkwardness into friendliness.

You see the hints of a smile creep up on him and instinctually, there’s one in yours.

“You first.”

Ever the gentleman.

“Sorry for making it awkward.” Your fingers interlock with each other and you give him an apologetic look.

Mark immediately shakes his head. “No, you didn’t make anything awkward… It was me. I got-”

He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, trying to find another way out of this as two thirds of his sentence has already been put out.

“You got..?”

He puts on a tight-lipped smile but it looks pained. “I just wanna say that I’m sorry for getting defensive for no reason.”

He thinks that was a good excuse for his detour but you’re smart.

“Jealous.” You say firmly.

“Huh?” He squeaks and immediately clears his throat.

“You got jealous.” You shrug your shoulders and move the whip cream in your milkshake around with the straw.

He scoffs with the intention of obscurity. “That- I- What? Pfft, jealous. Who, me?! Yeah, right.”

His stuttering erupts a snort from you, an “I told you so” fresh on the tip of your tongue.

He wanted to spout declarations of how incorrect you are but he couldn’t. The cat had his tongue.

“Whatever.” He bites with little heat.

He crosses his arms over his chest and appears to look unaffected by your ability to see through him.

“Mkay.” You hum to tease him.

Your best friend groans and you giggle at him slouching down in his seat, his hands covering his face and in turn; a sheepish grin.

────♡♡♡────

You’re in your home when your TV bears awful news.

“Breaking news: intruders that look like multiple Invincibles are wreaking havoc across the globe.”

As soon as you hear that, a loud boom is heard from across the city and sends shockwaves to where you are.

“We urge you to stay in your homes and hide. Do not make contact, I repeat; don’t engage with them.”

You’re scared.

How the hell are you supposed to stay hidden in your home when there’s the start of destruction visible outside?

How can they tell you to stay inside when there’s a chance you can die in there?

It’s not like the variants aren’t gonna come inside. Who’d stop them from hurling your place of residence like a football?

Despite all of those thoughts, you stay inside.

You hide in your living room. You sigh to yourself as you hide inside a spare closet, leaving a sliver of space open to breathe.

You turn your phone’s ringer off but feel the vibrations in your pocket. You look to see who it could be and feel so much relief flood your stomach when it’s Mark.

“Mark?” You say shakily.

“Y/n? Oh, thank god. Where are you?”

Your eyes water but you keep them at bay. No point in crying over spilled milk.

“I’m in the spare closet of the living room, what’s going on?”

He starts to explain when the call abruptly cuts.

So fucking cliche you think as you the see the dead battery sign.

You hear a kitchen window open and you heave out a sigh of relief. You get out and are about to hug him but the first thing you notice when you open the door is his face. Er, the lack thereof.

“Is… this a new costume?” You ask wearily.

You didn’t know Mark had a black mask installed, it covered his whole head and the lens were turquoise blue instead of white.

He just stares at you, unflinching and scarily still.

You gulp as the realization sets in your stomach.

This isn’t the Mark of your world. This isn’t the Invincible you recognize.

The masked stranger can sense your irregular heartbeat and hear the small panicked breaths that well up in your chest.

He slowly stalks towards you; like a predator to their prey, except there’s nothing dangerous about his stance. He doesn’t radiate harm or anger and he puts his hands up, as if to show you he won’t harm you.

For your own sake, you can’t believe that. You can’t believe that’s what he wants.

You’re frozen, wide eyes filled to the brim with fear and shock.

You grip your phone tight in your hands, ready to turn it into a weapon if you must.

He’s interrupted when another one shows up.

This one has a black and yellow suit with a yellow cape.

Your eyes dart to his figure and you’re sure this one’s gonna do the honors.

“You’re alive.” He says to himself.

His eyes are covered with white lenses but you know he’s looking at you.

His hands ball up into fists and he walks to you with an urgency in his stride.

You instinctually back up and hit the wall when the masked variant gets in between you both.

“She’s scared.”

The tone in his voice almost makes you think he cares. Almost.

“Get out of my way.” The bright-caped intruder basically spat his face.

“And let youuu have all the fun? I don’t think so!”

What the fuck?

You see what looks like Mark… in a mohawk.

His lips spread into a smirk, a cocky tone in his words.

Your nails press into your arm to prevent you from sputtering out a giggle.

How are you supposed to take him seriously when he’s willingly sporting a mohawk? Right.

If you knew there was going to come a time where your home is used as some sort of Invincible convention, you would’ve moved out a long time ago.

“You’re here.”

This one scares you a little.

His demeanor may be softer but his eyes, they’re wild with a fire furling around his pupils. What makes the fear prick at your heart is the fact that he’s wearing the Viltrumite uniform.

