Statistically Speaking - Dr. Brendon “The Shark” Park x Reader
Chapter One: Trinity Santos
Series Summary: After completing your residency, you join the staff at the Pitt, the hospital where your husband of nearly ten years (who you already have five kids with) works. With a common last name and radically different personalities, you make a bet on how long it'll take everyone to figure out that you're married.
Chapter Summary: You and Brendon celebrate your upcoming first shift at PTMC with a huge family bash and a hot night together.
Tags/Notes: wife!mom!doctor!reader, brendon and reader have five kids already, parties, family shenanigans, madly in love couple, smut, oral (f), fingering (f), unprotected piv, creampie, aftercare/sweetness
Content: near fatal birth complication in past (AFE) discussed in detail: to avoid, after “And Felix Park joined the family a little less than eight months later” skip to “‘He’s perfect,’ Brendon assured.”
A/N: local child-free gay trans guy continues to be unable to resist giving big men 4-6 children :// happy wip wednesdays my loves!
Word Count: 7.2k
How you ended up with five kids under ten at the party celebrating your upcoming first day as an emergency department attending is simple: Brendon Park is the single greatest husband and father you’ve ever seen. While your mother-in-law insists that you relax by the pool as she gets the place ready because it’s your party, Brendon watches the kids to keep them out of your hair and manages to be the sexiest man alive while he does it. It’s been unseasonably warm this summer, but you definitely aren’t complaining about soaking in a few poolside days before your job starts. Because of the heat, Brendon’s wearing one of those slutty white tank tops that clings to his sweaty muscles in the late-June heat. He’s got your two-year-old on one hip, your four-year-old holding onto his chest like a koala cub, and your six-year-old on his shoulders. All the while, he manages to play catch with your nine-year-old and help your seven-year-old practice her solo for the community theater musical she’s doing during summer break.
As the gorgeous setup takes shape around you – Brendon’s mother was an event planner before retirement, so every get-together turns into a whole shebang – you admire your husband expertly managing all of the kids. He looks so hot running around the yard with them, tan and sweaty and muscular, that you don’t even notice the mischievous glint in his eyes when he turns to you and catches your gaze. Then, a split second after he mutters something you can’t hear to the kids, the two oldest barrel toward you at top speed, yanking off their cover-ups and launching into the pool in front of you. Water splashes up onto your book and high-waisted-bikini-clad body while Brendon walks over nonchalantly.
You immediately turn to your husband and then to your laughing children. “Benji, Margot, be honest with me: Did your dad put you up to this?”
They make eye contact with each other, then their dad, and then each other again before pinching their noses shut and going under the water.
Setting your book aside, you stand up from your cozy lounger and meet Brendon at the edge of the pool, where he’s helping Nora and Theo into their life jackets since he’s a safety freak the first couple of summers between swim lessons. Once they’re in the water with their siblings, you shove Brendon on the chest and glare. “You are a menace, Bren. Such a bad influence on our poor children.”
“Oh, yeah?” Brendon takes Felix from his carrier, kisses him on the head, and hands him off to his grandmother, who’s floating by as she does final touches for the party. Then Brendon strips his shirt off and tugs you close to his body. You lean up onto your toes for a kiss and he happily gives it to you, arms wrapped protectively around your back. “Excited about your party?”
“Please, we both know this is for your mom and the kids,” you chuckle as you watch her greeting the first few guests, leading them through the house and into the backyard. It’s mostly people from the neighborhood, your kids’ friends and the other couples you hang out with. There was a strict ‘no coworkers’ rule as you and Brendon hadn’t yet decided how to navigate his wife joining his hospital. “My perfect celebration looks a lot more like when you passed your first boards.”
“Mmm.” He kisses you a bit deeper and remembers fondly, “The great Cancun fuck-fest.”
“Keep your voice down,” you giggle as one of Nora’s classmates passes by you to go for the nearby spread of fruit, “this place is crawling with children who don’t need to take the F-word to elementary school this fall.”
He nips your neck and replies, “You’re so lame for a MILF.”
Then, with his hand roving a little too low on your back for a family-friendly party, the one exception to the guest list rule taps you on the shoulder.
“Alright, pervert, it’s my turn with my new boss.”
“Trinity, you made it!” You wrap her up in a hug and squeal with delight. Trinity had been one of your closest friends during undergrad in Philadelphia. She took a gap year once you finished med school, so you had no idea her residency was at PTMC until she ran into Brendon during his first consult to the emergency department. “It’s so crazy that we’re gonna be working together after all this time. Kind of our twenty-year-old selves dream.”
“It’s gonna be fucking awesome,” she confirms with a grin as she pushes a White Claw into your right hand and clinks it with her own. “I’ll finally have someone to bitch with about all the assholes I have to deal with.”
Brendon balks before you can respond. “She gets to curse and I don’t?”
You squeeze his arm and comfort him, “Trin’s a cool aunt, not a dad.”
“An aunt to how many now, by the way?” She looks over the pool that’s now overrun with kids and tries to scan for ones that look like you and Brendon. “Last time I saw you in person, I think there were only two of them and one on the way.”
Pointing them out one by one, you tell her, “We have five now.”
It takes a while for the three of you to catch up on everything that’s happened the last few years, but it’s beautiful and fun to trade stories about the kids. Starting with the oldest, there’s Benji, who was totally unplanned when you were barely into undergrad at UPenn, having met his dad exactly nine months and two weeks before his birth at a mixer where pre-med students got to talk with MS1s about their experience. You were 19 after a gap year and he was 21 after whizzing through undergrad and MCATs at the top of his class. Even if he had sky-high dreams of being a double-board-certified surgeon by 30, Brendon wasn’t just going to abandon you or his kid, so he made an honest woman of you by the time you were showing in a tiny ceremony at the courthouse, promising to give you the wedding of your dreams once the two of you had the money.
By the time you went into labor a few weeks after nailing your first-year finals, Brendon Park was sure of one thing: You were the woman of his dreams and marrying you was the best decision of his life. He never would’ve expected one random hookup to become the center of his universe, but it quickly became undeniable. It was your tenacity that got him. You never skipped a class because of morning sickness, never shied away from going toe-to-toe with a professor at 30-weeks large, and never questioned your own ability to stay at the top of your class with a newborn at home. You tackled the world with a hunger and enthusiasm that made his heart stammer in his chest. He’d never seen anything as sexy as you breastfeeding with one arm while the other you flipped through your organic chemistry textbook with the other, Brendon feeding you eggs and toast and fruit while quizzing you on test prep.
As soon as you were cleared and comfortable, Brendon couldn’t bear to keep his hands off you anytime you two were alone and you were beyond reciprocal; having a husband who not only loved his baby beyond belief and set an incredible example every day had your hormones going bonkers. Hell, he even stopped going to the gym in the morning to let you sleep and started doing his workouts in the living room with Benji strapped to his chest while he did bicep curls or sitting on his back giggling loudly as he did pushups. How’s a woman to resist when she wakes up to that?
Which meant Benji ended up with his first little sister, Margot, while you knocked out MCAT prerequisites and his father passed his USMLE Step 1 and prepared for his clinical work to start. With Brendon’s family being beyond supportive and Margot being a perfect angel as a baby, you jumped into med school headfirst and attended Brendon’s graduation seven months pregnant with Nora.
And, yes, you had planned not to have any more babies until you were well established in your residency. But then you matched into UPSOM’s program, nabbing your spot at Allegheny General, and Brendon took up his orthopedic trauma surgery fellowship at PTMC, and his parents decided to relocate to be near their grandkids, too. In the middle of all the chaos of moving and settling and daycare and preschools, well, some birth control pills may have been missed sort-of-not-totally-on-accident-but-not-really-on purpose-either right around the time you were celebrating Brendon’s first board certification with expensive lingerie and champagne and a trip to Cancun on his sexy new salary. So Theo happened.
Your track record with celebrations made the next one pretty clear, too. When Brendon finished his fellowship with another huge party, his mother, a saint of a woman, hugged you close and said, “Should we expect baby number five in about nine months?”
And that night, Brendon had you in bed once his parents had taken all the kids back to their house after the party. His thumbs brushed lovingly over your stomach’s layers of shiny stretchmarks as he asked gently, “What do you think, sweetheart?”
Knowing exactly what he meant, you raised an eyebrow and pushed, “About what?”
“We’ve got this big house with all these bedrooms now,” he purred as his fingers toyed with the waistband of your panties. “Seems like kind of a shame not to fill all of them up, doesn’t it?”
You helped him shimmy your underwear off and then turned onto your side, throwing one leg over his hip. “You know I always wanted an even number of kids, Bren. We’ve got two boys and two girls. You really want to disrupt the balance?”
“Think about it this way,” he mused as his hands roamed over your body, squeezing your ass and waist and thighs with the same greed he did when you were nineteen, “if we have five kids, then in a few years, we have a whole water polo team. We can have the Willards over and absolutely annihilate them. Establish dominance in the neighborhood.”
You press your forehead into his shoulder and laugh, “They only have four kids.”
His eyes glimmered with mischief. “Not for long. Nat’s pregnant. Jason told me this morning.”
