His Bruised 4 Husbands & Morning Shift

Percy gets quadrupled by his four husbands before going into work (at the BAU from crimanal minds ) Percy comes in looking so bad with a horendus limp sk bad the the capten asks if hes ok he has bruses all over his neck a verry dark tatoo of the enishals JG , NDA, LV and FZ on his neck and wrists the team gape in shock cause his hair looks like its had hands in it for houers and his stonight is a bit rounder with therty six lodes of crum throuly stuck in his ass hes wereig silver braclets that look like cuffes and a silver and dimond coller

**Title: Marked and Filled** Percy limped into the BAU bullpen, every step sending a jolt of soreness through his thighs. The silver and diamond collar clung to his neck, the engraved initials **JG, NDA, LV, FZ** standing out stark against his flushed skin. His suit was wrinkled, his tie askew—and if anyone dared to look too closely, they’d spot the dried streaks of cum clinging to his cuffs. Hotch nearly choked on his coffee. "Reid, how the hell are you still walking?" Percy adjusted his glasses, his fingers trembling slightly as the deep ache in his ass pulsed. Thirty-six loads. Four husbands. One relentless morning. *Fuck*, he could still feel it—LV pounding into him until he swore he’d split open, FZ’s fingers digging into his hips, NDA’s teeth marking fresh territory, JG’s grip forcing him to take every last drop. Morgan let out a low whistle. "Seriously, kid. You look like you got run over and then backed up on for good measure." Percy smirked, shifting just enough to feel the crusted mess inside him. "Practice," he muttered dryly. The team exchanged glances—disbelief, amusement, the dawning realization of exactly how wrecked he really was. And god, he fucking loved it.

His husbunds all come in to pick him up thay tell him thay will have fun tonight percy grones and the team looked shoked

--- The bullpen door swung open, and four sharp-dressed men strode in—JG’s smirk already predatory, NDA’s fingers flexing like he was itching to grab, LV’s gaze locked on Percy’s throat, FZ rolling his shoulders like he was prepping for round two. Percy *groaned*—half dread, half anticipation—as JG slid a possessive hand around his waist, fingers pressing into the bruises beneath his shirt. “Missed you, pet,” he murmured, thumb tracing the edge of Percy’s collar. Morgan’s coffee cup hit the desk. “You—*all* of you—?” LV chuckled, tugging Percy’s tie just to watch him stumble forward. “Every last one.” The team gaped as FZ leaned in, nipping Percy’s ear. “Wait till you see what we’ve got planned tonight.” Percy’s breath hitched, thighs tensing at the memory of *this morning*—but NDA just smirked, palming the swell of his ass through his slacks, the dried mess inside him unmistakable. “Thirty-six was just the warm-up.” Rossi choked. Hotch looked like he needed a stiff drink. And Percy? He shivered, already imagining the marks they’d leave by dawn.

Percy comes in the next dspay using a cane to walk about he rants how thay filled him up 99 more times ontop of the stuff alrrdy there

Percy shuffled into the bullpen the next day, leaning heavily on an ornate black cane. His usual crisp suit was replaced by loose sweatpants and an oversized sweater that still couldn’t hide the fresh bite marks mottling his neck. The collar sat snug as ever, now joined by a thin leash dangling from it—left purposefully visible, the tag glinting with a new inscription: **99+**. Garcia gasped, nearly dropping her tablet. "Oh my *god*, sugar, did they—?" Percy’s voice was hoarse, wrecked from screaming. "Ninety-nine more. *Ninety-fucking-nine*." He winced as he adjusted his stance, the cane creaking under his grip. "JG wouldn’t stop until he hit twenty-five alone. FZ kept adding to the *already-dried mess*—" Morgan’s eyebrows shot up. "You’re telling me you took—" "—a hundred and thirty-five loads in two days? *Yes.*" Percy’s thighs trembled just remembering it—LV bending him over the dining table, NDA shoving into him before the last round had even dripped out, JG’s relentless pace splitting him wider with every thrust. "I’m *packed*. I can *feel* it sloshing." Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose. Rossi muttered something in Italian. FZ’s voice purred from the doorway, holding up a sleek plug with a devious smile. "Who said we’re done counting?" Percy whimpered. The cane hit the floor.

Percy lovers take him for another two days Percy comes back fully relient on the cane to walk the team ask if heas ok hes in uniform with 200 more lodes ontop of the other 135 so he ghas 335 his lovers finaly leavev him alown his tummy still looks a resonsblr size

Percy limped back into the bullpen three days later, his cane thudding against the floor with every strained step. His suit—now wrinkled and barely buttoned—couldn’t hide the faint swell of his stomach, still rounded despite the obscene number of times he’d been emptied and refilled. His collar was still in place, the leash now tucked into his pocket, but his skin was a canvas of fresh bruises, bite marks, and fading fingerprints. Reid blinked. "You—you’re still standing?" Percy let out a ragged exhale, gripping the edge of Morgan’s desk for support. "Two hundred more. Three hundred thirty-five *total*." His voice was rough, stripped raw. "They didn’t stop until FZ finally got bored—thank *fuck*." Garcia bit her lip, eyes wide. "Honey, your *stomach*—" He waved a shaky hand. "It’s not as bad as yesterday. They made me keep it all in for hours—LV kept *kneading* it into me like I was some kind of fucking stress toy." The memory sent a full-body shudder through him, his thighs twitching at the phantom stretch. Hotch cleared his throat. "Are they… done?" Percy glanced at the empty hallway, shoulders slumping in exhausted relief. "For now." His fingers absently pressed against his lower belly, where the ache was deepest. "But they left the plug in. Just in case." Rossi muttered something about hydration. Percy didn’t argue. He just leaned harder on the cane, gritting his teeth as a thick trickle escaped down his thigh.

Percy lovers take him for another two days Percy comes back fully relient on the cane to walk the team ask if heas ok hes in uniform with 200 more lodes ontop of the other 135 so he ghas 335 his lovers finaly leavev him alown his tummy only looks a litle big swolen he mones as he sits down and can barly walk

Percy stumbled back into the office two days later, his cane barely keeping him upright. His uniform clung to him, damp with sweat, the fabric straining slightly over the persistent swell of his belly. Every step made him wince—his thighs rubbed raw, his hole still spasming around the weight of everything they'd left inside him. Morgan whistled low. "Christ, pretty boy. They really *don’t* quit, huh?" Percy collapsed into the nearest chair with a groan, hissing as the movement jostled the plug still buried in him. "Two *more* days. Two hundred *more* loads." His voice cracked. "Three hundred thirty-five. *Total*." Garcia clutched her pearls, staring at the subtle curve under his shirt. "How the *hell* are you still functioning?" He swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably. "They... drained me. Twice. Just enough to keep me from bursting." A shaky breath. "FZ likes watching me struggle to hold it all in." His fingers pressed into the faint swell, a whine escaping as another slow dribble leaked past the plug's edge. Hotch's jaw tightened. "You need medical." Percy shook his head. "No. No doctors. Just—" He gasped as his stomach gurgled, liquid shifting inside him. "*Fuck.* It's still moving..." Rossi tossed him a water bottle. Percy whimpered when he realized it wasn't for drinking—just more to take. The plug twitched in response. He wasn't empty *yet*.