Wherever he came from, he became his father.

That fact chills your bones and you think, how could that happen? Why did that happen?

His wild eyes are wide with surprise and there’s the ghost of a relieved smile on his face.

Very quickly have you gone from 0 to 100.

There are 2 seemingly decent Invincibles and 2 Invincibles that give off evil vibes.

What’s better news is that they all have some sort of fascination with you.

Awesome! Fantastic, even.

Your adrenaline has taken a back seat but you’re still unnerved by the destruction just outside your neighborhood.

You’ve never wished for a quicker death as this cat and mouse game is becoming all too much. The anticipation will kill you if they don’t.

“Alright,” Mohawk Mark yawns. “Enough dickin’ around.”

The 4 variants surround you, encasing you in an otherwise unbreakable square.

“You’re coming with us.” Decides the caped crusader.

He puts his hand out to grab you but is thrown through a wall by an unstoppable force.

It feels a bit blurry after that.

You feel yourself being lifted and moving at an alarming speed, your body lurching forward and side to side by the breeze taking you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He murmurs.

He hugs you close to his chest, a hand cradling the back of your head and the other clutching your back protectively.

“M-Mark?”

You find your voice amongst the dizziness clouding your head.

He holds your head and tilts it towards him, kissing the crown and meeting your eyes.

“Yeah, it’s me. You’re okay, you’ll be fine. Just stay here.”

You hold his wrists and blink, looking around you to find yourself with Debbie and her boyfriend, Paul.

“Please.”

Mark’s desperation appeals to you. His voice cracks with an urgency for your life. One that is begging you to listen, and you do.

“Okay.” You agree.

He nods and kisses you once against, a sweet promise pressed against your forehead.

You may have had the wind knocked out of you but that doesn’t mean you’re unaware.

Oh yeah, that kiss sobers you up real quick.

Your eyes are wide and cheeks are warm; you’re flushed and hope he doesn’t detect the jump in your heart rate because of his tenderness for you.

“Be careful.” You blurt out.

Mark looks back at you with a smirk on his face.

“I will.”

He kept his promise for the most part.

────♡♡♡────

“Ow.”

“Maybe don’t move around a lot?”

“…Sorry.”

He winces as you treat his facial wounds.

Mark got pretty banged up; his left eye is swollen and purple from Conquests fists. He has similar shades of bruises on his face and a cut on the bridge of his nose and one on the corner of his lip. His arms and leg are almost fully healed.

It’s been a grueling few weeks.

Oliver helps out as much as he can.

Eve and the rest of the heroes are helping piece the cities back together but no matter how much they help rebuild, the atrocities committed won’t be forgotten.

Conquest was here on a personal mission and almost leveled the state because of it and roughed up Oliver pretty badly.

“I don’t know what to do.”

You hear him, you hear the things he wants to say and the things he doesn’t say out loud.

You feel so bad, so awful for him. He’s still a kid trying his hardest, doing his best.

Why can’t that be enough?

“It isn’t fair.” You respond.

His gaze turns to you.

“You do your best and when you think it’s over, the worst is still yet to come.”

Your fingers lightly touch the one of many bruises on his cheek, his eyes close at the contact.

“I can’t imagine how many times you’ve had pieces of you broken for us but it’s a sacrifice that unfortunately comes with the job.”

It hurt your heart, saying the second part.

Hard truths are a pill you’ll always find difficult to give.

He sharply inhales and the tears he tried so hard holding come pouring down. Soft sobs and wails plague his throat. His head falls atop your chest and his hands wrap around your middle, clinging to your shirt.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders and you do your best to ground him, to be his anchor.

His mental state is unimaginable, the thought of him slipping away has been a reoccurring nightmare for you but you push through. You have to.

“So many people died.”

The death toll worldwide was into the hundreds of thousands. That was the doing of the variants but Mark was inadvertently responsible, too.

It breaks your heart at how unfair this all is.

A Viltrumite’s personal vendetta against Mark resulted in such catastrophe.

Scott -also known as Powerplex- fried his only family left and somehow thinks that is also Mark’s fault.

As if the Chicago Incident wasn’t enough, there was almost a Chicago Incident Part 2 had it not been for Eve.

“You can’t blame yourself Angstrom’s doing.” You try to reason.

Mark shakes his head and gets up.

“I thought I killed him, but I should’ve been sure. I should’ve finished the job.”

Mark palms at his wet eyes, sniffling lightly as he calms down.

You don’t know what to do, you don’t know what to say.

You don’t want him to wallow in this pain by himself but you also don’t want to say something wrong.

