Thank you guys for all the requests! I'm swamped for finals week right now but TRUST that I'm going to get to every single one of them. I'm also trying to get Jack Abbot to fall in love with my Mii on Tomodachi Life LTD right now.
ok so if you do wanna make that into a series it’d be soooo fun to get into WHY brendon never did relationships or soft/sweet sex and depending on how angsty you wanna go (cuz i already have THOUGHTSSSSS and my own personal headcanon) like it can really put some depth behind manwhore!brendon
The making of Brendon Park
I'm going to lay out all my theories now; I really want to get into the psychology behind this. It's widely accepted that Brendon is a manwhore // sleeps with a lot of different women.. but like.. why?? I've been wondering why people do this IRL too.
CW: MDNI 18+, mentions of smut, but more of a psychological lens here, not meant to be super super spicy. Relatively angsty, talks of not-so-great parents.
Brendon Park x AFAB!reader
I think that, like Javadi, Brendon was brought up in a household where expectations were high. I don't think there was one big, main event that made Brendon think "oh, I just want to go and roughly fuck a bunch of women and be a manwhore that works with bones for a living"... there's a lot more behind that.
-> Brendon's parents expected him to achieve, especially his father. He isn't perfect, not even close. Brendon still carries remnants of the misogynistic values his father taught him, and still sets high expectations for himself even though his parents aren't in his life anymore. If you're raised a certain way, it's incredibly hard for a lot of people to simply forget those values and instill new ones.
-> During his childhood, affection was tied to achievement. If Brendon got good grades, he earned his parents' respect and more affection. I'd like to imagine that he was brought up with an older sister, with whom he was frequently compared by his parents. She was perfect, and he was flawed.
-> Through his home life, parents' expectations, and grades, Brendon was taught that if he performed well, he was valued. This carried into his sex life later on, and sex becomes another performance for him.
-> Brendon has trouble (not to say he can't) understanding slow, emotional intimacy in any capacity, because it wasn't modeled to him.
Later, in his teenage years, Brendon's parents' marriage began to degrade, but they never divorced. They should have. Brendon witnessed the effects of his parents' marriage troubles—his mother hurt over his father's infidelity, his father coming home drunk, frequently. There were other women, but he never saw them. Just witnessed the effects put strain on his parents' relationship.
-> Brendon tried relationships through high school and early college, and had 2 significant relationships before "giving up" completely. Got cheated on or replaced, which caused him to develop a "never again" kind of mindset—he can't be hurt like that again if he only has casual relationships. He built walls.
Being a doctor, he must be pretty desensitized to bodies. Being in ortho, bodies are mechanical to him: bones, joints, hips, function. So he's able to separate physical intimacy from emotional well-being, and sex becomes more physical than emotional.
-> He's stressed. Probably most of the time. What better way to blow off steam than to have quick, rough sex with women he's just met? His days are probably long and stressful, because regardless of what field you're in (excluding pedes, probably), being a doctor is exhausting.
So he doesn't have the energy for an emotionally taxing relationship to come home to every day. He has just enough energy to fuck a woman dumb in the bathroom of a bar or his own bed a couple of times a week.
Fast, rough sex allows for Brendon to not have to look someone in the eye. He doesn't have to be vulnerable during sex, and it probably scares him a little bit, being that vulnerable. Hitting it from the back? Perfect.
I think I'm so fucking funny printing ts and framing these pictures for my friend as a graduation gift. The smaller ones are supposed to stay in their wallet / hat. Will update with finished results.
I've been MIA for a couple of weeks, but I'm back, hoes.
omg brendon park x reader where the reader IS inexperienced, a virgin perhaps cuz #soami, and maybe they’re on a date and reader doesn’t go on a second date cuz she IS inexperienced and is like “we’re just not a good match since i’m inexperienced” and brendon is already down bad and.. reassures her? idk something like that im just projecting 😭
OMG. This could be such a good series let me like try a short one real quick rn. I need to see how this can play out but YES. You're on to something anon ily. Oh and this is not proofread, so lmk of any mistakes in here. So so so sleep deprived.
