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cherryyluvs · 4 days ago

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Backseat Tension

synopsis: a cramped car, too little space, and Mark’s lap becomes your seat.

˖ ── Mark G. x fem!reader | warning: NSFW, public tension, heavy makeout, semi-exhibitionism, dry humping, messy kissing, grinding, teasing, mild voyeurism

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 at 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.

#invincible #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson #flirt #i need him so bad #GIMMIE

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cirruslush · 3 days ago

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「Repressed Emotions」

mentions: marijuana, fingering, teasing

You’ve known Hamzah since before you really understood what it meant to want someone. He was your brother’s best friend—the kid who used to steal the last slice of pizza and smirk like it was his right . The boy who used to ruffle your hair like you were some kind of puppy, then laugh when you tried to swat him away. The boy who grew into a man far too quickly, all broad shoulders and low laughs ,eyes that lingered too long when he thought no one was watching.

And now, he was living in your house.

Your parents had left for Europe, and your brother, had turned your home into a bachelor’s playground.

Hamzah was over every day—scratch that—he was staying over. His duffel bag lived by the couch, his shoes piled next to your brother’s, and every night you’d hear the low murmur of their video games and banter, long past midnight. For a week, you ignored it. You told yourself it was just noise.

But that wasn’t the case.

⤷ 3:48 AM

The walls were thin. Too thin for whatever chaos was going on behind your brother’s bedroom door. Laughter, thumping bass from some game soundtrack, and that familiar, piney, earthy scent that smoked cannabis leaves behind. A crash—was that a chair?

You threw your blanket off, and started padding down the hallway, barefoot and irritated, your sleep shirt clinging to your thighs. You banged once, sharp and hard, on the wood. Surprisingly, the music volume not even lowering itself.

The door opened almost immediately.

It was Hamzah.

He leaned against the frame, shirtless—of course—and grinning like the devil himself had taught him how.

“Well, well. Sleeping Beauty’s awake.”

You crossed your arms. “Are you guys serious right now?”

He tilted his head, eyes dragging down your frame before flicking back up. “What? Missed us already?” he teased

“Hamzah.”

“Ooh..scary look you got on your face. Pretty hot”

Your cheeks heated. He was joking. He had to be. But there was something different in his tone, just beneath the surface.

“Just—keep it down.”

“Will try” he said, but didn’t move. “You know, you could always join us . Just once. Might be fun.”

You gave him a look that screamed absolutely not and turned on your heel. Behind you, he chuckled low, like he knew something you didn’t

⤷ Two Days Later

You woke up thirsty. Restless. Again.

The apartment was quiet for once, bathed in that eerie stillness that only came late at night.

The laughter coming from your brother’s room was quieter this time—muffled and broken up with long silences, probably another one of those intense games your brother and Hamzah would get sucked into for hours.

You didn’t even bother putting on pants. Just the same oversized t-shirt. You wouldn’t be staying at the kitchen for long anyways.

No lights were on. Just the silver-blue glow of moonlight seeping through the windows.

The hallway was dark, cool.

You dragged yourself through it barefoot, rubbing at your eyes, not expecting—

“Shit—”

You slammed into someone the second you rounded the corner.

Hands grabbing your waist instantly, steadying you. Firm and familiar

You looked up, and there he was again.

Backlit by the silver glow of the moon pouring in through the kitchen window. His hair was messy—tousled from hours on the couch. Shadows kissing his jaw in just the right places and his eyes, even darker than before under the dim moonlight.

He didn’t let go.

“You always this clumsy,” he asked, “or is it just when I’m around?”

You huffed a breath, trying to sound annoyed—but it came out breathless instead. “It was dark.”

He grinned, low and lazy. “Didn’t seem to stop you from finding me.”

You didn’t respond. Suddenly hyperaware of how warm his hands were. How close you were. “Why are you always in the kitchen anyway?”

He shrugged. “that’s the second time I’m running into you here today” His fingers flexing slightly on your waist. Like he forgot they were there—or even better—didn’t care that they still were.

“I wanted water.”

“Mm,” he said, glancing down at your bare legs, the way your shirt stopped far too early. “Sure it’s not the attention?”

You scowled, trying to pull back, but he didn’t move. Just enough resistance to make you feel like you’d need to really try if you wanted to leave.

“You’re so annoying,” you muttered.

“I’ve been called worse.”

He finally let go, taking a slow step back, and the absence of his hands was somehow worse than the weight of them.

You went to the counter, trying to focus on the glass in your hand, your breathing, anything.

But you could feel him right behind you. His presence leaving the atmosphere heavy.

He leaned on the other side of the counter, watching you carefully.

“You always walk around like that?” he asked casually. His arm sneakily, wrapping around your waist again.