“You should leave.” His cold tone and neutral face really sells it.

You’re confused. “What? I’m sorry, was it something I said? Or did?”

You’ve never seen him like this and are worried the wretched day you’ve been imagining is finally here.

“No. I just want you to go.”

You watch his fists bunch up the material of his joggers on his knees and the veins protruding from his hands.

“I…”

You want to say something, you want to stay for him but you can’t. You know it’d only make things worse.

So you just nod and whisper a meek, “Okay.”.

Mark still isn’t looking at you when you make your way to the door. His face still expressionless, calculated, distant.

Your fingers reach for the handle when you hear him.

“Y/n?”

It’s embarrassing how quick hope flashes in your eyes at the sound of him saying your name.

You try to suppress the obvious reaction as much as possible.

“Yeah?”

It still seeps through your voice but you’re human.

Your emotions are a part of you, even if they end up being a helping hand to your disappointment.

You don’t see the pool of guilt swirl around in his almost annoyed eyes but maybe it’s for the better.

He stares at you and feels bad but after everything that’s happened, is it worth keeping you in his life?

He wants to tell you so badly what’s making him push you away.

Sure, William is his best friend but you’re so much more. You’re a part of him, you’re his soulmate.

Mark wants nothing more than to see you happy but he ultimately decides that it’s nothing compared to seeing you alive.

“Can you close my door all the way?” He begrudgingly says.

The average person would blame him for pushing you away, him getting your hopes up only to crush them so inadvertently cruelly.

But you only chastise yourself.

You want him to know that despite people like Scott or Angstrom; who put the blame on wrong people for their circumstantial demise, there's people like you and Debbie.

He has a support system ready to recharge him but maybe you were overcharging him?

You go to sleep in tears, crying silently to yourself over how fucked life is.

Mark doesn't sleep the whole night, knowing he can hear your heart break.

────♡♡♡────

It's been a slow week.

You don't talk to anyone or do things you used to; only getting up to go to class and eat, do some occasional grocery shopping.

You make an excuse for Amber and Eve when they text you to meet up and watch their caller ID's flash across your phone before it rings all the way through.

Mark hasn't spoken to you at all. No call, no text.

Despite him quitting school, you used to see him all the time on campus. Whether it be for you or William or Rick.

Now, you don't meet with anyone.

“She doesn't wanna talk to me or Amber anymore.” Eve voiced one day.

"Nor us." Rick pointed towards him and William.

“Something’s wrong. I'm worried about her.” Amber adds as she comes across the last message you sent in the group chat with her and Eve.

hey guys, just going through the flu rn. i’m fine tho! no worries :)

But of course they worried. They're your friends and that's what friends do.

Which is exactly what they said when they arrived at your doorstep, so you can't afford another excuse.

Your duo sits on your bed, trying to come up with a solution to best help you out.

“He’s closed off and maybe that was expected, but it's been a week.” Amber says.

“Yeah, you'd think he'd open up by now.”

You sigh pitifully and look out your window and down the street.

You’re a 10 minute drive and he’s a 1 minute flight away, yet nobody is willing to close that distance.

“It should be him, though.” Eve says.

“Hm?” You hum absentmindedly.

“Mark should be the one to come talk to you, not the other way around.”

Eve gauges for a reaction from you, one that will oppose her idea.

“Maybe you should go.” She switches up.

You look at Eve hesitantly, like it's a flop idea.

“You tried, Y/n. You did your part and he let you know but this isn’t the way things between you should end. Should he want it to end.”

It's like Amber knew what you were thinking and tried to dismiss the thought for you.

You weren't gonna lie and say that you haven't thought about blowing up his phone, driving to his house and banging on his door to open up to you.

But would he even want to? Would he even listen?

“It's not about what he wants, it's about what he needs.”

“And what he needs right now, is you.”

- MEANWHILE, WITH WILLIAM, RICK & REX -

“Come on, man. Don't be like this.” William tries.

Rick can see how much Mark is beating himself up over everything that’s happened.

With the fight against Liu’s dragon and Powerplex. And now recently, Conquest.

Mark never complained, it was the job. But you made getting back out on the field a bit easier.

“It's not worth losing her.” Rick gently reminds.

Mark's trio of lending hands have come to his service but it's unwanted, and Mark lets them know.

“Look, I don't need this. Especially not right now.”

This makes Rex mad.

“Oh you don’t need this? Well, excuseee me! We don’t need you to be so goddamn stupid, especially not right now.”

Mark narrows his eyes, visibly agitated. “Stupid? I’m being stupid?”

Rex widens his eyes, his pitch growing higher. “Yeah! That’s what I said.”