CW: MDNI 18+, suggestive content, smut probably, PinV, reader is a virgin/inexperienced but knows her stuff obviously, reader is AFAB and younger than Brendon (she's 25~, he's 37~, there's a larger age gap) some angst(???), this is going to get away from me so fast oh lord
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→ Brendon Park's masterlist
Brendon Park x Virgin+!AFAB!reader
It's not very pretty, Brendon finding out you're a virgin.
The dilemma comes after a night out with Brendon at The Yard on Fifth Avenue in Pittsburgh, where he'd taken you on a date right after your day shift at PTMC was over so you could finally swap those scrubs for a shimmery little dress and heels. It's the first date you two have been on since you met a year ago.
He's sweet—pulling out a chair for you when you're seated, a hand on your lower back, and he'd later pay the bill and drive you home. Home, where you two are making out before you can even punch the code into the door to your small apartment (you can thank god that you live alone). But you stop when you're against the wall of the entryway, and Brendon's holding you, those deep blue eyes full of confusion since you pulled him off of you.
"I.. Can I take a rain check for tonight?" It's quiet, the voice that comes out of you.
"A rain check?" Brendon is taken aback, letting you set your feet back on the floor. "..What? Why?"
Maybe it's just too much. This is the first date—is it normal for your date to be making out with you and ushering you to the bedroom like it's his last day on earth, when you don't even know enough about him? You spiral, and he must pick up on this because Brendon says your name.
"..We don't have to do this now," Brendon hums, putting your nerves at ease. It won't stop you from replaying this interaction over and over again in your mind when he's gone, though. It's that simple—you take the rain check, goodnights are exchanged, and all is well.
Until Monday.
Nobody likes a Monday. At 7 AM, you clock in for your shift in the ER, and Robby is already on your ass for different things. There are rounds, night shift hands over patients, all of it. It's around noon when things have slowed down a little for you, and you find yourself catching up on some charting at a desk near the nurses' station. While you don't understand Tagalog, you do understand the name "Brendon Park" and "Park the shark" coming from Princess and Perlah's animated conversation across your monitor. Luckily, Ogilvie seems to join the conversation, and they switch to whispered English for his sake. You keep your eyes on the chart, pretending not to listen.
"—I'm telling you, he had three last month alone."
Perlah snorts.
"Three? That's a slow month for Brendon Park."
A pause. Papers shuffle. Someone laughs under their breath.
"He doesn't date," Princess adds, dropping her voice like it's a secret that isn't a secret at all. "He cycles."
"Roster," Ogilvie corrects, amused. "Full roster. Like a starting lineup."
"Mhm. And he's picky too," Princess says. "Not just anyone makes the cut."
You try to focus on your screen. The cursor simply blinks back at you.
"He's intense," Perlah goes on. "Like... not the sweet, take-you-out-to-brunch type."
"No, he'll take you out," Princess laughs, "just don't expect breakfast after."
"Or sleep," Ogilvie mutters.
They chuckle a little at that.
"You ever seen him in the gym?" Ogilvie adds. "Man treats everything like a competition."
"That doesn't turn off," Princess says. "Not for him."
There's a beat.
"Why, you interested?" Perlah teases.
"Please," Princess scoffs. "I like my life peaceful."
Another pause, and you can barely hear Princess over the noise of the ER anymore—
"He doesn't repeat, either. Not unless it's convenient."
Those words land like an anvil, down your throat and into your stomach. You don't realize you've stopped typing until your screen goes idle, and the pixels have become "Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center."
That conversation weighs on your mind for the next two days, until Wednesday, at 3:14 PM, when Brendon texts you—
Brendon:
You working late tonight?
You:
Why?
Brendon
Wanted to see you again.
Properly this time.
Well, fuck. You're not even supposed to be here—sitting on a toilet seat lid in the women's bathroom of the ER, sneaking away like a teenager taking nudes or something. But you type. Delete. Type again.
You:
I don't think that's a good idea
Brendon:
Because?
You:I just don't think we're a good match
The anvil in your stomach feels like it's doubled in size.