“Well, shit, we’d better make sure their baby has a friend. Perfectly good reason to create another human being,” you replied with an eye roll, fully enjoying making him work for it even when you were already on board. You pursed your lips and pretended to think hard before suggesting, “Although, I believe ultimate frisbee needs seven, too, and that has some appeal for me.”
Brendon grinned wide then. He flipped you onto your back, pinned you between his biceps, and confirmed, “You wanna have an ultimate frisbee team with me, baby?”
As his right hand went between your legs, you sighed in pleasure, “It’s really the only sport I’ve ever taken seriously.”
And Felix Park joined the family a little less than nine months later.
This time, it wasn’t easy.
After four uncomplicated pregnancies and births, you were a pro. You showed up to L&D five centimeters dilated with your hair, nails, and makeup done, wearing your maroon velour tracksuit, Brendon shouldering your go bag and a brand new baby carrier right behind you. Only a few hours later, the baby was in his cot with Brendon standing over him like a hawk, the placenta had just been delivered, and everything should’ve continued into recovery as normal. But an overwhelming, all-consuming sense that something was wrong overcame you like a hurricane.
You reached out and grabbed Brendon’s hand, fingers bruising.
His eyes snapped to yours and he saw the terror in them immediately.
Before he could even open his mouth, your blood pressure tanked, your oxygen plummeted, and the bleeding started. Your eyelids fluttered back as you dropped out of consciousness in a matter of seconds. As the OB dropped down to check for potential causes and solutions while stopping the bleeding, Brendon’s brain lasered into doctor mode as a response to the panic that rose in his throat. Not listening in the slightest as a nurse urged him to stay calm, he violated every protocol in the book by yanking an intubation kit from the closest medical cart to expertly get you oxygen, shouting for transfusions of your blood type, and beginning CPR for blood flow. Nurses and staff fell in line rapidly, deferring to his authority because it was just so forceful and complete. Brendon Park is one of those men who’s impossible to doubt, no matter what he’s doing.
By the time an emergency specialist made it to your room three minutes later, Brendon had run the worst of the code and pretty much singlehandedly stopped you from dying right there on the L&D floor, sweat falling down his brow and onto your hospital gown as he continued compressions. It took three people to get him to step back from you. When the doctor took over on your heart, Brendon collapsed into a panic attack. He’d never felt anything like the tightness in his lungs. A separate nurse came in to give him oxygen while he went down, his eyes wide open and darting around like he was looking for something he couldn’t find. No words made it through the thick haze of his terror until he saw your vitals stabilizing again. Even then, he couldn’t function until you were conscious and tested and they confirmed that you wouldn’t have any lasting issues.
When you came to for real the next morning and they told you what happened, your mischievous eyes spent a second finding his and you teased, “Ooooh, you’re gonna be in so much trouble, pookie.”
He laughed, swatted a tear from his cheek, and kissed you on the top of the head. “Yeah, I got called up by the medical board for a review, but the hospital’s backing me up. Should be a slap on the wrist.”
You nodded, sleepy and accepting, and asked, “How’s the baby doing?”
“He’s perfect,” Brendon assured softly, almost scared to be too loud. “Ten pounds on the dot, 22 inches. Easily one of our top five cutest babies.”
“Another football player,” you laughed, sounding exhausted and delighted and maybe still a touch loopy on painkillers. Leaning your head on his arm, you smile against his skin. “We make very cute babies, even if your stupid genes make them all giants.”
He brushed your cheek with his thumb and murmured, “Your stupid genes didn’t have to keep procreating with my stupid genes.”
You rolled your eyes. “Shut up; you’re so annoying.”
He pouted and offered, “What if I told you that I brought you an Entenmann’s donut variety pack this morning? Powered, chocolate glaze, and crumble just how you like?”
With your weak arms, you reached up and pulled him into a hard kiss. He didn’t care about your unbrushed teeth or greasy skin. To him, you’re everything. He’d kiss you at the end of the world with two minutes left. You leveled him with loving eyes and said, “I lied about you being annoying. You’re the perfect man. Now gimme those donuts.”
All in all, by the time an attending position opened up in Brendon’s hospital right as you finished your residency with five under ten, you’re pretty damn sure you’re done having babies.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Trinity sighs as she sips her second or third drink. “I can barely keep myself and my roommate alive and here you are with five tiny humans and a husband.”
“Once they stop being attached to your boob, it gets easier,” you snicker while watching the kids screeching with laughter as they dive and splash at each other. With Brendon absently rubbing your back while keeping his eyes on the party, you add, “Honestly, at this point, it’ll be weird not being pregnant working at a hospital. I won’t have any excuses to take as many five-minute breaks as I want.”
“A fate worse than death,” Trinity agrees. Then she gestures between the two of you and asks, “Have you figured out how you’re gonna break it to the Pitt that their nice new attending is actually married to the scariest doctor in the hospital?”
You admire Brendon’s sharp side profile for a minute and then shrug. “I figure we’re not gonna keep it a secret but we’re not gonna bring it up. It’s not like Bren’s going to stop being the big bad ortho bro just because I’m there. I’m fully prepared to be on the receiving end of his mean little tirades.”
Brendon bites back a joke about how you like him being mean plenty when it’s just the two of you, instead saying, “And I’m fully prepared for you to stand on your tippy toes and scream in my face when we disagree about patient care.”
You scoff and shove him. “I did not yell at Dr. Torrence that day.”
Brendon gives Trinity a knowing look. “She made him cry over an appendicitis diagnosis.”
Throwing your hands up mock-defensively, you cut back, “Okay, well, god forbid I care if my patients live or die.”
Trinity cracks up at that and says, “The way you go back and forth with each other, you should place bets on how long it takes everyone to figure out that you’re married.”
Brendon tilts his beer toward her. “Now that could be fun.”
Before you can call them both children, your mother-in-law comes up behind you and leans in near your and Brendon’s ears. “The kids are getting antsy about the cake, my loves.”
Brendon nods, stands up, and shouts in his bellowing serious voice, “Everybody gather ‘round; I have to give my sappy speech about how proud of my wife I am now!”
From around the pool area and by the fire pitt and grill, all the partygoers circle the central table with its cake reading Congratulations, Dr. & Dr. Park! Even the kids reluctantly clamber out of the pool after a little coaxing from their grandparents.
Brendon lifts his arm for you to step into. With an eye roll, you do, head on his chest. He dramatically clears his throat and begins, “Honey, I’ve told you a million times already, but I’m never gonna get tired of saying it: I am so proud of you for finishing your residency and taking the next leap in your medical career. I know firsthand just how hard you’ve worked every step of the way to be the biggest know-it-all in the history of the world.”
“Absolutely right,” you cut in with a serious nod. Patting his well-defined pec, you nudge, “Wrap it up, you big sap, there’s a cake to eat.”
“Alright, alright,” he chuckles. Then he cups your cheek and says, “You are by far the most impressive person I’ve ever met. You continue to change my definition of what’s possible every day. I cannot wait to work with you so I can finally prove that someone actually likes me.” Brendon kisses you warmly as his friends laugh a little too knowingly. Then he hushes the crowd once more and says, “Of course, if you’ve come to a Park family summer house party before, you know that we always end our toasts with a particular tradition-”
With the kids already cheering and clapping from the anticipation, you try to squirrel out from under his arm with a wicked shriek of, “Brendon Alexander Park, you swore you wouldn’t do this tonight!”
“-before we can cut that cake and continue the evening’s festivities-”
You manage to get out of his grip and make a sprinting break for the yard, careful not to run by the pool area because you will never hear the end of it from Benji after several summers of yelling at him for the same. “You are so in for it, Bren!”
“-my beautiful wife absolutely must get into the pool she insisted we put in-”
Brendon catches you easily since you aren’t really trying to evade him as all your friends and family clap. You hiss, “I will murder you after this.”
“-by any means necessary!” Brendon grabs you under your ass and hoists you above his head onto his shoulders with ease. Holding your legs tight to his chest while you balance above him, he walks to the edge of the water and you pretend to put up a fight by squirming just to annoy him. Brendon grabs his beer from the table and lifts it to the sky. “Everyone, please raise your glasses and join me in celebrating the love of my life, the mother of my five perfect spoiled children, who is way too good for me even on my best days, and now my fellow PTMC attending physician, Dr. Park!”
As everyone lifts their drinks and claps and whoops, Brendon takes one celebratory swig of his beer, sets it down, and then jumps into the deep end, plunging you both into the water. It’s the perfect temperature for swimming even without the heated feature turned on and you surface with mock offense on your face. Laughing and wiping water away, you push him on the chest and say, “I hate you. You’re by far the worst husband on the face of the planet.”
He nods in agreement as he pulls you toward him, able to touch the bottom of the pool several steps before you can. As you instinctively wrap your legs around his hips, he kisses you and murmurs, “I’m so fucking proud of you, baby. I know there was never any doubt you’d finish your residency-”
“Damn straight.”
“-but the fact that you did it all while being such an attentive mom and wife and-”
“Please don’t make me cry,” you whimper gently. You hug him tight. “Thank you so much for supporting me and us all these years. We really did it.”
“We really did,” he confirms with a laugh. Then he leans in close and murmurs, “By the way, I managed to pawn all the kids off to their friends’ places for sleepovers while you were mingling, so we have the house to ourselves tonight.”
