#smut in future chapters

[alive-gh0st]

˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

…..ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨..ـ...

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

⛨ summary: you’re not sure what’s worse—the blood on your floor or the fact that you haven’t stopped thinking about him since. not his voice, not his abs, not the way he looked at you like he knew—like he meant it. like patching him up meant something. and now he’s texting. calling. walking too close. sending selfies that absolutely do not count as medical updates. you’re spiraling. he’s flirting. someone’s gonna snap. (it might be you.)

⛨ contains: sfw. slow burn disaster. hallway tension. trauma ward flirting. professional denial. room 9 violations (emotional). med!reader. soft!mark. sarcastic longing. touch-starved moments. shirtless mark. shirtless selfie mark. late-night texting. phone calls with voice-induced heart damage. mark being cocky and so gone. reader saving photos “for medical reasons.” emotional whiplash. one stairwell sit-down that feels suspiciously like a date. william being the only emotionally regulated person here.

⛨ warnings: mild language. blood + bruises. injury aftermath. delusional thoughts. hot boy delusion. longing. denial. accidental touching. intense blushing. emotionally compromised medical professionals. phone call tension. slow descent into future-boyfriend-core. reader exhibiting early signs of cardiac distress. mark’s voice. mark’s waist. mark’s everything. reader is unwell.

⛨ wc: 3918

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: so here’s the thing—this wasn’t supposed to exist. originally, what is now chapter five used to be chapter four, but it started escalating way too fast and emotionally I panicked. like. reader was on his lap. already. so I wrote this version instead—slowed it down, let them spiral. chapter five picks up right where this leaves off… and yeah. it’s worse. thanks for being here. hold on tight.

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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You don’t mention it.

Not the late-night knock.

Not the blood on your floor that you forgot to clean and now might technically be a biohazard violation.

Not the fact that you stitched a shirtless Mark Grayson together with trembling hands and a heart rate that could’ve qualified as a cardiac emergency.

Instead, you show up to work early the next morning like a very normal, very emotionally regulated adult who definitely didn’t spend half the night replaying every inch of exposed skin she touched.

Professionalism.

That’s your thing.

You’re back in your scrubs. You’ve triple-checked vitals on three different patients before 9 a.m.

You smile. You nod.

You document chart notes like your life depends on it.

Which is exactly why it’s so annoying when your brain keeps glitching every time someone says the word “boyfriend.”

You’re halfway through explaining post-op care to a very sweet elderly woman when she says it.

“My granddaughter’s boyfriend is a doctor. They met in the ER—ahh romantic, isn’t it?”

You nearly drop the clipboard.

Later, you catch yourself hovering by the breakroom doorway for a full thirty seconds because someone inside is laughing and—for a second—you think it’s him.

It’s not.

Of course it’s not.

He’s not even supposed to be here today. You know that. You checked the schedule.

(But you inspect Room 9 anyway. Just in case.)

You’re tired. That’s all.

Your brain is short-circuiting from lack of sleep and maybe mild trauma. Totally normal symptoms.

Not at all related to the fact that your body still remembers the feeling of Mark’s sculptured waist under your fingers.

Definitely not related to the way he looked at you before leaving.

You tell yourself it was just adrenaline. Patch-up protocol.

A one-off thing.

And then you bump into a tall guy in the hallway and go, “Sorry, Mark—”

Only to realize it’s not Mark.

It’s Dr. Halvorsen. From radiology.

He stares.

You stare back. Internally combust.

Mutter something about caffeine withdrawal and keep walking like you’re not actively considering faking a fainting spell just to be left alone with your thoughts in the supply closet.

You are fine.

And no, you are not opening Room 9 again on your lunch break.

(You are. You absolutely are.)

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Mark Grayson is not on your rounds.

He’s not listed. He’s not scheduled. You’re ninety percent sure he has no medical reason to be here at all.

And yet—

There he is.

Leaning casually against the nurses’ station, scrolling something on his phone like he’s got a reason to exist within five feet of your workspace.

His jacket’s unzipped. His shirt is black. His arms are crossed.

And he is grinning.

You almost drop the patient file in your hand.

“Hey, doc,” he says, eyes flicking up. “Miss me?”

You don’t answer immediately.

You’re too busy pretending your pulse hasn’t just done something clinically concerning.

Instead, you gesture vaguely at his non-injured body. “You’re upright. That’s a shame.”

He hums. “You’re disappointed I’m okay?”

“I’m disappointed I can’t legally sedate you.”

He chuckles, and something about the sound makes your ears warm. You quickly bury your head in the chart you’re holding, flipping pages like you’re actually reading.

From the corner of your eye, you see him leaning in slightly. Just enough to invade your space.

“I was just in the neighborhood,” he says.

“This is a trauma ward.”

“Exactly.”

You snap the chart shut. “Grayson.”

“What?”

“You’re not a patient anymore.”

His smirk doesn’t budge. “You sure about that?”

And of course—of course—this is the exact moment a coworker rounds the corner and glances between the two of you. You step back instinctively. Mark, naturally, doesn’t move at all.

The nurse looks between your faces. The space between your bodies. Your visible effort not to look at him.

Then she raises an eyebrow. “Friend of yours?”

Before you can answer, Mark says with a wink—

“Just her favorite.”

You don’t punch him. You deserve a medal.

You escape into the hallway as soon as you can. But fate—traitor that it is—has other plans.

Because two corridors and one very long hallway later, you feel the unmistakable brush of fingers grazing the back of your hand.

Just a second. Barely enough to count.

But warm. Deliberate.

You freeze.

So does he.

Your fingers are still tingling. You glance up, eyes wide—and find his face closer than you expect.

He doesn’t look smug now. Just still. Quiet. Like he’s not sure if he meant to do that either.

“…Mark,” you say, voice low.

“Wasn’t on purpose,” he quickly lies.

“Uh-huh.”

A beat passes.

His gaze drops to your mouth, just briefly, and something flickers behind his pretty eyes.

You step back first.

“I’ve got patients,” you mutter.

“I’ll let you get to it, then.”

You don’t look back until you’re two turns away.

You shouldn’t have.

Because he’s still standing there. Watching.

And smiling.

Mark doesn’t move.

Not for a while.

Not even after you disappear around the corner with that practiced, clipped stride you use when you’re trying too hard not to run.

He stares at the space you left behind—at the air still warm from where your hand brushed his.

He exhales through his nose.

Quietly.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not the visit. Not the way your fingers felt.

Not the fact that he still wants to reach for you again, right now, like it’s some kind of reflex.

Mark’s not sure when this stopped being casual.

Or maybe it never was.

And that smile on his face?

Yeah… it’s not smug this time.

It’s defensive. Helpless.

Hopeful.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You don’t know when it started.

Or—fine, you do.

It started with the patch-up. The silence after. The breathless moment he left your apartment and didn’t look back.

It started with your heart doing something extremely inappropriate for a medical professional.