Brendon:
You're gonna have to give me more than that.
You:
I'm not experienced
With sex, I mean
I'm a virgin.
I think you want someone who knows what they're doing, Brendon.
Brendon:
And you got that from one night?
You:
I got that from you
You debate telling him the next part, but your thumbs are faster.
You:
And from everyone else, apparently
Brendon:
You’ve been talking about me at work?
You:
I’ve been hearing about you
Brendon:
And that’s enough for you to decide?
You:
Isn’t it enough?
Brendon:
No
You don’t know me like that
If I wanted something easy, I wouldn't be texting you again
Its been seven minutes in the bathroom, you've certainly got Robby looking for you right now. But Brendon keeps typing.
Brendon:
You think I didn't notice that you were nervous last week?
You:
I don’t think I can be what you want
Really, Brendon
It takes a while for you to see his last message, because you've turned on the do-not-disturb mode on your phone. You don't see him after your shift ends because you took another exit out of the hospital.
Brendon:
You're wrong.
It all stings. You don't want to be his second choice. Or his third, fourth, fifth, or however many women have come before you by now. Brendon Park cannot be sweet. He cannot be the sweet man who takes your virginity, because apparently, he fucks anyone he wants, and he isn't capable of slowing down to love you.
You'll mourn this man until the early hours of the morning. Thankfully, you have today off, so nobody has to see you in this state—puffy eyes from sobbing your way through the night and spiraling, in your ratty pajama pants, a The Beatles T-shirt, and no bra, and—
Brendon Park is standing outside your apartment door with a bouquet of lilacs.
Your doom is inevitable, so you open the door almost as soon as he rings the doorbell.
Brendon exhales, like he's been holding it in the entire drive over. His eyes sweep over your features, and you know he's analyzing you. He's seeing the most raw, bare version of you. Drinking it in, almost. But his eyes don't look at you like you're another flower he wants to pluck on his roster, fuck, why is he looking at you like—
"I need you to hear me out." Too fast. Too direct. Very him—but there's something off about it. Less polished, maybe.
You shake your head immediately. "Brendon—"
"Five minutes." His voice drops. Not commanding, not like before. It's controlled, careful. "That's it. If you still want me gone after that, I'll leave."
You hesitate. He holds the flowers out, awkward now. Like he doesn't really know what to do with his hands.
"I don't—" he huffs out a breath. "I don't do this. You know that, apparently."
That almost makes you laugh.. almost.
"You showed up at seven in the morning," you say, and you take the lilacs. "I think I gathered that."
"Please," he says, quieter this time. That's what gets you. You step back, opening the door wider for him. "Five minutes."
He steps in, glancing around. He's curious. Intrigued. By you.
You don't invite him to sit. He doesn't sit anyway. You stay standing across from him with your arms crossed as he awkwardly shuffles his shoes off in the entryway. "Okay," you say. "Go."
He nods once, and the man looks nervous. "I know what people say about me."
No denial. No deflection. You don't respond.
"I know how it looks," he continues. "And I'm not gonna stand here and tell you it's all bullshit, because it's not." That surprises you. "I don't do relationships," He says. "Or—I didn't. It was easier. No expectations, no... anything complicated."
You swallow, gaze dropping to the lilac bouquet in your hand. They smell good. "Yeah," you murmur between sniffs. " I figured."
He steps a little closer. Not crowding you, but just enough to keep your attention. And you meet those deep blue eyes. "But that's not what this is." he says softly. His words are soft. You never thought he could be this quiet. Park the shark, they call him. This is not the same man.
You shake your head, a small, frustrated laugh slipping out. "You don't get to decide that, Brendon."
"I know," he says immediately. "That's why I'm here."
You pause.
"I don't get to decide it," he repeats, softer. "But you don't get to decide it for me either."
The silence stretches between you two; it's agonizing.
"You think I didn't know you're a virgin?" he asks.
Your head snaps up. "That's not—"
"I noticed," he cuts in. "The way you hesitated when we kissed. The way you kept thinking, like you left your body for a second."