“You’re joking,” you reply, mouth open in true shock. You cup his ear and giggle, “You’re telling me we get to fuck loud and uninterrupted tonight?”
With a shit-eating grin, he nods and kisses you hard. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you, angel.”
Then, having absolutely housed a corner piece of cake in a matter of milliseconds, Benji raises his pool noodle and proclaims, “No kissing in the pool! Get ‘em!”
You shriek and bury your face in Brendon’s neck as four of your kids cannonball in at once, spraying water everywhere and immediately latching onto your and Brendon’s backs.
Late that night, with the house and yard cleaned up and the kids at their friends’ or grandparents’ places, Brendon pulls you into the oversized shower and rubs your shoulders under the water. For a few minutes, he just lets you soak in the steam and the quiet as he greedily touches you, no shouting children running around or banging on the door. It’s been a while since the two of you have been able to shower together for more than practical time-saving reasons, so Brendon’s eager to hold you close even as he massages shampoo and conditioner through your hair. You can feel the pride and adoration in his every touch and in his content little groans when you return the favor, working him over with a sudsy loofah and following it with your hands.
Brendon trades off once he’s clean, cupping your soapy breasts and sighing happily into a slow kiss that you step onto your toes to give him. His fingers slip down your waist, over your thighs, through your pubic hair. He even drops down to his knees and lifts each of your feet to wash them, kissing your knees once the water’s washed away the suds. Standing up again, he murmurs gently, “Turn around, sweetheart.”
With a big yawn, you move so he can get your back, definitely not selfishly working your muscles with his hands too.
“Don’t tell me you’re too sleepy for sex,” he teases as you yawn again, leaning your weight against his chest as he rubs the loofah down your lower back.
You reach down and pinch his thigh vengefully. “Did I say that?”
“Ouch! Fuck, baby, I take it back,” he laughs, tightening his arms around you. He bites your shoulder playfully before saying, “Let’s get you out of here so you can prove it to me, hm?”
“I like the sound of that.”
You turn around slowly and give him one more kiss before reaching behind him and turning off the water. Brendon’s quick to grab your fluffy towel robe, wrapping you in it before your skin can even consider getting cold. Before he can turn away, you rest your arms around the back of his neck and tug him into another kiss. He holds your face between his large hands and lets out a soft, breathy sound close to a moan. You love the little noises he makes when he’s so perfectly content. Noises that only you have ever gotten to hear.
Murmuring into the kiss, you offer, “Take me to bed, handsome.”
But Brendon shakes his head no and picks up your moisturizer from the counter behind you, presenting it to you with a pointed look. “Do your post-shower routine first. You’ll be all cranky if your skin starts getting tight and I don’t want you thinking about anything that’ll distract you from feeling so fucking good you go brain-dead. Got it?”
You pout as you take the moisturizer and unscrew it, “To be loved is to be seen or whatever.”
Brendon starts in on his own routine, too, opening up the medicine cabinet. “You’re almost out of the one you take in the morning – the modafinil,” he says as he collects your handful of bedtime pills the way he does every night, taking care of you in the small moments. “You have an appointment set up for that already?”
“Yes, I do, Dr. Micromanager,” you reply, all faux-huffy. With your skin care done, he hands off your pills and you take them with a few gulps of water from the sink. “I might ask to try something else, though. It’s been a month on them already and I don’t feel like they’re actually helping me feel less tired. Plus, now that I’m gonna be an attending, I’ll only be on day shift, so the whole Shift Work Sleep Disorder situation might resolve itself.”
“I hope so,” he sighs, softly rubbing your back. “I know we all go through it as doctors, but I hate watching you deal with something I can’t fix myself.”
“Mmm.” You give him a soft kiss on the cheek and smile. “My knight in shining armor.”
He kisses your temple. “And you’ll always be my princess.”
Then you toy with the tie on your robe, give him your most sultry eyes, and ask, “Now can you fuck me, Sir Brendon? Or are there any more tasks I have to complete first?”
“All you have to do for the rest of the night-” he slides your robe down your shoulders, returns it to its hook, and begins to push you backwards, into the bedroom “-is let me worship you.”
As the back of your knees hit the plush, high-thread-count comforter, you softly laugh, “I think I can do that for you.”
“That’s my girl,” he praises as he spreads you out on the bed, making sure you’re comfortably arranged among the pillows before he pushes your knees apart. When he sees your pussy, framed by those perfect dimpled thighs and your curls of hair, his cock throbs against the sheet and he groans, “Fuck, baby. Can’t believe you’re mine.”
You roll your eyes and smile down at him. “I’ve been yours since I was 19, Bren.”
“And you’re only getting better,” he purrs as he leans down and laps at your slit. With your tartness coating his tongue, he pulls back, nods solemnly, and groans like he’s just chugged a nice cold beer after a long day of work, “Yeah, that’s the stuff right there.”
You giggle and cover your face with your arm. “Stop being silly; you know it turns me on.”
“And the worst thing I’d ever want to do when I’m here between my wife’s legs,” he muses as he slides his two middle fingers inside of you agonizingly slowly, “is turn her on.”
Your back arches while you stretch around him. Once he’s touching you, there’s no more room in your brain for teasing or comebacks. All you can think about is him. His tongue makes familiar contact with your clit and you’re done for. You let yourself sink into the pleasure of being with a man who knows every centimeter of your body as well as his own. He eats you out the way he operates: Precise, practiced, self-assured, and with ten years of training under his belt.
Loose and warm from the night drinking and the hot shower with your hot husband, you’re easily enveloped by Brendon’s obvious desire. You slip into it as naturally as you breathe. His tongue pulses against your clit and his free hand travels upward until he can take your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He pinches and rolls until he finds that combination of pressure and skill to make you moan loud and uninhibited.
Brendon’s got you right where he wants you once he’s using both his hands and his mouth to get you off. If he could use something else at the same time to heighten it for you, he would. When he feels your walls tightening slowly around his fingers, he slows way down and makes you work for it. You whine pathetically at the change in pace and grind your hips down against his fingers to get them deeper and faster the way you need.
Finally – it feels like finally even if it’s been thirty seconds because you’re so worked up – Brendon pushes you over the edge. You clamp down tight around his fingers, thighs tensing around his head, and bliss burns down the candle of your body. Brendon surges forward as you instinctively try to squirm away, his hand going to your hip to hold you against his mouth. He always insists on you riding out every single ounce of pleasure he can give you.
Your gasps turn to little hiccuping moans in the wake of your first orgasm – because, as Brendon makes it very clear, there will be a second. And likely a third if he can get you into the right loose headspace where you’ll go along with everything he says. He pulls off slightly, gently rubs your hip with his thumb, and asks, “Doing okay, baby?”
With half-lidded eyes, you giggle, “Very good, Bren. Gonna come fuck me now?”
“After you’ve only cum on my face once?” He wrinkles up his face in offense. “No fucking way.”
You fake-pout. “Maybe I want you to cum on my face for a change.”
Brendon rolls his eyes and gets back to your clit. You laugh for a second until the contact of his tongue turns it into a moan. He makes a knowing little sound and you grind down on his tongue to get at him, which only makes him more of a menace. He gets lost in it with your juices coating his hand and your pussy still fluttering greedily around his fingers. When he slips a third thick finger into you, the corresponding groan is music to his ears. You’re used to how ridiculous fat his cock is by now, but he’s always sure to stretch you out with fingers or toys beforehand no matter what. No way is he ever going to hurt his perfect girl, not even on accident.
As you get positively stupid, making high-pitched pathetic sounds like ah ah ah, your hands find their way into Brendon’s dark curls. When you tug against his scalp, he whimpers into your pussy, madly in love with your taste, your touch, your tenderness. Everything about you turns him on, but especially the way you totally stop thinking as you lose your inhibitions. Your hips start to roll and your fingers get greedy and Brendon is the happy recipient of each unconscious writhe and wail.
Your second orgasm is slower, looser, less a train barreling through and more a ship rising with the gentle tide, unnoticed at first but unrelenting. You chase his fingers and, this time, he doesn’t mess around with any teasing or slowing down. He stays the course, certain and steady as a compass, until he feels you burst around his fingers. Your moans turn to breathy coos as he eases you through the overstimulation and back down to earth.
When he’s satisfied with his work, Brendon crawls on top of you and kisses your parted lips. You lean up into the kiss with a happy groan, tasting yourself on his tongue. He kisses you deeply for a minute, one hand needy on your breast as he rubs your nipples, and you feel his hard cock grinding against your thigh. You reach down and palm his length, breathily begging, “C’mon, Bren, I need you.”
He kisses your neck, his tongue and teeth worshipping the skin behind your ear, over your pulse, above your collarbone. Sounding too self-righteous for his own good, he rasps against your ear, “Yeah? Need to get fucked?”
You roll your eyes and groan at him, “I didn’t get married to beg for dick when I want it.”
“Possessive, much?”
You squeeze his bicep – hard, a little mean – and whine, “Holding out for absolutely zero reason because you want it as bad as I do, much?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Brendon reaches down and pumps his cock a few times as you spread your legs wider to accommodate his thick thighs. As he lines himself up with you, feeling your warm wetness inviting him in, he murmurs, “You’re always right.”