But now? Now it’s gotten ridiculous.

Because it’s 11:42 p.m., and your phone buzzes.

You’re in bed. Lights off. Blanket cocooned. Absolutely not waiting for a text.

Except—you are.

You glance at the screen like you’re bored. Like you didn’t immediately perk up at the ridiculous name.

✆ Future Boyfriend

you said to ice it.

look.

*attached image*

There’s an image attached.

You hesitate before clicking. Maybe for one second. Maybe for less.

And then—

You regret every life choice that led to this moment.

Because Mark Grayson is shirtless.

Again.

Laid back on what is very clearly his bed, arm thrown behind his head, smug smile in place with black sweatpants slung way too low. One hand raking through his hair.

His torso is lean, bruised, but distractingly toned. A bag of frozen peas rests just above his hipbone.

There’s a red scratch across his shoulder and a faint bruise trailing down his ribs, proof he did get hurt—but otherwise? Fine.

Infuriatingly fine.

Which is objectively responsible.

Medically sound.

Practically admirable.

And completely uncalled for.

You zoom in.

For clinical assessment.

Obviously.

Your thumb hovers over the screen like it might catch fire.

You click out of the photo. Pause.

Click back in.

Your keyboard pops up, but you stare at the blinking cursor like it’s a threat. Type something. Backspace. Type something else.

The typing bubble on his screen probably flashes.

Disappears. Reappears.

Disappears again.

You actually have to lock your phone and unlock it again just to compose yourself enough to type back.

The bruising looks superficial.

Unfortunately for you, so does your brain.

The reply is instant.

✆ Future Boyfriend

wow. cold.

and here i was about to say you missed a spot on the stitch job. want me to come back?

You groan. Thumb over your face.

You don’t know if it’s the late hour or the shirtless photo or the fact that this is now a thing—this weird middle space between flirting and something else—but you find yourself typing back without thinking.

Do you text all your doctors like this?

There’s a pause.

You know he’s still holding the phone because you can see the ’typing…’ appear. Then vanish.

Then it rings, your phone buzzing in your hand.

You freeze.

The screen lights up: Future Boyfriend is calling.

Your heart skips. Once. Twice.

You answer.

“…Seriously?” you say, voice low.

There’s a rustle on the other end. A quiet shift of fabric. When Mark speaks, his voice is soft. Almost lazy.

“I wanted to hear how mad you sound.”

You sink further into your blanket. “You’re the one who sent a thirst trap.”

“Thirst trap?” he repeats amused, like it’s a new word. “I was showing my injuries.”

You scoff.

“You were showing your abs.”

“Same thing.”

There’s a silence.

Not awkward. Just… close.

You can hear his breathing. The dull creak of his bed as he shifts.

Then, lower—

“…Did you look?”

You don’t answer.

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

And before he can finish saying your name in that soft voice of his, you interrupt.

“I’m hanging up now,” you mutter—and do.

The phone drops somewhere beside your pillow and you cover your face with both hands.

You are not thinking about the photo again.

You are not replaying the sound of his voice in your ear.

And you are absolutely not scrolling back up to check out his selfie, either.

Narrowed eyes stare at the image.

You really should delete it.

…

You don’t.

You save it. Put it in a hidden folder.

Rename it something misleading and professional like “patient reference materials” and pretend that makes it less of a problem.

You are not smiling.

You’re not.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Mark doesn’t mean to follow you.

Not really.

He’s not tailing you through the stairwell like some kind of creep. He just happens to be going this way.

Just happens to catch a glimpse of your hair whipping around the corner.

Just happens to trail behind a second too long before you notice.

You glance back over your shoulder, breathless from laughing at something—probably a nurse joke or a sarcastic comment—and stop short when you see him.

“Oh,” you blink. “You again.”

Mark shrugs. “You’re everywhere.”

“You’re following me.”

“I’m observant.”

“You’re loitering.”

He grins. “You like it.”

You roll your eyes so hard it’s probably a medical concern, but the corner of your mouth twitches.

That’s the only win he needs to keep walking.

You’re headed toward the service stairs—the quiet ones no one uses unless they’re sneaking naps or venting over vending machine breakdowns.

And maybe he is following you now.

But it’s not stalking if you both sit on the bottom step, back against the same wall, like it’s not weird.

You stretch your legs out in front of you. Mark mirrors it. Neither of you say anything for a moment.

Then you start talking.

It’s not groundbreaking—some half-annoyed commentary about patient charts, new hospital software updates, a guy who coded in the middle of an elevator transfer and still made it through—but it’s animated.

Real.

You talk a lot with your hands.

Your eyes practically light up when you’re annoyed.

And at some point, somewhere between a complaint about hospital coffee and a sarcastic jab at budget cuts, you genuinely laugh.

Like… really laugh.

No filter. No attempt to keep it professional.

Just joy—sudden and unrestrained and so beautiful it knocks the air out of his lungs.

Mark stops pretending to listen.

He just… watches.

You’re not even looking at him. You’re mid-rant. And he’s sitting there, stunned silent by the fact that something about you feels more like home than anything has in years.

You don’t notice at first.

You keep going.

Until eventually, you pause—take in that weird dreamy look he has on his face.

And your pretty lips turn into a soft frown.

“…You’re not even listening, are you?”

Mark’s mouth opens. Closes. His brain tries to reboot.

Then, softly—

“Not really.”

Your eyes narrow. “Seriously?”

“You were just—” he falters. Swallows.

“It was cute.”

That shuts you up for a second.

He watches as you blink, like your own brain just dropped a file you didn’t mean to open.

You look away, mumbling something that sounds vaguely like shut up under your breath, but your ears are red.

He grins.

Not smug this time.

Just a little bit in love.

You shove his knee lightly as you get up. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re gonna say something stupid and sweet.”

“I was going to say you should talk more,” he teases. “But I think your heart rate just spiked.”

You huff. “Not every reaction is medically relevant.”

“Says the one who checked my blood pressure with her hands last week.”

You turn to leave.

Mark watches you go.

This time, he doesn’t follow.

Not yet.

But he will.

Eventually.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

The room has been quiet for a while.

Unless you count William’s occasional humming as a real sound—which Mark does not.

It’s the kind of silence that doesn’t feel peaceful. Just heavy. Pressurized.

Like the longer it stretches, the more likely something is going to slip.

He hasn’t spoken in five minutes.

William doesn’t press.

“I think I’m in trouble.”

Mark doesn’t mean to bring it up.

Really. He doesn’t.

He’s just sitting on the floor of William’s room, halfway through a half-warm energy drink and actively losing a battle against his own brain.

The light haired boy scrolls through something on his laptop—housing applications, maybe, or some absurd quiz titled “What Type of Friend Are You Based on Your Go-To Hangover Cure”—and still humming like Mark isn’t currently having a small crisis in the corner.

“You’ve been weird,” William settles on that, not looking up.

Mark glances over. “I’ve been normal.”