Your face burns. Maybe he notices that, too.
"I wasn't judging you," he adds quickly. "I was trying to slow down."
"...You weren't very good at it." You blink at him.
Maybe your ears are tricking you, but you think you hear the faintest huff of a laugh.
“Yeah,” he admits, stepping closer. “I’m not used to it.”
“I would’ve stopped,” he says. “At any point. You just had to say it.”
“I did say it,” you whisper.
“And I listened.” he's right. It's so quiet. The sun is starting to shine through your living room curtains, spilling into the apartment slowly like thick honey.
“You think I want someone ‘easy’,” he says, voice lower now, less defensive. “Someone who already knows everything about sex.”
He watches you for a second before continuing—
“If that was true, I wouldn’t be here.”
Your throat tightens.
“I’ve got something at two,” he adds abruptly, almost like he’s reminding himself a little. “I don’t have time to stand here and bullshit you.”
There he is, Park the shark. But he's still softer at the core.
“I came here because I didn’t like how that ended,” he says. “And I don’t like that you think you’re not—” he exhales, searching for the word. “—worth the effort.”
“I didn’t say that,” you murmur.
“You didn’t have to.”
He’s close now. Not touching you, but he's close enough that you feel the whisper of his exhale from him breathing through his nose.
“You’re overthinking this,” he says quietly. “Everything.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“You are,” he counters, softer this time, and he cocks his head a little. “You decided how I feel without asking me once.”
“Then tell me,” you frown. “What do you want?”
There's no hesitation. “You,” he says simply.
“But on your terms,” he adds, quieter. “Not mine.”
His eyes flick down for a second, then back up to your eyes.
“Can I..” he starts quietly, then stops himself.
“…Yeah,” you whisper.
He closes the distance slowly.
Yeah. His lips fall into place on yours, and you almost want to kick yourself for giving in this quickly. Fuck.
Brendon leans into you, a hand at your back and one snaking between you to grab the lilacs and put them on the kitchen counter so you don't crush them when you pull him closer.
Surprisingly, it's you taking the lead this time. Not him. You guide him to your couch, gently shove him down, and straddle him. Your mouths are all over each other. He says your name gruffly. Once. Twice, and you look up at him.
It's obvious he's in need from the way that his erection pokes your cunt through the barriers of his jeans and your pajama pants. Your hand palms it, eyes never leaving his.
He says your name again, this time it's nearly a rasp. "Let me," he huffs. "Let me take care of you. Slowly."
You hum. "Slowly? Brendon—"
"Let me make love to you," Brendon takes your hand away from his crotch, but he never breaks eye contact with you.
"...You're sure you can—"
"Yes," Brendon huffs, "I can be slow. I can teach you. Please—"
You can't hide your grin, and this time you palm his erection through his jeans again, slowly pulling his fly down. He lets you. It's not the first time you've seen a cock—you're a doctor in the ER, you've seen it all—but it sure is large. And hard. It's leaking at the pink mushroom tip, where you run your thumb from the bottom of it, up to the top, and circle the leaking slit gently. Brendon rasps your name again, there's a short pause before he holds you to him and flips you underneath him.
To be fair, he said he could teach you. Your back is on the couch, Brendon is leaning over you—at this angle, you can see the way the morning sun hits his eyes, making them look like small lagoon pools.
"You're okay with this?" Brendon hums, and he kisses your wrist. His fly is still undone. You nod.
"Use your words, lilac." He says it so quietly that you almost miss it.
“Lilac,” you repeat. “Why that?”
“You flush,” he says, almost distracted. “Right here—” his thumb brushes your cheek, “—it’s not red. It’s… lighter.”
You stare at him.
“Lilac,” he finishes.
Brendon doesn't expect the fit of small giggles that escape you. He can't help but smile softly, and then his hands are under your shirt, palming your breasts gently. It feels so, so good.
"M'gonna to make love to you," he says quietly, helping you out of your shirt. There's a soft "yeah" that slips past your lips.