You grin as he ever-so-slowly pushes inside of you. “God, you know how to talk dirty.”
He groans as your eyes roll back with the pleasure of him bottoming out inside of you, already looking so fuck-drunk from his time spent between your legs. This is his favorite thing in the world: Getting you off so well and so thoroughly that he can use you however the hell he wants and you’ll just be a crying, moaning mess as you happily take it. He bends so that he can hold you close, your clit bumping against his coarse happy trail. Gazing down lovingly at the way your slick, swollen pussy lips envelop his shaft, he croons, “There you go, baby. My pretty girl.”
Clutching his shoulders, you keen pathetically, “You feel so good.”
“You have no idea, baby.” He grips your ass hard, holding your body against his by the ample fat there. Grunting and trying to control himself, he breathes, “I swear you feel better every time I fuck you.”
You dig your fingernails into his shoulder blades and demand, “Then how about you stop chit-chatting and fuck me?”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he chuckles darkly, grabbing your hips to keep you locked in place, unable to do anything but take his cock. And he pounds you. He uses the full force of those sculpted thighs and ass and stomach to snap his cock forward, only pulling half of the way out before slamming back in. His blunt head punches against your cervix; it would be painful if you weren’t so perfectly molded to be his and his alone, your bodies knowing one another as well as your minds.
Once you’re whimpering and biting your lip and struggling to keep your eyes open from the unrelenting force, Brendon’s dominant hand travels away from your waist and between your legs. With a delicious roughness to his tone, he purrs, “I think you can give me one more, can’t you? A big one, too, maybe even get me nice and wet if I play my cards right. What do you think, baby? Can you do that for me?”
When you can’t come up with a response, Brendon takes your face in one hand, pushing your cheeks in and forcing you to make eye contact. “Aw, sweetie, too fuck-drunk to speak? That’s okay; I think you can do it, so you’re gonna have to.”
Brendon’s rough thumb pad connects with your puffy, agonized clit and he rotates his hand so he can also press down on your mons, right where his cock is thrumming. Your hips buck from the sudden wave of intensity and he laughs at just how pathetic you look and sound. Immediately, you feel the head of his cock massaging your walls ten times as strongly.
The building pressure is enough to have you squirming and twitching and you cry out, barely able to speak, “I can’t, Bren, I- Fuck! It’s too much. I’m gonna- I can’t-”
“Aw, come on,” he coos, all condescending and achingly sexy, “my wife isn’t a quitter. Just get out of that big beautiful brain and let go.” He presses down more on the bulge at your lower abdomen where his cock is filling you, the pressure bordering on unbearable. His voice takes on a truly selfish darkness that brings turned-on tears to your eyes. “I can tell you’re gonna squirt, honey, and you’re doing that thing where you try not to because you’re all bashful and embarrassed.”
You whimper as your toes curl into the bed, head thrashing back and forth as, yes, you try and try to resist. “Brendon, I swear to god-”
“None of that,” he chastises. He pulls up the hood of your clit and puts more pressure on the exposed, swollen nerves below. Pressure, pressure, pressure. His voice lulls you into a softer, more open headspace as he assures. “You know there’s nothing to be embarrassed about with me. I want you to fucking soak me, baby. Let go. That’s all you have to do and you’re gonna sleep so good. Just let me take care of you. Let me take care of everything.”
Your eyes open and meet his, dominant blue, encapsulating as the open sea, holding you in the moment the way they always do. When you find his devoted, intimate expression just waiting for yours, your pussy starts to tighten. It comes with that overwhelming urge to pee that Brendon’s made you beyond familiar with over the years. Even though you know exactly what’s going on, your brain still tries to yank up a wall to stop you from bursting.
But Brendon knows exactly what you need. His guidance. His patience. His insistence. His voice is nothing short of a growl now as he talks you through it. “There you go. Just a little more, baby, and you’re gonna get there. Focus on my voice, not anything else. Let yourself relax and it’s gonna feel so fucking good for both. Gonna fill you up like you need.”
You’d be weeping if you could manage any sound above a whisper. With your nails cutting into his skin now, you squeak out, “Cum inside me?”
“That’s right, princess,” he grunts as he works hard to stave off his own orgasm. You’re just so gushing wet and perfectly tight and pulsing and everything he’s ever wanted and more. Losing track of his rhythm and falling apart in his love for you, he swears, “I need to fill your cunt. Need to feel you cum while I do it. C’mon, pretty girl, cum with me. Please. It’s all I need.”
And you have to obey. Your brain whites out as the orgasm thrashes through your entire body, back arching, toes curling, thighs clamping. Wetness floods from your body, soaking your husband’s hand and thighs. Brendon thrusts sharp and short through it, burying his forehead in your neck while your cunt milks him just right. He shudders as he spills inside of you, tasting your sweat on his lips and loving every moment of your orgasm that heightens his. While his cock softens inside of you, he plants kisses like a diamond necklace over your skin, murmuring sweetness and love until you’re completely, perfectly content.
You’re so loose and comfy that you hardly register him scooping you off the bed and carrying you to the bathroom, where he cleans you up and kisses over every place his fingers dug in hard enough to leave marks. He’s so strong he can’t help it. You come back into your body properly sitting on the countertop with Brendon in front of you, kissing your cheeks and studying your expression.
After a moment of just gazing at you, he cups your cheek and drops his voice low and slow. “I love you, baby. You know that, right?”
You grin at the memory of his first ‘I love you,’ which came alongside your first ultrasound with Benji. Just as you said then, you tell him, “More and more every day.”
He kisses the tip of your nose and smiles, shaking his head boyishly like he did when he had a flop of lazy curls that he never put product in. “Let’s get some sleep.”
You glance at the clock on your bedside table and tease, “It’s barely ten, love. Are we that old?”
“I don’t know about you, but I just had my brains fucked out.” He once again lifts you up easily, this time bringing you into your walk-in closet and grabbing some of his favorite skimpy pajamas of yours and guiding them onto your body. “I’m gonna need a solid eight to ten to recover.”
You shimmy into your clothes and then hand him a particularly sexy pair of gray boxer briefs you like the feel of against your ass in the morning. “Does that mean I get wake-up sex?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he promises, nipping more kisses up your neck. He follows less than a step behind you back to the bed, arms around you and destabilizing you until you’re laughing. When he tugs you into his arms beneath the covers, he offers, “You know what I was thinking?”
Snuggling into his chest once he turns the lights out, you half-heartedly murmur, “Hm?”
“Once you’ve had your first day down at the Pitt,” he muses to your half-sleeping form, “we should come up with an order for who we think is gonna figure out we’re together when. Trinity can get in on it, too, so we can swear her to secrecy.”
~As a plus sized woman, I’m tired of the hyper sexualization of the chubby body & the lack of fluff for it on tumblr. I’m trying to not only fill the x chubby reader stream with real, genuine fluff, but also get better at writing and stay off my phone. Enjoy, Gorgeous!~
“Fine, you win.”
Oswald Cobb x Reader - Any Oswald variant, but made with 2022 The Batman Oswald in mind.
Contents → Female! Reader, Chubby! Reader, Reader is late twenties, early thirties (No Y/N mention,) fluff, comfort, slightlyOOC!Oz, slight debauchery mentioned (Natural with the iceberg longue.)
Word count: 684
----------------------------
“Doll, ya look fine. Come on, the cars waitin’.” Oswald leaned against the frame of the door, his voice tinged with amusement. He watched as you fussed over yourself in the bathroom, eyes roaming over the outfit he bought you– It looked better in real life than he imagined.
“Gimmie a sec, Oz,” You muttered, lipspursed as your tongue poked out slightly between your stained and glossed lips. “Damn flyaways are gonna be the death of me.”
You gently batted at your hair with a flyaway tamer, something you saw online and bought a while back. Trying to get that perfect balance of tamed split hair, and the precaution of not making the gentle poof of your hair flat or greasy. What a world to be a woman.
Oswald let out a low chuckle, stepping further into the bathroom. His cane gently thudded against the floor with each fall until he made his way behind you. He set the cane against the ornate marble of his bathroom counter, wanting both hands to be free to touch his ever so soft partner.
“Lookin’ good tonight, babydoll.” He started, the tone of his voice low and smug, like when he was dealing with the business ‘associates’ or elite of Gotham. Yet, this carried a warmth, a warmth that no associate got to see.
His hands settled on the fat of your sides, just above your hips. Large, calloused hands slowly drifting a short distance up and down along your love handles, squishing occasionally just to feel the warmth of your flesh through the dress that adorned your curves.
“Fits okay?” He asked, hands drifting down to your hips as he leaned some of his weight on your back. That clubbed foot of his seemed to be a pain that could never be fully alleviated, but the soreness was only a dull thump in his mind when comforted with your beauty.
“Yeah, Oz, you outdid yourself this time.” You responded with a gentle grin, screwing the cap and wand into the tube of the flyaway tamer. You lifted your arms, not taking support away from him, just to strike a bit of a pose for him, he bought you the dress after all.
He let out a low whistle, hands going higher until they sat on the plush, gentle roll above your ribcage. “Well, hello nurse.”
He jested affectionately, and you smiled. He had this casual way of affirming you, never so over the top it seemed fake. Just enough. It wasn’t that charm he displayed towards government officials or the polite yet slightly kiss ass attitude he took with Carmine Falcone. This was real.