“That’s even weirder.”

William finally lifts his head, squinting at him.

“You came in all… sighy,” he says, wiggling his fingers like ‘sighy’ is a scientific category.

“Then you stared at my wall for ten full minutes, and I swear I saw you smile to yourself. Which? Deeply upsetting.”

Mark rolls his eyes. “I didn’t smile.”

“You did,” William insists. “It looked like you were thinking about the seance dog. Or a very specific person who patched you up recently.”

Mark stiffens. “I’m fine.”

William’s voice shifts. Playful. Razor-sharp.

“…Bro.”

Mark groans. “Don’t.”

“No, no—don’t backtrack now. This is the best thing you’ve said in weeks.” William sits up straighter, eyes gleaming. “Is this seriously about your mystery medical hookup?”

“She’s not a hookup.”

“Oh no,” he says slowly, eyes going wide with mock horror. “You caught feelings.”

“I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I didn’t catch anything—”

“Mark. You’re a walking CDC warning right now.”

Mark groans. “She’s just—”

“Ah!” William points. “So it is a she.”

Mark scowls.

William grins like he’s just uncovered a federal secret. “Let me guess. Hospital girl? The one you keep… coincidentally running into?”

Mark rubs a hand over his face. “I just needed stitches. Twice.”

“Three times.”

“…Fine. Three.”

William leans forward, fully abandoning his laptop. “So… Nurse? Resident? Hot trauma surgeon with a grudge and a clipboard?”

Mark exhales, defeated. “She’s a… med tech. Kind of.”

William stares. Waits.

Mark shifts. Drinks. Doesn’t elaborate.

“You like her,” William says flatly.

Mark shakes his head. “It’s not like that.”

“Yeah?” William raises an eyebrow. “Then why do you look like someone killed your puppy every time she doesn’t text back in five minutes?”

Mark says nothing.

Which is already too much.

“…Oh my God,” William breathes. “You do like her.”

Mark throws a pillow at his head. Misses. “I didn’t mean to.”

William cackles. “That’s not a normal sentence.”

Mark tips his head back against the wall, eyes shut. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m sure.”

“No, like—actually complicated. She thinks I’m just some guy. I can’t tell her about the other stuff. I can’t—”

He cuts himself off. Opens his eyes. Focuses on the ceiling.

“I can’t get used to her. That’s how people get hurt.”

William’s quiet for a second.

Then he says, “You really like her.”

Mark doesn’t answer.

His fingers tap against the side of the energy drink. His mouth opens. Closes.

And then—too quiet—

“She looked at me like I wasn’t a threat.”

William frowns, the teasing ebbing just slightly. “You’re not.”

“Yeah,” Mark says. “But she doesn’t know that.”

Another silence.

Then William exhales and stands, grabbing a bottle of something off his desk and tossing it toward Mark.

Mark catches it without looking.

“Here,” William says. “Drink something that isn’t radioactive.”

Mark blinks at the bottle, then looks up.

William’s leaning against the desk now, arms crossed.

“I’m not saying fall for her,” he says.

Mark waits.

William smirks. “But if you do—don’t make it worse by pretending you haven’t.”

Mark tosses the bottle back. It hits William in the stomach. He grunts.

“I’m not falling.”

“Sure,” William says a bit breathless. “Then don’t fall harder.”

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

The clock says 12:17 a.m.

You haven’t moved from the couch in over an hour.

You’re still in your scrubs, sort of.

The top half is off, tied around your waist, and your tank top has a very suspicious-looking stain from a post-shift noodle incident you’re choosing not to acknowledge.

You’re curled up like a burrito of denial. Blanket over your shoulders.

Face illuminated only by the dim, blue-white glow of your tablet screen—because obviously, the smartest thing to do when emotionally unstable is WebMD your own brain.

And yet, here you are.

Tabs open. Stethoscope draped across your collarbones like a fashion statement. Notepad in hand.

“Symptom onset: approximately five to seven days ago,” you mutter to yourself, uncapping your pen with a medically concerning amount of purpose.

“Initial trigger… unclear. Possibly trauma-related. Or… proximity-related. Possibly… proximity-induced trauma?”

You frown. Cross that out.

Beneath it, you write—

ᝰ PRESENTING SYMPTOMS:

• Elevated heart rate (unprovoked)

• Intermittent dry mouth (triggered by voice exposure)

• Blushing at inappropriate stimuli (see: abs, jawline, sustained eye contact)

• Hallucinations?? (unclear if real or imagined: he did wink at me once…)

• Loss of professional focus

• Impulsive decision-making (e.g., selfie saving. shirtless selfie. marked shirtless selfie.)

You tap the pen against your lips, nodding grimly like this is a peer-reviewed clinical trial and not you spiral-diagnosing yourself like a lunatic in heat.

You flip to the next page.

ᝰ DIFFERENTIAL DIAGNOSIS:

• Dehydration?

• Exhaustion?

• Hormonal imbalance?

• Early-onset stroke?

• Rabies???

• Grayson.

You freeze.

You’ve just written it.

His name.

In ink. Centered.

As if it’s the most logical conclusion to a list of actual pathologies.

You exhale through your nose. Circle it.

Then, under it, you write—

Possible cardiac involvement. Neurological signs questionable. No fever. Just… Grayson.

You stare at the sentence.

The silence in your apartment is deafening.

Even the fridge stops humming, like the universe itself is giving you a moment to really think about what you’ve done.

“…This is not happening,” you mutter.

You tear the page out.

Pause.

Realize that somehow feels worse.

So instead, you shove the whole notebook under a pillow like it’s contraband.

Then you curl deeper into the couch, blanket pulled up to your chin, muttering like a cursed woman trying to deny the obvious.

“I’m fine. It’s not serious. Probably just a virus. A 6’0”, sarcastic, abnormally hot virus.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“…with really good bone structure.”

The pillow over your face muffles the scream that follows.

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⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚❤️‍🔥˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌Mark doesn’t usually take selfies.

Scratch that—Mark actively avoids taking selfies. Something about them always feels stupid.

Forced.

Like he’s trying too hard, or smiling too much, or doing that weird thing where one eyebrow goes higher than the other and suddenly he looks like he’s having a stroke.

But here he is.

Standing shirtless in his bedroom, holding a bag of frozen peas against his ribs, cycling through front cam angles like his life depends on it.

This is humiliating.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself, flicking through the last twenty attempts.

“Not that one. Definitely not that one. Why do I look like I’m constipated in that one—what the hell.”

He pauses on one that’s almost decent.

Hair messy. Lighting okay. Abs… definitely present. Peas still visible. Smile not too cocky.

He doesn’t look too injured—but that’s kind of the point.

Just enough bruising to be believable.

Just enough smugness to be annoying.

He exhales.

Thumb hovers.

Then, like he’s ripping off a goddamn band-aid, he hits send.

you said to ice it.

look.

*attached image*

The moment the message delivers, he chucks his phone across the bed like it’s burning in flames.