“Okay, I think we’re elevating the situation so let’s all just calm down.” William suggests nervously.

Mark has other thoughts as he rises from the bed. “And how exactly am I being stupid?”

Rex knows he shouldn’t be egging him on, he shouldn’t be encouraging his anger; but if this was the way to make his friend see his foolishness then so be it.

“By distancing yourself from the one woman who’s nice enough to let you, instead of manning up and telling her why.”

That stung.

“You don’t get to tell me how to handle my love life.”

Rex smirks lazily, a hardball on the tip of his tongue. “You don’t even have the balls to have one.”

“Rex.” William warns.

The cheeky bastard ignores him and continues on, a bit excited to see where this would all lead.

“I think she’d want a man who sees her, who doesn’t hurt her by ignoring her entire existence.”

Rick facepalms himself and wonders where the line between bravery and stupid was drawn.

Mark’s knuckles are white from how hard his fingers are curling in on themselves, his fists ready to pound into the explosive asshole.

Rex steps closer, now toe-to-toe with Mark and ignorantly unafraid. “I wouldn’t make her wait.”

Mark punches him right in the mouth, hard.

“Mark!” The yell of his friends fall on deaf ears.

Rex grunts as he stumbles back a bit, expecting this outcome.

“You don’t know her. You don’t know what’s good for her.” Mark spits bitterly.

Rex spits some blood out, sighing heavily. “You do.”

That makes Mark soften up.

He blinks like he’s snapped out of a trance. His fist wavers and is set down beside his thigh, a deep sigh exiting his nose. He looks at his friend and witnesses the ugly truth; his jealousy won.

“What am I doing?” He whispers.

Rex coughs lightly, the cut on his lip stinging.

“Talk to her, Mark. Don’t let her live with the regret of not knowing.”

Rick puts a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, hoping this will finally tip him over the edge.

Rex comes off the wall, slapping Mark’s back with a warm pat.

“I’m sorry, Rex. I shouldn’t have-”

He dismisses him with a wave. “Nah, I was being an asshole. An asshole on purpose, but still an asshole.”

────♡♡♡────

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You’re gathering the courage to mull over the most impactful relationship in your life.

Is there even a correct way to do that?

You don’t know, but what you do know is that you have to try.

You look yourself in the mirror and feel the weight of your younger self.

She’d be devastated. you think. If she were here in the flesh to see this, you don’t think she could withstand it.

A sharp knock to your door pulls you out of your head.

You’re not expecting anyone, and you’re unsure about the one person you did want to hear from.

Regardless, you walk over and open the door and your heart drops out of your ass. Not in fear, but in surprise.

“Mark.” You breathe.

Here he is; in the flesh and without the scowl you picture. In fact, he looks guilty.

His once glee-filled eyes are now empty of it, making you reminisce the time before last week.

“Can I come in?”

His voice resounding of forlorn hope. He expects you to deny him, to make him walk away with his hands held in a helpless prayer.

Instead, you show him mercy and welcome him inside your place of refuge.

Tentatively, he makes his way inside and awkwardly stands beside your desk.

You’re quiet, still trying to process his presence after an entire week of radio silence.

You don’t know how to feel, if anything. Should you be happy? Ecstatic? Frustrated and hurt are also a couple of great options.

“Y/n?”

You look up at him and see his concerned face. “Hm?”

“I asked if we can talk.”

“Now you want to talk?” It came out before you could even think about it.

Your annoyance seeps through and he shuffles the weight on his feet a bit uncomfortably.

“I know-”

“No, you don’t.”

He looks at you like you just told him to kill himself.

“Y/n, please. Just hear me out.”

Your arms are crossed over your chest in a defensive position, he clocks that. He also notices the way you make eye contact with him throughout your sentences.

You were really hurt, he gathers.

He takes your silence as a sign to continue talking.

“After I left you at Paul’s, I went back out there and fought off the rest of those… variants. While I was fighting them, they told me about you.”

Your interest is fucking peaked now.

“What do you mean?”

“They... they said that you existed in their world but-“ He cuts himself off with a vexed sigh.

“But what, Mark.”

You want, need to know what was worth hurting you for days on end.

Mark looks at you and it's the most disheartened he's looked since that night he told you to leave.

“You died, Y/n.”

It all makes sense now. You grapple with the stomach-churning epiphany of the century.

The different Invincibles that wanted to take you was simply because you ceased to exist in their worlds.

“I... I died in every single universe.”

He takes some steps in your direction, not wanting to overwhelm you.

“You either died on accident by being murdered with civilians or you killed yourself.”

“Why would I commit suicide?”

He deeply inhales. “Because you'd rather die than join the other me.”