“Ya look better than the girls at the longue, I mean just look at you.”
“Yeah, okay. Now I know you're trying to butter me up.” *Your response was witty, but also instinctual. Be humble, not too confident. You didn’t look like the girls at the Iceburg, not a single one of them. All skinny, thin women with the flexibility of a bendy straw and the body rich women get surgery for.
You weren't smooth. Weren't skinny. Curved rolls cascaded down your torso under a heavy chest, some of that skin covered in stretch marks or cellulite. The natural marks of a woman of your size, and as confident as you were, decades worth of media influence telling you you were imperfect just doesn't go away.
“I’m serious.” He persisted, once more letting his weight off you and grabbing his cane. “Those broads are dime a dozen. I could fire ‘em all in one night and ‘ave a new menagerie by the next mornin’.”
“They ain’t got nothin on you, toots. Now, get in the car before that district attorney thinks I ditched him.” He reminded. As much as he would love to stay in for the night and hold onto you, he had business to attend too. But, he wanted you there with him.
You smiled fondly. “Fine, you win.”
You smoothened your dress, placing a kiss on his cheek.
🍒 three times you try to get damian wayne, your husband’s son to warm up to you. || fluff, platonic fic, reader is bruce’s wife, damian wayne is well loved in this household, 1,7k words. || ⋆˚࿔ dont mind the name i had so much fun typing it.
Damian was a hard kid to deal with and the more you learned about him, the more you realized that he was not the harsh shield he created for himself. His grudge wasn’t against you, but against the whole world, it seemed. He was only a kid, who never had the chance to live that life.
You wanted to give him those moments because you believed no one was late to be a child no matter what age they were. But first, he had to trust you. It was not about loving you or anything, you wanted him to trust you and warm up to you. Not as a mother but as a friend.
So you decided to try reaching him in a way that wouldn’t bother him. You had thought of a few things to start with…
1. TAKING HIM TO NATIONAL PARK TO SEE ANIMALS
Even before you married Bruce Wayne, you knew his son was an avid animal lover. He loved animals, cared for them and was interested in knowing them more than any child you encountered. He had so many pets and he cared for them, not letting others do his chores when it came to his animal friends. He was serious about them.
It was afternoon, when you were taking Damian from his school, that you wanted to start a conversation about his interests— and of course, you chose animals specifically, for you knew it would alter his senses and make him focus on you.
“Damian,” You started. The boy didn’t look up from the window and just hummed. You just smiled at him and continued to talk. “I heard that you and your father donated to Gotham National Parks… That’s amazing to hear.”
Damian stopped playing with his fingers and turned to look at you. It was working… “Yes. It was hard to persuade Father, though.”
You remembered the fight they had the day before Bruce decided to, or rather had to decide because of you and Damian. Damian had been sending money without his father's knowledge and Bruce was angry about it— you couldn’t blame him either, he only wanted his son’s trust. And when he confronted Damian about it, they had a fight.
And in the morning, they eventually donated the money together.
“If your father says no, you can always ask me, dear. We can always make him agree together.”
You saw a small smile appear on his face as he looked out the window ahead of him. “Actually,” He started speaking and all of you knew something was on the way. “I asked him to take me to the National Park but he said he was busy.”
Bruce was busy, that was no lie. Both him and Alfred were having a small crisis in their lives. That was why you were the one taking Damian from school.
“I can take you there!” You proposed with great enthusiasm. The boy looked at you with a confused expression. “Would you like that?”
You turned to look at the little boy. His fingers were tapping on his leg as he was thinking. Your heart was beating so fast. If he didn’t agree with something like this, it would be hard to find common places with him, you figured.
But he didn’t seem like he would disagree and eventually nodded.
The next thing you did was taking a turn and drive right to the park. You saw the small smile on Damian’s face grow as you kept driving. He didn’t talk after you agreed to take him, but he looked like he had questions. When you stopped for the next red light, you asked him, “What’s up?”
“What about father?” He asked without letting a second pass.
“What about him?” Damian watched you twirl the wedding ring on your finger. “Damian, don’t worry about him. He is not mad at you, he just… wants your trust and wants to trust you, that’s all. I’m gonna text him and tell him we are going to the park, alright? He can’t say no.”
Damian nodded and leaned onto the seat with a relaxed expression on his face. Yep… This could be your first accomplishment after all.
2. COOKING TOGETHER
Cooking in the Manor was always a comfort for you: The kitchen was bigger, had all the ingredients needed and also everything was fancy. You loved joking around and saying you married the right person because of his kitchen— but Bruce warned you not to make this joke in public lest you get cancelled. He was careful about the public so much when it came to you and considering social media, it was valid. He was probably trying to protect you and his children.
You loved joking about his money, though.
Humming and singing to yourself, you were chopping the onions. Your eyes stung and were teary from the vegetable you were butchering. The onions were a significant part of the new soup recipe you were trying, if they weren’t that important, you’d skip that part. But now you were striking yourself with the same thing over and over again.
You heard some footsteps enter the kitchen as you were cutting the last piece of onion. Turning back to check who it is, you smiled when you saw Damian on the doorstep of the kitchen. “Hi, Damian,” You greeted him and he muttered a silent hi back at you. When you realized he was leaving the kitchen, you spoke again, “Is something wrong?” was the first thing that came to the tip of your tongue.
“No,” he spinned back to face you while he was talking. “I was going to try a new recipe I found, but I don’t want to interrupt you.”
“Oh, that’s okay! The kitchen is big for the two of us,” You put down the knife when you were done with the onions. “Actually, this kitchen would probably take all of us, if you ask me.”
He, once again, nodded. As he was walking towards the island, he asked, “Are you… crying?”
“Nah, just chopping some onions.” You poured the onions into the stewpan. “While my soup is cooking, maybe I can help you with your recipe.” You were careful with your words, you didn’t want to overstep or something. Turning back to level zero would hurt you more than anything. “What is it you’re planning to cook?”
“Bake, actually. It’s a cookie recipe.” He put the cookbook he was carrying with him to the island’s surface, open for you to read. “A lemon cookie. My mother and I used to bake cookies all the time.” He stopped speaking then. You shot him an encouraging look to continue. “Well, I want to bake some. I think your help may be useful.”
You laughed at his words. “Thank you.” You checked the ingredients, “So, what do you want me to do, Chef?”
He started looking into cabinets to find suitable tools. “Bring the ingredients, please.”
The celebrations of victory were loud inside you as you did what he asked. You were so happy to help him like this, you were also so happy that he asked you for your assistance.
3. PAINTING
Damian was a remarkable artist. He was born talented. His brush strokes were strong and confident. He knew what he was doing. You were always so happy to see what he created after all the time he spent in his room. He was a creative artist with great taste, and you loved complimenting his style.
It took a while for him to show you what he painted, drew or scribbled. He never showed you his unfinished works before but you were so happy to see his work.
The day when he showed you his work in progress for the first time, it was actually an accident. It was laundry day and you were going into every room to ask if they had any laundry. Knocking on his door knowing he was inside, you waited for his voice to allow you in. When a rushed voice reached out to you, you guessed he was trying to cover what he was painting— because that mostly happened. Not just with you, it happened to the whole family from time to time.
“Damian, can I—“
“Yes,” He shouted a little bit too loud. “You can.”
You opened the door, the basket leaned into your hip. He was sitting in his chair next to his desk. There was a canvas that was sitting on the easel, but it was covered haphazardly. You smiled at him before you finally spoke, “Laundry day,” you said shortly. He knew the ritual very well, maybe better than you had.
“I— I can help you.” He rushed to the basket full of used clothes. Taking the basket, he started walking to the door. His every move was fast but steady. It was like there was something he didn’t want you to see.
Soon enough, you understood what it was, for the cloth over the canvas decided to fall to the ground, revealing his recent masterpiece to all eyes including yours.
You did not know what to say over the beauty of the painting he had been working on. It already looked perfect with his usage of colors and his style, sharp brush strokes defining the features of… “Me? Is that me?”
You could see he was embarrassed since he was looking down. His hands were tied behind him as if they were itching to cover the canvas once again. When he finally looked at you, you gave him the warmest smile you could ever give. He slowly nodded. “Yes. It was supposed to be a gift.”
“A gift? For me?” You slowly walked to him, your arm wrapped around his shoulder. He let you. “Damian, this is amazing. Thank you so much, I— I can’t even explain how happy I am to see this.”
“It is not the best.”
“No, it is the best. It was you who made it.” You ruffled his hair as he tried hiding his smile with a frown. “Thank you, Damian.”
You felt like your heart stopped when you felt his arms wrap around you. His head hit your chest as he hugged you. He whispered your name, “Thank you.”
You didn’t know what he was thanking you for but you didn’t care to ask. He didn’t need to explain himself. You wrapped your arms around him and hugged him back.
You were truly happy to be like this with your husband's son.
No one should slander those 13 year old girls who mischaracterise jeff and other creepypastas. I started out as a cringe cheesy teenager myself. I don't care if he's a serial killer, It's my story I'll make him act in any and evey way. That's basically the sole purpose of fanfics for crying out loud. Let the girls just have fun!