Immediately regrets it.

He lunges after it a second later—like you might reply within 0.3 seconds and he needs to be ready to act cool, composed, definitely not like a guy who just spent fifteen minutes flexing in front of a mirror for a girl who technically hasn’t even kissed him yet.

The screen stays dark.

Nothing.

Mark exhales through his nose.

Sinks back dramatically onto his bed, frozen peas still in place, and stares up at the ceiling like it personally wronged him.

God, he’s losing it.

It’s not even about the photo. Not really.

It’s about the way you look at him now.

Talk to him.

Brush his hand in the hallway and then walk away like you didn’t just detonate something in his chest.

It’s about the fact that you keep showing up in his head—and under his skin—and that this stupid game of pretending not to want more is wearing him down.

His phone buzzes.

He fumbles to grab it so fast he nearly pulls a muscle.

Typing bubble.

Disappears.

Typing bubble again.

Gone.

He blinks. Mouth parts.

And then—again.

Just flickering in and out like you’re pacing on the other end—backspacing, second-guessing yourself.

Mark stares.

And he grins.

Slow. Lopsided.

Because that?

That means it worked.

You saw it.

You zoomed in.

You’re flustered.

He sits up a little straighter, thumb skimming across the screen.

His heart’s beating faster now—just slightly—and he’s not sure if it’s from nerves or the fact that this is you.

That you’re thinking about him at midnight, in the dark, probably biting your plump lip and mumbling something like shut up.

The image of it goes straight to his head.

And maybe a few other places.

He hesitates.

Then, without giving himself time to doubt it—he hits Call.

The ring tone barely starts before you pick up.

“…Seriously?” you say, voice low and accusing.

Like you know.

Mark grins wider, even though you can’t see it.

“I wanted to hear how mad you sound.”

He imagines you curled up, lights off, hair messy, wearing that stupid sweatshirt you always change into when you’re done pretending to be emotionally regulated.

“You’re the one who sent a thirst trap,” you mutter.

He bites his bottom lip.

“Thirst trap?” he echoes, playing dumb. “I was showing my injuries.”

“You were showing your abs.”

“Same thing.”

There’s a pause.

Quiet.

Not awkward.

Just heavy.

Mark shifts, voice dropping an inch lower.

“…Did you look?”

Silence.

No answer.

But he can hear your breath.

Slight hitch.

Your fingers must be tight around the phone.

Maybe you’re closing your eyes. Maybe you’re still staring at the picture. Maybe—

“I’m hanging up now,” you whisper.

Then you’re gone.

Mark blinks at the screen.

And he laughs—quiet, warm, almost proud.

He drops the phone onto his pillow and covers his face with both hands.

Yeah. He’s so screwed.

But God, it’s worth it.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ongoing TAGLIST: @pickledsoda @f3r4lfr0gg3r @bakugouswh0r3 @katkirishima @delusionalalien @bellelamoon @monaekelis @feminii @sketchlove @lilacoaks @cathuggnbear @forgotten-moon94 @lalana1703 @smikitty @barbare2 @sleepyzzz3 @sunspl0tionjuice @planet-venusoflove @angelbelles @wasitforrevenge @scarletdfox @hungrynessforfics @mexxs-xs

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

taglist sign up: 𓉘here𓉝

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[takaraphoenix]

Opening the file for Guns and Gags to see what intricate notes past me left for me to write the next chapter:

...sex and fun bits and courting. In all caps. That's. Impossibly helpful, thank you, past me. I can see your vision.

[baronessvonglitter]

in "Cherry, Cherry", reader and Joel actually do the deed on July 4th and as today is that day, I'm giving just a little snippet, just a taste of a future chapter for @yesjazzywazzylove-blog, @untamedheart81, and @ebonymiller and honestly anyone else who's been reading along and are being so good and patient waiting for chapters. It's a slow slow burn y'all, but I promise smut is on the way

You watch as he removes a foil packet, the label boasting the biggest size, and watch as he carefully rolls it on. You're transfixed by the movements, the way he sheathes his cock in the latex barrier. He touches you gently between your thighs, spreading your wetness around. "You don't have to worry. I'm gonna take care of you.." He kisses you long, slowly, deeply, making you melt. He's pressed hot and hard against your thigh, and you recognize a longing so deep and powerful. You keep your eyes on him as you make room for him between your legs.

He's hovered over you, pressed eagerly at your entrance. His heart beats against yours, so intimate and right. He gives you another kiss and gazes into your eyes as he breathes your name.

Sighing, you lift your hips against his. He glides his length over your cunt, teasing your clit. Then he slides two fingers in, pumping gently, in awe of your tightness and your heat. His breath quickens as your hips move against his hand. "Joel, please.." you whimper, and remove his hand, overeager for him to really take you.

Joel takes a deep breath as he gently starts to press into you. You take in the first few inches and he stops when you show discomfort. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he whispers.

You shake your head, heart racing at top speed as your desire to truly be his is the strongest feeling within you. "Don't stop," you tell him.

Joel exhales sharply and tries his best to be gentle as he nudges further. "Look at me," he says, gently cupping your face as he buries himself within you in one smooth thrust.

[writing-hat]

everybody loves somebody sometimes - Chapter 2

The chapter 2 is heeerreeeee wooooo

I am. so sorry for how long it took. but yeah life happens.

anyway this chapter is more of a fluffy one? the real deal will happen in chapter 3 so be ready (AND CHECK THOSE TAGS when it happens)

enjoy!!

[squarebracketsmileyface]

Chapter 1 of My Girl, My Girl, My Girl is doneeeeeeee, so I just need to check it over and edit it and then I can finally start uploading this fic :DDD

I can't fucking wait, it's gonna be so fun. Tons of fluff and smut, and a little bit of angst but i got most of my angst needs out of my system with If It Ain't Broken, so the angst in this should be pretty gentle honestly. Anyway, have one last snippet before I upload chapter one sometime in the next couple of days

[its-actually-minicika]

"The Harshest Winters" sneak peek

(...)

That was not what he had wanted. Or ever wished to have to hear. With one pale hand, he yanked his belt.

"Did you enjoy it?" He asked her hotly, ire spilling through his lungs. "It doesn't matter." He soon on added, "Your maidenhead is mine tonight."

The Prince Regent let out a breath, as he looked at the girl below him. So weak - naive in all her right, and yet...

Not as pure as he had hoped.

But it didn't truly matter. Not when he undressed her gently, and her lover rotted slowly at the bottom of the Narrow Sea.

"It's our first time. I will be gentle." He concluded as he kissed her, whist gripping down on her small wrists.

The firsts to loosely be discarded were his breeches and his tunic, (...)

[ficyorick]

the edits are going deceptively smoothly.... probably bc this chapter is all of the things i love to write. HL being pissy, kessler being kessler, billy being played by kessler and not even realizing it. people die. billy acts like an old pervert creep. hl has a mini crisis of agency in a gas station bathroom. lab gets brought up in front of billy. fighting and then whump so much whump , and its medical whump too. all the things i love to write

[thechaoticdruid]

New fic inspired by @glorious-void 's Sharkstarion art!