From there, his mouth is all over you again. He takes a pebbled nipple into his mouth and sucks. You can't help the moans that escape you. He's attentive—both breasts get his attention until they're slightly swollen, when Brendon moves down your ribs.
Almost counting them as he goes, you watch as he leaves a mix of soft and bruising kisses down your flank. It's so smooth, the way he slips your pajama pants and panties down your legs, dropping them down in a pile on your rug along with his own shirt and yours.
He finds your clit in a matter of seconds.
"S'that good?" It's almost mocking, but you know he doesn't mean it like that. Nodding, you're a moaning mess under him as he works his tongue deftly over your sensitive bud. He pauses slightly, slows down a little as he gently slots his middle and right fingers along your slit. Up, down, testing the waters, before finally gently coaxing a finger in your hole.
He mutters a soft "fuck" before pressing a gentle kiss to your clit and looking up at you with those pretty blue eyes, working his finger into you slowly.
He's incredibly attentive to where your sensitive spots are—when he finally gets his finger in your tight cunt, he makes a curling motion. Again, and again, again. Now his middle and ring fingers are deep in you, his mouth sucking your pretty nub so hard there's no way it won't bruise, and you break. Shattering back into his arms, which come up to hold you after you ride out your high. Brendon sucks on his fingers for a second, savoring the taste of your orgasm. It's not your first, but it was one of the best. For the first time, it wasn't your fingers or your vibrator getting you off.
You've been stripped of all your masks, shields, and armor. You're so bare in this moment, Brendon knows it. Maybe that's why he holds you to him for so long, wrapping you up in those beefy arms, your nipples are sensitive to the coarse hair on his pecs. It feels like Klimt's "The Kiss," it feels so... safe. This is the most vulnerable you've been with someone else in your life—physically, mentally, emotionally.
He tells you you're beautiful. You're his beautiful lilac, he hums, working to push his own jeans down while fighting to keep eye contact with you. He's kissing you, your wet cheeks, bare-faced and all raw for him.
"I'm going to put it in," Brendon says, kissing your breast. He's all over you, and now fully nude himself as he pumps his aching cock slowly. "Lilac,"
"Okay," your throat feels thick and congested.
It's a stretch. Of course, it's a stretch. You handled his member earlier, and it was large, but this feels so filling. Brendon looks pained, even, taking small and short thrusts to inch his way into you. The entire time, his hands never leave your body—they're on your ribs, breasts, or gently holding your cheek. It's not painful, maybe just uncomfortable for a second. His tip hits your cervix, and he bottoms out.
It's the closest anyone has ever been to you. Fuck. Brendon gives you some time to settle and stretch on his member. He's kissing you again, though you're unable to completely kiss him back through your moans, as his thumb is resting on your clit. Slow, careful circles. It feels so good.
"Let me know when I can start moving," Brendon murmurs, his eyes are full of reverence and love for you. Not in the way actors play people in love on TV, because this love isn't superficial; this love is real. This love is all yours, you realize, and you give him the go-ahead to move.
He's slow at first. In and out in short thrusts that barely graze your cervix and sweet spot. Agonizingly slow. You grin at him, "Faster, Brendon."
The pace picks up a little more. Your hands find his broad shoulders, and his hands are firmly holding your hips down. It ramps up again, and you can hear the squelches where your bodies connect.
"Doing so good," Brendon grunts, "So—Fuckin'—Fuck, you're so tight—" Though he moves faster, and this time he hits your G-spot and cervix. His tip starts kissing those amazing spots again, and again, and again, and you're a whimpering mess under him.
"Come for me," your name is a plea on his lips, "please, come—" Brendon's thumb finds your clit again, his other hand holds your hips in place as he pummels his cock into your cunt. Circle, circle, rub, changing the pressure of his thumb on your clit in a rhythmic pattern that your body craves.
You do as he says, your body convulses with the strength of an orgasm under him. Back off the couch, head thrown back, moaning in pure ecstasy. Hips meeting his, Brendon grunts through his last few sloppy thrusts.
His orgasm is just as beautiful as yours. Hot ropes of his come shoot through your channel in that moment, he digs his face into that juncture where your neck and collarbone meet.