That sounds on brand.

“I couldn't live with myself knowing I'd lose you in this one, too.” He admits raspily.

That touches your heart.

You want to hug him, to comfort him but you're still kind of confused. You needed more answers.

“I was so scared, I had never felt fear like I did when I saw them with you.” He whispers.

“Why'd you tell me to leave?” You ask gently.

“Because I love you.”

His confession is so light, said with such helplessness, that you tear up.

Mark maintains eye contact with you, tired of hiding his true self. He wants you to see him.

“So many people have died because of me, it may not be directly my fault, but it still had to do with me.”

He comes a little closer, just a couple of steps away from touching you.

“What if I was too late that day? What if they managed to take you away?” He mutters in a hushed tone.

Mark shakes his head as if to get rid of those thoughts.

“If anything happens to you, it will be because of me.”

“So, you thought it was best to create such a large gap between us, that there's be a sinking hole inside of me. Is that it?”

Your eyes well up against your will but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when he can finally see just how much you've been suffering.

“You think I wanted to do that?” He asks defensively.

You scoff indignantly. “I think you could've told me from the jump. That's what I think.”

You know it's a little unfair given how vulnerable he's being right now but he was unfair when you were vulnerable, too.

He shakes his head, eyes closing in on themselves as his tears threaten to fall. “I can't risk your life, Y/n! Why don't you understand that?”

You messily wipe your tears, your lashes wet and nose tinged with the lightest of reds.

“All this time, you didn't have a problem with how close we were. Now that you saw how close I was to something dangerous, it got too real for you?!”

He's in your space now, his chin set down and eyes on yours.

Contrary to how mad he looks, he relays his message in an low tone. “Yeah. It did.”

Your eyes widen a bit at the length he's cut between your bodies and you're back in time. You go back to the moment he almost kissed you.

“Don't push me away, Mark.”

You beg him and you don't care if you look pathetic. You love him and don't want to lose him like this.

Mark just presses his forehead against yours and shuts his eyes, he concentrates on you. Your smell, your hushed breaths, your heartbeat.

You feel his hands slide up and down your arms, grounding you.

Even when he's opening up to you, Mark still chooses to comfort you. He still wants to calm you down, to make you feel better. He still chooses to have your best interests at heart.

“I came here to tell you the truth because you deserve better.”

You wordlessly deny his idea, shaking your head once.

He grabs ahold of your head, making you look at him.

You see it all, you see all of his pain, grief, anger.

“I love you but you're not safe with me.”

“You don't get to make my decision for me.” You stubbornly point out.

Y/n—”

“I love you.” A shaky whisper snuck into the air between your lips.

His wide eyes stare back at yours in surprise.

“I've loved you for a long time and I don't wanna be in love with another.” You wrap your hands around his, feeling the warmth bloom onto your cold ones.

“Please. Please don't ask me to stay away from you.” You cry.

He kisses your head and brings you close, your head on his shoulder and slotting between his bicep and forearm. He curls his other arm around your waist and lays his head on yours.

“Okay, fine.” He fondly agrees. “You win so stop crying.”

"Fuck you." You jab.

He airily laughs and brings your face close to his, pressing an equally feathery kiss to your lips.

You timidly kiss him, shying away a little to breathe but Mark wants you to take his breath if you must. He pulls you in, hands gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him, wanting to shape a new mold from your figures.

Your fingers nervously brush his hair and he groans at the contact.

You chuckle at the sound and he pulls away leaving a soft peck.

He's in a daze and has hearts in his eyes but he ultimately decides; he wouldn't want it any other way.

2K notes · View notes

coldvirginbitch · 5 months ago

Text

Tags: [mlw][mdni][friends to more?][tw: forehead mention][rex is a girldad, prove me wrong][fingering][ex!fwb][spooning][lil' bit of a daddy kink][creaming][doggy style][spit][

"You know, that baby looks a lot like you." Mark hums softly, attention shifting between the toddler that stands between Rex's muscular thighs, chubby hands gripping the fabric of his sweatpants and green eyes stare up at him.

Rex's gaze lowers to meet Winnie's, wide eyes that mirror his own staring at the ice-cream cone in his hand, rosy lips wetting themselves with a pink tongue as she shifts on her tiny feet.

He does see the resemblance a bit. In her mannerisms, her appearance. Shit, even the way she instinctively shows Cecil her index finger whenever he walks into the room. Rex knows that's not the finger she wants to show.

"Nahh." Rex dismisses, lowering the treat just enough for Winnie's hand to grip at his wrist, unsteady legs keeping her up as she licks at the cone. "It's cause me and her mom are close. It's like when your cat start to look like you."