Tav is the assistant of marine biologist Professor Gale Dekarios and together the two have set out to discover the mysteries of the Baldurian Sea! But little does Tav know that what they find will come with teeth. 🦈🦈🦈

[starry-eyed-adam]

people horny for gay cowboys gonna love me next week sunday

[hellcheerficdatabase]

White Snow

Author: @gingertumericlemon

Rating/warning: Explicit, referenced ED

Chapter Count: 6/? (Part 2 of Spirit Stick series)

Description:

1986: Eddie's on the make in LA. Chrissy's in Seattle. They're young and in love up and down the West Coast!

1989: Eddie and Chrissy reunite in Hawkins after two years apart during the strange liminal days between Christmas and New Year's.

What happened then, what happened in between, and what happens next.

A story about growing up.

Tags: Alternate Universe- no vecna, future fic, true love, post break up, smut, angst, fluff, Eddie is becoming famous, character study, second chances, reuniting, alternating POV, multiple chapters, part of a series, status: WIP

[mistymoth]

I Failed to Oust the Villain only has one chapter left 😩 but apparently the bonus episodes are for a dark au which ayooo to dark yanderes 💃🏼💃🏼💃🏼

…I’m adding a screenie of Rein being hot because awooga. *suggestive*

And not a smut tag in siiiight 😫 but still great as far as suggestive scenes go 🤔

[tuesday-writes]

[Solo:Furina, Exhibitionism, Worship]

Lady Furina loved everything about the Opera. She loved the outfits, the emotion of the actors, the suspense of the verdict. However, most of all, she loved the audience. The adoring fans looking up at her and hanging on her every word. She felt such power in her hands- willingly given!- by the people so desperate for a verdict, and a ruler to deliver it. She loved the way they loved her.

Furina often wondered how far their love would go. What would happen should she slip her blouse off onstage, just as she did now in her own room? If she exposed herself to the damp Fontaine air and to the audience below, would they continue to worship her so? If she asked her people to look, to see her small breasts on display, would they obey?

She imagined them begging to feel her, overcome by just the sight. Just once, they would plead. Just a touch. But her hands would be the only ones worthy of touching herself.

Thinking of it caused wetness to pool in her shorts. Furina shed them, sending them over the side of the bed with the rest of her clothing so that her hands could access her body as she fantasized.

They would watch, awestruck, as she dipped her fingers inside herself. But they would not dare move, save for the few that may fall to their knees. They would not dare interrupt their lady.

She played with her slick folds, sighing softly as she did so. Her hands traced a path up to her clit and back down, teasing, putting on a show for her imaginary onlookers.

Slowly and deliberately, Furina delved one finger inside herself, then pulled it out to show off the wetness that clung there before pushing it into her own mouth to clean. No one could have it but her. She imagined her people begging for a taste, and the thought sent shivers down her body.

Her fingers moved faster now, finding her favorite spots with ease. She drew circles around her swollen clit, barely able to brush against it for sensitivity. It brought a feeling to the surface- her stomach felt as though it contained a small tide pool. The waves swelled, faster and warmer and stronger against her insides.

Furina plunged three fingers deep inside herself, curling them upwards to try to reach her depths. She was close. So close. Her thumb clumsily prodded at her clit, and the added sensation was just enough to make her orgasm crash over her.

Read the rest of the fic on my ao3!

[waifuoftomonori]

5/3: Daily Paragraphs

The guys exchanged knowing looks. Well, calling it an “exchange” was a stretch. Miyabi leered suggestively at Yuki and Chikage while they both pretended he didn’t exist. Thank fuck Kyo wasn’t here to join in the perving party.

~***~

“Yes, but Shinra,” Yuki said pleasantly, eyes zeroed in on a spot above Shinra’s collarbone, “pardon the observation, but you’ve never had the kind of friends who left hickeys before.”

[elusivewildflower]

hi i was recently rereading some of your work and was just wondering if there would be another part for your ‘the other fitzroy’ series?

anyway, love your writing and hope you have a splendid day and/or night 🩷

Hi there nonny!

I actually have an interlude chapter for the other fitzroy that's been sitting in my WIPs for nearly two years... 🫣🫣I do want to come back to it someday and then plan out an ending for the rest of the series!

Funnily enough, I re-read that WIP just the other day so it might get finished sooner rather than later.... 😏

But it makes me so happy to hear that you love my writing, and I hope you have a lovely day/night too!!

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

To Your Love That Smells Like Crazy

Synopsis: Damian presented as an alpha, to everyone's despair. He announced he found a mate, to everyone's skepticism. You're the perfect omega, to everyone's delight.

Pairing: Yandere!Alpha!Batboys X Gn!AFAB!Omega!Reader

Tw: 18+ pwp; noncon/dubcon smut; noncon drugging; creepy batfamily members feeling attracted to Reader when they were still 15, but nothing sexual or romantic between them happens until they're 18; this chapter is mostly Damian x Reader; ABO, Reader is an omega, all the batboys are alphas; Heat symptoms; Damian and Reader are 15 at first, when the smut happens they're 18, Tim is three years older than them, Jason is five years older, Dick is 10 years older and Bruce is on his 40s; Implied future gangbang? They want to share Reader (polyamory) but right now the real action is just between Damian and Reader; Loss of virginity on both parts; Implied that Damian is also inexperienced on kissing and Reader knows a little more about that; Fingering!R receiving; Slight schoolgirl/boy/person!Reader; Reader wears lipgloss, nail polish and earrings; Omegas breasts produce milk during heat; Some breastfeeding; Breeding kink; Handcuffs; The word ‘rape’ is used twice; Lots of crying; Nipple play; Dirty talk; Slight voyeurism; Unprotected sex; Negative and selfdeprecating thoughts; Claiming ownership (biting); English isn't my first language.

Word count: 4,7k

Requested? No.

Extra notes: Planning on making one pwp chapter for each batboy, and then a last one with no smut. Also, I think I'm gonna start posting on AO3 since the tw are getting worse...

General masterlist | To Your Love That Smells Like Crazy - Series masterlist

Damian was territorial, dominant and temperamental since the family had known him. Maybe he was born like that, maybe he wasn't, they couldn't know, so, what they most hoped for was that those were just personality traits, maybe coping mechanisms, and the puppy would present as an omega or beta one day, and then maybe the hormones would make him calm down. It was a small possibility, but one could only dream, right?!

Well, those hopes were crushed when, at his fifteenth birthday, Damian woke up growling at the mix of strong alpha scents stinking his room, his territory, and started pacing inside there, not allowing anyone but the old beta Alfred to come in.