"You're on the pill?" Brendon asks meekly, his voice rumbling through your body. He's still inside you.
You laugh. "Yeah. No surprises anytime soon."
Brendon kisses your cheek. "M'gonna pull out,"
Nodding, there's not a big stretch that makes it uncomfortable for him to pull out of you. But you catch the smallest whimper from Brendon's mouth as he does, because he's sensitive. He, too, is coming down from an orgasm.
Brendon lifts you to his chest, flipping you smoothly so that you're on top of him. He snatches the throw blanket off the arm of the couch, gently wrapping you both in it.
His hands are on your lower back and the back of your head as you snuggle into his chest, legs intertwined.
Brendon says something, but you can't remember. The two of you fall asleep like this. On your couch, the morning light spilling over you. It really is like The Kiss.
CW: NSFW ahead! Depictions // allusions to smut and sex. MDNI. Ageless blogs will be blocked. AFAB!reader, pussy pronouns, etc.
Brendon Park x AFAB!reader
WC: 958
AN: First (definitely not last) smut post, I hope this makes the people happy. I LOVE THE PITT and I really want to see more of Brendon Park even though that'll never happen so here are my happy little daydreaming thoughts. This isn't proofread, so lmk of any errors in the comments, xx ;-;
Brendon Park knows his shit, he's experienced, egotistical, confident in his ability to guide you. He commands you to take his cock with a similar authority to how he commands his OR. If you're a virgin? Good luck. Firstly, it's rare that he comes across someone inexperienced, and he doesn't normally like that in a partner. This man FUCKS like it's his last day on earth; he doesn't prefer going slow and sensual and taking his sweet time. For your sake, if you want someone to kiss you and love you when the night is young for your first time, you should be going to Jack Abbot, not Brendon. You better be able to take all 8 inches of his leaking, rock-hard dick, and you better be able to breathe when he's pummeling your cervix from behind (doggy is his favorite position, but it depends on his mood) and your pretty face is wet with tears that soak the pillows of your bed. He's holding your hips to his, handing out orgasms like candy.
Brendon Park has a roster. I swear, this man is a slut. Either he currently is, or was. Look, ortho bros are like the frat boys of a hospital. Regardless, rumors go around the hospital like wildfire because he can't keep that huge dick in his pants with any nurse his eyes are drawn to. But when he meets you? He stops, because he's found you. Sex with no strings was his preference for a while—simple, no relationships, just pleasure. He can't have sex with another person and not think of you, as awful as that sounds. When there's an emotional connection, Brendon needs to honor that, even if it goes against everything he has done before. He stays loyal after meeting you.
Brendon Park is possessive. Okay, say you're a virgin. It'll take a lot of courage for Brendon to find the balls to have sex with you. It goes deeper than just "Brendon likes to fuck, not make love." I think he'd have a hard time being vulnerable, taking someone's virginity. Even if you want it rough, it should be special, and Brendon doesn't feel like he can offer that. When it happens, this man is stripped down to the most raw, attentive, caring man he is. This is where he really, genuinely talks you through it: kissing down your ribs, your mound, eventually your clit through your panties, he tells you everything he's about to do to you. You're grown, and you know how your body works, but Brendon figures it out in a matter of a few tries—no man is going to figure out how to pleasure a woman the first time, regardless of experience, because everyone finds pleasure in their own unique ways. Your clit gets a lot of attention here. Bumped by his nose, sucked on by his lips, or even while he's pushing his cock into you for the very first time and his fingers are on your clit, rubbing the bud in circles and coaxing you into relaxing for him— "Yeah, like that— baby, oh, there we go.. There we go. Yeah.." "She's sensitive, isn't she?" (he knows damn well he has been slightly overstimulating that clit since this started lmao)
Brendon Park is used to being in charge. At work, at the gym, everywhere he walks. As I said, he's confident. So, if you want to be dominant during sex? That surprises him. I'd imagine his first time was with someone more experienced, and ever since then, he's been dominant after learning the ropes. He lets you. If you want to tie him to the bed frame posts, strip him down, and edge his leaking cock until he's sweating like he's gone 20 reps of 20kg dumbbell curls in the gym? Do it. Brendon is under constant pressure from work, probably stressed, and usually takes the lead on almost everything—he needs someone to take charge sometimes.