JJK men as ancient Gods, Heroes and Warriors x F!Reader for my freaks <3
Pairings: Gojo x Reader, Suguru x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Satosugu
content/warnings: Historical AU, Ancient History, JJK men as historical figures, definitely heavy smut, how to tame a God/Warrior guide heh, I'll try to keep it historically accurate since im a history freak, this is my wet dream about fucking ancient Gods lmao
a/n: Since so many people loved Anubis!Geto, I decided to start a full historical series!
Want to read more historical works?
Check this collection ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
dividers by @saradika-graphics
༄ Geto Suguru
⋆˙⟡ Anubis, Egyptian God of the Dead ꒰ The desert is cold at night. The West Bank of the Nile deadly silent, with a sand gripping your lifeless body. But you shall not fear death, as your mother would say. You shall not, because he will come and guide you to the afterlife. Anubis, God of the Dead, Lord of the Duat, Protector of the Desert, Jackal-Headed Lord, your – oh ꒱
༄ Gojo Satoru
⋆˙⟡ Roman Tyrant Julius Caesar ꒰ How ruthless a man he was. Rome's greatest general. The man of the hour. Caesar, his battle name was, but Gojo Satoru in heart. A tyrant, a beast, a genius himself, your... only hope. Because how could you get back your title as the Queen of Egypt, by not using the help of the Imperator himself? And how could you not predict for him to drop down to his knees so pitifully? ꒱
༄ Choso Kamo
⋆˙⟡ Hades, Greek God of the Underworld ꒰ How easy was it to have the mightiest, the most frightening and stern God wrapped around your finger? Easy, apparently, because Hades, God of the Underworld, a gloomy, lone figure, so powerful as the oldest one of the three brothers, was nothing but a whimpering mess for his dearest Goddess! ꒱
༄ Ryomen Sukuna
⋆˙⟡ Set, Egyptian God of Wars, Violence and Sands ꒰ How brute of a God he was. A monster, Lord of Upper Egypt, Harbinger of Chaos, God of Wars, tormenting the country with his power. An usurper. So what happens when a sweet girl comes up one day, claiming that she's the one meant to inherit the rule over Egypt? ꒱
༄ Toji Fushiguro
⋆˙⟡ Roman Gladiator ꒰ Every Roman citizen loved gladiatorial fights. Just not you. But when you finally decided to see one in the company of your husband, it turned out that one fighter in particular had set his eye on you. A beast, a brute, a butcher, with strong knees that could bend solely for his lady ꒱
༄ Nanami Kento
⋆˙⟡ Greek Hero Heracles ꒰ What's the easiest way to get rid of a tenacious man who desperately asks for your hand? Give him twelve impossible challenges, of course, in hopes he'll drop out before finishing them all. But... maybe underestimating the Olympian's greatest hero, the strongest demigod alive, Zeus's warrior, wasn't the greatest choice ꒱
༄ Satosugu
⋆˙⟡ Alexander the Great and Hephaestion ꒰ For Macedonian's, he was the King. In Asia, they called him Conqueror. Egyptians bestowed upon him the title of Pharaoh, and Greeks believed he was Zeus's offspring. But for his closest general, companion, lover... he was just Satoru. Suguru's most beloved golden boy ꒱
DO NOT COPY MY WORK, if anyone wants to get inspired please tag me
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ want to join permanent taglist? sign up here ꨄ︎
Waterbender!Reader || Plus size Reader || Reader is a Princess of a Water Tribe on a Tropical island.
The room is quiet, soft, warm in a way that only happens when the day is slowing down, sunlight spilling in through the open windows and catching on fabric, on skin, on gold.
You stand in the middle of it, turning slightly as the green and gold dress drapes around you like it was made to worship your body.
And honestly?
It was.
The fabric clings and flows in all the right places—wrapped across your chest, dipping just enough to show the curve of your cleavage, the gold chains resting against your skin like jewelry meant to be admired. The skirt parts along your legs, revealing soft thighs, delicate gold straps, and that unapologetic glimpse of your stomach where the fabric doesn’t quite meet.
It’s not shy.
It’s not subtle.
It’s you.
You hum thoughtfully, hands settling on your hips as you shift your weight, the light catching the green tones and making them glow. “Toph~” you call, dragging her name out just enough to be annoying on purpose, “should I wear the green and gold dress or the blue and white one?..”
From where she’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted slightly like she’s already listening to every tiny movement you make and she doesn’t hesitate.
“Which one shows more of your skin?”
You blink then glance down at yourself again, lips pursing as you puff your cheeks just a little. “The green one… but my belly will show.”
There’s a pause, a very small one as Toph pushes off the wall as she walks towards you. Slow. Certain. Barefoot steps quiet against the floor as she stops right in front of you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of her, the steady presence of her.
Her hands come up without asking, rough palms settling against your waist, then lower, fingers pressing into the softness of your stomach like she’s mapping you out by memory.
By touch.
“And?” she says simply.
You squirm just a little under her hands, but you don’t move away. You never do. “…and people will see it.”
Toph snorts. "Good.” Her thumbs drag lightly along your skin, slow, deliberate, like she’s appreciating something she already knows she loves. “Let them see it.”
You blink up at her.
She tilts her head slightly, expression smug even without sight. “You think I don’t like it?” she adds, voice dropping just a little, quieter but heavier. “You think I don’t notice?”
Your body grows warm, because of course she notices everything.
Every curve. Every shift. Every little movement you make.
Her hands tighten just slightly at your sides.
“You look better in that one,” she says bluntly. “More you.”
You try to pout again, softer this time. “But—”
“No buts.”
“…my belly—” you say quietly.
Toph cuts you off by leaning in just enough that her forehead bumps lightly against yours.
“Wear the green one.”
Then, quieter.
“Or don’t go.”
Your breath catches just a little because that’s not a suggestion.
That’s a threat.
And you know exactly what she means. You break first, of course, you always do. A soft laugh spills out of you as your hands come up, resting lightly against her arms. “Okay, okay...green it is.”
Toph smirks. “Good.”
Her hands don’t leave you right away, they linger, just for a second longer than necessary before she finally pulls back.
You glance down at yourself again, smoothing the fabric over your hips, then look back at her—smiling, soft and a little smug in your own way now.
“…you just like staring at me,” you tease.
Toph doesn’t even pause. “Obviously..doesn't matter if I'm blind. I know you're the hottest girl around and I like that you're a little mouthy, your perfect."
Blinking, you beamed bright as all the self doubt vanished. "I love you~"
Toph rolled her eyes but pulled you in for a kiss squeezing your hips. "Yea yea...I love you too."
TERFS/SWERFS/racists/homophobes are not welcome here ever; Free Palestine, Free Sudan, Black Lives Matter. This is meant to be an inclusive, kink-friendly blog that is a fun, safe space!
MDNI -> if you do not have your age in your bio you will be blocked! all nsfw content will be tagged with #aftermidnightnsfw#
Call me S! Chinese-Mexican | 20s | (she/hers) | inbox is always open
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all rights reserved. do not steal, translate, copy, repost my work anywhere else.
icon drawn by @computer-rabbit-boy
dividers provided by @somebitchprobably-graphicdump
Warning: NSFW content, implications towards and mention of illegal business and criminal activity, but nothing explicit (yet)
GIF credit to the original owner
Needs editing.
Donaka Mark, who goes underground after one of his illegal fights goes terribly wrong, and the police almost sniff him out.
With his resources, he manages to escape to another country, a mundane, touristy one. Somewhere, he had already bought a property under another name. A perfect place to hide until things cool down.
The town comes with serene lakes and mountain peaks, along with a plethora of tourists and hotels. Farmhouses like his are common here.
He keeps a low profile, not interacting much with people. Until he stumbles upon a teashop. Small, quiet and simple. The floor above is the residence of the owner– you.
.
Your grandparents left the shop in your name. Skipping all your cousins who were more than happy with he lands and apartments in big cities left to them.
Initially, you did feel that it was unfair; you were the closest to your grandfather. Your grandmother passed after a couple of years after his death. It was devastating for you. But the will was confusing. Not that your love for them had roots in their properties. It is simply the feeling of bias.
Until you came to this town to have a look. The teashop, you realised, was your grandmother’s summer retreat. Her dream. She left the thing most precious to her in your care. You were touched and, as bizarre and foolish as it sounds, packed up and shifted permanently in this town. No pesky relatives, no city buzz, just tourist crowds on the cobbled streets every now and then.
You are finally enjoying life with the bliss of solitude.
It took you months to perfect your tea recipes and get the shop going. But her recipes did work. Beautifully so. The evening buzz at the shop is the evidence.
When a stranger, most probably a tourist, walks in one morning, you offer him a smile and a seat before leaving him alone with the menu.
It turns into a ritual after that. He shows up every morning, but follows no pattern in the timing. Your regular greeting turns into smiles and nods of acknowledgement, and soon, long conversations.
‘Mark’ is his name, a short form of Markus. As far as you know, he has been here for a little longer than four months, staying in one of those fancy villas. One of the city folks with deep pockets, you assume. But at least he is not a rude asshole, and he has a charming smile paired with dry and often dark humour. But his eyes are the ones that strike you the most. They appear black, but on closer inspection, one can see the hazel brown shade
Markus and you do not share the same perceptions on life; however, there is a mutual respect, but that does not keep him from questioning now and then.