"Babies aren't cats, Rex." Mark deadpans, slender fingers tapping on his thigh as he stares at Winnie.

"Do you know who her dad is yet?"

Rex shakes his head, his pudgy thumb wiping away the smears of strawberry ice-cream before looking back towards Mark.

Before shrugging his broad shoulders.

"Doesn't matter. I'm basically her fun uncle." Rex boasts before looking down at Winnie, dimples deep in his honeyed cheeks, green eyes sparkling. "Ain't I, tubby?"

"Dlickwee!" Winnie giggles.

"Don't call me a dickweed, you dyslexic shit."

"Rex, she's a baby!" Mark defends, hands hooking underneath Winnie's chubby arms, tugging her up into the air before ultimately settling her on his thigh, chonky fists immediately moving to tug on the collar of his shirt.

"When are you gonna tell him?" Sam's voice is quiet, turning away from where Rex has Winnie cradled and she stares at you, shovelling spoonfuls of ice cream into your mouth.

"I kinda wanna watch him figure it out himself." You speak through a full mouth, before looking back towards Rex.

"He'd make such a good dad if he wasn't....you know..." "Slow?"

Kate interjects, gaze lifting from her book and you purse your lips, reluctantly nodding your head.

"So, are you like, around all the time?" Mark questions, attention divided between where Winnie toys with the chain around his neck, and where Rex is lounged, one muscular leg extended over the armrest of the sofa and the other foot planted on the carpeted floor.

"Mhm." Rex hums. "I basically live there. You know, cause the kid's dad's a fucking deadbeat."

And Mark scratches the back of his neck, almost awkwardly, gaze shifting.

"Yeah, well, you know, he might... Not know he has a kid." Mark mumbles and Rex shifts, green eyes regarding Mark with a scrutinizing gaze. Before looking between him and Winnie.

The way how she's always been so affectionate with Mark, excitedly clapping whenever she sees 'Unca Mar'. And Rex sucks on his teeth, brows furrowing with suspicion.

"Real fuckin weird thing to say. Defending a deadbeat." And Rex shifts, elbows resting on his knees and he leans forward.

"You got a confession, dickhead?"

"Wha— No. No. She's not my k— I've never even had sex with anyone other than Sam."

And Rex snorts.

"Real sad confession, buddy."

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨💥୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

There's no way to explain the demonic horniness that shrouds you like a thick mist when you see the way Rex gently brushes Winnie hair, bristles gentle against her soft strands and she simply keeps her gaze focused on the toy in her hands.

Beside him, lay an assortment of different hair accessories. Glittery hair ties, elastics, bows, and an assortment of clips, all decorated with various yellow things. Plastic gummy bears, bananas, stars, hearts. Everything that came from a superhero salary in her favourite colour.

"Okay, Pooh, what's the look for today?" Rex questions Winnie, brilliant green gaze focused on her, her small body settled between his muscular thighs, the sleeves of his T-shirt rolled up to the apex of forearm.

Veins bulge beneath the surface of the skin, scaling all the way up to wear the bunched fabric rests, wrists decorated with an assortment of jewellery. Namely black bands, brown beads and one very yellow friendship bracelet. Big, chunky beads that look jelly-ish, puffy letters that read 'WINNIE'.

Winnie babbles incoherently, pitch varying as her chubby hands continue to twist and turn the cube in her hands. Trying to assemble the colours in order.

"Hm.. s'thinking pigtails too. To minimise your mom's forehead genes." Rex snickers. "Dome headed."

And Rex divides the hair, carefully putting her hair in pretty pigtails like he's done many, many times before. Yellow decorates that gingery hair, green eyes obscured by yellow star-framed sunglasses and he waits until she lets out that squeal at her reflection before setting her down on the floor.

And she scrambles out of the room, excitedly, and Rex lets out a groan, arms stretching overhead before glancing towards you.

"Fuckin creep." He mocks, barely ducking the folded towel that's meant to collide with the back of his head.

"Fuck you. My forehead's normal sized." You defend, before shuffling properly into the bedroom, arms crossed over your chest and like clockwork, Rex's warm, warm hands move to grasp your hips, tugging you onto him unapologetically.

Your knees dig into the mattress on either side of him, your ass planted on his lower belly and your hands move towards bracing yourself on his chest. And Rex snorts.

"Muscle memory, huh?"

And you suck your teeth, rolling your eyes as you grab for the excess clips, sliding them into Rex's hair, your fingers carding through the tangerine strands, watching the way the silky tresses slip from your grasp with ease.