You paused, crossing your arms, more to cover the way your body betrayed you out of modesty. The glass in your hand nearly slipping.

“Like what?” the saliva in your mouth, nearly flooding. “It’s just a T-shirt” You gulped harshly.

The moonlight caught in his eyes, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe properly. His hands still on your waist, his thumb moving—just slightly—dragging along the hem of your t-shirt like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. A whisper of a touch, but it lit you up from the inside out.

You glanced toward the fridge, like it could grow legs any time now and save you.

“Right,” he said. This time there was something in his voice—mocking. Teasing. He let go of your waist slowly, the drag of his fingers intentional, like he wanted you to feel every second of it.

“You should go back to sleep,” you said, voice quieter than you intended.

“You should stop wearing that shirt,” he replied, eyes dragging over it again, this time slower.

“It’s a problem,” he said under his breath. Almost as if he was talking to himself “but hey, your house, right?”

“You’re so—” You turned to snap something back, but he was closer than you thought. Not touching. Just there, admiring. You had to look up at him.

His face was unreadable now—calm, maybe even bored. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like you weren’t a big deal.

That made it worse.

He then took a small step forward—closing the small remaining space between you. Letting himself almost sink in your body. Carefully, he put his hand out, placing it next to your thigh, to the counter

“W-what are you doing?” you asked quietly, kind of flustered. Sweat drops forming on your forhead.

Hamzah blinked innocently.

Soon, a nasty smirk forming on his face.

“Just getting water.” he said.

Opening the faucet behind you, letting the water forcefully fill his glass

And just like that. He turned his body away, and walked out—laughing—quietly, slow, dark..Like the air wasn’t still charged, like he hadn’t just lit a fuse and walked away from the fire.

Leaving you in the kitchen with your heart pounding and your whole body, already on fire. Your skin remembering the feeling of his big hands, his voice curling around your spine like smoke and your mouth as dry as a dessert.

Still thirsty—But not for water.

You slipped back to your room in silence, but sleep never came.

It was only you, and your thoughts.

⤷ The next morning.

You came into the kitchen late, half-hoping he wouldn’t be there.

He was.

Of course he was.

Sitting at the table like he owned it, like this wasn’t your house. Shirtless again—because apparently that was his default now—one leg stretched out, the other bouncing lazily. His phone in hand, head tilted slightly, hair a little damp like he’d just come from the shower. A mug of coffee sat untouched in front of him, steam still rising from his body.

He didn’t look up.

But you felt him notice you.

That awareness. That shift in the air. Like gravity shifted.

You ignored it—or at least—tried to.

You walked past him with studied indifference, reached into the cupboard for cereal like you didn’t still feel the echo of last night—his voice behind you, the nearness, the unspoken heat.

“You sleep okay?” he asked casually, like it was a throwaway question.

“Fine.”

“Dream about me?”

You turned slowly, cereal box in hands, giving him the flattest look you could muster. “Are you ever serious?”

Finally, he looked up.

And there it was—that same look that had been driving you crazy for years. Playful on the surface, but underneath? That lazy, low-burning interest he never voiced.

That challenge.

“Not around you,” he said simply.

You stared at him. The tension tightened.

He tilted his head, eyes trailing deliberately down to your collarbone, where the edge of your sleep shirt gaped. Exposing the fact that you were indeed bra-less.

You swiftly turned back to the counter—after only realizing yourself—hands a little too tight on the coffee mug.

“I need caffeine before this conversation,” you muttered.

“Could’ve asked me to make it for you.”

“You’re not that charming.”

“No?” His voice dipped, low and slow. “You seemed pretty charmed last night.”

Your fingers froze around the handle of the coffee pot.

He wasn’t teasing anymore.

You didn’t turn, just stared down at the counter, the silence hanging too thick.

“You like messing with me,” you said finally.

“Not messing.”

His voice was closer now.

Right behind you.

You didn’t even hear him move.

“Just testing limits.”

You turned, and there he was—again. Always there. Close enough that the space between you practically suffocating. Close enough to feel the heat off his skin.

“What kind of limits?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes dropped to your lips.

Then back up.

“You tell me.” he leaned in.

You didn’t move. Didn’t stop him.

His hand brushed your hip—just a whisper of contact, but it made your stomach twist. His other hand came up, slow, like he was waiting for you to pull away. To push him off of you.

But you didn’t.

Fingers grazed your jaw, tilted your chin up.

It was soft. Way too soft for how sharp the tension had been.

And then—he kissed you.

Fucking finally.

It was warm and unhurried, but not sweet. There was heat behind it—coiled, restrained. Like he’d been thinking about this just as long as you had. His fingers stayed gentle on your face—his mouth was anything but that. It was possessive. Raw

And you—

You kissed him back.