“The city would always have something bigger and better to offer. It is a world of its own. Why live in the periphery? Why throw it all away?” He tilts his head, leaning against the kitchen island as you mix dried herbs with the tea leaves and pour them into a jar.
“I’ve found my peace here.”
“Are you sure that you did not run from a leap? Afraid that you will fall and be crushed?
“Maybe. I’m not made for that? I enjoy life here.” You shrug, focusing on another mixture.
“Mhm? Or simply choosing comfort? You have potential.”
You turn to him this time, “I am using it here.”
“Not to the full extent. Is this what helps you sleep at night while you wonder on what-ifs?”
It seems like he particularly enjoys poking. Yet that does not feel malicious; it is just as he’s…
“Have you found success in the city?”
“More than I could imagine.”
“Have you found peace?”
“I have found custom-made mattresses that ensure I have very good sleep.”
You smile and look away “And yet you come back for camomile tea.”
The silence that follows is nowhere near stunned or conveying any lack of response. Rather, there is an almost dangerous stillness to it, the kind that comes with poking a crocodile before it disappears into the water, and you are left anticipating…something.
You think you might have offended Mark by the way he looks at you, deep, piercing and dark eyes that seem to want to know you more and deeper than anyone has ever known before.
“I do not need camomile to sleep well at night. I just need an excuse to return here and make a blend for me.” He speaks before you can soothe over the unintentional burn.
That makes your thoughts come to a standstill. “You do not need an excuse to come here.” You speak before thinking, as you often do— a bad habit, people call it. But as you watch the hint of mirth in his eyes, you feel like you have done something right after all.
“Are you sure you know where you are headed, girl?”
It feels like a little warning, despite the lighter tone. “I know what I want.”
Yes, you do, and you have wanted him ever since you got a whiff of his dry humour and the way he lingered for the first time. He is an attractive man, and as much of an enigma. You know that you are probably going to make a fool out of yourself if you expect anything akin to a promise or commitment, but what is stopping you from throwing the dice anyway? Not expecting anything other than your feelings and boundaries being respected.
So you let him stay. He stays long after the tea shop closes and throughout the night, until the bed is close to breaking.
And you do not regret it. At least not immediately.
Why would you regret his maddening touches and bone-melting kisses? Why would you regret the way his hands splay over you, reminding you of how big they are before gripping your flesh, just shy of real pain, but with a true reminder of what he can do, yet chooses not to.
Why would you regret it when it feels like the world is all barren, time stands still, and it's just you and him, lost and crashing into each other like violent waves?
You do not regret the night at all. In fact, there is barely anything you can think of when his mouth closes around your clit. What else can you do but scream, tugging at his hair while his tongue moves to tease your folds in the most sinful way possible?
Who are you to deny the fullness that comes with him sliding into you, making you feel like the only woman in the world by the way his dark eyes study you with the kind of heat that makes your toes curl? With it comes the sensation of pure ecstasy that bursts through your veins when his manhood brings you to a climax with rolled eyes and silent screams.
Mark stays after the long night, and you two cannot keep your hands or mouths from each other. He is addictive, and you can smell something sharp and dangerous from a mile away. But a little sway would not hurt, would it? He will soon return to the city nd forget all about you, and you can keep lying to yourself for the rest of your life that it was just a fleeting summer affair for you.
You realise that the lie will be a little harder to swallow when he makes you tea before helping you open your shop in the afternoon. You realise he has been listening. You have only made fleeting comments on your favourite kind of tea mixes, and he has made sure to bring that to your cup.
His eyes look lovely under the afternoon sun filtering in while you observe him speaking on his phone quietly by the window. You realise that this might be the last time you get to observe him that way, when he returns with a frown and solemnly reveals that he needs to go back to the city as soon as possible.
You nod and smile, gulping down the lump in your throat and the sinking feeling in your chest, like something is slowly pressing down against you until you break.
He makes no promises, and you do not expect him to. It has been, after all, just a moment of fleeting passion, despite the deep connection you feel.
"Will you wait for me?"
You have no answer to that. Will you? Do you dare expect something more than a ride of tenderness and passion?
"Will I?" You do not know if you are asking him or yourself.
He seems to want ot say something, but chooses to kiss you instead before walking away.
Some stories end abruptly, fizzle out in a short length and leave you hollowed. You might have underestimated the effect his parting kiss would have on you.
Stalker!Simon x Single-Mom!Reader (Reader IS plus sized.)
Tw; Stalking, murder, abuse mentions, SA mentions, violence, cussing, sex.. lots of it. Mean, soft, sweet, all of it.
You finished cleaning the last table when a tall stranger walked in. You groaned as you got out another menu, complaining under your breath about ‘stupid last minutes’ but to your surprise, the tall stranger who had yet to see his face or even his front yet sat at the bar and just waited quietly for you to come take his order. You were surprised to say the least, most people who come in at this time are a bunch of frat boys asking for a shit ton of food and then they end up not tipping after making your work double time because your stupid ass manager Ronny demands you stays till the latest customer or.. do him another kind of favor like the other girls. But you have got a babe, you've not got time for that.
You walk behind the bar and look at the stranger, he was big, burly, and from what she could tell, covered in tattoos. You open your mouth to speak as you look up at him but the deep voice, like one of those action movie ads speaks up. “Bourbon. No ice, not a chilled glass, not a shot. A glass.” His deep British accent startled you for a second and as you looked up at him and saw him.. He wore a skull balaclava and the holes where his eyes are, were blacked by some kind of eye black and he had these deep hazel eyes, ones that you looked at and you’d never think brown was an ugly color again if you did. You just nodded and got him a beer glass and filled it with bourbon.
He sat there in silence as you cleaned. Not looking at you, not saying a word, just drinking his warm bourbon and sitting at the bar. You were a little freaked out by him but he was the last customer and you needed to get home to your new babe. You had a 6 month old named Blu. You didn’t know why you named him that, it was cute and honestly who hears Blu often? You were pulled from your thoughts when the man spoke up, asking “Can I pay now or when I'm done?” You almost dropped your broom as you heard him but you turned and answered him, “Well, if you plan on starting a tab then I’ll take your ID and a card to put on file, But if it's just that one drink, you can pay now.” He seemed to have thought for a minute before he gulped down the last of his drink, and threw down some cash, grabbed the coat he hung up on the way in and walked out. You stood there confused until you walked over and counted the money and saw it was the cost of the drink which only would have been about £20, but he left a hearty tip and enough to probably cover all of the dine and dashes for one night.
DW! MORE IS TO COME I PROMISE! THIS IS JS THE FIRST PART!
one time in college i was in a creative writing class and this guy was holding up the critique with what i can only describe as like cinemasins dinging another student's writing. and at some point the professor said "the plot is the fork and the prose is the meal. you are critiquing the taste of the fork"
Simon never tries to fight with you, or turn a disagreement into an argument, when you want to do something or have an idea, he complies, not because he doesnt care , but because he likes doing anything with you, as long as he is with you it doesnt matter what you both do, whatever you want, happens, and you of course dont overwhelme him or be controlling, and you dont cross any line.
But today, after such tiring day at base, hours of complecated things trying to get solved, he just wants to go home and rest, like an old sloth.
So when he arrives, he gets welcomed by the sight of you being all bubbly and energy, its a familiar sight normally, but now, he has no mood for anything, so when you walk to him to give him a welcome hug, he does hug you, but not as tight and warm as always.
You dont say anything, you just assume he had a bad day at work, and when you pull away looking up at him "Darling welcome back i missed you" , you say with a happy smile, your husband is home after such a boring day, and you cant wait until you both cook together, thats what you wanted, and you know he wont say no, right?
He gives you a curt smile as he drops off his jacket and keys lazily. "Im going to shower", he says walking away to the bathroom without looking at you, you frown a bit at his tone but you dont blame him, again.
Simon takes his sweet time in the shower, you wait on the couch, scrolling on whatever just to pass time, then there he is, coming out of the shower, his broad torso is full in display, wearing only a towel covering his lower half, leaving the rest to imagination (even though you dont have to imagine, you know his body like the back of your hand)
He walks straight to the bedroom, and as he was going down the hallway, he reaches the kitchen, thats when you stop him with your voice "Cover up quickly, we have some cooking to do", you say excited
He spares you a glance, "im not hungry, cook alone"
That made your heart drop, excuse me? What did he just say? You stand up and walk to him
"What do you mean you're not hungry? Did you eat something at base??", you say, trying to cover your disappointment
He leans on the board of the kitchen door, crossing his arms, a scowl on his face
"I didnt eat, but im not in the mood", he says with a cold tone, and that was your last string
"What the hell? You're standing only on the cup of coffee you drank this morning and you say you dont have the mood to eat?? This isnt about mood Si, you should eat! And i want to cook with you"
You say scolding him, he grimaces at the loud tone, "I said i dont want to eat, cook yourself okay? Dont make me repeat things"
You scoff , "this isnt about 'want' Simon, you should eat, and i missed you all day, i was waiting for you to come so i could spend time with you cooking, and you now say you want to eat? At least-" you want to continue but he cuts you off, with a very angry tone, that you're not used to
"For god sake i said im not in the fucking mood! Which part of that you dont undrestand huh?? You think i was just sitting in the desk and waiting for the day to end so i can come home and cook whatever shit to cook? Im a lieutenant, i have responsibilities, im not jobless like you, having nothing to do all day, and when i say no it means no, i think you got it your way too much you cant accept that word, grow the hell up"
And with that, he stomps to the bedroom, and slamming the door as loud as he can, he removes the towel angrily, mumbling some curses under his breath as he wears the random boxer that his hand caught, then he just lays on his stomach on the bed, too tired to reflect on what he said or on you, he just sleeps the minute he feels the softness of the bed and allure of the sheets.