He calmed down after a couple of hours, came out of his room to eat breakfast, assessed and scented the rest of his territory (everyone's territory, really, the manor was the family’s home), and maybe humor his inner alpha by subjugating the rest of the pack. It didn't work, obviously, they were all mature alphas who went through puberty already and knew how to (mostly) manage conflict with a newly-turned alpha who still smelt like milk and was just overwhelmed with hormones.

After a full belly, it was decided he shouldn't have to go to school for the first few days (something the teenager was happy with), to learn to control his mood and impulses, visit a specialized doctor to be sure what kind of suppressants were better suited for his organism, and so he could go through his first rut in peace.

A few days later, Damian went back to school, nose itching from some not-so-pleasant alpha scents, some weak beta scents, some sugary omega scents, and a lot of milky scents coming from most students, especially unpresented puppies.

He wondered how adults live like this, if he would just get used to it, and it wouldn't bother him so much one day. One thing was to feel the smell of flowers or food, another thing was to feel people’s pheromones. But his train of thoughts were halted when he felt you.

Not even inside the classroom yet, but he could sniff you out and find you if he wanted to. Strong, yet suave, soft. Strawberries. And milk. It made his whole body shudder and tremble. Now he knew why his family occasionally asked where the delicious scent stuck to his clothes came from. Now he knew why alphas turned their heads and stared at you so much when you both were walking around. It was all you. His best friend.

Damian stared openly and unconsciously, while you made your way to him none the wiser and sat down at his side, and he almost got annoyed when, at first, you didn't seem to notice his new presentation, as if you didn't even acknowledge him as an alpha yet. But then you turned and stared at him strangely.

— Dude, why’re you staring so mu- Oh. — You blinked, finally having realized where the new musky scent was coming from. — You're lucky you smell good. My neighbor smells like feet.

When he came home, he announced he had an omega.

Obviously, that left everyone bewildered as to what he meant by that, it was impossible for during his first day back outside as an alpha, he already had a mate. But he didn't have to explain much for them to understand, the scent on his clothes was enough proof as to why he wanted you for himself.

After that, Damian invited you to hang out with him at the manor for the first time. It caused a reaction in everyone, and all of them were home, of course they were, Damian wanted to show off his future mate, and you had to meet the family, since he single-handedly decided you were going to join their pack already.

As you walked past each door on the way to Damian's room, everyone had a reaction.

The old beta and grandfather, Alfred, was very polite and nice, he smelt like tea. He smiled more freely with how sweet you were, amused by Damian's clear crush.

Next, you passed Dick by the gym, he smelt spicy, and his door was open, so he could peek better to satiate his curiosity when Damian's crush arrived, yet, he didn't expect to almost fall from his stretching position when he finally took a whiff from your sweet scent for the first time, instead of just the faint and weak thing that occasionally got stuck on Damian's clothes and hair. He managed to look mostly presentable even though he almost sprinted to the corridor to meet you. Dick was even more pleased to see you were beautiful, even in your modest school uniform. He forced himself to hold back and stay in the gym when Damian decided the interaction took long enough, and pulled you to keep walking.

Jason was next, he was in the library. His scent was thick. Woody. He coughed around his drink when he felt your scent, and Damian rolled his eyes at him. Jason’s whole body froze when he saw how soft you looked, clearly an omega. He noted that you looked older than fifteen, but Jason knew you were just a couple of months older than Damian, and you still smelled like milk. His attraction to you bothered him because he couldn't ignore your still-milky scent, and he was already imagining how you would smell like when you fully reached maturity. Your hair was shiny and looked soft, like clouds and cotton-candy. He wanted to stick his nose there and hug you. You looked the perfect company for a nap (and more). Damian quickly steered you away to keep walking.

Next was Tim, he was in his room, and he smelt like peppermint. He always kept the door closed, but during your visit, it was open wide, due to his curiosity to meet you, everyone knew that. Tim snapped his eyes away from his computer when he felt you, and stared at you wide-eyed when you appeared. You didn't even come inside, Damian didn't want to feel your scent coming off of Tim's room to haunt him every time he walked past that door for the next days. It would definitely make him want to kill his brother. Tim tried to burn your image to his brain to the smallest details. He noted the color of your nail polish, your earrings, the thing dangling from your backpack, the shine and rosiness of your lip gloss. Tim specially liked your soft-spoken voice, and it bothered him how polite, neutral and distant it was, because clearly you both didn't now each other, you were just there as Damian's friend, meeting his older brother for the first time, and just wanted to go hole up inside Damian's room as soon as possible to avoid the weird interaction.

Soon, your wishes came through, and you spent the next few hours there with Damian basically teaching you everything and doing your homework. It was a new behavior, he never did that out of instinct before, some people asking him for help would annoy him, others, like you, he would calmly help out of the hidden kindness in his heart, but he never took initiative before. You brushed it off as just new alpha behavior and just used his either gentlemanly or condescending behavior, if it meant you could gain things out of it and be lazy.

At dinner, you finally met his father. Bruce Wayne was the alpha of a pack full of alphas and a beta. His himbo and playboy persona gave you the impression that he wasn't the most dominant alpha around, but you were proven wrong when you felt his sandalwood aroma and saw his towering frame. His personality was the same you saw on the TV, though, pleasant like a TV host or just a popular guy. On the inside, he was fixated with you, ignoring your milky childish scent and your school uniform. He wanted you around the house more. God knows how much a bit more of softness could help the family’s dynamic. Maybe that was what was missing, an omega around the place. Like you. Actually, it could be you. He thought about convincing Damian to stick to living in the manor even after you were both married adults. Or you could be Bruce’s when you were of age. Wait, how old were you?

Alfred drove you and Damian to your place after everything was done, all the alphas with a heavy heart, bothered that you had to go, that you couldn't spend the night with them yet. Even if you were already theirs.

It took a lot to convince Damian to share you, but eventually, he begrudgingly agreed, they were a pack, after all, not just a family, they stick together, take care of each other and of each other's interests. Having something that wasn't just vigilantism in common would be good bonding for them, and the closer a pack could get, the better. That he knew. A pack sharing someone wasn't exactly unheard of either.

After that, Damian started inviting you to the manor more often. Almost every week you were there. Your parents started saying that Damian probably was interested in you, but you laughed it off, never thinking an alpha like him would be interested in an omega like you.

The family made the best of that time to get you used to them, to their dynamic, and to make you feel at home, safe, trustful. They also wanted your scent to get stuck everywhere. To get to know you. To learn everything about you. To make plans.

When Damian's 18 birthday came, you were already legally an adult too, and they invited you over, saying it was a birthday party. When you got there, the party consisted in only you and the family.

The conversation was nice.

They put drugs on your piece of cake that simulated an out of cycle heat.

It started with fatigue.

Then fever.

Your eyes got blurred.

You thought you were getting sick, and just planned on taking cold medicine when you got home.

The alphas were slowly coming closer and circling you, unnoticed.

You felt weird in your intimate parts, maybe you needed to pee.