Harder than you meant to.

You stepped forward without thinking, backing him into the table. He let out a soft grunt of surprise, smiling against your mouth. His hand dropped from your jaw to your waist, pulling you flush against him like he wanted more, like this was just the start—

CREAK.

You both froze.

The sound was faint, but unmistakable—the creak of a bedroom door upstairs.

Your brother.

Your eyes widened. Hamzah pulled back a fraction of an inch, breathing shallow, eyes still on you.

Neither of you said a word.

You stepped back, fast. Heart racing.

His lips were swollen. His hair was a mess. And he was still looking at you. A look like, you’d just slapped him across the face

You grabbed your coffee mug, turning on your heel without another word.

“Morning,” your brother’s voice called down from the stairs.

You didn’t answer. You just walked off, head high, coffee clutched tight, hoping he couldn’t hear your pulse in your throat.

Behind you, you heard the scrape of a chair, the clink of Hamzah picking up his coffee.

“Yo,” he said to your brother, calm as ever. “You sleep okay?”

But his eyes never left the hallway where you’d disappeared.

Not once.

And the smirk he wore while sipping his coffee?

Smug. Possessive. Like he knew something your brother didn’t.

And he was enjoying it.

4:16 AM

The house was dead quiet. The kind of silence that presses against your skin.

You’d woken up in a cold sweat again. Your shirt clung to your back, your heart pounding like it was still trying to outrun the nightmare. You blinked into the darkness, disoriented, the weight of the dream still sitting heavy in your chest.

Then—a knock.

Sharp. Twice. Muffled against the wood of your door.

You flinched.

Your brother?

Unlikely. He could sleep through a fire alarm.

You sat up slowly, dread giving way to confusion—until you heard it:

“Take your time, sweetheart.”

That voice.

Low, cocky. Half amusement, half challenge.

It was Hamzah.

You stilled. Your heart started a different kind of race now.

Did he wake up because of the noise? Or… was he already awake?

Your mind flashed back to the morning—his mouth, his hands, the heat in his eyes right before your brother’s door creaked and shattered the moment. You hadn’t spoken since. You’d avoided him, like the coward you are.

But now he was here. At your door. At your worst hour. Not being able to escape him.

Something about that made your stomach twist.

Would opening the door be giving in?

Maybe. But was that such a bad thing?

Surrendering didn’t sound half as bad now.

You didn’t give yourself time to hesitate. Fingers curled around the knob, and you pulled.

Hamzah stood there, shirt wrinkled, revealing his happy trail. Sweat drops riding low on his hips and his blonde tips messy, like he’d run a hand through them a thousand times. He looked like he belonged in every bad decision you’d ever made.

Stepping forward, his eyes swept over you, slow and deliberate. Down your bare legs, the same oversized shirt hanging off your shoulder, the faint flush on your cheeks—He didn’t bother hiding it.

The door clicked shut behind him

He didn’t say a word.

No smirks. No jokes.

Just a slow, deliberate turn to face you, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them.

He moved toward you without speaking—silent, intense, like a predator that had finally cornered something it had been hunting for years. Every step felt heavier than the last, until he was standing right in front of you again.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Say something,” you whispered, voice barely there.

“I warned you,” he said. Calm. Even. Dead serious. “Told you I wasn’t messing around tonight.”

Your pulse spiked. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t—not when he was looking at you like that. Like he owned you already and was just giving you a head start before claiming what was his.

He reached for your jaw, fingers tilting your face up—not gently, not rough either. Just enough to remind you that you were his to move. His thumb brushed along your bottom lip, and his gaze dropped there for a second, fixated.

“You opened the door like you were ready” he muttered. “So don’t look at me like that now.”

“I am.” you said—too fast maybe.

Too honest.

His mouth twitched at the corners, forming into a smile—subtly showing off of his sharp canines.

But there was nothing kind in it. Just hunger.

“Then show me.”

You didn’t even get the chance to answer.

His hands were on your waist, dragging you into him, lips crashing onto yours again—harder this time. It was different now. No more teasing, no testing limits. This was full control, no hesitation.

You gasped, and he took that opening like an invitation—tongue claiming your mouth with brutal precision. He kissed like he had something to prove. Like he knew exactly what you wanted and had no plans to let you leave without getting it.

You barely noticed when he started walking you backwards—until the back of your knees hit the bed, and he shoved you down with one hand, still standing above you.

You blinked up at him, dazed, panting, lips red and swollen.

He looked at you like you were the best mistake he’d ever made.

“Stay there.”

You didn’t move.

He reached for the hem of his shirt—like he’d even needed it in the first place—and yanked it off in one motion, tossing it somewhere behind him. Every inch of him was lean, carved muscle and sharp lines. Not too perfect. Just real. Solid. Like he was built to ruin someone.