Brendon Park would probably enjoy shower sex after an evening/morning at the gym. Not the gym showers, but his place. He likes it as a "workout 2.0" or some bullshit. Brendon would totally get you into the gym, and he'd help you with a workout plan and all, including post-workout-shower-sex. He has those rubber mats on the tile of his shower so he doesn't slip (definitely happened once) when he's holding you up against the wall tile, your legs around his waist, thrusting into your tight cunt.
Brendon Park gets jealous fast. Everyone says this about every male character, but let's put Brendon apart from the others here. If you work at the hospital and Brendon catches a whiff of someone flirting with you (like how sharks smell blood from miles away, hehe) Brendon is not the type to take you to a supply closet and fuck you within an inch of your life immediately. No, he's not the type to risk his position for some jealous, petty sex. I think he'd fume. I think he'd be a dick—silent treatment, pissy mood, until it all explodes. You'll fight back at his place, and he will say shit he won't mean, you'll both regret your words, and Brendon will leave for a jog to burn off his upset. He'll come back close to midnight, find you in his bed wearing his shirt, he'll apologize profusely and kiss you all over your sweet skin and eventually eat you out. And he won't stop. You two won't have sex—he'll overstimulate your poor cunt on his tongue and fingers, then he'll jerk off himself and get his spend all over your pretty pearl (marking his territory) — "My cunt," He'd grunt through strokes, "She's all mine—you hear me? Mine— Ah— All mine— You're mine."
Santa clearly skipped my house this year as I see no beefy, hairy 50-something-year-old British man who looks like a quokka in a bucket hat under my tree.
How I think Simon, Johnny, Kyle, and Price would be if they were those stereotypical dads (the ones ready with trash bags for wrapping paper) on Christmas Day.
Dads!TF141 x GN!reader
CW: Pure fluff, sweet nostalgic Christmas mornings, family setting… so much fluff, mentions of reader as a parent.
Simon “Ghost” Riley
He’s already got the black trash bag out as soon as your two boys woke you two up in bed that morning at around 5:37 AM, jumping all over you both.
For Simon, Christmas Day is completely peaceful, but Christmas morning is a whole other story. It’s like he’s back in a war zone, but instead of real bullets, he’s dealing with foam Nerf gun bullets.
Luckily for you, Simon’s able to wrangle your boys (5 and 7yo) before they wreck the tree, doing that thing where he holds the boys upside down by their feet in a fit of laughter.
He probably didn’t tell his kids the whole Santa fairytale—not because he’s not fun, but because he wants his family to know how much he loves them. He’s likely not super physically affectionate, so gift giving is his specialty and his way of showing the affection he didn’t get growing up.
You can sit back and relax, because this man is a dream, and you never need to stress over much when you’re with him.
Johnny “Soap” MacTavish
As you know, the MacTavish family is huge and warm and all sweet. You, John and your three kids go over to his parents’ place where everyone is there for the cozy family function. Oh, there are so many MacTavishes.. there are like thirty different versions of Johnny.
Johnny absolutely loves Christmas, because he can act like a little boy again with your kids. He totally has two daughters and a son—his kids are also rowdy like him.
The morning is spent unwrapping presents, cuddling with the kids, having casseroles, and mid-morning is when it gets more serious for him: board games. I’d imagine this man is so serious with his board games (as someone who definitely has a bunch of siblings).
First, he starts off light with a couple games of Uno with his own siblings as you and your kids watch him try not to swear in Gaelic. Then he moves on to your kids. Monopoly. Oh yes. Your kids are mature enough to play the game, but Johnny might not be—he’s definitely a fanatic here and is really competitive.
Your daughter ends up stealing his favorite Monopoly property and puts him in jail, because of course his competitiveness runs in the family. Lol.
Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
He’s an early riser—always has, always will be. So he wakes up early Christmas morning, and starts breakfast. You wake up to an amazing English breakfast in bed (I firmly believe this guy is amazing in the kitchen, he definitely has a “kiss the cook” apron), and your toddler son with some adorable bed hair.
Kyle insists that the greatest gift he could have ever gotten was you and your son. He’s hard to get gifts for unless you really really know him. You get him a shirt that says “I ♡ helicopters” …he’s sour, but it’s a good one.
Doesn’t matter how young his son is, nevermind the fact that his son won’t remember this Christmas at all, he’s spoiling his baby (and you, obviously). The Christmas tree has like seventeen gifts under it for you and your son, and it will always be like this every single Christmas.
He’s super good at wrapping presents too, no joke, this man has a rolling trolley he keep in the hallway closet that is a dedicated gift wrapping station.
John Price
Certified girl dad here, he’s gone all out with Barbies and Bluey and anything your two girls have ever mentioned liking.
He wakes late, but not uncomfortable—your girls have snuck into your room and crept into your warm bed, so you both get lazy sweet cuddles before it’s time to open presents.
John is the type to use a camcorder to capture the sweet memories. He’ll narrate everything when his daughters open the perfectly picked out presents you’ve gotten for them, and he will keep these videos forever. When you’re old and grey, he’ll put these home videos on the TV to reminisce over.
Unlike Kyle, John SUCKS at wrapping gifts. He’s good at getting them, awful at wrapping them. Your daughters always ask why Santa is so bad at wrapping some gifts, but other gifts are perfectly neat (you’re better at wrapping some gifts).
A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, happy holidays to all. I need to do more headcanons of these men as fathers. Ugh.
He gets paid a regular amount for being in the SAS. He can live off his money because he makes just enough for himself. Look, he’s not getting paid millions of pounds for being a Lieutenant.. probably within the £60,000-£75,000 range with his experience.
Simon is not visually appealing. If you saw him on the street today, you wouldn’t do a double take. He’s ordinary, and he surely has scars on his face, but he’s not OUT THERE. He’s average, not ugly nor pretty by societal standards.
There’s no way that Johnny, Price, and Kyle are his only friends. Simon cannot be in the SAS and not have built strong relationships with other people. I’m positive he doesn’t spend all of his time outside working hours with just those three people. He’s got a couple friends outside the SAS, some working with him, etc.
He smokes. I’m sure of it. You can find him in an alley right next to the pub smoking on a regular Saturday night. He smokes to relieve stress. Maybe his voice is raspy after a night of smoking, but his voice is also just naturally deep.
Simon drinks alcohol, but limits himself. He’s a grown man who is conscious enough to regulate his alcohol intake. Maybe he’ll get drunk on a few occasions, but he works on monitoring himself.. probably because he fears becoming his father.
He’s in therapy. Nobody in the SAS, especially a Lieutenant, would be left to organize their mental state after witnessing all that they do on the job. Military would be required to fund/assist a soldier’s therapy, especially after trauma. Simon’s been through a lot, so one way or another (through military compensation/help or not), he’s in therapy and works on himself. The SAS wouldn’t keep this guy if he was mentally unstable.
Simon doesn’t wear all black. Again, he’s your average guy. He won’t be wearing a balaclava or surgical mask all the time either. His closet would likely be neutral colors—> navy blues, greens, a range of neutrals. Is he a guy who’s fucked up? YES! Is he going to wear a ton of dark colors? YES! Is his closet completely black neutral colors? I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT. He’s totally got a few Christmas sweaters from a friend’s mother *cough* Johnny’s mother *cough*..
There’s no way Simon has 3724827 abs like I’ve seen in depictions of him without the suit. Can we give him some fat, please? Yes, he has muscles, but if you’re able to SEE those muscles so visibly, you need more healthy fat. It’s not realistic. A person needs fat to survive, not just muscles. I’d like to think that Simon has a balance: a mix of muscles and a dad bod.
Well. Sorry my first post is only headcanons. I hope to build the confidence to write a real fanfic series lol, but this is a start. 😛😛