You stood up, but your knees were weak, and you almost fell, if it wasn't for Dick, who caught you mid-air.

All scents became clearer when your eyes locked. You wondered what the look on his face meant, confused.

You felt their excitement, and arousal. And you felt something poking your thigh.

You felt your own underwear getting wet.

You asked them to take you home, but they denied. That made you feel antsy, so you tried searching for your phone to call your parents to pick you up, but you couldn't find it. It got especially hard when Damian picked you up and started walking up the stairs with you.

— It's okay, omega. You're okay with us. I’m going to take care of you… — Your hands trembled when he purred the word ‘omega’, mumbled those words, and nuzzled the side of your head with his nose, taking a deep breath from your sweet strawberry scent, and faint sex smell, due to the wetness between your thighs. No longer any hint of milk anymore, since you already reached maturity just a couple of months before him, and now he also didn't smell like puppy anymore.

— N-No… D-Dami… W-Where are you taking me? What a-are you gonna do? … I wanna go home… I’m not feeling good… — You whimpered and tried to weakly move out of his hold, it didn't work.

— You are home, beloved. And I’m going to help you feel better… With my knot. — Your eyes widened. — I will fuck you real good and fill you with my semen. I know it is your first time, it is mine too. But do not worry, your heat will make it painless and you will be satisfied with me. — You whimpered higher, your omega was preening, crying for a knot, your pussy squeezing hard, but your mind knew it was wrong. Clearly something was wrong. Why was no one helping? Couldn't they see you were caught by surprise with your heat and were saying no to him? Why were they looking at you like that? A cough coming from somewhere seemed to snap Damian out of it, like he remembered something. — Ah, right. And then, you will receive father’s, and my siblings' knots. I will go first since it’s my birthday and I claimed you first. — Damian blushed, despite his smug tone. 

You cried for help, at first, it came out weak, as your omega didn't want to make something the alphas would disapprove of, but the closer you got to the room they designated for the moment, the reality of what was coming was overtaking your instincts. Especially after your belly started to hurt at being empty of seed.

The alphas only shushed you, and you helplessly watched as Tim handcuffed one of your hands to the bedpost as soon as Damian laid you down on the nest they made for you, and Dick and Jason each started taking your sneakers off. Bruce was standing a few feet away from the bed, Alfred at his side. The oldest alpha’s eyes were glued to your laid down figure, hungry and serious. Darker than you had ever seen. You've never been more scared of him before. He occasionally commented something to Alfred, that you vaguely registered as instructions, that also started being given to his children.

You weakly tugged at the handcuff and tried to sit up at the same time, but Damian pushed himself between your legs, and held you down by the waist. Dick and Jason held your legs open to accommodate him better, and your overwhelmed brain barely noticed their hands also rubbing your ankles and thighs. You've never felt more aroused and more scared your whole life. 

Alfred exited the room to start doing Bruce's orders, and he kept watching. Tim, who had disappeared out of your line of sight for a second, came back holding a long, shiny and glinting pair of scissors. You tugged harder at the restraints and tried to push your body up to get away, thinking he was going to hurt you, but he just purred at you to calm you down, unfortunately, it worked, and your pussy tightened when Damian hissed at feeling your center pressing against his hard cock, when you pushed your hips up and against his. You could feel him poking your underthigh, only the clothes separating you.

— It's okay, omega, I’m just cutting off your clothes, it's gonna be easier to strip you that way. — Tim said soothingly, while purring and almost cooing at you. Your eyes widened when he said that, and actually started cutting your shirt open, until Dick was able to pull the ruined fabric off from under you. 

All three alphas started purring at seeing your braless torso, chest already swelling with milk and nipples darkened. Omegas body produced milk when they had a puppy to feed, or during heats, and ruts, when an alpha was in a rut, and the omega was helping them, because the body understood it was a rough period, where a lot of energy was spent and not much nutrition came, since both were too busy procreating and too weak to go searching for food, so the milk was a lot helpful in those moments. There were even historical moments where that skill was useful in other contests, when the economy got so bad that most packs were starving, and the omegas of the pack helped them survive with milk.

Damian bit his lips and brought his right hand up to your left breast, squeezing it softly. Everyone was entranced, watching a single drop of milk come out, the breast not full yet. You arched your back, it felt good, so good that for a moment you forgot why you wanted to get away. Damian also didn't help your train of thought when his thumb started rubbing your stiff nipple, sending ripples of pleasure through your body and forcing your eyes closed. You forced yourself not to make a sound.

You snapped out of it when you felt Tim cutting your pants and underwear off. Your eyes widened at the feeling of being exposed and the almost cold air that made your hair stand. Your legs trembled and you felt Dick and Jason's hands working, uncoordinated pads of fingers dancing across the inside of your thighs. 

Your arousal’s scent freely infastated the room now, and half of them growled, in exception of Bruce and Tim, who were keeping themselves more calm and collected. 

— It's time to go now, let Damian and (Y/N) have their moment. — Bruce announced and you watched as Damian smirked, then you hid your face, sobbing against the pillow. He cooed at you while his other hand went down between your legs and started rubbing slow circles while pressing against your clit.

Dick sighed.

— Take care of them, Dami. Have fun and enjoy. — Dick patted Damian's shoulder, but you weren't sure the alpha above even noticed you, too busy gazing at you and your body, enjoying how warm and wet you were. 

— Yeah, remember to do what we taught you, baby bird. — Damian only hummed at Jason's comment, and leaned down, pressing his chest to yours. He brought his mouth to the juncture of your neck and shoulder, and started leaving a trail of kisses up your neck, and under your jaw.

It was your first time feeling someone doing this, when you read fanfics and books, you never thought this could feel good like the writing always described, but it actually did, and you hated that you liked it, crying harder against the pillow and hoping his lips weren't moving closer to your face because he wanted to kiss you. You felt his nose sniffing your scent gland.

Tim hummed.

— Be careful with them, and don't take too long, everyone wants their turn. — Tim warned softly and was the last to exit the room, closing the door, but not locking it.

Damian’s warm breath huffed against your neck.

— Finally alone… — Damian whispered with a hoarse voice that made your hair stand. You whimpered and squeezed your eyes harder.

— Please, let me go… You don't have to do this, I won't tell anyone- — Your sentence was cut short when one of Damian's long and thick fingers invaded your entrance delicately. Your mouth opened on a silent scream, and the alpha watched you with lust in his eyes.

— Beloved… Omega… You will come to like this, I promise you that… — He sucked a faint hickey on your scent gland. His right hand started exploring the rest of your body, fumbling and squeezing the softer parts he found out he liked the most. You couldn't control your panting and small moans when his finger curled upwards inside you, touching your sweet spot. 

— D-Dam-... A-Alpha… — You arched your back when he started fingering you faster, your sensitive walls milking a single finger, crying for a thick knot, thirsty for his seed, your womb empty of puppies. 