And right now, that someone was you.

He climbed over you slowly, knees framing your hips, hands planted beside your head.

“You scared?” he murmured, face inches from yours.

“No,” you breathed, even though your heart was pounding like it was trying to escape your chest.

His eyes flicked down to your neck, your chest rising and falling too fast beneath the thin fabric of your shirt. He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw—barely—his voice low. Brutal.

“You should be.”

His mouth finally found your throat, kissing a slow, long, bruising path downward. His hands skimmed along your thighs, parting them with no hesitation, settling between them like he belonged there. You felt his weight press into you, anchoring you in place, and god—it was too much and not enough at the same time.

“Look at you,” he said against your skin. “Acting all shy now. After provoking me all this time.”

You whined, fingers clutching at his shoulders. He caught your wrists, roughly placing them above your head with one hand.

“Hands stay here.”

You obeyed. Instinctively.

He smiled. That same wicked grin, but darker now. More possessive.

“You’re learning.”

His other hand slid under your shirt, dragging upward, slow and torturous. He took his time, watching your reactions the entire time, soaking in every little twitch, every breath you tried—and failed—to steady.

You didn’t know where to look—his eyes, his mouth, the flex of muscle every time he moved, like he was built to do this.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, voice hoarse now, like he was hanging on by a thread.

“I want this,” you whispered, lips parted, flushed.

He hovered just over your mouth, not kissing you yet.

“Say my name.”

You whimpered. “Hamzah…please”

That was it.

That was all it took.

He kissed you again, rough and passionate, like he needed to stamp himself into your memory. Your hands stayed above your head like he told you, even when your whole body was trembling beneath his.

And when he finally let go of your wrist, his hand didn’t leave—it slid down your arm, slowly, deliberately, until his fingers laced with yours.

The softest touch he’d given you all night.

His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged.

“Too late to change your mind now,” he muttered.

You smiled, “was never gonna.”

His other hand slowly reaching for the waistband of your shorts—not taking them off—only sliding it under, making you go insane, more and more by seconds.

A soft whine escaped your lips—quickly covering them with your hand—as he teasingly rubbed your clothed clit in a slow circular motion.

“Sensitive,” he murmured, tongue brushing over the marks he’d just left. “Didn’t think I’d get you like this so fast.”

Your eyes fluttered closed. “You’re cocky.”

“You love it.”

He was right. You did.

It was maddening.

He slipped your panties to the side, dragging his fingers, painfully slow along the line of your wet folds. Restrained, soft moans leaving your mouth.

Hamzah seemed to get more fascinated by the fact that you were trying so hard to remain calm and silent. He wanted to hear your voice. Even if that meant getting caught

He slid one finger inside you, slowly pumping it in and out, doing that one circular motion every time—searching for your g-spot while also making sure not to hurt you.

“Oh- fuck Hamzah” a moan slipped. Your high forming rapidly. Your head falling deeper onto your pillow as your hands met with his, desperately trying to slow him down

And then he knew.

He knew that was it—your sweet spot.

Purposely picking up the pace, he added another finger. Making a mess out of you as he hit the same. exact. spot. every time

“At this point, you’re going to cut my fingers off.” he teased. Pointing how hard you were wrapping your walls around his fingers.

Instinctively you bit back the noise rising in your throat as the knot on your stomach was sluggishly untying itself. Him teasing you even when you’re about to orgasm definitely was the cherry on top of the cake.

You clenched your fists into the sheets beneath you. Silently moaning—as much as you could. Your whole body shivered, soon enough, your cum dripping on his fingers.

Hamzah let out a soft, low, laugh

He was enjoying this.

Too much.

“I hate you,” you breathed.

He smiled against your cheek. “You’ll hate me more tomorrow.”

He kissed you once more—lazy, lingering, cruel in how good it felt—and then finally pulled away. Slow. Reluctant. Like it physically pained him to stop.

And maybe it did.

He sat on the edge of the bed now, back to you, running a hand through his outgrown buzz, chest rising and falling with restraint. You sat up behind him, dazed, hair a mess, lips bruised, body aching for more.

He glanced back over his shoulder.

“T-shirt looks better off of you than I thought it would.”

You threw a pillow at him.

He caught it without looking.Smirking.

“Get some sleep, princess,” he said as he stood, already backing toward the door, shirt still forgotten somewhere on your floor. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And just like that—

He was gone.

Leaving you hot, breathless, and completely wrecked—without ever taking anything at all.

────୨ৎ────

✎ a/n: gotta love me a power top 😙

Originally this was supposed to be smaller but i just wanted to add more and more tension. Bear with me ❤️ HOPE YOU ENJOYED THAT!

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