Rex swallows, gaze locked on your face. Taking in that wide eyed expression, perfect lips pursed in concentration as you continue to fuss with his hair, gorgeous eyes framed by the prettiest and longest lashes. And Rex's tongue brushes across his bottom lip, before he shifts beneath you.

And he just keeps staring.

Not only because you're just... So pretty to him, but he's looking. Really, really looking. He can see where Winnie gets her expressions. Pretty lashes with your eyes, that same... Thoughtless look behind them. God, it's like the lights are on but there's no one home.

His thumbs brush over your hip bones, the soft skin exposed by where your shirt rode up and Rex inhales sharply when he feels the way your thighs twitch at his sides.

And he's trying so hard to not look at your tits, pressed flush against the fabric of your shirt. God, pregnancy did you good.

"There's something we need to talk about later." Rex murmurs, swallowing down and he watches the way your movements halt, brows scrunching in confusion.

"Why can't we talk about it now?" You question.

"Because you might get mad and I don't wanna argue in front of the kid." Rex breathes out. "Not good for the developmental shit."

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨💥୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

Immediately when Winnie's with Mark and Sam, Rex is letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding and he's setting you down on the sofa.

Taking the seat across from you, and he crosses his arms over his chest, thick thighs spread and he leans back, doing the hip thing. You try to not focus on the bulge in the front of his sweatpants, and instead, on his face.

"What'd—"

"I wanna adopt Winnie."

It feels like a weight in your belly. Heavy, pointy edges poking into your intestines and you swallow, fingers fidgeting. And honestly, you don't know what's worse.

The fact that you'll have to admit the obvious truth, or the fact that either way, you'll be stuck with Rex indefinitely.

"I'm basically her dad already. I sleep here, I get her ready in the mornings, I feed her, I buy her that stupid Lab— what the fuck even is that?"

"It's a Labubu." "Well, it's La-expensive as fuck. Why can't she just play with socks like I did when I was a kid?" Rex huffs, and your brows raise.

"Was CPS ever called?"

"This isn't about me." And Rex inhales sharply. "I wanna... Officially co-parent Winnie. Like... As her dad and not her... fun uncle."

And you swallow.

"Rex... " You speak so softly, your fingers fiddling and you keep your gaze lowered.

"You remember... That one time in Cecil's office?"

"Which one? There were," He snorts, "quite a few times in Cecil's office."

"When... You were like, really depressed and you were kinda desperate, even though we were mad at each other. And like, you called me and I came and—"

"Oh, you came. You came three times." Rex boasts, before shifting in his seat. "But what about it?"

This is nerve wrecking. You'd think a former assassin would be a smart guy but no. Rex is dumber than a bag of rocks.

"Well... We didn't use a condom. And you didn't... Pull out either, because I didn't wanna make a mess and—"

And Rex's expression darkens. Brows form a deep frown, his jaw clenches and you're preparing for him to... Well, blow. Especially when you see that low, almost angelic glow beneath his skin and Rex takes a deep breath.

"I have a fucking kid and you didn't think to tell me?" Rex grits, blunt nails digging into his biceps as he tries to reign in the anger that's settling at the pit of his belly.

He's just mad that you didn't tell him.

"I thought you'd know by now." You murmur. "You sleep over a lot, she looks like you, she acts like you."

"I thought it's like fucking cats!" Rex groans, hands moving to card through his hair, muscular fingers tugging his hairtie off and he takes a deep breath.

"Rex, you haven't not been here, for the last two years. Are you even fucking?" You question.

"No, because— oh shit, I'm a dad." Rex mumbles, the reality sinking in. "...and I'm not beating her."

"I think you're still eligible for me to call CPS."

Rex doesn't really know how he didn't put it together as soon as Winnie popped out of you.

Literally.

He was in the delivery room, fingers laced with yours, wiping away the sweat from your hairline and making sure you didn't pass out from exertion.

He should've known when you tested her name out on your tongue, murmuring 'Winnie Sloan' as she nursed from you. And he definitely should've put two and two together when he found himself attending Daddy & Me classes.

Fuck. You'd even hummed 'she has your eyes' offhandedly as you fell asleep, in his arms.

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨💥୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

"I'm gonna watch a movie. You wanna watch?" Rex leans against the doorframe, arms folding across his chest, muscles bulge and green eyes watch you avidly as you pull a T-shirt over your head.

"What're you watching?" You question softly,

"The Mummy." Rex hums. "Brendan Frasier's one."

And it isn't even long before you're curled up, Rex's arms wrapped around your waist, his face pressed against the curve of your neck and his eyes are basically shut.

Even breaths leave him, his body warm against yours, your legs entangled and his palm remains splayed across the soft flesh of your belly, tucked away behind the fabric of your thin T-shirt.