Meanwhile you, standing frozen in your place , not believing what he said, your mind not processing what he just said, your heart breaks as his words ring in your head, you try to compose yourself, but your lips cant help but tremble, your eyes cant help but cry, and you cant help but feel so misundrestood and wronged.
You look at the kitchen, the ingredeants on the counter mocking you, you walk slowly and arrange everything back in its place, crying silently hurt, your appetite is gone, the only thing you feel inside now is your heart beating so fast, and the soffesticating feeling of holding back your sobs, shuffeling into sniffles.
You sit on the couch, crying, because thats only how you'll eventually calm down, but never stop being hurt, after some minutes your sobs reduces, you wipe your tears and glance at the bedroom door, you contemplate for a moment then you walk slowly, as you reach the door you open it slowly, not making any noise, and you peak your head inside, and there he is, fast asleep on the bed, not even bothering to cover himself with a blanket.
You hesitate for a moment, he has hurt you yeah, but god...you couldnt stop your legs as they walk to the bed and cover him up, you look down at him and the sight of him makes you start crying all over again, so you decide to not sleep next to him, because your shoulders wont stop shaking the bed and your suffeled sobs will wake him up, and you dont want to feel like a burden more that you already do feel, so you leave quietly and go to the guest room, its enough for you, and you can sulk how ever you want.
The next day comes, its dawn when Simon wakes up by that annoying ringtone of his phone, and there is no good news in what he hears, his captain ordering him to come as soon as possible.
He doesnt even notice your absence , doesnt bother to wash his face, putting on whatever his hand grabbed from the closet, phone, keys, thats it, and he leaves.
After some hours, You woke up from such restless sleep, you feel an uneasy feeling in your stomach as you remember what happened, and the fact that you'll face him again is unsetteling, you never fight like this, so you dont know how to act, and dont know if you'll even be able to hold back your tears if you even hear his voice.
You walk out of the guest room, inspecting where he is, so you wont be shocked if he just shows up from nowhere, but the house is silent, so silent, and when you look everytwhere, you drown in disappointment, he isnt home.
It hurt more than him being home, he is gone? Just like that? That hurts much more than intended.
Meanwhile him, after the meeting, the problem they indured finally was solved ,the tension in the base softens, everyone's happy with the results, and so he is.
The day goes smoothly for him, and as he was in his office, forgetting that he has been doing paper work for the whole noon, he feels his stomach protest, angry growls like its saying "Dont forget about me you asshole"
He stretches and look at his wrist expecting to see the time on his watch, but eventually he didnt wear it, so he grabs his phone instead to look at the time, and there it is, his lockscreen wallpaper.
A picture of you, back 9 months ago when you both went on a picnic in a forest, next to a beautiful lake, you smiling at the camera as you insisted to capture you while the huge mountain covered in snow is behind you, along with the lake, since then he never changed it.
And then when it was that he recalled what happened last night, and god, his appetite is gone again, did he really just say those words? To you? His wife? The person he loves with his whole heart? His wife? When you were just trying to take care of him like you always do and never fail? Who just want time with him? Away from chaos? He just told you you have no life?
"Fucking hell...", he mutters under his breath, feeling like shit all over again, he opens your contact but then he stops, no, you dont deserve a call, you dont deserve a small sorry, you deserve the world, and he knows how you're feeling right now, he knows exactly that you're feeling like the biggest burden in his life now, when god helps him you're the only good thing in his life.
He continues his day being grumpy, short answers, barking orders here and there, just wanting for the day to end and fix the shit he made, but only to be stuck on an emergency, again, and it made him lose his mind, he knows your bedtime, and he is sure when he comes back, you'll be asleep, so not only you being hurt all day ,but sleeping while you never got the apology you deserved.
Meanwhile you, Mesirable.
You spent the whole day sulking, every car engine voice you hear you jump out of your place, even though you know exactly what his car engine sounds like, and now, he isnt home.
So you go to the guest room again, and you lay down, reflecting on what he said for the millionth time in that day, feeling more insecure than ever.
Sleep didnt come, and so does Simon, worry leaks into your heart, but you dont call, you're a burden to him, remember??
While Simon, already in the garage half an hour ago, just sitting there, trying to rehearse the apology he wanted to say, in the passenger seat, your favorite snacks, and random ones too, he didnt know what to pick, he didnt know what the hell to do.
When he finally gathered the courage, even though he knows you'll probably be asleep, he leaves his car and walks to home.
He opens the door with such silence, his military training of being silent are working now, he sees the lights are off, and he walks slowly to the bedroom, but its empty, he frowns and look around, but you are no where, and then his eyes drift over the guest room door, he walks there and open the door quickly, and it stardled you, who you were sitting on the bed and scrolling on the phone.
You look up shocked, 'when did he comeback?? Fuck fuck fuck what am i supposed to do now', you think to yourself as you look at him, you were supposed to pretend you're asleep when you hear him comeback, but now there is no running away.
Meanwhile him, the sight of you, eyes puffy, tired, hair a bit messy from turning left and right trying to sleep, Just you...
It made the whole apology vanish, the bag of snacks in his hand is forgotten, and his throat feels dry.
You notice the look on his face, and worry highens, he looks like he's in shock, and the worse scenarios comes to your mind.
"Is everything okay?", you ask hesitantly, like even the sound of your voice will bother him.
That tone of yours, just your voice, the insecure look on your face, your slightly trembling hands, after a whole day of feeling like shit, made something snap inside of him.
He drops the bag on the floor, closes the gap between you in three steps, get cups your face, looking at you for a slight second, then he kisses you.
His lips are so warm on yours, the kiss is slow and sensual, and its replacing all the shitty script he was rehearsing before, and doing more.
His hand trembles as he positions your face to make his tongue enter your mouth, speaking its own language to fix the mess he made.
You've been caugh off gaurd, but then you feel like water in his arms, you surrunder compeltly to his kiss, this one is not like the other ones, not the playful ones, not the one filled with lust while making love, not the ones after a long deployement or long day, its diffrent.
He is apologising, with his lips, hands, tongue, warmth, just this intimacy.
He deepens the kiss, kissing you like his life depends on it, and just when he feels like he'll faint from the lack of air, he pulls away, heavy breathings coming out both of you, he keeps his eyes closed but you open them, he looks so vulnurable and so...scared.
He opens his eyes and it locks on your, he stays quiet for a moment, then he finally speaks.
"If you werent in my life, id be dead by now, and if i made you feel like you dont mean anything, then id rather die"
That does it to you, again, those tears, those endless salty fluids, you start crying again.
And with that he hugs you tightly, so tight like he is holding for his dear life "Im so sorry, so so so sorry", he whispers in your hair, feeling more like shit the whole day.
You try to speak but couldnt, you feel so overwhelmed you dont know how to express what you're feeling, and he knows it.
"Shh...i know...i know my love i know", he whispers, his voice couldnt be more gentle than this.
You feel so safe, like a huge rock got lifted off your chest, and you just cling to him, needing the comfort you've been seeking since you heard that loud tone of his, and you start to calm down.
After some moments, when he felt you relax and better, he cups your face and look down at you, your eyes puffy, face wet and red with tears, hair framing just right, its the most beautiful sight he has ever seen.
"You're so beautiful", he whispers, and just before you could react to it, his mouth is on yours, your neck, your shoulders, his hand roming all over your torso as you felt it sneak under your shirt.
So now you know his way of apologising, not just heartaching and warming words, but with intimacy, very sensual intimacy.
And just like that, you woke up in the bedroom instead, body all sore and satisfied from the love making feeling his naked skin hugged over your naked skin, holding you in his sleep like a Ring Buoy, and you'd never complain, and of course, you're not to be blamed.
Please keep in mind I do have a full time job so it might take me a few weeks to get to your request. If you sent me one already and I didn't write it yet, it's still on the list I promise! I'm trying to get back to doing one fic a week.
1. I can write for Loki, Bucky, Thor or Steve Rogers - romantic or platonic relationships
2. I don't write Tom Hiddleston or Sebastian Stan - sorry, they are real people so for me it just feels a little weird
3. Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, happy & unhappy endings welcome! I don't write smut - sorry, I've tried a few times and I wasn't really a fan of it but I can suggest other writers who are really good at it
4. I've gotten a few requests for the reader to have a specific disease or condition and I absolutely love those! If you send one anonymously, please add any details you think are relevant and I'll do as much research as I can in my own to make it accurate
5. I'm not really worried about what's cannon, so any AU works for me
6. I'll pretty much write any ship, MF / MM / FF / gender neutral reader (no Thorki or Sylki - sorry)
7. I might add more rules to the list as I go or if I remember something else
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