— See… — He kissed your cheek. — We barely started, and yet… — Another kiss, closer to your mouth. — You're already dripping and earning for my knot… — Your lips met, it didn't seem like he had much experience, maybe it was his first kiss? Either way, you knew a little more about what you were doing, and he quickly learned. In just a few minutes, he was dominating your mouth. The younger alpha gave a slow bite to your lips when a second finger joined the first in fucking you, wet noises eccoing around the room.

You gained some clearance after a few moments, when he took his fingers off. You whined, not knowing if it was to plead him not to rape you, or because you wanted his cock stuffing you as soon as possible. You tried to force your head away from his, and he relented, pausing the kiss, but only to start taking his own clothes off. If your face wasn't already hot from the fever and arousal, you knew it would be now, feeling shy with everything new that was happening and his naked body, and surprised that you never once noticed his muscles before. 

While afraid, you peeked down and saw his hard and bobbing dick, it was thick and above average, but not too much. Not too much for someone who wasn't a virgin like you were, that is.

You tried to sit up, to get away from him in a bolt of strength you didn't have until now, fighting your omega with as much as you could. But it proved to be no help, as it punished you by making your belly tug and hurt twice more. Your torso fell down on the bed again, powerless by pain, numbness, and the restraint around your wrist.

Damian only cooed, still kneeling above you and between your legs. You cried. You didn't feel his calloused hands holding and caressing your hips, but you felt the blunt wet tip against your entrance. You were ruined.

Your parents would hate you. They would say it was your fault for ignoring their warnings and shoving yourself inside a home full of alphas with no omega. They would kick you out of the pack. And if the Wayne's did good on their word of raping you one after the other, you would probably get pregnant, as you weren't on birth control. That is, if they didn't kill you or kept you hostage in their basement. And even if your pack wanted to, they wouldn't be able to do anything to get justice for you, as the Wayne's were much more influential and rich. You were only going to the same school as Damian because your parents worked as teachers there, for god's sake. You were doomed. And if they decided to mark you…

You cried harder, ashamed of being so aroused now and so dumb all along. For the first time, you hated being an omega.

But all those self-deprecating thoughts were muffled when he finally invaded you. It was slow, gentle, testing how things felt. Damian heaved a breath and buried his face on your neck, breathing your scent deep. It felt amazing, for the both of you. You were so deep in your heat that of course it wasn't going to hurt at all, silly you. Those alphas were right, they are always right. They can take care of you.

— … More… Please, I want more… — You moaned and tried moving your hips against his, forcing his cock to push against your walls faster. Damian's head snapped up, looking at you with interest and lust. You were already cockdrunk, as he was pussydrunk, and he wasn't even halfway inside yet.

He bottomed out with more hurry, after pulling in and out twice to test if you really weren't in pain. He moaned deep against your face before shoving his lips against yours again, while he thrusted his hips. The alpha found the perfect rhythm while pulling almost all the way in and out, in a steady dance. Your moans got louder by the second, your inner omega happy with all the attention you were receiving.

Your free hand shot up to rest on his back, nails digging his scarred skin, not knowing what to do. Damian's hips gradually grew in force, until the bed was shaking and softly hitting the wall. The sound of your hips colliding and your wetness clear as day didn't bother you, as you only started begging for the alpha. To be owned. To be knotted. To be breeded.

— See how I take care of you… — He kissed down your collarbone, murmuring against your skin. — Make you feel good… — One of his hands slid down to grip your thigh, pulling your leg up, purposefully looking for a deeper angle to ravish you. You gasped as he found it, and his thrusts got harder. You mumbled a bunch of agreements to whatever he was saying, you just wanted his knot! — You're my omega now, our omega now… — He softly bit your pouting nipple, being considerate as to not hurt the sensitive and swelling area. Your hand trembled on his back and shot up to pull his hair in an overwhelming wave of pleasure. He pulled weakly at your nipple with his teeth scraping the nerves on the area, until he let it go. — We will stuff you full of cum everyday and every hour… — His lips trailed down your ribs, but the position didn't allow him to go further down. He wanted to leave kisses on your whole body, and now he could do that, because now you weren't escaping them. He growled, resigning himself to traill his lips up through the space between your breasts. Your body trembled with the sound. — Fuck you real good… You will never have to beg, omega, we will spoil you with everything you need, everything you want… — His huge hands trailed up your body until they reached your chest. He squished them for a moment, enjoying how soft they were, and how pliant you were, looking straight into your dazed cockdrunk eyes. Imagining how your perfect pups will look like. Milk started coming out in small drops, so silent that he only noticed when it was dripping down his hand. His eyes shot down to assess the view and his knot started growing at the sight of your swelling breasts and darkened nipples, giving up milk for him, for him, so soft his fingers were digging and moulding the flesh, all while they were dancing up and down, bouncing, seducing him. You were seducing him. You were stunning, ravishing, perfect without even trying. He was happy his pack was the one tying you down to them, he wanted to kill someone just for thinking that someone else could have you like this. — … And you will give us everything we want…

He tentatively, almost hypnotized, leaned down and sucked your stiff nipple between his soft lips, sucking a small amount of milk inside, letting It rest on his tongue for a moment, savouring the taste, before swallowing.

You were sensitive, with a dull ache, but his suckling helped with the pain and sent waves of flickering pleasure against your body. You could feel him forcing his knot with each thrust to fit inside you as it gradually grew, and gasped, whimpering pleas for more. Begging him to keep going and stuff you full. You were both getting close to orgasm. Damian shut his eyes hard, overstimulated with the growing pleasure. He let go of your breast when he started feeling his canines getting more protruded, itching to bite your neck and claim you, his eyes also getting brighter, his inner alpha waiting to take ownership over you. Strip you off the life you had before. Forcing you to subjugate, until the smallest cells in your body knew who you belonged to.

He didn't hold himself, of course, and your first mark soon made home above your collarbone, your souls locking together and the intimacy going to an extraordinary level when you reached the peak of pleasure in tandem, while his knot swelled and made you stuck together, stopping any drop of cum from going to waste.

Every single drop was forced to stay inside of you, and Damian lifted your almost limp head, you both drunk, still coming down from the waves of pleasure, and forced your lips against his neck, his scent gland, and you, whose omega and heat had taken over since the moment his cock invaded you, didn't hesitate to mark him back, locking the bond completely.

— Good omega, good omega…

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[hellowoolf]

something, somehow, someday

series masterlist

series summary: you know you will love satoru for the rest of your life, but when you wake with his cursed energy in your navel there is no option but to flee. what future is there for a child of a god? at 18 satoru is without you, and you make off with a piece of him you hoped he'd never meet.

pairing: secret baby daddy!gojo x reader

tags: secret child trope, angst (lots), eventual fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort

18+! minors dni <3

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prologue: aurora borealis

chapter 1: your takara

chapter 2: near miss

chapter 3: sun stall

chapter 4: close to you

chapter 5: tba!

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let me know if you'd like to be tagged :3<3