"You want me to turn the movie off?" You ask softly, shifting a bit closer to Rex and he shakes his head.

"Hm-hm... m'listening, baby."

His voice is a low, sleepy rumble, body pressed so firmly against yours only for his lips to ghost the curve of your shoulder, the ball of his nose pressing against your pulse.

"..you smell good..." Rex mumbles lazily. "...really good."

And he shifts behind you, his free hand moving from being tucked beneath you, and instead, moving to your inner thigh. He guides your legs to part, calloused fingertips pressing into the soft flesh as he shifts your body, until your thigh's tossed over his legs.

And his hand nestles between your thighs, warm palm pressing against your even warmer cunt and he coos sleepily. Flimsy panties do nothing to tamper with your sensitivity, and Rex lets out a sleepy breath.

"I haven't had sex in two years."

Rex's voice is lazily, a sleepy murmur that's nearly drowned out by how fast the blood is rushing in your ears, your breaths just a bit uneven as his fingers press against your clit. Softly, gently. Circling the bud as his half-asleep brain pieces together the words.

And you nod your head, trying your hardest to keep your mind easy and clear, your chest heaving.

"You're gonna let me fuck you right?" Rex breathes out, pressing lazy kisses against the skin of your neck, his fingers tugging your soaked gusset aside, before dragging along your cunt. Slick fingers trace your slippery slit and he lets out a breath.

"Right, baby?" He murmurs softly. "You gonna let me fuck you nasty?"

And two fingers plunge into your cunt, warmth blossoming in your belly and if feels like electricity's crackling just behind your mound with each flutter of his fingers. And you nod your head, weakly.

"Uh huh?" Rex coos softly. "You gonna let me?"

There's nothing that's preparing you for the way that his fingers are fucking into you, curling against all the right spots while his other hand cups your chest, thumbing over your nipple until it pebbles beneath his thumb.

"Mhm... m'gonna let you..."

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨💥୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

And by God, do you let him.

Nothing prepares you for the way his cock bullies it's way into your cunt, your back arched like a fucking cat, cheek pressed against the pillow and your hands grip the sheets.

And Rex's hands move to palm the fleshy globes of your ass, spreading them just so he can watch your drooling pussy swallow him whole, inch by inch. Nothing separating you, and Rex's plump bottom lip is wedged between his pearly teeth as he watches that unexplored hole clench and flutter.

And he rolls his hips against yours, cock sloppily kissing your cervix and smearing precum against your walls, his gaze remaining locked on that pretty, furled target.

"God, you're so fuckin sexy..." Rex breathes out, hands moving to grasp your hips instead, pulling you back to meet each brutally slow thrust of his hips.

You're so warm, gooey walls fluttering around every inch and vein, slick oozing down your inner thighs and you're breathing heavy. Sounds muffled by the pillow, the fat of your ass bounces off his hips and he watches as one of your hands weakly attempts to reach behind you, fingertips ghosting over his lower belly to push him away.

"Rex...." You whine. "S'too deep.."

"Move your fucking hand." Rex grunts, one of his hands moving to pin your hand at the small of your back, and he watches your other hand move, reaching out towards the headboard instead.

And the glimpse of faint scratches against the headboard makes his head spin in that way that has him letting out a weak whine, leaning over you to grasp at the headboard. The muscles in his forearm flexes with his grip, his hips snapping unforgivingly against your ass until your cheeks burn red.

His other hand presses down in the centre of your back, forcing your back into an even deeper arch, listening to the way your moans are muffled.

Your cheeks are deeply flushed, skin glistening with a thin sheen and Rex pants, brows knitting into a frown when he feels your walls flutter and spasm, almost uncontrollably.

And he pulls back, until only his fat, mushroom-y tip remains buried in your warm cunt and your holes flutter when you feel the way he spits on your cunt, before pushing back inside.

And before you know it, you're coming around his cock, a frothy ring forming around the base of him, and he moans.

"That's it, baby. Come for daddy." Rex groans. "Be my nasty girl."

Rex has you in a fucking headlock before your brain's come down from your orgasm.

Your throat nestled in the crook of his elbow, bulging bicep against the side of your face and his weight is pressing you into the mattress, hips rutting wildly and his teeth are sinking into your shoulder.

And Rex is fucking you like an animal.

Groaning against your shoulder, weighing you down until your knees are weak and threatening to give out beneath you and he presses a kiss to that spot just behind your ear.

His voice low and just a bit hoarse.

"Let's see if I can make you remember..." He takes a deep breath, hips grinding against yours and you feel the way his cock twitches,

"who's your daddy."

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